Post-Doctor Thoughts: Learning How to Fly

Since I wrote that long, heartfelt post about preparing for a new doctor's visit, I thought it only right that I write a "post new doctor's visit" entry.

All of those feelings I wrote about before - anxiety, apprehension, hopeful, optimistic, etc. - all of those feelings were mulling around in me the night before the appointment. Perhaps that contributed to the fact that I woke up in the middle of the night with horrible nausea and ended up throwing up the dry cereal I had eaten 5 hours earlier. (I don't believe food is still supposed to be sitting there in your stomach 5 hours after eating it! But then that just shows how much I needed the appointment with this GI doctor.) Anyway, the throwing up surprised me a bit but I recovered, got back to bed, and so far there hasn't been a repeat vomiting episode.

As my dad and I drove up through Boston and navigated our way around the tricky area around the hospital, all those feelings bubbled around but I was surprisingly calm about the whole situation. And that calmness helped me through the day, I think. My blood pressure, which is usually on the higher side when it's taken right after I've walked down the hall to the exam room, was on the lower side - either a sign that my nerves weren't on edge or that I was dehydrated, I'll choose to attribute it to the former. And then the moment of truth - the doctor walked in. (It sounds weird to refer to him as "the doctor"; like he's not a real person, somehow above humanity because he isn't referred to by a name, but I guess that's the power we give to our words as we choose them. I am certainly not of the belief that doctors are akin to gods, so I will refrain from referring to them as "the doctor" whenever possible.)

When Dr. R walked in, he sat down and went right on to talking about what he thinks is going on with me, or rather what the possibilities are, and then how we'll test for them and what we'll do about them if the tests show up the way he thinks they will. There was no need to discuss my medical history because I had been lucky enough to have the opportunity to e-mail with him before making the appointment so he knew my history and was able to have already thought things through and decided on a plan of attack. He knows what he's doing, he believes and listens to me (although there was little talking on my part, mostly listening to all he had to say and explain), and I feel confident that together we will get to the bottom of this. And he is not just focusing on my GI problems, but also looking for other things that could be going on to complicate my medical picture further and explain some things.

My weeks ahead will be filled with quite a few trips up to Boston for testing and follow up appointments. I will probably get to know some areas of the hospital pretty well by the time everything is said and done, and I'm not complaining about that. I've been waiting for tests and appointments like this for a long time and now I will push through and keep going until I have answers, a diagnosis, and a treatment plan. Whatever comes with all of this, I will take in stride and accept. Perhaps it won't be easy to accept things right away, but with time I know things will get easier to deal with and I will come to terms with everything. I have already done that for so many other areas of my life that I'm sure this area will be much the same.

Hot packs on my belly; a brain fog thickened by Phenergan (an anti-nausea med that just wipes me out); feeling like I will expel the contents of my stomach much of the time; nibbling on crackers and small bowls of soup; exploring the limits of my stomach and sometimes pushing a little too far. This is life right now, for better or for worse, and I really can't complain because I am here, I am able to eat something and drink pretty normally, I am able to push on and do the few things that mean a lot to me, I have a loving supportive family and extended family network (namely my church family and awesome online friends), and I now have three doctors who are trying to figure things out (my new PCP, my Lyme doctor, and my new GI). I have stacks of DVDs that I can watch to keep me occupied when I'm not feeling up to doing anything else, I have a laptop with wireless internet to keep me connected to the rest of the world, I have a good life.

Sure, it could be better. Sure, I could do without the pain and nausea and all of that. Sure, I could ask for more, but that won't change my current situation. I know things will get better, and I know things will be okay. And even if they don't get better, it will still be okay. Perhaps not the most powerful words or the easiest thing to come to terms with, but it's the truth and the more you say it, the easier it is to believe it.

I'm here for a reason, there's a purpose in all of this. How can I believe this with everything that I've been through? It's simple - I wouldn't be able to make it through all I've been through if I didn't believe this, if I felt that this was just the act of a malevolent greater power or just something random that has happened to me. When you quality of life lessens, your spirit must take up the slack and soar even higher. When you spend days in bed doing nothing but staring at the television or at the ceiling, it becomes much harder to look at the rest of the world and not feel slighted. It wasn't supposed to be like this! I had dreams, aspirations, life goals! But being sick doesn't destroy dreams, it may very well change them but at the same time it teaches you more than you could ever learn without being sick - that dreams, aspirations, goals are some of the most important things to hang on to. My wonderful friend Tara shared one of her favorite quotes by Langston Hughes with me a while ago and I find it so fitting - "Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly." Indeed, our dreams give us wings but it is our own spirit and soul that must learn how to use them.

When you come to the end of all the light you know, and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: Either you will be given something solid to stand on or you will be taught to fly. -Edward Teller

Yours always,
Penguini