I Don't Want a T-shirt

So, as you might recall I blogged earlier about my knee problems and doing physical therapy.  Well, that was finished last week and now I’m doing home exercises for about a week or two and if I continue to experience the minimal pain I’m suffering (I’m at about a 3-4) then I need to call and make an appointment to see what else PT or even the doctor can do.

I mention this because I’ve been thinking a lot about my age and the way my body has changed as I’ve gotten older.  I don’t look my age –38— but I certainly feel it.  I felt it on Saturday morning around two or three in the morning when I thought I might be having a stroke. 

I was sound asleep having a very strange but fun dream about the vampires of Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood—that’ll teach me to not read the books and watch the show based off the books at the same time.  Anyway, I was dreaming and then I was awake choking on the taste of sulphur.  I couldn’t breathe.  I grabbed the cup of water I keep on my night stand and started chugging.  Right after that my left arm and leg started throbbing to the point of numbness. 


Now my father had two major strokes with a couple of minor ones thrown in the mix and it was the second stroke that killed him.  It’s why I can get a bit paranoid.  Anyway, I thought I was having a stroke but I couldn’t remember if the taste of sulphur was a symptom.  So, I grabbed my phone and started searching.  And yes I realize now, that if I was able to do a Google search on my cell phone I was probably not having a stroke.  Something my friend pointed out to me the next day when I was relaying my adventure in hypochondria.

Vision Quest

I’m not someone who asks for signs very often because I don’t think that signs are given that easily.  I feel like signs usually come when you’re not asking or even looking for them.  So when these signs show up I have to take action.    

Last year was a terrible year and I’ve been hiding out for the past several months not wanting to really look at my future or make long term plans because most of them fell apart before I could even start them.    

So a few weeks ago my new supervisor (my previous supervisor was offered a better position in another city and state) asked me, “What do you want to do?”  At first, I didn’t understand what he was asking me but then he clarified and I was put on the spot. 

I talked about my situation a little (I don’t know him well enough to tell him the details) and he offered encouragement. 

His question made me think. 

I’ve never been one to not have a project or a goal of some sort.  I’ve always been doing something to improve my mind, body, and life.  The previous year kept me from doing that and quite frankly I’m tired of it.  I like to be moving and doing but I’ve been so paralyzed by the fear of disappointment and having to cancel my plans that I’d given up on goals.  So, asking me, “What do you want to do” had me stymied. 

 

After we talked about a few options –including getting a degree in Clinical Mental Health to be a counselor—I went back to my office to think about our discussion on my own.  I examined some of the ideas I’d had about my future trying to decide if I really wanted to change my course and try a new one or continue on my journey.  Did I really want to be a counselor or was I just looking for something to do?  Or was I burnt out on this road and needed to explore new paths?    I wasn’t sure. 

The next day I went to a one day conference and got my second sign.  The first session I went to was about making your dreams a reality.  The speaker a woman named Elaine Penn was amazing.  She gave some great tips on how to set about reaching our aspirations.

In honor of the opening of one of my favorite novels, The Great Gatsby and its author F. Scott Fitzgerald, I'm reposting a poem I wrote a few years back.  I know a lot of people who identify with Nick and maybe that's correct but for it it was always Gatsby.  I saw the movie today and though I had some quams about a few things overall I enjoyed the adaptation. 







I am Gatsby

I long to be Nick

the country mouse to their city mouse

small, fragile pink tail and ears

downy white fur

scent of cedar and pine

 

But I’m not.

I stare out across

green plains of liquid

promise, hope, renewal

for others but not for me.

I try to hide

behind yellow cars

behind blond tresses

behind fur, one size too small.

I am large;

thick muddy tail and a flash of scarlet eyes

oily grey wires prickly to the touch

my nails scratch and tear to survive

scent of sweat and desperation linger

a rat in a mouse suit.

I balance on precarious fence

between two worlds.

I shrink back from the inky truth,

the dark abyss of murky emptiness.

I step into the false brightness,

the shining crystal fragments of light.

Blush champagne tickles

my nose while

roses of garnet, amethyst violets,

and an opulent pearly daisy

dance across my path, swirl, twirl and catch

sunlight in each creamy petal,

perfume wafts

into my quivering nostrils and

tiptoes over my sensitive tongue.

My ears fill with airy laughter;

tantalizing

my desire,

Daisy takes me

in her arms

and we spin.

Swaying while I wait,

knowing,

everything will come

crashing down –

one hunter’s gun,

one bullet shot

in the end.

Lesson I Learned on my Road to Knee Recovery or How I Listened to Well Meaning but Unqualified People and Fucked Up

A few weeks ago it was time for my yearly Well Woman’s exam.  For those out there who don’t know what this means, it’s a pap smear and breast exam.  Yeah, I bet that made the women reading this cross their legs a little tighter and put your arms over boobs.  The breast exam is general less painful unless you’re of that age when they do the mammogram, basically squeezing your boobs between cold metal plates until they nearly pop.  I haven’t had the pleasure as of yet but I hear it’s lovely.  

Anyway, I went for my annual exam and decided that it was time I had them take a serious look at my knee.  For the past year it’s been hurting to the point that I’ve given up all physical activity past walking from one room to the other and even then I try to avoid the journey.  Even though I’ve lost about five pounds this avoidance has also caused me to lose a lot of muscle strength and stamina.  So, it was time to get off the couch and find out what was wrong. 

After an initial look – and I mean the doctor literally just looked at my knee she didn’t prod or push at it, she just looked at it—she decided to send me to physical therapy.

I thought it was odd that she didn’t do more but I’m not a doctor so what do I know?  So, I set up my appointment with the therapist.  I get to work the next day and let my supervisor know what’s going on.  He promptly suggest that maybe I needed to get an MRI before I start doing exercises to fix something when we don’t know what that something is.  I was convinced and called my doctor to insist on the MRI.  She asked me if I was sure as it would be expensive and after I insisted she had the appointment scheduled which conflicted with my PT appointment.  I rescheduled the PT appointment for the following week.   

A few days later, I get to the MRI place fifteen minutes early to do paperwork and begin the waiting process and find that the appointment was cancelled.  My doctor’s office had called ten minutes before I got to the MRI place to cancel and left me a voicemail message.  So, I call them back and find out my insurance won’t cover an MRI until I get an X-ray and do physical therapy, stupid insurance and more importantly stupid me.  I tried to get my PT appointment scheduled back to the original date but it’s been taken by someone else with the sense to listen to an actually M.D. and not someone with a Ph.D.

After this ordeal I’ve learned a few new lessons when dealing with illness and medicine.  I’m sure there will be many more but here are the first few.