As I share the journey of illness, I'm fearful of sounding like a whiner. Yeah, somehow I want to be perceived as someone who's wearing her "big girl panties". I'm more than open talking about what's going on - yada, yada, yada. And, definitely open to crying as the need arises. But really opening up to the fear, and especially the deep anger, well, I express a lot of frustration but go through periods of storing up the big stuff.
Somehow the most intense mixture of these primal emotions comes raging out of me in the parking garages under the lofty medical buildings after appointments. The deep tomb-like mazes of extraordinarily diminutive space and the immediacy of contact with the brusque medical system while in a vulnerable state is a potent recipe for me.
A couple of days ago I went in for what I thought was a routine ultrasound in preparation for thyroid surgery. For some reason the ENT sent me to an ultrasound place specializing in obstetrics. I sat there watching the young couples and women with the telltale bump. The realization hit me that I was accustomed to occupying waiting rooms of sick people not those sporting the promise of the future. I was annoyed by these people. That fact ashamed me. I wanted to feel celebratory for them. I did not.
My appointment unfolded differently than expected. The whispers between medical personnel pointing fingers at the images, the very grave and somber tone of the doc as he explained increased possibilities for malignancy with some of my masses, and the tech who upon saying goodbye rubbed my shoulders and looked long into my eyes and told me that she'd be thinking of me (a highly unusual expression of concern from a medical person)...well, this all got the ground moving beneath my feet a bit.
I kept thinking what are the statistical chances? Brain tumor surgery, diagnosis of a CNS demyelinating disorder being called atypical MS for now, and cancer in the same calendar year?! Ok, I don't know yet -- I could be jumping ahead and creating my medical trifecta prematurely. But just the possibility, well, it felt like a straw.
I was misty-eyed all the way to the parking garage. But once in the car, the flood-gates were set free and I howled to no one, "Make it stop!" A sense of permission to express these passions washed over me and I indulged. When I began to compose myself again, the familiarity of it overwhelmed me. I recalled another garage after a critical appointment with the MS Neurologist and, of course, the garage after my brain tumor diagnosis. Each time engaging in some serious wailing that beared little resemblance to crying. Yeah, for whatever reason, there definitely is a pattern of me losing the big girl panties in the parking garage. Truth told, I think it may take a while to find them again this time.
Hi Karen! I read your story and could not stop. It is tough. I want you to know that I share your fears. I enjoyed reading your blog. Keep writing!
ReplyDeleteGo ahead, indulge. Cry. You have good reason. Don't let anyone try to tell you're a crybaby. If they do, tell them to walk in your shoes for a while.
ReplyDeletePaul - thanks for the comments. It's odd but the act of writing about this stuff does help me sort it out.
ReplyDeletePeace - I'm no stranger to crying but the parking garage variety, well, it's a different breed. And, the pattern really jumped out at me. Thanks for your encouragement.
Karen, I have experienced every feeling you wrote in this entry. It does feel good to purge those feelings into a blog. It makes you feel better, like your not alone because other people will read what you are going through. It is even good to let go in a frenzy of sobbing and protest when you are alone. You wouldn't be human if you didn't do this.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your response on my blog. It deeply resonated with me and gave me hope.
Karen, I am writing you with tears in my eyes and heart, but I wholeheartedly agree with all the previous posts. This is your life, these are your experiences/emotions and you are free to express them without anybody's permission. I cry every single day (alone of course); it's something that just happens and then it stops. Suddenly, I feel better, and can move on. Never forget... you have friends right here who care about you and know what it's like.
ReplyDeleteMaria and Centenniel - Somehow I missed responding to your comments. Please know that they were read and deeply appreciated.
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