Get out of bed, tidy your room, do a bit of exercise, eat something and, as Leonard Cohen sang, in his characteristically world-weary way, ‘get ready for the struggle’.
Nick Cave
I cycled to the hospital. I was really wobbly, having not eaten anything solid for 48 hrs, but the geese and the duck in the park at this hour didn't mind. I hid the bike behind the front entrance hall because I had signed this paper that since it would be unsafe to drive or cycle, I would have someone picking me up to chaperone me on my home journey. Then they made me wait almost another hour and I got grumpy. As if not eating anything wasn't enough.
The procedure was the easiest bit. First, I panicked because the doctor told me he could only give me a homeopathic dose of diazepam due to this being a dynamic MRI which requires my co-operation, not dozing my way through it. Thankfully, the dose was enough for the usual butterflies-in-my-mind feeling, equally pleasant and unpleasant, and as always, I tried to imagine how on earth my mother managed to get through her days with housework and lunch prep and three kids while on that stuff every day. She also drove a car almost daily, often with more than her three kids in it. All I managed was wobble cycle back through the park.
Anyway, it has a name, my condition, as expected, and the verdict is surgery. Because in the long run, this will do you in, the nice radiologist said in as many words. More appointments are due and while I waited for the radiologist findings to be written up, I emailed my favourite gynecologist to help me with a second opinion. She called within minutes to arrange a meeting, which lifted my spirits even more than the drug did.
I arrived home in best diazepam spirits, had two cups of coffee and some of the almond cake friends had brought back from Holland yesterday. Also an apple and we sat in the spring sunshine on the patio, with the woodpeckers and robins and wrens making a racket. I looked at the tulips pushing up through the soil in amazement until the drug started to wear off and by that time, the almond cake made its presence felt in the shape of painful bloating.
And now, the shit will hit the fan, as the saying goes. Or not.
9 comments:
Yikes! What a day! Good to soon have that second opinion from a trusted gynecologist and to be able to sit in the spring sunshine with R and the birds and bulbs afterwards before the shit hits the fan or not.
Thinking about diazepam and your mother and other mothers of that era. In 1954, when I was five years old, the oldest of three sisters, my mother was prescribed a daily dose of Dexadrine and intermittent Percodan for narcolepsy and disabling migraine headaches. She drank Mogen-David wine as she cooked dinner for three young children and a husband who was frequently away on business trips. Her unsatisfying life that was not at all what she had bargained for. She raged in the privacy of our home when our father wasn't present and appeared meek when out in public. A life of suffering that I wanted to avoid at all costs. It took me a long time to comprehend how difficult her life was when we were growing up. And what I know is probably just the tip of the iceberg.
That's too bad that hungry as you were, the almond cake didn't really satisfy, any more than the small diazepam dose gave you more than a mild sense of the beauty of the day. The only really good news you mentioned (besides the beauty of the day) was getting a second opinion quickly. I hope you have a good rest this evening.
I'm impressed that you rode your bike home! Even if wobbly. So you're needing to think about surgery? You'll do it with grace and determination, as always.
Well, shit. Not a surprise but still shit.
Like everyone else here, I am incredibly surprised and impressed that you rode your bike to the appointment even BEFORE the diazepam.
Yes. You have to be able to eat. If surgery can help with that, then hurray! No one wants surgery but sometimes it is the only way. And as Boud said, you will do it with grace and determination because that is your way.
so, surgery but you were expecting that. upside, the surgery will make things better, I mean, that's the point right? downside, surgery. I just looked up diazepam and yikes!
I can't believe you were bike riding on even a small dose of diazepam. It sucks that surgery is inevitable, but in the long run it sounds like the way to go. Good you're getting a second opinion.
I think that riding the bike was both impressive and foolish, but you don't need lectures about that, do you? When I read of your plight it makes me feel guilty (almost) that I have been very healthy all my life, ridiculously so in fact. I hope it continues!
Glad you're getting a second opinion. As you well know, every one of your feelings are valid and worthy of attention. Take good care
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