Two days ago I discovered why my body hasn’t been healing. It started with me urinating blood. For about 6 weeks I’ve been asking my physiotherapist is she sure there’s no other reason why I still can’t sit or stand other than what she’s diagnosed, and that I haven’t got a problem with a joint. She’s been sure my joints are fine and that it’s just my gluts. I’ve been so bloody incapacitated, and I’m relying on her. It’s been quite scary. Will I ever get better?
Well, I made an appointment to see a doctor. I don’t have a regular one, so I had to do the doctor blind date thing. Before I went, I thought about how I generally dislike doctors here, because they’re so often so arrogant and condescending. They’re in a hurry to get you out, they don’t really listen, and they rarely answer your questions effectively. I thought if I get one of those doctors this time I’m likely to bash his head in.
I fantasized saying to him “can I ask you to listen to everything I’ve got to say, and have your total attention. Then will you promise me where you’ve got answers you’ll give them in a straightforward way. And where you don’t have answers can you assure me you’ll do whatever you need to, to get it. Then you’ll call me immediately.”
Is that too much to ask from a professional I’m paying money to? I don’t think so. But even as I indulged in my fantasy, I knew I could be asking for trouble if I really did it. Because if I got an inflated ego who needed to play God he’d get defensive and then I’d be sunk. I’d be likely to gouge his eyes out first before I bashed his head in.
Expecting medical professionals to be humble is a foolish occupation here. So I took a deep breath, calmed myself down and said to myself and any other being who might have been listening, I want one of the good guys today. I walked in to the doctor’s office and there he was. One of the good guys. Young, probably mid-thirties, no inflated ego, straightforward. Sane. Normal. As it happens, my problem wasn’t that complicated. Kidney infection and a badly inflamed sacro-ileac joint.
In most ways my physio has been fantastic. She is one of the good guys too; warm, compassionate, attentive, present. I’ve bawled my eyes out sometimes and she’s been kind and gentle, understanding. Much of what she’s done has been the right thing. She’s taught me how weak my core muscles are, and shown me gym exercises and stretches to do. I’ve woken up to the importance of regular exercise and getting and staying strong and fit.
The problem really isn’t with her. It’s that I didn’t believe enough in myself to say I know I’m right. It’s my body, I can feel there’s something else wrong. And I know there’s something wrong with a joint. So can we get a second opinion please. I wanted to say that, but I was afraid of insulting her. It’s old stuff, as this kind of thing always is. I’m afraid of hurting people and I imagine things will hurt them when in reality they wouldn’t.
That has nothing to do with the present. It’s old stuff. These things still haunt sometimes. Anyway I got the message and I also got the doctor I needed, and I’m closer to a solution now. That’s what really counts. I just want to get out of bed, to be able to stand and sit so I can finish my e-book, my scripts and my crime novel, get back to blogging every day, building my life the way I was before things got interrupted. I’m supremely grateful the interruption has only been months and not years or, God forbid, forever.