I spent a lot of time in doctors' offices last week.

I have had three 10 pound babies at home with a midwife and still find I have to practically tie myself down for blood work.

When it was time for the ultrasounds and other impressive sounding acronyms I sat in more waiting rooms.

I preferred those kind of waiting rooms even less.

The people there were in various stages of obvious sick.

Some were bald, some complained to the front desk that their chemo was making them very sick and when did the office think they might be getting in for their appointment? You could tell the ones who like me, were the noobs, the ones who had a certain air of incredulity that they were even there. We avoided each others' gaze.

I told a handful of my closest friends, those most likely to kick my ass if something was in fact wrong and I didn't make mention. Nice self preserving criteria, I know, but I had to set a standard somewhere. As I moved through the week I kept trying to shut my eyes and look inside my body. I was a little disgusted that it would be betraying me like this.

The doc visit I remember the most disjointedly was the first one.

Some hair and weight loss and an ever growing inability to sleep finally took me to a doctor after several months of dodging 'Well have you been to a doctor, yet?' kinds of questions. It was the recent and unsightly growth on my eye that drove me actually--okay so it was vanity...who wants to look at something like that? heh.

I remember snips of different things as the doc's face grew a little more serious and she started re asking questions and using words and phrases like:

how long have youhad...?
palpating here on the right side
enlarged
lymph node
and
do you work?

The last one threw me, why does that matter I thought?


"I need you to go in for a scan today or tomorrow, and
go here for this test and
there for that one...
if you work, you need to take some time off...
You're self paying?
Oh... "

She pushed the intercom and called her nurse

much whispering in the hall

what was left of my lunch sat just at the back of my throat.

"Helen, will make the calls to get you in today, go down this hall and tell Christy in the lab that Dr. A, needs these to go out with today's labs and if you have any trouble have them call back up here..."

It was the proverbial voice in a tunnel thing...what is she saying to me?

I looked up and saw this big clock on the wall,
the
tick,
tick,
tick
seemed abnormally loud and the doc's West Indian lilting, floral accent, incongruous with what was coming out of her mouth.

It really didn't feel real at all.

I had a lot of time to think last week, but in most cases I didn't.

I only felt less scared when I finally admitted to one friend outright, 'I'm scared'.

It wasn't that brave of me, this person was 12,000 miles a way and not the type to be especially sympathetic and more the kind to offer to take his Kbar to the problem.

In the end the landing of this flight was as jarring as the take off.

"Your test results are normal Mrs. S., but, I 'd like you to see a psychiatrist."

"Whah??
I thought you said you found some 'abnormalities' not that I was abnormal."

She laughed.
"Mrs. S, your body can betray you, if it's overtaxed. Stress can enlarge lymph nodes and your thyroid for that matter..."

Inside my head:

"Betray? There's that &^%$#word again...

Overtaxed?
Are you kidding me?
I have 4 kids under 10-- overtaxed is SOP lady.
Come on."

Outwardly,
I just stood there.
I wasn't in that relieved place you should be in when someone tells you you aren't growing colonies of cancer cells in your neck.

I was in that space, that up til now I didn't know would make me feel like perhaps a nice physiological illness would trump, what emotions "I'd like you to see a psychiatrist" would.

I'm not crazy.

In my well read, well informed mind I went straight for the unPC let's-associate-the-word psychiatrist-with-NUTS.

I think the doc heard this in my voice and she carefully explained exhaustion and fatigue to me. She offered any number of drugs, ...nonetheless I declined.

After the whole week's adventures, I was finally a little pissed and once I was off the phone and on a little mommy duty, I arrived back to, 'you aren't sick. Call Tony so he can wear his lips on the outside of his mouth again and begin speaking in more than monosyllabic sentences.'

The weirdest thing about this week was how it began and the second was how it ended.

Both caught me off guard.

Both made me think.

Both made me a little mad.

I am glad to be on the other side of the sentence I used all week to anchor myself: "By this time next week, I'll know and I'll do whatever I have to do."

Luckily ,it turns out 'this time next week' doesn't involve anymore needles or bargaining with myself.