I Don’t Even Have Time For a Sense of Dread

“I know this place”, I think to myself…

Last night, I dreamed about finding the perfect outfit at a giant Goodwill like marketspace …

And then having to leave the perfect clothing behind.

Normally, I just stress-dream about having to choreograph for a fervent company when I’m not prepared, or being thrown on stage when I don’t know the choreography, or … I teach an entire class from soup to nuts (plies to jetés) in my head for all of REM.

Then, I wake up exhausted… and the real day starts.

On this real day, I find myself launching immediately into making medical phone calls even though (as I shared yesterday), I also could barely walk to get to the bathroom because of the pain-punishment passive aggression (aggressive aggression?) in my legs from exercising mildly a few days before.

I waddle to and from the small square of our new room looking like John Wayne after a long shoot; Holding onto the walls for support and grimacing at the cats who are politely apathetic to my plight.

I use my “caption call” app - which only works some of the time but has given me newfound autonomy nonetheless - to call a neurologist I’ve never called before because I’m wanting to get a fresh set of eyes on the same set of problems without discussing surgery.

“I have the best neurosurgeon,” I said into the phone, “I don’t want to cheat on him. I just want to talk to a neuroloGIST to get the gist of a few other things I’ve been dealing with for a very long time.”

After hours on the phone - on and off hold, which is rather hard to track with a caption call - I get an email from the new neuro receptionist saying they can’t treat me for Cystic Fibrosis.

“You’re not treating me for cystic fibrosis. I have a CF Clinic that’s highly trained. Thank you though…” I said in immediate email reply, hoping my directness sounded as direct as I wanted it to: “I was just giving you background.

I’m a neurology patient who wants to dialogue with a professional without immediately going to surgery as the option.”

They replied and said they’d scheduled me.

I felt grumpy but wasn’t sure why.

I speak in near Exclamation Points whenever I call anywhere lately, because I know what a hard job they must have. I try to make it as amenable as possible. If I could, I’d buy them flowers.

Hours now gone, I sit up and try to reply to messages on my laptop - which sounds like a really boring detail to detail here but … well, it’s also life? Because my hands are hurting so much, I have to use my computer to try to control the amount of thumb motion, but I also know this will bring new pain in a day or two from sitting at a right angle and looking down (the worst of my worst).

I don’t even have time for a sense of dread.

Before I know it, it’s time to leave for my doctor’s appointment of the day.

This one is only an hour away each way (thankfully), but I get ready while laying flat in bed to try to give my spine a break from sitting for a second.

(I have all the hacks for bedside “face washing” that way.)

I throw on an outfit I vaguely imagined in my mind the night before (but that did not appear in my style dream) and say goodbye to the cats. (Odile - the matriarch- replies because she’s fluent in English.)

I arrive at the appointment and suddenly am awash with a sense of dread.

“I know this place”, I think to myself…

“I’ve been here before.”

PART TWO (Part One). Continued tomorrow.