Category : Blogs

Sub Category : LifeStyle

I knew I couldn’t trust them. I spent the morning fighting with my brain to untangle the knots I felt within. Hope has a tendency to be both a cure, and a poisen. In a fit of nervousness, I called in advance and threatened to cancel. The nurse came on the line and I told her that there was absolutely no way I was making the two hour drive unless they had new, valuable information. I waited for her response while realizing that I had almost forgotten to breathe. She told me it would be worth my time. She told me that they had it figured out. In a rush... the air trapped within my mouth finally escaped me. It was everything I wanted to hear. I had spent many nights sending up prayers for an answer like this one and despite everything I knew... I held on to that tiny thread of hope with both hands. It felt as if I had played the lottery and the nurse on the other end of the line had given me the winning ticket. 

My early afternoon drifted onward with conflicting feelings. I fought arguments in my head while shards of joy shredded me internally. Time was burning a hole through my pocket so I spent it at the park with my family. We splashed through puddles, held hands, and laughed together while breathlessly attempting to catch our son. He was getting quite proficient at riding his bicycle, between us on foot and his new wheels... we meet our exercise goals for the day rather quickly. Through fits of giggles we were caught in a steady downpour and in an effort to dodge drops the size of bullets, we made a run for the car. Soaking wet, trying to eradicate the silly grin on my face while simultaneously begging my brain to suffocate my growing excitement... we buckled in. 

“You can’t trust doctors!” The voice of reason in my head screamed at me. How many times had I learned this valuable lesson? “Shhh, This time could be different” hope whispered.

We finally found the way to my appointment. I left my loved ones in the car and sat alone in the waiting room. My back pressed against the hard, cold chair underneath me. I twisted my ankles around each other and struggled feeling torn between clawing my way past the front desk to the exit and wanting to unlock the answers to the unknown. I wanted to be here... sorta. After being ushered into an exam room and waiting for what felt like far too much time, my physician finally pulled out my chart. 

He began with words like “looks great”... “came back normal”... “negative results” and he finished with “we don’t have any answers for you.” 
Good news for some perhaps, but not good news for me. Words of my own stormed inside my thoughts. Things like “quality of life”... “symptom management”... and “I need to know what and why.” I found myself numbly making my way to the checkout and exit. I suddenly felt like I was watching myself cross the parking lot... or was it a swimming pool now? I tucked locks of red hair under my black hood. My eyes threatening to spill emotions down my cheeks. I will NOT cry this time. My jaw tight as I dragged my feet towards the car. I slipped into the passenger seat and sat quietly as I watched the rain dance streaks across the windshield. I felt like a lemon parked in a lot of uselessness. My husband waited a beat, choosing to stare at the side of my face before asking me questions I wasn’t prepared to answer. 

Finally, I had no other choice but to verbalize everything I wasn’t ready to say out loud. Another wasted medical bill. Again. Another pointless endeavor for answers not given. The hardest part of all was having to explain why mommy’s just too sick to play sometimes... even though we don’t understand why. Even worse still was having to take away a piece of my son’s faith in the world by explaining that doctors don’t always have the ability to fix people. Somehow, I held my seams together.

My husband and I went separate ways- in that he went to work while I drove us home. My hands constricted around the steering wheel while I considered screwing over my diet by eating a massive bowl of chocolate ice cream. I could almost feel the chill nipping at my my lips but I decided against it. I. Will. Not. Cry. And I didn’t. 

The gloomy skyline grew darker still and my mind wandered down the black path that my day had taken. It’s hard to be sick and be a mother. It’s difficult to juggle homeschooling, motherhood, housework, and farm life on the best of days. When my body is running efficiently and things go wrong, at least I have the ability then to gather my strength. When my body falls apart... I can barely keep up with the the rest of my life. 

At home, darkness descended in it’s entirety. She told me it would be worth my time. It wasn’t. She told me that they had it figured out. They lied. It echoed like a nasty tune I didn’t want to sing. Lightning created shadows that closed in around my bedroom and licked flames of light across my ceiling. Thunder ripped though the silence and the internal storm finally rolled down the length of my nose and drizzled past my cheeks at last. I can be strong tomorrow, tonight... let it rain.