I am a whole person, I should have said to her. Look at me. Hear me.
The doctor in her white coat stood in front of the ever present laptop typing furiously as I spoke…trying to convince her to prescribe several weeks of antibiotics as a preventative measure for Lyme Disease.
I’m not just the tick bite victim, I also should have said. Or a statistic to fit neatly into your column on “how to treat.”
Of course, I didn’t think of these profound statements until later. When I was driving home and my controlled calm turned to anger.
I had my own statistics and studies to quote – to back up my request – but she would have none of it. She had her numbers and studies and her…reputation as the head of the medical practice. Avoiding antibiotics, even as a short term preventative was her mantra.
The tick that bit me 2 weeks ago tested positive for 2 types of Lyme. I paid $50 to have it tested. She brushed the report aside, explaining…I just assume all ticks around here have Lyme.It wasn’t on you long enough and you got the single dose of doxy right after.
But can you guarantee I won’t get it? But what if I am the exception…as I usually am?…I countered.
Back to her laptop. More typing. The power dynamic firmly in place. She stood as I sat. She paced. Clearly exasperated with my unwillingness to just agree to wait and see if I get the disease. The often chronic, disabling disease.
She knows I already have several chronic conditions…but her focus is just on this one piece of me. This one sliver of data.
There is a cure you know…she offers.
I don’t want to risk getting sick in the first place. I did say that.
After 45 minutes of debate…she extended a “compromise”…10 days of antibiotics.
Explore with me, if you will, the concept of waiting.
~~~
Was this the spot? Where it waited for me a couple of days ago? Before the first frost on the horizon could put it on hold.
Starting out
Camera in hand, I had waited until late afternoon to catch the sunlight filtering through the trees. I thought I was dressed appropriately. Jeans. Sneakers. Jacket. It wasn’t really very cold. The woods were deserted. The path well covered with leaves.
However, I needed to go deeper into the woods to catch the best lighting. I carefully stomped around tree branches, prickly vines, decaying logs…my feet briefly disappearing into layers of damp leaves and grass. Making my way towards the light.
Despite the roar of the nearby highway, I enjoy the peaceful pull of these woods. Bordering my condo development, the local utility company owns the land and has left it virtually untouched. The smell is comforting. Familiar. Summer camp. Vacations with my kids at a lake in the mountains.
And now…retired, nest emptied, I have all the time I need to grab the camera and explore. Taking all the pictures I want to. Standing still in the damp leaves. Waiting for the light to shift. Crouching down. Looking up. Quickly focusing.
Time passes. The light moves once more. And so do I.
Maybe it was here.
Maybe here…
They say you should tuck your pant legs into your socks. This never occurred to me. My woods feel safe. A sanctuary of sorts. Like I said…peaceful. I’m alone, but not really. A lone chipmunk scurries out of a fallen tree trunk and sits feet away, unafraid. A hawk swoops overhead alighting on a top branch…before taking off seconds later – too fast for my amateur photography skills.
There are also the deer I’ve encountered over the past few months…
The mama and her two baby deer who stand motionless when they see me at the end of the access road to the woods. We briefly stare at each other before she turns, babies following, and trots away…disappearing through the trees.
This time, when the light started to fade and I headed back home, I unknowingly transported more than my camera full of new images. After dinner, I transferred the photos…got ready for bed…
And that’s when I discovered what else I had carried home. It was actively feasting on my right thigh.
WTH?
A deer tick.
After much freaking out (this was my first tick), I removed it – with some difficulty. Apparently the little critter was hungry. (full disclosure: my husband assisted)
There is a high risk of Lyme disease transmission where I live in the Northeast so we deposited it in a tiny plastic bag for testing.
The next day, I spent hours…waiting…for the doctor to call me back. Will she or won’t she agree to follow the (current) protocol for antibiotics to hopefully prevent the onset of Lyme. A potentially disabling disease which I could not fathom dealing with on top of the other health challenges I already face.
Waiting for phone calls from doctors takes on its own anxious energy. Unleashing wild imaginings, which I admit are worst case scenarios. However, when you repeatedly hear how you are the exception to the usual rules of medicine (that doesn’t usually happen…I’ve never seen that before…), that’s where your imagination – unfortunately – goes. Waiting that sucks the time right out of your day. Right out of your life. I hate spending precious time this way.
After six hours, the doctor called back (the nurse, not actually the doctor – since that rarely happens) and, yes, I can take the antibiotics.
Now I wait to see if they work.
Deer Tick
(I couldn’t resist a macro shot of this unwanted guest…safely secured in its plastic resting place)
Sometimes I also feel like an alien in the same way that V.J. does. As I juggle multiple health issues that are often met with a doctor shrugging his or her shoulders commenting: I’ve never seen that one before. Before giving up. Time and again.
So imagine my surprise and fascination upon entering a General Store exhibit (at the Shelburne Museum in Vermont) this summer. Filled with – among other things – items from an actual pharmacy circa early 1900s.
I could have spent the entire day in that one building. Hundreds of medications, potions, elixirs and tonics in their original packaging. With claims for cures for most everything that could possibly be wrong with you. I noticed a proliferation of products to help babies sleep at night…and cures for all things bowel related. Interesting!
This is how people were “medicated” back then.
All of it alien to me.
That face on the orange box (described as the “laughing baby” trademark)…Sorry, that baby is NOT laughing. He/she/it could possibly qualify in the alien category.
Was it really tasteless? I wonder. At first I thought it was to help babies chill out, but apparently not.
However…
Got me thinking…perhaps there may still be one pill out there somewhere that could cure all kinds of peristaltic problems. Ahem. Plus dizziness and headaches. And costiveness. Yes, I had to look that one up: aka constipation.
Dr. Harrison where are you.
And if all else fails, there is always the Electric Cough Cure. That chloroform and codeine combo could make a comeback if we’re lucky.
Unfortunately that wouldn’t cure what ails me.
Either would the cough remedies.
But I’ll bet babies who cough would sleep well at night.
[All of these products are displayed in glass cases – hence the reflections…]
How do you ignite motivation when stalled? Or perhaps, you perceive need for a kickstart elsewhere.
~~~
To write or not to write?
That is the question.
Well, not the entire question.
To procrastinate or not to procrastinate?
That is the real question.
How to get past that pile of crap sometimes planted squarely in the way…
How to ignite a dormant fraction of an idea that briefly appears – and perhaps even feels momentarily brilliant…before it evaporates in a mist of uncertainty? Ghostly voices echoing unimportant not good enough who cares…before sinking it into the muck of inertia.
So I plod on, searching for the proper mix of kindling.
To ignite…to spark.
To silence the ghosts.
To harness the energy in such short supply.
My current mantra… Hold on.
Begin.
One sentence at a time. The purpose will make itself known…
…When I was in college I wrote every day. Didn’t think twice about it. Not just research papers. Or chemistry lab reports. But a personal journal with a jet black cover given to me by a girlfriend – a full size sketch book.
Fresh kindling tumbled forth without fail…plenty of sparks back then…filling pages…line by line.
Questioning. Worrying. Wondering. Planning. What if? Why not? Why now? How will I? Should I? Oh no.
Careful script or hurried scrawl. Grand calligraphy moments of introspection.
Unfiltered and often painful, it was all there…
This past summer, I revisited – and read – what I had written decades ago.
Let’s see what happens when you pick up a small stone – the flatter the better – hold it just right between your thumb and first finger. Flick your hand back and then forward real quick – releasing it across the lake’s surface…
So it skips.
At 6 years old, you already play with rocks that you collect and line up in long rows on the deck railing at home. Separating them by size and shape. Carefully. Methodically. Counting them is also part of the fun.
But here it is different.
You and your family are at the lake.
You watch your daddy and see how he gets those stones to bounce across the water.
It is summer vacation after all.
No phones. No TV. No work. No school.
Hours upon hours to play.
Or maybe you’re only 3 years old. Your grampa is visiting to celebrate his 70th birthday and you want to try out your new doctor kit. He is your Patient of the Day.
First you listen to his heart. He is very quiet while you check it out.
Then he rolls up his sleeve so you can give him a shot. Because after all he might need one. Ooooh.
A good story. A good book. I’ve always savored those moments – from the days of a flashlight under the covers late at night…to now…when my eyes close despite the glow of the bedside lamp.
Page corners folded. Neon post-it flags stuck in places to return to. Aha! sentences marked in pencil.
My favorites? The ones with characters who mirror my hopes…fears…life challenges. Or my possibilities…the “what ifs”…
From an early age, I looked forward to stories. An alternate universe of adventure I could only dream about as a young girl. It was unheard of to strive for independence as a boy would…well, except for Nancy Drew. She had remarkable success. It was exhilarating.
Years later, my chosen books lengthened. The topics expanded.
Elizabeth Berg emerged as one of my favorite authors. I met her at several book signings when she lived in the northeast. Her stories are treasures to savor, but one in particular – The Pull of the Moon – struck a chord like no other. It is one of the few books I have read multiple times. The main character – Nan – writes letters to her husband while she’s on a solo road trip…as she explores what it means to age. Looking forward and looking back. As she turns 50. The book is a journal of sorts.
…I challenge you to pay attention to and share some smiles this week.
[also submitted for September photo a day challenge: Autumn colors]
~~~
A multi-dimensional word…smile. I try to coax a smile from my elderly neighbor who is not happy to be living here in the Northeast. She misses the warm dry weather of her former home in Las Vegas. Sometimes I succeed. Often I don’t.
At the grocery store I often catch the eye of a curious toddler or infant propped up in a nearby cart. Looking around while her or his parent inspects tomatoes or apples in the produce department. I’ll hold the little one’s gaze and smile…or wink. Nine times out of ten I’ll get a smile back. A real smile when the eyes join in. Later in the cereal aisle, I’ll sense someone looking at me. It’s that same smiling kiddo…often peeking around mom or dad. Who often don’t even notice. And if they do, they’ll smile too.
A smile just brightens the day.
Lately it’s not only the spontaneous grins from children that make me smile. Since I’ve dug more into photography, I’ve started smiling more at nature. Or more specifically, what I discover during the picture taking process.
When I got my first 35mm camera at the age of 24, it was all about people. Friends and family. I whipped out the Canon for my children’s milestones, school events, birthdays, first days of school. Or just fun everyday life stuff.
I was first in line at family reunions to record stills and video. Vacations were for photographs of scenery. My everyday life was full of work and focus on family. My husband was the one who would be crouched down taking pictures of a spider web or peeling paint on old rocking chairs. I didn’t understand why.
It’s interesting how things change.
Since retirement, emptying of the nest and downsizing, all of a sudden (it seems all of a sudden, but it really isn’t) another dimension in life has opened up.
Perhaps it started with this blog. Or just coincided with it; nudged forward by all the WP support. Digital photography and instant results played a part…as it encourages practice without the worry of buying film and paying for processing.
For instance….a few days ago I was finishing the last loop of my late afternoon walk when I noticed these trees up ahead.
The light. The colors. Oh my.
No cars in sight.
I crossed the road. Stood under the tree and looked up, focusing with my iPhone (wishing I had brought my “real” camera…). Turned around in a circle. My head back. Ignoring the cars going by. Hoping I wouldn’t lose my balance (I didn’t).
And then a flash of sunlight caught my attention.
The longer I looked, the more I smiled.
And captured it minutes before the light shifted.
I was smiling even more when I discovered this sunflower extravaganza in a nearby town.
I will admit I went (more than) a bit crazy there.
A sunflower convention…a sunflower Woodstock…!
The crowd goes wild!
I was a grinning fool by the time I hiked out of there.
Perhaps the moral of this story should be…
“We become more easily amused the older we get”
Inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #64: Resilience
There is a catch to this week’s challenge: I don’t want you to use the word itself, but to illustrate what resilience means to you.
~~~
It is not true that life is one damn thing after another — it’s one damn thing over and over.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Please be careful! I hold my breath.
I don’t speak because he can’t hear me…outside two stories beneath my dining room window.
I can see him walking his lively little black dog. Across the grassy area between my building and the road. Painstakingly. Slowly. Steadily. In the snow. In the rain. Blistering heat. The dog needs her walks.
In one hand he grips a long retractable leash. The other a sturdy cane and plastic poop bags. His body, bent over, lurches to the side as he walks, his left leg immobile in a metal brace. With each slow step of his right foot, he drags the other leg along. At what looks like an impossibly treacherous angle.
Step. Drag. Step. Drag.
Periodically he stops, balances on the cane and reaches down with the green plastic bag. His pup patiently waits, tail wagging…clearly used to the routine.
My neighbor has not always been like this. I met him when we moved into this over-55 community 3 years ago…and he is several decades over 55. All I know is he suffered a brain aneurysm maybe 10 years ago. Lost the use of his left leg. If he falls – and he does – he can rarely get up by himself. Add leukemia to the mix.
However…
He drives. Goes to the grocery store. Once back home, he transfers full shopping bags to a cart. Pushes it to the elevator in the garage. Slowly. Steadily.
He attends condo meetings. Cookouts. Pizza parties. He and his wife traveled to Europe last winter. Back in the day they skied on a regular basis.
He just does what he has to do. Offers of help waved off. Always a smile.
It looks so damn hard to be him.
But he keeps on keepin’ on in ways I can’t even imagine.
one letter UP ~ diary 2.0 