Sept 13, 3016
I’m sitting outside Rona, gulping a large Tim Hortons coffee and trying to convince myself that I have the strength and energy to go inside and pick paint colours. How much of my life is now spent prepping for the expenditure of energy to do mundane daily tasks? Whenever I try to think back to when I didn’t have to consider these things I want to cry.
Yesterday was a bad day. I took my son to the hospital to get his cast changed. He had a wonderful time, talking with anyone and everyone who would listen to him. He could practically have gone without me, I really only confirmed my phone number to the receptionist and asked the doctor two questions. It’s healing well and will be as good as if it never happened, but he still does need a new cast for three more weeks.
On the way to the elevator we ran into Dr. P, the neurologist who unceremoniously dumped me, without giving me a chance to ask where to turn for answers, or what to do next. We recognized each other of course, and I said a short, court “Hi” before he could address me. I wanted control. I wanted to show he held no power over me. He smiled and looked down at his feet and my son and I stepped into the elevator. I hope he spent the rest of the day feeling like shit. He likely didn’t, as I’m just another worthless name on his charts, just another woman who can’t control her emotions and lets them manifest into physical symptoms. He has such a kind smile, twinkling eyes and beautiful caramel skin but he really is an asshole. If he’s not an asshole I still hope he felt like shit, but channeled that energy into helping another patient that he may otherwise have brushed off with the all encompassing diagnosis of “conversion disorder”.
I spent the rest of the day in bed. I was exhausted. More than likely from the combination of walking all the way around the lake (my summer goal!) two days before, as well as a busy weekend, but the broken part of myself wondered if it was simply because of the run-in with Dr. P. This is what happens when your symptoms aren’t validated by a diagnosis. More emotional destruction and pain. I manage to make chicken noodle soup for dinner, and headed right back to bed.
I’d much rather spend another day in bed today. My legs feel heavy, the coffee is doing nothing for me, my chest hurts and my eyes keep blurring, but my will won’t let me. I’m so tired of being this tired.