The problem with waiting months for something is that expectations are invariably high, despite one's best efforts. Such was the case regarding my appointment with Dr. Rheumatologist.
It wasn't all bad, of course. He seems to be a good doctor, and thorough. He took a lot of time, asked a lot of questions, and checked on everything I could have hoped for. It's that last part that has me in knots. The thing is, I'm not sick. Not anymore, anyway. And the more time that passes since the illness of last summer, the more I think I imagined it all, or perhaps things really weren't as bad as they seemed at the time (the Complainer Hypothesis - because if you have kids, you know nothing is as contagious as complaining). These thoughts were bolstered by Dr. R's description of my physical symptoms as "vague." (Although I guess if they weren't "vague" I wouldn't need to see you, Dr. R.)
So as I sit here, about to leave for yet another round of blood work and contemplating the other tests that have been/will be done, about 95% of me just wants to cancel everything and run away. This process is stressing me out, and what's stressful is the the money.
Money. Money. Money.
I do not know how much all this is going to cost, and that is truly terrifying. It's fairly accurate to say I am not terribly concerned about the diagnosis, or lack thereof. Lupus? Bring it on. Addison's? Bite me. Liver disease? Stick it in your bile duct. Nothing? Pass the life insurance. But the bill? If it's big, I may need therapy.
What propels me forward is complicated, in contrast to the doctor's simple desire to figure out why my blood work is off. Now, I also would like to know why my blood work - with it's wonderful objectivity and complete lack of subjective influence - is off. I would also like to know if I will be incapacitated every time we visit Colorado, or at least if my ankles will again swell. If so, I will invest in new footwear. However, I would also like to buy a minivan, and eventually a tiny bit of real estate. And in a stunning act of grown-upness, I would like to buy life insurance. I really, really would.
Part of the reason I continue on is that 5% of me whispering what if? I can't stand even that level of uncertainty right now, as small as it may be. I cannot do nothing when there's a chance that finding something could enable me to be around years/months/weeks/days/etc. longer with my family. I don't want to jeopardize my health because of stinginess.
On the other hand, I am well aware that my discomfort with this level of uncertainty is influenced by our broader situation. There remains much uncertain about our lives. I know we will not be living in this particular home by this time next year - but I don't know which city, state, or even country we will be in. I don't know what Jon will be doing, whether I'll have a job, or if I'll have to find a whole new grocery store. With that cloud hanging above, my tolerance for other uncertainties has diminished. I need to know something. I just wish I had an itemized list of the costs.
Another reason I march ahead is because I, dear reader, am a human being. There! I admit it! And I am not ashamed! And as a human being I am susceptible to the sunk cost effect. Truthfully, I would welcome a diagnosis, for the simple reason that it would justify all the cost (money, time, mental calisthenics) that have been sunk into this endeavor. Not that you, dear reader, are prone to such fallacies. Unless you too are a human.
So there it is. You may assume all is well, unless you hear otherwise. That's what I plan to do, anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment