Just got home from another marathon day in Seattle. I'm going to drive a groove in that freeway before too long. Why did I sign up for all this medical treatment, anyway?...Oh wait, I didn't.
That's really how it feels, you know. You walk into an appointment--just for a consult--and by the time you've been prodded, poked, had your MRIs, X-rays, blood-work, and medical records looked through, you've agreed to a dozen more procedures, appointments and torture sessions. OK, maybe not exactly torture sessions, but just around the block from it. At least from where I'm lying on the table. I won't tell you the things that have been done or promised in just the last week, because it takes a strong stomach. A really strong stomach.
All in the name of healing.
Or at least in the name of cessation of pain.
So tonight I'm weary. Weary of what lies ahead. What I must do to participate in my own healing--just in the driving alone. I've lived with chronic pain a long time. But as the doctor left the room for a moment today, she said what might have been a toss-away remark that all my nerve pain comes from the same source, and if we can fix that, I will have no pain. Tears instantly began to pool. NO pain. NO pain at all. "If we can fix that..." So what does my weariness mean balanced by this possibility? What am I willing to do for it?
This is what I face. This living possibility.
And along side it is the living possibility--which she was more clear about when she returned to speak directly to me--that NO pain is unlikely but less pain is the goal.
I can live with that.
After all, I've lived with this all these years...