More Questions.

And so the infectious disease doctor began to describe the hematologist/oncologist. He was a man by the name of Peter Dickinson and was supposedly “very good”. I wasn’t quite sure what all of this meant. “What exactly was a hematologist? I believe they are the blood doctors? Was that the same doctor as the oncologist?”. I wasn’t sure what this doctor was thinking. I wasn’t sure what any of my doctors were thinking. “Were they not telling us something? Did they secretly hold some piece of information that no one wanted to divulge?”.  Every doctor’s visit felt like a wild goose chase, resulting in more questions and greater health concerns. Frustrated, I resigned myself not to think about it a minute more.

That night we went home and I was surprised to see my parents laughing and smiling. My dad was happy for the good news of no infectious disease. Seeing him smile brought me a wave of peace.  So we laughed and smiled for the first time in a while. Amidst the uncertainty, we were happy even for a piece of good news.

I was hopeful that my new anti-inflammatory medication would kick in and my pain would soon dissipate.  

It didn’t.

I took the Bextra faithfully but to no avail. My body screamed within me. The tears came, and they came every day. They came as a reaction to the unrelenting pain. They came out of frustration. They came out of fear. I grieved the life I once knew. I grieved for the life that mine had become.

Two days went by and we had an appointment scheduled with Dr. Dickinson. It was in three weeks. And so we waited some more. We were used to the waiting by now. We anticipated the wait. I didn’t even hope that we would see him soon. I knew better.

And so I was left to my thoughts. Lying in bed, I waited for time to pass. Time had become my enemy. I despised my calendar on the wall. It mocked me as the days lingered. Wishful thoughts flooded my mind, and I wasn’t sure what was more difficult, the physical pain or the emotional pain. Being incapacitated and in pain was one thing, but actually having to sit there day after day, month after month and think about it was something I wasn’t sure I could handle much more of.  I hadn’t realized the great toll that long term pain can have on a person. I hadn’t realized how suffering can change the very core of a person, shaking all of one’s beliefs, shattering all of one’s thoughts on how life should be.  

I felt myself growing further and further from the life I once knew. I didn’t understand. I tried so hard to. But I couldn’t understand any of it. “How could you let this happen to me? I thought you loved me.”