Doctor...

I was in the break room a few weeks ago listening to two of my co-workers gush about their experience with an M.D. who also practices a more holistic approach to traditional medicine and perked up. When I asked who she was and where she was located my co-worker immediately gave me her name and address. She’s conveniently located downtown and takes our insurance thank God.
It didn’t take long for me to make an appointment. Nothing is particularly wrong, I just haven’t been to see anyone in a long time. My co-workers confessed to being emotional during their visits. Apparently this isn’t like your typical visit to the doctor. This woman, Dr. R. really listens and is actually interested in her patient’s emotional well being as well as the physical stuff. I have to admit I was most looking forward to a safe place to let go and cry if need be. I wasn’t sure if I’d keep the happy face on for her if I’d let go and see what would happen.
I question these thoughts. Why can’t I just cry when I need to, or say what I want? I can’t even cry in my usual spots right now. Not on Division, or Milwaukee Ave. Not in the shower or in the Evanston bathroom. Nothing. Yet the urge is there. The skin on my fingers are weeping enough with my aggravated dermatitis. Some stubborn, hateful part of me is hanging on to every tear I’d like to unleash.
On May 5th I woke up early, got dressed and decided to be fancy and take a cab to the enormous building just a few blocks from Michigan Ave.
My head is a little light as I didn’t eat this morning because of the lab work that would happen later. I stopped at Argo Tea for some chamomile and wrote for a bit before walking back, entering the massive building and taking the elevator to the fifth floor. I walk into a large beautifully decorated waiting room and the tell the girl behind the large desk that I’m here to see Dr. R., and she tells me to have a seat.
A few minutes later I’m being called back into another office by a woman who handles all the insurance and payment.
“I love your hot pink bag!” she exclaims as I sit down across from he at her desk.
“Thank you!” I laugh. Everyone loves my hot pink Hello Kitty bag.
“You have your paper work right?” she asks.
“I do.” I reach into the bag and produce a stack of papers I printed earlier in the week containing the answers to many many questions about my medical history and current conditions. One question in particular had tears stinging my eyes. It was “Do you use substances ( caffeine, alcohol…) to deal with every day stress?
Caffeine. Yes. I hate that I do this to myself. Sure one cup of coffee isn’t horrible, but the atrocious amount I’m currently consuming is not ok. The reason why I do it is also not ok. I want to stay up, elevated, lifted. That’s not something I can sustain without a lil help…
Once my information is saved in the computer, co-pay taken, I am introduced to Dr. R.
“Come on back!” she smiles warmly at me and I follow her into her office where she invites me to have a seat, complimenting my bag. Hehe.
We briefly discuss my employment, stress, dermatitis, Jeff, exercise, food and my eating disorder before bringing the topic of discussion back to work.
“Who says we have to stick to one career for the rest of our lives?” she asks.
I laugh and agree. I have this idea that I can’t be anything else right now though. I think I’m unwilling really. I’m just wanting to enjoy what I have for now before figuring anything else out.
“What other stressors are in your life?’ she asks.
I’m tempted to say nothing, that what I’ve already stated is enough but…that would be a lie.
“Um…” I exhale and my eyes flood. I can’t speak.
“What is it?” she asks.
“I lost the love of my life in a car accident two years ago.” I say as quickly as possible just to get it out of my head.
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m having a tough time moving through the grief. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the past two years but I can’t stand the fact that I’m still hurting and no idea what to do in my current relationship.”
“Do you feel him?” she asks.
“Yes.” I smile. “I never share that because I feel crazy!”
“It’s real though and it’s so great to have that guide. Our relationships never end no matter where we go.”
She tells me about losing her grandmother and says she still feels her around. She also tells me that thirteen years ago she gave birth to twin boys and one didn’t make it.
“He’s with me every day though, guiding me.”
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering what she feels.
“I just feel him. I know here’s there.” she explains.
I nod knowing good and well there’s no way to explain it. I feel Rob differently now than I used to. Right after he died I felt his hand was always on the back of my shoulder. I don’t really feel that anymore. It’s more of a “knowing” on some level that he’s still with me.
“Rob is your point of reference.” she reminds me. “He’s your guide for all your relationships. If something is lacking then it’s time to let go.”
I’m happy to hear her say this. I feel it in my gut, I just don’t talk about it…this reference thing. It’s not that I want what I had as I knew it, because I’m different now, it’s just that I don’t want anything less.
“It’s all about the journey.” she smiles.
I wish I could remember that always. I’m all about the destination forgetting to smell the flowers, feel my feet in grass and look up at the sunshine, or even feel the rain on my face along the way to where ever it is I’m going.
I’m going to refer you to a naturopathic doctor. Her name is Dr. M. and she’ll talk to you more about hormonal and emotional balancing.
I nod. I’m up for anything at this point.
“Come with me, I’m going to take your blood pressure.”
I follow her into an exam room. My blood pressure is low.
“More water and less caffeine.” she instructs as she unleashes my arms from the cuff.
She lists a variety of supplements I’m to take starting as soon as possible before sending me off to the lab for blood work. I’m committed to trying it but I’m wondering what the point of it all is. Did God intend for us to take such things?
I. Hate. Blood. Work. Tattoo me all day but stick one needle directly into a vein and I want to get violent. My blood moves slower than molasses and I’m trying to breathe through the experience.
“I like your bag!” the technician tells me and I laugh thanking her.
Later, once I’m needle-free and released out into the world, I’ve purchased some supplements, made an appointment to see Dr. M. soon and am calling Jeff. We agree to meet at the Grand redline.
My head is spinning. I’m trying to let everything sink in plus squash the desire to vomit the whole experience on him. I want to write about it first but I’m also wanting to simply be in his presence, feeling like I need him to ground me a bit as I don’t know how to identify my feelings and that feels scary.
“Hi!” I hug and kiss him when we meet on the corner, both of us starving and not sure what to eat. He’ll have to work later so we don’t want to get too far.
I’d like to try a little café on Ontario but he wants Thai. Ok. I’m starving and am trying not to care. I can go to the café some other day.
He asks about the doctor and I’m trying to explain but it’s hard because we’re walking trying to find our way and the streets are noisy. I don’t want to yell all of this.
We get seated at the restaurant near an open window. The music is blaring and I feel like I’m screaming at him. Frustration is building. I’m upset with myself for wanting to talk and tell him every last detail, my words getting tangled. Why do I have to talk? Why does it feel so good but completely ridiculous at the same time?
Both of us talk and talk and talk about relationships, past stuff and future stuff. I’m glad we can be so open with each other. I’m glad he’s willing to work through things. My main question is that when does work become “too much” work? When do you just have to throw in the towel and say “enough.”?
I overeat. Of course. I feel like I’m in a coma. Not because of the food but because of something else. Something I can’t identify. I start telling him about a crazy client I had last night. I can tell he’s distracted and I’m trying to be ok with it. I don’t really need to share this. I can tell it to my computer screen or my journal. Once we’re outside I stop talking all together. I feel I’m too much for people. I’m always going a mile a minute and I feel it wears people out. When I try to contain it though I feel that I’m not being a hundred percent true to myself. I feel I’m putting a lid on myself and if that continues I’ll explode like glass shattering, sending pieces flying out into the open air scraping everything around me.
Jeff and I walk down Michigan Ave and stop in a mall where I notice on the directory a Hello Kitty store is calling my name from one of the top floors.
“You wanna go in?” Jeff asks.
Yes.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I need to get paid first.” Which is a partial truth. I want to go, I just don’t want to subject him to the land of my squealing over everything pink and girly.
We stop at a café near Nordstrom’s and sit on a couch watching people walk by. We’re quiet. I don’t want to talk. I feel angry. Not at him but at myself, for eating too much, for not speaking up, for feeling like I was rambling. He tries to pull all of this out of me. I feel pressured to talk. I will eventually but not while the pressure that I’m feeling is closing in around me.
As I try to explain what I can he has to leave for work. I knew this and didn’t really want to launch into an in depth conversation right before he had to leave.
“Will you walk with me?” he asks.
Absolutely not. I want to scream. I tell him I’m going to go to the Hello Kitty store. (I couldn’t stop thinking about it!)
We say goodbye, kissing, before he leaves and I go upstairs. I am so angry! I have no idea why except that I didn’t speak up about lunch. It’s over and done with though. Why can’t I let it go?
I walk around the store feeling like I’m five again remembering all the times mom would take us to the mall, buying us a cookie from the Great American Cookie Company and letting us walk around the Hello Kitty store at Southlake mall. I want to be that little girl again sometimes. I want my mother’s warm hand holding mine. I want to lay my head somewhere and feel safe. Out here bumbling around, getting swept up in the strong current of my thoughts doesn’t feel safe or comforting but absolutely terrifying. I grasping for anything to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.
I leave the store empty handed. I exit the mall and enter the sea of people crowding Michigan Ave. I walk all the way to Clark and Lake then take the train home. I fall asleep for an hour on the couch then head out for a run.
Jeff texts me asking if I’m upset with him. I text him back saying I’m upset with myself and run through a green light. No response. After running I go to Whole Foods, get dinner and walk home where I make a necklace before falling asleep…