2002-09-26 - 7:18 a.m.
SILENCE AS A MEASURE
Many writers on the internet write from pain, both great and small. I�ve occasionally written from pain. My mother will tell you, however, that the size of my pain can be measured by my volume only to some extent. Pass a certain point, and even I�m not always sure where it is, and pain can be measured by silence, not noise. It�s true of my anger and it�s true of physical pain.
No, I am not dying and no one needs to leap to horrible conclusions but yes, my silence for the past two days is not good. I�ve been in pain and trying to deal with pain. Most likely, it�s gallbladder but, as with at least one other medical episode in my life, the situation has become one of ruling out, not ruling in. It�s not that the doctor hasn�t tried to verify what he suspects. I dutifully have been poked and prodded and done an ultrasound in the past three days. So far, results have been a bit inconclusive.
Some of the poking has been a comedy of its own, a dark comedy. I�ve never been squeamish about blood tests but I could get there. I really could get there. On Monday, it took a lot of complains about small veins and a few extra sticks to get sufficient blood out. On Wednesday, I discovered that one of the test tubes of blood, for unknown reasons, exploded in the centrifuge. Oops! So much for trying to determine my liver enzymes that day. So Wednesday, I dutifully rolled up my sleeve (at least symbolically because I was wearing short sleeves) and we tried again. The woman taking blood was nervous after Monday but she tried a butterfly and she extracted blood on the first try. Let�s hope this test tube stays intact.
Most likely, it�s on to more testing. I�m not sure what�s next exactly. Probably a CAT scan but there�s a little complicating matter of the possible need for contrast die made with iodine and my iodine allergy. It can be handled, either with the decision to do the pictures differently or with pre-medication with steroids, antihistamines, or both but it does make it a little more complicated. Hives really are a fashion statement I prefer not to make.
In the meantime, I have good times and bad times. Sometimes I have no problem at all. Other times, my upper abdomen insists on attention right now and just like a colicky child, it will not shut up.
I have a recurring fantasy in which we go through all this testing and find�nothing. No, I�m not suggesting that we find I have no abdomen and I�m not suggesting that we find that I don�t exist. I think there is a small part of me, the part that for several years before my diagnosis with multiple sclerosis knew something was wrong but couldn�t prove it, that feels very insecure and that is sure that my body is there to mock me. There�s a part of me that just waits to be labeled hysterical and not worthy of belief. I keep telling it to pipe down but it�s there all the same.
But life goes on and I�m back. I�m talking again so it must be okay. The silence is a measure no longer.
LAST YEAR: Sharing
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Having No Life
Wider Opportunities
Zero Sum Winning
The Message
Life Among the Liliputians
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
