I am preparing to go to this specialist that Larry recommended. I dress slowly, my lame attempt to prolong the inevitable. I have not referred to it as an illness yet for fear that it will make this thing real. It's still a thing to me, in a way, it's still in its fetal form. How sick is that?
I don't know why I keep changing clothes. Black seems too morbid and red is too cheery. It's too early in the season for a pale yellow suit and purple, being my favorite color would forever be marred if I wore it on this of all days.
We were going to discuss, in depth, my symptoms and the possible causes. There are "in the meantime" courses of action, things to help relieve the pain until they give this thing a name. When I think of courses, I think of college or meals, not fighting for my life.
Ah, here's a suit I've always hated. What possessed me to buy a pale orange suit with a matching scarf? I'll wear it, then pitch it later. There it is, I'm thinking like a wasteful wealthy woman; never be seen in the same thing twice.
Why did I suddenly feel like this was my last dance and I was, in essence choosing the clothing I would die in? I'm crazy, I know that, but strange thoughts enter one's mind when they have to confront the possibility of death. When did I become such a negative person? I am thinking like my foot is already in the grave and my foot is dangling precariously close to the banana peel.
I am set, I think. I have my purse, makeup, money, identification and some file that Larry had given to me. I take a last look around my expensive Upper West Side apartment and turn the key on all three of my locks before I leave the building.
*****
I am lost in this godforsaken hospital. The signs are confusing me and it seems that everyone is far too busy to help me. There are, I would guess, at least twenty people in the Emergency Room, waiting for their chance with the doctor. I wonder if any of them share my symptoms and if they will have the same top-notch care my wealth affords me. In my distraction, I walked directly into one of the doctors.
"Woah," he said, holding his arms out to steady me. "Can I help you?"
"Uh, yes," I said, nicely recovering from my embarrassment, "I'm looking for Dr. Morgan. Do you know him?"
"Actually, Dr. Morgan is a woman and I can show you to her office."
I protested, lamely I admit, but I protested nonetheless, "Dr.," I squinted, "Fisher, that's okay. You can just tell me how to get there."
"Well, you take those elevators to the fifth floor…turn right at the nurse's station. Go to the end of the hall and make a left. Go down five doors and make another left-"
"Or, I could take the elevators to the fifth floor and ask someone at the nurse's station how to get to Dr. Morgan's office."
"Or you can do that," he smiled.
*****
I was five minutes early by the time I found my way to her office. I was just finishing the paperwork when my name was called. Dr. Morgan greeted me with her hand extended and a warm and friendly smile. Right away, that put me at ease and I knew she was the right doctor for me.
She took me into her office, oddly comfortable; eerily comfortable might be more accurate. I quickly memorized all the schools listed on her certificates, which lined the wall. She sat, not in behind her desk, but in front of, giving me a sense of security.
"Ms. Delgado, it's nice to meet you."
"It's Tea, and nice to meet you also."
She was reading me, or trying to at least. I eyed the manila folder on her lap curiously; her hands were already furiously scribbling something. She looked up me and, perhaps sensing my fear, she smiled. "So, can you tell me what's been going on with your body?"
"Everything, I'm falling apart."
She giggled, but I was dead serious. "I'm certain that's not the case. Let's talk specifics." The folder was now on her desk; the pen and paper were replaced with her University of Michigan educated mind.
"Specifically, I haven't been sleeping well even though I'm drained, I get these really random bouts of excruciating pain. I literally cannot walk at times.'
"How often do you have these pains?"
"It varies."
"Do you take anything for the pain, or do you ride them out?"
"Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't."
"Hmm, okay, let's get you into an exam room and give you a physical. Form there, we can start to eliminate possibilities."
*****
I dressed in the paper-thin thing they gave me to wear. This room smells very strange, perhaps it's the sterility. The smell is so unlike New York; I wanted to smell pollution and all those other scents unique to New York.
I looked at the pictures of serenity, which were plastered on the walls. It had been a long time since I felt something remotely like peace. I sighed, then lifted myself onto the exam table.
There were two knocks before a friendly face appeared in the doorway. "Hi Ms. Delgado."
"Hello."
"I'm Nurse Reise. How are you today?"
Why is she smiling at me like that? There is something wrong with me and she's smiling? "Fine."
"Good. I'm going to check your vitals, get a urine sample and draw some blood. After that, the doctor will be in and she'll complete your exam. Okay?"
"Yes, that's fine."
She took my blood pressure and announced it was slightly elevated. That was just one more thing I had to worry about. She took my temperature, which was fine. She drew blood and I urinated in a cup. Before I knew it, the doctor was with me, flipping through my chart.
"Well, with the exception of your blood pressure, so far, everything is fine."
"Good."
*****
I spent another hour, being poked and prodded. She couldn't find anything. I had to admit, I was getting scared. When I asked her what was next, she said we would have to look at more invasive tests.
When she said that, I felt like my life was ending. Doctors, like lawyers, have a reputation for knowing it all and when they cannot find an answer right away, it's unnerving. We scheduled some of the tests for tomorrow, and then we'd play it by ear.
I came home to take a nap. That was another thing I needed to talk to her about. I used to be the Energizer bunny; a bottomless pit of energy. I don't know where it all went now, but lately I'd been feeling like a fake Duracell…a Puracell, the batteries they sell for next to nothing on the train.
Ugh, here it goes again. I am beginning to feel a pain shooting up my thigh. I cannot hold myself upright, I cannot go on. Luckily, the couch is right there, three, two, one-step away. I gently lower myself, just as the pain increases. My couch is white, as are my pillows, but I have to scream. I put the pillow between my teeth, ignoring the fact that it will leave a perfectly shaped sphere of red lipstick.
"Oh," I groaned. That's the last thing I remember before the pain completely took control of my body.
I don't know how long I sat there, or even how long the pain lasted. Let me try and describe it. It was as if someone took a knife, thrust it into my muscle and twisted until I screamed, "uncle." It could even be described as someone holding my leg over the hottest part of a fire and forcing me to hold that position for an undetermined amount of time.
If there was a good thing about this pain, it's that it forced me to sleep, just to escape it. Try living with that. I am an old woman, complaining of all these aches and pains, which had on clear beginning or ending, nor did they have a source. Nothing could touch them; only time could take them away.
When I was able to move, I started unpacking my things. Sometimes it hits me, all of a sudden, how alone I really am. It hit me once again as I opened my luggage and put my clothes in the closet I shared with no one. I know it's selfish to think about such trivial things, especially in this day and age, but it's all I could think about.
After seeing Todd, I started thinking about how good it would feel to be in love again. I have to be careful now, at least until a diagnosis is made. Everything about this is so unnerving; I could die in the middle of the night, cold and alone, and never know what I could've done to save myself.
I don't know what I should or should not eat. Is it food that makes this condition flare up? I am going to start keeping a list of everything I eat and see if there is a correlation between the ingredients and the pain. There, that's one thing I can do to help myself.
Thank goodness the telephone rang and pulled me from my depressing thoughts. I answered it on the second ring, grateful for whoever it was on the other end.
"Hello?" I said.
"Tea, it's Carlotta."
"Hi, is everything all right?"
"Oh, yes, 'Tonio is doing quite well."
"I'm glad to hear that."
"I'm calling for another reason."
"What?"
"Todd's looking for you. He said if you don't call him, then he's going to be forced to tell your secret." She paused, "So, mija, what's this secret?"
