Support-Of A Sort

Yesterday’s conversations with two of my health care professionals:

At the chiropractor

Me (flipping over onto my back on the drop table and watching the Dr. examine my legs)

Me (deciding that as an adult patient taking responsibility for my own health, I should mention something that’s been concerning me lately)

Me (in the tone of someone preparing to open a serious dialogue with their health care professional) : “I think my fibro is making me bow-legged.”

My chiropractor (without missing a beat): “I think your fibro is going to your head.”

Me (bursting out laughing, because he is so right)

Talking with my coach/mentor/spiritual director/kicker-in-the-ass/therapist/listener/encourager/friend/fellow bad-ass babe and liver with a chronic illness who, for the sake of brevity, we will just refer to as Lynne

I am in the middle of trying to find a new medicine to manage my anxiety. It is not going well.

Me: describing the massive panic attack I recently had in my kitchen and concluding with, “And I was literally two seconds from passing out on the floor.”

Lynne: “OK. So what would’ve happened if you had passed out?”

(Important Side Note: I too am a Certified Life Coach, although I use my training with teenagers, to enable me to be a better tutor to my high school Spanish students. And so this is a question I myself have used many times with other people. But that did not stop me from sending Lynne nostril-flaring glares and rude gestures down the phone lines.)

Me: “Well, I guess I would’ve hit my head on the floor and gone unconscious. And then my husband would’ve found me when he got home from work. And then I’d wake up. And then I might be OK. Or I might be like Natasha Richardson, where everyone thought she was ok, but then she died like two hours later from her head injury.”

Lynne: “OK. OR-you might have passed out, started to relax, and then woken up.”

Me (grudgingly): “Maybe. But I like my answers better.”