At the clinic

It's been almost two years since I last went to see a doctor.  I am long overdue for a visit. 

But I've been petrified, been dragging my feet despite dozens of reminders thy I really should go seek help. Doctors (and hospitals) scare me, remind me of those hours and days I sat waiting with mum in crowded corridors or cooped up in the corner of a ward next to mum's bed while she lay there languishing...

But my body has been giving me warnings. Something is wrong, and if I don't find out what it may get worse. Cancer has never been too far from my life in the past ten years. 

It's the tiredness, the terrible tiredness and general lethargy. And for several months, dizziness and nausea, poor and disturbed sleep as well as indigestion. I it malnutrition? Serious Depression verging on suicidal tendencies? I don't know, but I should know. 

I woke up two hours or so before the alarm was supposed to go off. The night was again disturbed, and the computer, which was still on showing an episode of a show I've watched over and over again,  lay on my side while my cat slept at my feet. I don't know what prompted me but I just decided today would be the day I finally go see a doctor, which is literally around the corner from me. 

It was a walkin clinic and I only had to wait a little while till the doctor saw me. She was kind and we talked about our family history. Cancer and death came up, obviously. She looked at me with such compassion. She could easily have been my mother. "You're still so young...." She said. 

The doctor took my blood pressure and listened to my heart, touched here and there, looked into my pupils, eyes and ears. Things should be in check.

She wrote down a note and told me to go to the hospital for a comprehensive blood test. It should reveal whether something is wrong. Before i left she told me a number to call. "You've been through so much, you must be tired..." She understood. And I rely like crying in front of her. 

Sometimes all I need to heal is understanding. Acknowledgment of the difficulties I have been through. A simple word to show that the person understands and can empathise. Silence or not asking, even after a year (and counting...) is the most terrible form of neglect and in a way betrayal. It shows how little they know, how little people care. Even worse is telling the mourner to "get a move on" with life. Even worse is to accuse the Mortimer left and right of having changed and become negative and withdrawn, self-absorbed and antisocial. It is staying the obvious and adding salt to wound. Anyone who has really lost anyone will know loss changes you, consumes you, and will understand how much energy and effort is required to "grow out" of loss and the trauma and pain of loss...

She put down her pen and pad and looked intensely at me. How many people have come before her and complained of ailments, whether physical or mental? How many have expressed sentiments of depression, maybe even suicide, after losing loved ones? How many have experienced multi traumas and grown so wary and so exhausted of life?

I left the clinic with a piece of paper. Hospital tomorrow. That will be another experience...