I didn’t prepare for it.
The week prior's gastroenterology appointment was one I cast as what can she tell me that I don’t already know?
“I feel like this is going to be a total waste of time,” I said to my husband before leaving that morning.
I had the appointment to see the real specialist set for June thirteenth — this was just one of those consults my doctor ordered to get a second opinion.
I wasn’t ready for it.
I went in thinking it was just going to review my file and she’d say something like, “I don’t know why your doctor sent you here. You need to see a specialist.” But it wasn’t like that at all. It was: “We need to get a handle on your liver disease before this moves into cirrhosis territory”.
Liver disease. Cirrhosis?
I knew my liver and spleen were enlarged, but you’re telling me “liver disease”? It has a name?
Why does a name make this all more real, more pressing? Impertinent.
Am I dying?
We’re all dying, Sara. Just some faster than others.
Endoscopy, scheduled. Colonoscopy, scheduled.
The robust blood work is being done today yet for some reason I’m still processing all this...
I busted a leak in the gastro’s office, tearing up twice at the weight of what was happening. She delivered me to the woman in her scheduling department who said: “Are you all right, Hun?”
Look at my fucking paperwork, Lady. Look at my face. Does it look like I’m all right?
“I’m still alive,” I said. I don’t know if it was for her or for me, but I am still alive.
Why did you wait so long?
Wait for what? For doctors over the past three years? Three fucking years I’ve been passed around like an unsolvable case and now I’m sitting here, crying in the office of a gastroenterologist, completely unprepared for the news I got.
“I should’ve been there with you,” my husband said later that evening.
“We didn’t know this was going to mean anything at all.” Tears, gushing.
I don’t want to die.
How long do you have to process for? How long does shock last when you’re the patient and not just the patient’s teenaged daughter?
I’m not quitting yet. I will get better.
Unlike my mom, I’m going to be here for everything, goddammit.
He didn't sign up for this, but he's still here.
A Pill For A Pill Leaves The Whole World Drugged
I've got nothing of value today. Only anger.
What could it be?
I didn’t prepare for it.
I think I like not knowing.
What do I want to do with this?
Hmm… Good question.
It had just started to rain and the dog was whining at the back sliding glass door.
I don't want to get my hopes too high, but it's something to look forward to.
"What do you want it to be?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you act like I haven't done anything over the last three years. Three years..."
So much stuff. What's the goddamned point?
Time seems to slip away faster now.
If only I could take them with me.
'How's your business going?'
'Fine.' I hate it.
If only he knew her, then he'd understand.
'I wouldn't do it again, if that's what you mean,' I said, pulling my MacBook Pro closer to me atop the long work table in the mall.
What was she thinking?
My fingers are crossed, but I'm not sure if that's enough anymore.
They always end up letting you down.
It always happens in droves.
She caught me with the knife when I was sixteen, maybe seventeen.
I like being flawed. It gives me something to write about.
I let my kids examine my naked body yesterday.
There's no winning with blame.
Every time I think I'm getting better at this whole life thing, I do something wrong and set it back.
It was cold that day. Odd for Florida.
I gave twenty dollars to a woman on the side of the road today.
I like getting older.
There's something about with age and experience comes wisdom that's exhilarating.
The bad thing about family is you can never escape the past.
They remember everything.
I'll see this one through, I tell myself. I'll finish it.
After this, I'll put it to bed. After this, I'll move forward.