Buffalo Gal

Remember that kid in grade school who would whip through the spelling test without ever once having to recite "i before e except after c" to himself? In high school, he or she would calmly correct the teacher's mistakes. In college, they were the curve busters when everyone else got a hard-earned C.
I used to think they would grow up to be axe murderers or rocket scientists. Turns out they become neurosurgeons.
They use their gift/curse to deal daily with the most complex organ of the most complex organism. It appears, at least to me recently, that they are so intent on the mastery of that marvel they forget it's part of a whole human package.
After more than a weeks of tests and long, detailed office visits, I'm now at a full week since the day I was promised a diagnosis and course of treatment. I was told then that the diagnosis looked to be one specific problem and the solution was probably surgery. They'd let me know after the test on Friday...
When they got the results on Monday...
As soon as the info was all in on Tuesday...
No one answered the phone on Wednesday...
This morning the assistant called to assure me all the paperwork was together and I'd have an answer by the end of the day.
I'm pretty sure they went home several hours ago.
I tell myself repeatedly that no news is good news. The situation is not lethal. I am not in imminent danger.
But there is a stranger in my body who steals my coordination at odd moments, robs my words and sleep. Some days there is no physical pain, others I can barely lift my head. The odd buzzing and tingling in my limbs wakes me in confusion and frustration. I need to be strong and productive. The stranger makes me tired and short-tempered.
The stranger is probably so familiar to the doctor, that he sees past it as he sees past me. I know there are larger challenges, more urgent needs.
I'm just the lab rat running the maze from office visit to test to visit to test. The bills are arriving well ahead of the solution.
I never was the kid with all the answers. But I wish I could do something to convince that kid to share this one answer with me.

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (1) Share on Facebook		2003-12-18 8:50 PM Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Neurosurgeons Remember that kid in grade school who would whip through the spelling test without ever once having to recite "i before e except after c" to himself? In high school, he or she would calmly correct the teacher's mistakes. In college, they were the curve busters when everyone else got a hard-earned C. I used to think they would grow up to be axe murderers or rocket scientists. Turns out they become neurosurgeons. They use their gift/curse to deal daily with the most complex organ of the most complex organism. It appears, at least to me recently, that they are so intent on the mastery of that marvel they forget it's part of a whole human package. After more than a weeks of tests and long, detailed office visits, I'm now at a full week since the day I was promised a diagnosis and course of treatment. I was told then that the diagnosis looked to be one specific problem and the solution was probably surgery. They'd let me know after the test on Friday... When they got the results on Monday... As soon as the info was all in on Tuesday... No one answered the phone on Wednesday... This morning the assistant called to assure me all the paperwork was together and I'd have an answer by the end of the day. I'm pretty sure they went home several hours ago. I tell myself repeatedly that no news is good news. The situation is not lethal. I am not in imminent danger. But there is a stranger in my body who steals my coordination at odd moments, robs my words and sleep. Some days there is no physical pain, others I can barely lift my head. The odd buzzing and tingling in my limbs wakes me in confusion and frustration. I need to be strong and productive. The stranger makes me tired and short-tempered. The stranger is probably so familiar to the doctor, that he sees past it as he sees past me. I know there are larger challenges, more urgent needs. I'm just the lab rat running the maze from office visit to test to visit to test. The bills are arriving well ahead of the solution. I never was the kid with all the answers. But I wish I could do something to convince that kid to share this one answer with me. Read/Post Comments (1) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top