On the 9th, Vanderbilt was open enough to honor my original appointment. When the guy called to confirm the appointment a few days prior, he explained that the more critical appointments were being confirmed. So yeah, two days prior I was walking through the door of anxiety – at least the phone guy cut through all the niceties and let me know it was a damn serious appointment.
Day of, I changed clothes for 1.5 hours, unable to decide what to wear for such an occasion. Somewhere in the middle of all the outfits, while brushing my teeth, I promptly threw up in the sink. The lowest point of the morning was having to scoop up the chunks of breakfast into a plastic cup by hand in order to transfer it to the toilet. I was not only completely surprised and grossed out, but there was nothing I could do except rinse the sink, wash my hands, and brush my teeth again.
I’ve never before lost my nerves like that, it was a strange feeling. My body always feels before my mind can decode a situation. One could assume that after twenty-eight years of hubbub, I’d’ve learned to follow these senses, but that’d be too simple, wouldn’t it?
I finally settled on something super cute with the theory that if I were to get bad news, at least I’d look good receiving it. I drove fast with all the windows down, screaming along with Sleeping With Sirens and Pierce the Veil, laughing. I relived all my college anxieties, matched with the day’s current worries. In my outdated Camry, wearing a flowery white top, zipping along to pop-core, it was absolutely comical. I couldn’t help laughing at all of it – the past, the present, the future.
My mother was kind enough to offer to come with me. When I picked her up, I explained my current plans were to scream the whole way. I toned it down for her, but she was obliging.
Three hours, five tests, and four waiting rooms later we got the good news. In summation: Yes, my eyes and nerves and blood vessels are fucked up, but hey, it happens and sometimes people are born that way. So “fucked up” could simply be my normal! Tell me a story I haven’t heard before, doc.
Regardless, the news is still good news and set us both at ease. The one thing the doctor asked is about weight gain. It’s true, I’ve gained about 15-20 pounds in the past 3 months. I know this because like all fat girls prepping for a doctor’s appointment, I weighed myself. There can be no surprises about weight in public. I’ll never do that again.
The doctor was a little shocked, confirmed that might be part of the problem as well as the solution. Again, good news – a solution that I can control. When mom and I got into the car for the return journey, I looked over to her at the first red light. “Just so we’re clear, I have no intention of changing how I live or how I eat.” She was kind, my mother is always kind. “To be fair, you can’t go to the gym like you normally do, it’s no longer Peak season, and you’re getting settled at work and don’t have to do as much. And now quarantine. It makes sense” My mother is always kind.
I will just have to monitor my migraines and will report back to the doctor every so often. If there are no drastic changes, it may just confirm that “fucked up” is just my normal.