I wonder how I came to be someone who sits on the edge of an exam table once every few weeks wearing nothing but socks and a flimsy cotton gown. There are reasons to follow up, to be responsible about my care, but it’s still weird to be this person I never thought I would be.
There was an issue with a medical bill, one that ended up in collections by mistake. I have tracked this bill and documented every call, every effort to clear up the error for well over a year now. A couple days ago, I spoke again with hospital billing. Yes, the nice man told me, I see that it’s a mistake. I’ll take care of it right away. Countless times I have been promised the same and still the threatening letters come.
None of it seems real. The last year. The surgeries, the tests, the small procedures. I feel like it all happened to someone else. The scars are real, though. I can’t escape those. The physical scars — maybe even the emotional ones too — are not fading as fast as I thought they would. Today I looked down after my shower and thought again about the weirdness of making a three-dimensional nipple out of a flat, skin-grafted circle.
I worry that I’ve been sitting too much. I’ve had so much work, and there are days where I am frantically writing and researching and sitting. But I’m not motivated to move. I’ve made huge sweeping changes with my diet, but I can’t get out of my chair. I am stuck. And I wonder if it’s some kind of metaphor for something I haven’t quite figured out yet.
I’m being swept along by the tide, by the appointments that must be kept, the chores that must be done, and the deadlines that need to be met. I’m feeling a lot less anchored these days, unsure of where I want my life to take me, unsure what my plans should be. I don’t know what I expect, but I feel like something needs to happen. I just wish I knew what.