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I was crouched down on the ground
In a corner, trying to make myself small
Hiding my body, the scars, the bruises
Curled around myself as if the physical
Sensation of crumpling inwards, like a
Rose wilting, would protect my heart
Which felt like a thousand stab wounds
All fighting for which would make the
Biggest hole and let everything I am leak out

I was the colour of indigo on a blank canvas
Deep deep deep
I am the painting you want to look at, but
I make your soul ache because when you look
Past the first hues of blue, you see the black that
Lies under it all, see the absence of light

I was water. I was the enduring, pulsing rhythm
Of a force that would not be stopped. Or was
I the tears that just kept pouring out?

That’s what her body said to me, as she sat
On the other side of the room. Deflated.
Shivering with the adrenaline that ravaged
Her when words like arrows pierced
The delicate gossamer she is made of
Oh, she’d like you to think she is a warrior and,
She is, but she is also a butterfly. My butterfly
And I will not watch her be pinned to a board
And cased in glass. I will not.

But, that body shifted. It unfurled. It released.
And she?

She rose. She persisted. She soared.

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Last Saturday the hubs and I drove north to Fredericton for an electrical stimulation demonstration. (TENS machines, etc). It was a great opportunity for us to meet some new people and learn about some new techniques in pain control.  Not for him, though, you don’t use those types of products when you have a serious heart condition.   For me, with recurring back pain and sarcoidosis, it was worth looking into.  

Discussion and demo started at six and ended juuuuust before eight and we had been invited to a friends house for nine.  Perfect, time to go have dinner together. 

We were both hungry.  We had left Saint John just around four and had driven straight to the venue.  I must also add that driving along the river in Fredericton is BEAUTIFUL.  Truly.  I’ll never get tired of how lovely the maritimes are.  And I loved that our hour and forty minute drive between two major cities in New Brunswick is so scenic.  Not like driving between major cities in Ontario at all. (Sorry-not sorry, Ontario) 

Anyway, we don’t actually know Freddy very well so we pulled over and looked in the GPS for nearby restaurants.  

Red Lobster.  Within minutes!  Sure it’s weirdly cliche for maritimers to eat there but, biscuits!  Shrimp!  Off we went.  However, upon reaching the spot where the GPS said it would be, there was nothing.  No restaurants of any kind. Nothing that even looked like it was once a restaurant.  Disappointed, we checked again.   Olive Garden.  Six minutes away!  I’ve never eaten at an Olive Garden but Shawn has. He immediately got excited by lasagna.  I did what I do best while navigating,  started a running commentary on every restaurant we passed, which admittedly, wasn’t riveting.  There was an Asian fusion place called Ko-To, a Thai place, a McDonald’s.  Six minutes later and no Olive Garden.  Same situation as with red lobster.  We drove around in case the GPS had merely put us in the vicinity of Italian food, or by this time, 8:30, any food but no. Gas station, optometrist, law office, pet smart. No restaurant.  No Olive Garden. No lasagna.  

We decided to go back to the Thai place. After all, we were due at our friends by nine.  And we were very hungry.  So, back we went.  We parked in the suspiciously empty parking lot and walked to the door.  Closed at 8 on Saturdays.  Closed at 8??? We were flabbergasted.  What restaurant closes at 8 in a weekend?  I turned to my beloved. Ko-To it is.  We got back in the car and started joking about how the city was conspiring against our hunger.  We pulled into the parking lot and the open sign was still on. Another sign pointed us to park in the back.  We drove around and parked beside the only other car. Looking behind us, I noticed that the restaurant was located on the street directly in front of a mini mall with a McDonald’s.  Ha ha, I thought. No homogenized burgers and fries today. 

There was a long ramp on the side of the building that wrapped around to the front door.  That’s nice, I remember thinking.  Wheelchair friendly.  JUST As we reached the top of the ramp, we heard a loud lick click. We rounded the corner in time to see the open sign get turned off. 

Because they closed at nine. Because Fredericton did not want us to eat.  Laughing softly through our raging hunger pangs, we went back and say in the car.  We watched seconds later as a lady came out the back entrance, got into her car (right beside us) and drove out.   We watched her drive right around and into the McDonald’s  lot behind us. Shrugging, defeated and famished, we followed.  Shawn and I ate our Big Macs and loudly rolled our eyes at one another over the terrible conversations by a nearby table of six teenagers.  Thn we went to our friends house for a great evening with adults. 

That was last Saturday.  And three weeks before that we came home from Ontario to my having to deal with a bad case of laryngitis.  No voice for four days.  

Last Sunday my throat was sore.  Monday it was very sore.  Tuesday myself and all three teens went to the clinic for sore throats and varying degrees of voice loss (and this is prom/grad week for ash).  We were given the once over and prescribed a gargle for our sore throats.  By last night just before I left work, I could not swallow.  So I went to urgent care.  Raging laryngitis.  I was told to stay home and not talk.  Naproxen for pain, and wait.  

So I’m home today.  I can’t talk and I’m frustrated.  Our middle daughter graduates high school tonight.  Im going to go, I’m going to cry, but I won’t be able to say a word.  

And that, my friends, is how I’m kicking off my holiday week.  

Good grief.  

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It’s been a whirlwind month and a half since I first went to the hospital with my swollen feet.
There I was back in January with a small, sharp pain thinking it was plantar fasciitis or something related, just dealing with it when one night in February, I looked down and noticed my ankle was a little swollen. No biggie, I thought. I had been feeling pain in my left foot, so maybe I was unconsciously over compensating with the right. I went to bed and woke up without swelling.
But then it kept getting worse. And the pain shifted from under my heel to both my ankles, my knees and my feet in general. Finally the swelling and pain got so bad that I had trouble walking so one night, after my late shift at work, I went to the ER. 11 hours later I left with an appointment to see a rheumatologist. Dr. Grant.

Dr. Grant is wonderful. At our first visit, he told me that what I was experiencing was likely Rheumatoid Arthritis. Which was a hard thing for me to hear. He gave me a prescription for naproxen and a follow up appointment for a week later. We talked about all the other joints where I had sharpness or pains and we talked about sarcoidosis, which he felt was not to be completely ruled out, but, he wanted to wait and see what happened with the naproxen. To be safe, he sent me downstairs (his office is in the hospital) for chest x-rays and blood work. Well, I picked up my pills, took them home and started on it. Two days later the pain was worse and the swelling was WAY worse. My legs were one size, from the widest point of my calves, down to my toes. I could barely fit shoes on, even with the laces open as widely as possible. I called his office and he got me back in immediately.

That was a Wednesday. I went to my appointment with him that morning and showed him my feet, which now also had angry looking dark blotches on the skin. Then he looked at my legs, my knees, my fingers and fingernails and told me that my x-ray had shown that the lymph nodes in my lungs were enlarged. A classic sign of sarc. He did an ultrasound on my ankles and pointed out granulomas and swelling issues. He sent me down for more blood work, another x-ray and a ct scan with contrast as well as an ECG. Sarc, I was beginning to learn, is a scary ass disease. He also wrote me out of work for a few days because now I needed prednisone to take down the swelling and I really needed to be off my poor feet. I was fine with that, seeing as walking was so painful and I had been limping around work for a while.

The new pills took down the swelling and my next appointment the following week confirmed it. I had granulomas everywhere. In my joints, lungs, one in my BRAIN behind my EYES (I’m seeing an opthamologist about that one, and it’s likely the reason I suddenly needed glasses this year) and enough of a question mark around my ECG result that I’m being sent for an echo-cardiogram.

I may or may not have had a panic attack about some of this.

Here’s the thing about Sarcoidosis though, that I’ve learned on this complete whirlwind. It’s either going to be acute, and it will all clear up and go away, or it’s going to be chronic and I’ll have problems and flare ups for the rest of my life and NO ONE knows which until I finish my course of steroids and have things settle down.

It’s called “The Snowflake Disease” because it’s literally different in everyone it affects. It’s called the “it’s not cancer booby prize” because often times those granulomas are seen as tumors. It’s called the great pretender because it’s symptoms imitate: arthritis, lupus, chronic fatigue, hashimotos, fibromyalgia and many, many more illnesses. In fact, it’s not unusual for it to go along with any or all of these. The jury is still out on whether or not I also have rheumatoid arthritis with this, we simply can’t know until all the sarc symptoms are gone or under control.

My wonderful husband, who as most of you know, has had his own issues with sudden, extremely serious health/heart problems, has been wonderful through this. He has listened to me rant, he has listened to me cry, and he has listened to me complain. On our most recent date night, we spent a good hour discussing our respective health and how we feel about it all. Who knew that at 40 we would have so much to talk about in that department? Certainly neither of us did.

No one ever expects that they will wake up one morning and be sick for the rest of their lives. We simply don’t count that in the things that we worry about. There are far too many other things to worry about. But I can’t spend my days dwelling on it either. I have to make a choice every morning when I get up. Pay attention to what’s hurting today, yes for sure, but then, adjust, and move on. I have to CHOOSE not to live *in* the hard. I have to choose to let my hard just be a part of me and focus on what’s good. Or at least focus on what needs my attention more. Because there is always something that does. It’s the same mindset that I use when I’m having a bad day with depression. Or at least the one I work hard at using, some fights are better than others. We live in the mindset we allow ourselves to live in. Sure, I could give in to the self wallowing and eating of all the feelings and depression of it all. Sometimes I do just that. But I don’t want to live in it every day. I don’t want ALL my days to be defined by my illness. Because I am not my illness. I am just me.

So that’s it, folks. Opthamologist on May 3rd (I AM freaking a bit over this one, I have a phobia about my eyes being touched and an intense fear of what they may have to do) and echo cardiogram coming up sometime soon. Then follow up x-rays and likely a follow up ct to see if anything has shrunk or gone away completely.

In the meantime, work. Kids. Husband. House.

Life.

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It turns out, a LOT of you read my post on the ONE night I didn’t love my hospital. Like a lot. It was one of my highest rated posts ever. Which is not a bad thing. I even got a thank you for writing it from one of the staff members at the hospital. But let me fill you in on what’s going on since then and why I am back to full-on loving my hospital.

Yes, it was a shit night. No, no one should have to wait 11 hours in pain before seeing someone. That was crap. I stand by that.

So I posted my pity party thing the other day. Feeling sorry for myself and whining and all that good stuff. But then, some things happened.

On Monday, my husband drove our daughter to Halifax to tour the University she was accepted to (don’t ask me how in the hell we’re going to make those financials happen, I’m still hoping on the lottery) and I went to work. I LOVE my job. I lucked into working at one of the greatest places in the city and I have the most wonderful co-workers. But it’s really hard to keep your spirits up when you’re in pain. My feet were still swollen despite being on meds for three days by that point and my legs were hurting. I was still limping and a lot of people at work asked me how I’m doing. Well, I was honest, but I hate complaining all the time so often my answers were kind of jokey. Oh, you know, still sore, but hey, I’m okay!
I got home Monday night and had some running around to do. My daughter had a flute lesson, with my hubs and other daughter away it was just my two youngest and myself for dinner so we stopped at Sobey’s and I let them get whatever they wanted to eat. None of us were really hungry, it was a nice treat.

When I got home though, I just couldn’t ignore the pains. My legs from the knees down, my wrists, elbows, I was hurting all over. I thought, I’ll take a nice bath. That’ll feel great on all my sore spots. And it did. Until I tried to get out of the bath and I couldn’t get up.
I had to call my 15 year old daughter for help. That night I called my Rheumatologist’s office, knowing I would get a voice mail. I left him a message asking him to please just call me back in the morning. I wanted to know if it was normal for everything to get exponentially worse before it got better. His office called first thing in the morning with an appointment for me for 9:30 Wednesday. That fast.

Tuesday was more of the same. Pain so bad it was hard to get through my day. Shawn and Ash weren’t due to come home until Wednesday but I couldn’t hide from him on the phone how hard it was for me. I got home from work just after 8pm, spent about fifteen minutes with the kids and then came to bed. Within a half hour I heard voices. Shawn and Ash had come straight home from the tour and were here! I’m so glad they got to do their full tour first and I’m so very thankful they were home because quite frankly, I was scared and grateful to have Shawn able to come with me back to the hospital. By now my legs were the same size from my mid-calf down to my toes they were so swollen and there were red patches on my skin.

I saw my Dr. the next morning and he confirmed that I likely have sarcoidosis, a very serious disease, but a treatable one, and it was likely that which kicked me into the RA symptoms. By the time I left the hosptial at 1pm that day, I had had a CT scan with contrast (no, the radio active dye DID NOT give me any super powers. I’m still bummed about that), and EKG and more lab work. He just called the departments and got me in. And everyone was great.

I am off for a few days now on some new meds trying to get the swelling down and my symptoms under control so that I can find my new working normal. It’s daunting, and a little bit scary, but I know that I have some really great care behind me. I may not have a family doctor yet, but I do have a specialist who is looking out for me in every sense of the word and that, my friends, is golden.

It just goes to show you, it’s important to speak up when the system lets you down, but it’s equally important to talk when they really rise to the need.

Now, if only I could stop googling sarcoidosis.

Special thanks to Dr. Grant and that lab tech who took my blood whose name I have forgotten. You were great! Didn’t feel a thing.

On with life, dear friends. A couple of days of bed rest means more work on the current book. And that’s something to be really thankful for!!

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I’m about to whine.

Last night was a rough night. Like, rough. So, after my awful night at the hospital, I had a positive experience there – positive in that I have a specialist to work with, whom I got in to see quickly and he seems both very nice and very thorough. Two attributes I love in doctors. He confirmed that I do indeed have rheumatoid arthritis and started me on a course of fairly aggressive anti-inflammatories as well as a pill to protect my stomach. Fine.
Here is the problem. It’s me. I’m the problem. My brain simply did not want to compute that this is a permanent disease.
I went home and broke the news to the family, and texted my best friend Sarah and we cracked jokes about putting baseball cards in my some-day wheelchair spokes. In fact, we all kind of cracked jokes all night because that is what we do. We talked about how some-day I’ll be entitled to a handicap parking permit, and won’t it be nice to have that? Prime parking all the time? Ha ha, so funny, it will be hilarious.
We went out Saturday night to hang with some great friends and while it was kind-of-sort-of mentioned, pretty much I ignored it. Besides, it was a birthday party and I wanted to have some fun.
And then Sunday, we took the kids into the city to hit up Value Village (my kids LOVE thrift shopping, thank goodness) and to go to Costco for some groceries. While moving around was a little sore for me after the festivities of the night before, I managed and we went home.

That’s where the day went south. For me anyway.
You see, I realized that this is not like my sciatica or any sprains or breaks or illnesses I’ve had in my life where time, medications and therapy are going to make it eventually go away. This one won’t go away. Ever. There is no known cure for RA. And yes, we got it early, it looks like, but mine has been a little aggressive in how quickly it cropped up and how fast it went from mild pain to full swelling and more pain. I don’t like it. And I started to feel very sorry for myself. I said to my husband maybe it was my karma for some of my poor choices. He (very smartly, we’ve been married a long time) didn’t really answer that. Since I had been somewhat active the night before and all morning long, my afternoon and evening especially were quite painful. So, I did what any self-respecting 40 year old adult woman would do: lay in my bed feeling sorry for myself and crying.
Because I’m a damn grown up.
This morning I’ve tried to put a new spin on things for myself. I’m NOT the only one in the world with a disease. I’m NOT the only one in the world with THIS disease. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t helping anyone, especially me, so I need to stop it. I got up, got dressed and went to work. I made sure I took my pills and I walked slowly from my parking lot to my building (four blocks), trying to let myself get into a rhythm and not pushing it too hard first thing in the morning. I plan to get up a lot from my desk today, so that I’m not sitting for too long stretches at a time. I’m trying to force my thoughts to go down positive pathways instead of negative ones.
In short, I’m trying to be a damn grown up.
No one wants chronic pain. My father has it in the form of fibro myalgia and I marvel now even more that he maintains the level of activity he does and if he can do that at 70 after suffering for YEARS, I can do it at 40.
I have no idea how yet, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

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I have made no bones about talking on this blog the extents to which I love our hospital. I do. I love it. It (and by it I mean the people who work there) saved my husband’s life. Of course I love it. But on Tuesday night, the shine wore off…hard.

Let me back up a little bit. Sometime back in January, I started to get this niggly little pain in my left foot. Behind my heel. At first I chalked it up to pulling some sort of muscle on the treadmill. I mostly ignored it but every so often it would really bother me and I would comment on it. Shawn kept on forgetting it was a “thing” because even commenting on it I didn’t do often.

Then, about sometime last month, I noticed that it was starting to be accompanied by a sharp-ish pain in the side of my foot. My foot hurt to put weight on some days and I noticed that if I was off my feet for any length of time, it would hurt more to get up on it for the first few minutes. Once I was moving around it was usually okay though. I talked to a few people about it and looked up online (okay – I KNOW you should NEVER google symptoms, but I do it anyway) and concluded that it was plantar fasciitis. It all matched. So, I bought some insoles for my shoes and just…made do. After all, kind of like sciatica, it “can” eventually go away. I steeled myself for another months long battle of discomfort like I had with the sciatica and just, got on with it.

Then. Last weekend.
Getting out of bed at night started to become very painful. And I started to wonder if I had sprained my foot, or maybe even broken it, and was walking around with that injury. I started to look for bruises which is when I noticed the swelling. My left foot was swelling. Not grossly, but enough. I also noticed that my wrists were starting to hurt by morning by I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
I mentioned it on Monday night to Shawn. I might have been very emotional about it as it was a particularly painful night. He rightly said that I needed to get it looked at. Which meant, for me, a visit to the ER.
We still don’t have a family doctor out here. Going on three years on the list this July. The clinic won’t deal with anything that needs testing and results. So, it was the emergency room or nothing.
Tuesdays (and Thursdays) I work until 8pm. So, I told my friend at work, I was just going to go to the ER after work. A Tuesday night probably wasn’t that bad.
Man, was I wrong.

I got there at 8:15 and there were a fair number of people in the waiting room. Maybe twenty five or so. I saw the triage nurse and because I had just spent the whole day moving on it, the pain at that point in time wasn’t so bad, but, I explained to her the long set of problems and took my seat. Within two hours, the swelling had started again and, likely due to sitting and not moving around much, the pain was much worse. So, I told the nurse of the changes. I don’t think she made a note of it, just kind of said okay. I hobbled back to my seat where the guy near me promptly told me that he had been there since 4:55pm. Greaaaat. At that rate I likely wouldn’t be seen until after midnight. I texted Shawn and removed my left shoe, since my foot was now swollen to uncomfortable in it.

I waited. And waited. At two am there were about six patients left in the ER. I was one of them. I went back to the triage nurse, a new nurse who had come on at about 11 or so. I asked her where I was in the lineup. She didn’t really want to say numbers, just that a lot of people had been triaged higher than me. A lot. Well, there weren’t many people left. A few people had actually just walked out due to the waits. I asked her, more than four? And she said yes. So…logic follows that I was last. Fuuuuuuck…

My foot was really painful. Like, really painful. And my legs were starting to get shooting pains in them from not moving. I wanted to get up and walk around to relieve the pain in my legs, but it just made my foot pain worse so I was stuck between a rock and a very hard place. What I did do was pull the only loose chair closer to me, pile my coat on it and put my foot up. And cry. I also cried. Quietly.

Five o’clock. There was myself, and two ladies who had come in at midnight and now there were some new patients starting to trickle in. I watched two of the new patients get called before me and I got very upset. I went back to the triage nurse. I told her I had been there for nine hours and please, please tell me I was next. She said I was.
I went back to my seat and the nurse came over a few minutes later. She said the doctor wanted her to see my swelling. I showed her and she pressed on the swollen parts of my ankle hard. Then she asked me if I wanted any advil. YES PLEASE. JEEZ!

At six thirty, a woman who had been in the ER with me when I first came in came back in. She saw me sitting, rocking in the corner with tears and loudly said, YOU’RE STILL HERE! She came over after checking in. Apparently she had been seen and told to come back in the morning for a CT scan. She was incredulous that no one had seen me yet. A woman near me who had heard the exclamation asked me what time I came in. I told her, and people around us got visibly upset and uncomfortable. No one had come to the emergency room expecting a wait that long.

7am. 11 hours of waiting and my name was called. I got up, gingerly, and started to hobble and then I asked for a chair. The nurse who had come out for me was like, “oh, yeah” it having only just occurred to her that the girl with the limp, the bad ankle and her shoes off might find it difficult to walk into the back and to wherever the room was they were going to put me. She got me a chair and wheeled me to a room where, she gave me a hospital shirt and told me to take off my clothes and get into it.

You know, because you need to be naked to have your ankle inspected.

Whatever, I know that hospitals have good reason to put you in those shirts so I took off everything except my bra and undies and put it on. It was the first time I was somewhat comfortable all night, on that bed, with a blanket and my feet up off that concrete floor. I texted Shawn.

His texts back were priceless and just what I needed to make me smile after that long wait. He said to me “Your face is still on a huge poster in the lobby. You helped them raise a million dollars. You mean they don’t have a special private room just for you?? With a King sized bed and plush linens? And a pet Ocelot?” He was quite concerned though. He had an early meeting with his boss and I asked him to come to me after. I just really needed the support. He said he would text when he was on his way.

Finally my doctor came in. He apologised for the long wait right away. I said, well, I understand it’s busy. He gave a small laugh and said, actually, it wasn’t really a busy night. But, they only have so many beds and once they’re full….
I was incredulous. They weren’t that busy???
And I get it about the beds situation but I watched people come and go all night. Some went in and were out again in under a half hour. Some were even dealt with on the small bed behind the triage stations. And no one could even take a look at me for 11 hours??? But I just said thank you for the apology. Because I’m a Canadian.
In my mind though, I was fuming. I bring this staff a gift and a card every Christmas. And all I get was “sorry” and “it wasn’t that busy, but, you know, beds”? Grrrr..

The doctor took a look and informed me that both my ankles were actually swollen. I looked, and they were! But, I had been so concentrated on the left one, I had assumed the right was from favouring and it was nothing. He then proceeded to tell me the reasons why I might get like this: heart problems, kidney problems, diabetic issues. No, no, doc. Don’t worry about scaring me with HEART and KIDNEY failure. It’s fine. I’m only exhausted, emotional and drained (and in pain). He said that to rule these out, he was ordering me some blood work. Then he said sorry about the wait again and left my room.

Finally, I could rest a bit. I pulled up my blanket, lowered the back of my bed and went to sleep. Within twenty minutes I was awoken by the blood work nurse. She was nice, even if she did come in by flipping on every single light and then say ooops when she realized I was asleep.
She was good too, and I told her so. I’ve had my blood taken enough times to really appreciate when someone is good at it.

Then. The kicker. She told me that they were still short of beds and that I would need to wait for my results, which could take up to an hour, in the waiting room.

Are you fucking kidding me.

So she left, I dressed and, after asking again for a chair, went back to the waiting room.

There were only three other people there.

At a little after nine I was called. Not to go back inside but to that little room with the little bed behind triage. A new doctor and a student doctor were waiting for me. And let me just say, I’m not racist, but that student doctor couldn’t have been more of a cliche if she tried. She was very young, very asian, very tiny and she wore a white coat (my other doctor was wearing scrubs) and had a freaking barrette in her hair. She was clutching a clipboard and didn’t say one word the whole time. She only nodded.

I was asked to pull up my jeans, remove my socks and show my ankles. This doc put his ham hands on them and kind of squeezed while he tole me my results. He said: we’re pretty sure you have rheumatoid arthritis. He kept kind of lifting his hands and then cupping my ankles as he spoke. Which did not feel good. I let out an ouch and he stopped. You need to see a Rheumatologist and take anti inflammatories. And follow up with your family doctor. I said, if I had a family doctor, do you think I would have come here?? Oh. he said.
I gave him my cell number for the referral. Then he left. I thought, is that it? Am I done? All that waiting and I got one doctor who slightly insulted and then scared me and another who couldn’t really be bothered to tell me what they looked at and how he could come to this conclusion? I was mad. I wheeled myself back to the waiting room and stopped at the triage nurse (now another new nurse) desk. I asked her if I needed anything from the doctor for the referral or if he was giving me a prescription for anti inflammatories. She looked slightly annoyed (or maybe it was just me and at this point everyone looked that way) and got up and said, I’ll ask him. She came back a few minutes later and told me no, he had already signed off on my chart and I was good to go.

I texted Shawn not to come to the hospital but to meet me at home. I made myself get up out of the wheelchair, left it there, and walked (hobbled) out as best I could. It was pouring rain.

I made it home and went right to bed.

I got a call with an appointment at the Rheumatologist an hour later. My appointment is this Friday. That in itself kind of freaked me out because specialists have notoriously long wait times in Canada. Getting me in this fast is a sign of seriousness. Or at least has been in my experience.

Shawn had called my work for me that morning but I called back and left a message with my boss. I needed the sleep and I was supposed to stay off my feet and try to get the swelling down.

So. Turns out, I have my Nana’s feet. And most likely, her affliction.

Shawn, ever the voice of reason and logic, tells me not to worry about it until Friday when I have it confirmed. He’s smart. And right. But, I’m me and so I’m already worried. And I’ve already googled RA a billion times. And I keep thinking about my Nana in her wheelchair with her gnarled hands. So I’m also a little scared. And still in pain, of course, but, I can work around pain. At least now I can.

So that was how the shine fell off my hospital. It’s sad too, because experiences like that make you not want to go in at all, ever, which, can be a bad choice if there are serious issues. But, for all that my American friends sometimes lament that we have free (tax paid) healthcare here, it’s not always sunshine and roses.

Anyway.

I go back to work today and I am looking forward to being back among people I really like, doing work that I can control. It’s a great job, and I already miss it after one day.

Take care of yourselves.

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