For someone with abandonment issues, I guess it serves me right I developed a disease that will never leave.
That being said, Dr. Smith’s offer for strategies and the ability to give myself some control here is exciting. So, I’ll focus on the positives today and leave the negatives for a drearier one.
“I’m going to be frank with you, Aulie.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “After talking with your fiancé at the hospital, you need to hear this. There will be days and things you cannot control. For some people, that’s hard to accept, especially at first, while you’re adjusting to your new life post-diagnosis. You’ve had this disease for a while, but it didn’t have a name. A lot of things mentally are shifting for you. I would recommend seeing a therapist to talk through this transition.”
The recommendation to consider therapy feels like a slap in the face. I should be beyond that here, right? It wasn’t in my head.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and another one falls because I’m incredibly overwhelmed. Oh, shoot. No. No. For the first time in forever, I’m being listened to in a doctor’s office, and I’m about to ruin it by crying.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying, but—”
“No apologies needed. Your medical history and summary visits show you’ve had some shitty doctors before this. Everything you’re feeling is valid. I’m sorry if they’ve made you feel otherwise. You wouldn’t be the first patient I’ve had sitting here feeling like that, and unfortunately, you won’t be my last.”
I pick my gaze up, meeting Dr. Smith’s. Tears rim her lower lid as she flashes me a sympathetic smile. A smile that wraps me up in a blanket of validation I didn’t know my hollow chest had been so desperate for.
I wipe at a tear and nod.
Rolling across the room, Dr. Smith grabs a box of tissues and hands them to me. “I wish I could offer more than a few strategies because this disease will interfere with your life. That’s reality. Still, it doesn’t have to ruin anything more than it already has. You might have more detours ahead of you than expected, or things will take longer to accomplish. Look for the positives in the detours, and the endo won’t own you. Now, let’s talk about your stupid super high pain tolerance that was getting you in trouble.”
“High?” My chest shudders as I hold back a sob. As much as Dr. Smith seems okay with my blubbering, I am determined to remain composed in this room. I don’t want to give her a chance to dismiss me. There has to be a limit to her compassion. There always is.
“From the stories I heard, you push through a lot.”
“Oh, that. I mean, I wouldn’t say I push through anything. I’m just doing what needs to be done.”
“I need you to stop. That’s why you black out so much.”
I purse my lips. Dr. Smith has a degree, but she doesn’t have the pain association. She can’t understand how impossible her request is. There’s always pain. I’d get nothing accomplished if I didn’t push through it.
“Hopefully, once you’re fully healed, you won’t have pain as frequently as you did, so this isn’t the big ask you think it is. But I’m serious about learning to take it easy. Your body is shutting down because you aren’t listening to it. Start listening. You’ve done a great job caring for it, but you must give it grace, too. Even when you don’t feel like it, it’s doing a lot just trying to heal itself and fighting the disease.”
I wipe at a tear. My mind’s heavy and full with Dr. Smith’s words. They’re everything I’ve needed to hear from a medical professional, but never thought I would. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I’m sorry so many doctors were assholes to you, Aurelie, I really am. We have a long way to go in the medical community, and a lot of educating needs to be done.” She gives me one last small smile, pivots in her chair facing the computer, and clacks away on the keyboard. Those key clacks sound like hope for the first time instead of the derision for disappointed hopes they usually inspire.
A very unfamiliar prick of anger burns furiously inside, churning my stomach into a white-hot molten mess.
How many times have I sat in a room like this, and the people wearing the white coat made me feel weak? Mentally unstable, even.
And all the while, my pain was real.
Everything I’ve felt in the last ten years was real.
Sitting on the bed, waves of validation wash over me, giving way to anger and fatigue. It’s like I just finished running a marathon, and now I’m being told there’s another race to run. A lifelong one. But this time, I have support. I have someone who believes in me. And I have faith that this leg of the race will be so much easier because of it.
ChapterThirty-Eight
Aulie Desfleurs
Play:Make Your Own Kind of Music by Cass Elliot
“How did your appointment go today?” Bridget asks, setting a table in the crew tent with the props needed for the day. She pauses, placing the umbrella down, and smiles.
A heavy sigh shudders my chest. Today chose violence when it came for my emotions.
“That good? Huh?” She eyes me sympathetically. “I was hoping this doctor would be better.”
“Oh, she was great,” I say. “I’m just—it was a lot to process, but it was good. She validated me and listened to my concerns, which is more than I could ask.”
