Open the Window Even After 6
Today was a hard day. I knew it would be a good chance of a positive diagnosis. I still hoped though for something milder. I wore a dress – since 1st January I had not worn a dress to office. But I said it was for easy accessibility – therapists, doctors have no shame or restrictions to access. They are allowed and so I made it easy for the therapist to access. My boss commented on it.
“You look different”
“Yes I’m in a dress because I have to show my leg to the physio. It is swollen. So I need to go for physio at 8.30am.”
He agreed and I proceeded to the physiotherapist on foot as I usually do. Just that this time I had a limp and it was getting stiffer as I walked. I chose to not let it hinder me and made it on time.
The physio took me in and examined my leg. She said,
“I think it’s better we do a scan and rule out any vein issue.”
I knew she meant DVT. I had heard this misery before. The warning given to us all when taking long flights. Walk around, don’t stay in one place. Wear compression socks etc. I never heeded these much. I had done long hauls with zero movement. Somehow the fool in me thought these were beyond me. Don’t we all have such joyful moments.
After doing some dry needling in my hip flexers – she released some of the tightest muscles I had – she handed me the letter and I proceeded to Asiri Medical Hospital.
After paying for an appointment – it was number 14 – I decided to go to the canteen and have something because I had 10 numbers to go. I didn’t want to sit, I wanted to move around. I had a patty and a hot Milo. Not that I needed these but I just wanted something other than sitting in that waiting area. Waiting for the moment of truth.
I made some work calls, sent some emails and I proceeded to wait for my turn.
When I was called I showed the Radiologist and I explained to him. He was surprised that I could have DVT as I had not recently travelled. But on questioning further I said I do take Hormonal medicine for my Adenomyosis. He said,
“It’s high time you stopped these”
Yes I thought. It is high time – for whatever reason. Not like I was planning a family anytime soon. But yes I knew long term contraceptive pill use could have side effects. If this was one then I was in a lot of trouble. Because that evil was as bad as this.
He scanned my whole leg and found nothing in my thigh. But after going through my calf – he used even a sound wave thing which was a bit unnerving – like some alien crying in distress – and said yes there are signs of DVT.
I wanted to cry. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. He told me to wait outside and not walk around much that the clot can travel.
I knew this. It could travel and give me a pulmonary embolism. Oh what fun. I didn’t want that shit either.
I texted my fried in the UK and told her about my diagnosis.
I then took my report – the nurse said the Radiologist had asked me to go in a wheel chair but I refused – I could walk. And so I went to the reception and inquired about any Vascular surgeons I could see.
I had already checked with two doctor friends about possible Vascular surgeons. One responded the other had no idea.
I made an appointment with the one who was available this evening. He was from the National Hospital and I thought that was good enough. Later the one who had no idea said the one I had picked was good. I sincerely hoped so.
Made the appointment and headed to pay my bloody taxes as today was the deadline. I was in two minds to send the office guy – I should have. But I hate asking for favours and help and I thought I could do this. And I did.
Afterwards I had a training online. I spent 1.5 hours talking and explaining and my already irritated throat got a little more irritated. Finally I finished and had some lunch. I asked for a ginger tea because I felt the ginger would help the inflammation.
All the while I had tears prickling at the edge of my eyes. I wanted to cry. I was angry that this was happening to me. All my progress at the gym would go. I put so much effort into being fit and healthy and here was my damn body letting me down. It was so frustrating.
My friend from the UK texted back and expressed her concern saying she had suspected it was this but did not want to worry me. She said she felt that my earlier breathless episodes were due to small clots and this was obviously a bigger one.
I already knew a muddle of information thanks to Google. I had to take blood thinners. I had to be careful. I couldn’t sit for long or stand for long. What the bloody hell. I wanted a cure for the damn thing. Clearly this was another long drawn out process. No quick fixes.
I wanted to know the cause. I checked on Google – the contraceptive pill incidents were very low. But I did have varicose veins. Painless. Perhaps my painless varicose veins had caused this.
Whatever it was I was not happy.
I told my friends about it. The Lobster gang. They were concerned and luckily one said she would take me to the doc which was great. I didn’t ask. I don’t like to ask. I got lectured on not asking for help. I knew this. I had already got a lecture from my UK friend who said I should not let this get me down and to look at Stephen Hawking. But I wasn’t Stephen Hawking. I was me and I was mad at me.
My friends made me realise I need to accept this. I was still grappling with it. I was not ready to look at another long drawn out healing process. Honestly how much had my body already endured. And my mind was just tired.
I needed to re-evaluate how I lived. I needed to take a break and tell my Chinese boss and his minions to respect that. They couldn’t care less if I lived or died. But I bloody well did. I hated this slave work mentality. Even the boss was sick and he didn’t see the root of his illness.
I was pottering in the garden, watering the plants, gargling my itchy throat and eating the cake I had bought myself. Coz I wanted something nice. It was out of my calorie count but I was too tired to care and I wanted something good. I refused the urge to buy McDonald’s but not the urge for dessert. I had to handle this and I needed some solace.
The facility was calling – it was Ammi. She wanted some items – body lotion, a soap dish and after some questioning, some books to read. That’s it. She asked how I was and I said I am fine. I lied. Because I did not want her to worry. I did not want her to have a relapse. Other people would be sobbing to their mothers and here I was sobbing to myself while I reassured my mother. All my bloody life I have reassured others, at my expense. When the hell was someone gonna take care of me and reassure me?
I knew I could not count on that. Somewhere I had little faith in men. They were let downs on a good day. Precious few understood what it as to be really there for someone. The rest didn’t know if they were sitting or standing – they only knew routine. Like the fools I called colleagues.
I just sat for a bit and let my thoughts settle.
I then proceeded to boil some coriander with crushed ginger to appease my throat and phlegm. It was already past 6pm and I wish I had opened the upstairs windows when I came in.
As I trudged upstairs with my bag and laptop, I thought what the heck. And I opened the windows. I wanted some fresh air. Yes it was past 6pm and mosquitoes would be buzzing. But I would risk that. Coz it was worth it. And so I did what I wanted and what I had to do.
The doctor was getting late and so I wrote down a list of questions I had, ironed the t shirt I would wear and went to have a wash.
Whatever would happen would happen but how I chose to take it was upto me. And I chose to be the one to do what isn’t always done. So I opened the windows and even with this condition, I would open the windows to opportunity and relief.
