Unanticipated Discoveries
It’s been a wild few weeks of absolutely flailing, as I return from my hiatus.
I took a break during May from the hustle that was barely keeping me afloat, only to be knocked off course by the choppy waters of the healthcare industry. So much of my “Manifesting May” was thwarted by “Medicaid May,” also known as “I-changed-my-name-five-years-ago-please-stop-using-my-deadname-so-I-can-see-my-doctors May.”
To be fair, however, what I was actually hoping for was “Miracle May.”
In one month, I planned to create a social media footprint for my book, which would transpire into Angel Investors and offers from literary agents and publishers for book deals…all before I’ve even completed the book itself.
So…no. That did not happen.
What I discovered instead surprised me more than it should have:
I pride myself on understanding my body. When I was diagnosed with my first autoimmune disease at 12, I coped by learning all that I could. By the time I had my first surgery, I was so well-versed that the first thing I said when waking up from general anesthesia was “do I have an ileostomy bag?”
May whatever deities exist bless the heart of my post-op nurse. Based on the flashing lights and loud censors I recall after asking that, I believe I was forgetting to breathe…but could still name the possible five-syllable medical complication from my procedure.
It’s been twenty years since I entered the medical field - but from a side entrance designated for patients.
In this time, I’ve learned a lot - and more than anyone should have to as self-advocacy becomes more of a requirement for receiving adequate and accurate care.
I can tell when narrators on forensic shows mispronounce a medical term; I’ve played imaginary scrabble with a doctor, with us using only the generic names for medications that have Zs in them; and even my unconscious mind is well versed, and loves to use its “Manual Override: Nap” function if my surroundings have the potential to cause too much stress or pain.
Thus, with all of this behind me, I should’ve been able to predict
of course healthcare and capitalism will get in the way of art and literary miracles, and
a month of reduced stress, fewer physical demands, not pushing myself beyond my limits, and attempting to eat without fear - helped me heal.
I recovered (somewhat).
In no way should I have been surprised to discover (at the single doc appointment I was able to wrangle) that I am healthier than I’ve been in months.
While I was alternating between hyper-fixation and crippling anxiety over my book - in the background my body was healing. Weight, though a concept I dislike, shows that I am no longer as little as I was in middle school, or four months ago.
This single appointment was with a nutritionist, and at my previous one, she had asked me to complete a nutritional log of my snacks and meals from the day before. I looked at the blank sheet and joked (not to her amusement) “oh, look! It’s already filled out.”
This time, I was able to talk about snacks.
And different foods that don’t make me collapse in pain.
And tricks like fruity teas to try to normalize variety and flavor again.
I still need a book deal.
I still am flailing and scrabbling to make rent.
I’d still love an Angel Investor to swoop in and say in a feathery tone, “hello, there little one. I’ll pay for your rent. You, you just tell your story.”
None of that is checked off the list.
“Medicaid May” hasn’t even been resolved; it’s now “JUST-FIX-IT-JUNE…AND-MAYBE-JULY.”
But, something so flighty and foreign to me that I would never dare to add it to a to-do list was, in fact, discovered on my artistic expedition: healing.
That alone may constitute “Miracle May.”
…
June has been a lot of stumbling into the struggles of before, but cushioned with the knowledge that things can get better. I vacationed in recovery, now I just need to find a timeshare.
I am also glowing with the knowledge that harnessing creativity can lead to healing; and glistening discovery that drives me even more.