I have had such a difficult time explaining doctor visits to friends and family when they want to know how they went. My answer is always an emotional regurgitation of medical jargon, which frankly does not mean much to me.
As a child, I had a doll whose arm broke off at the shoulder joint, my Dad was able to repair it with a dollop of glue. The repair came with a warning that the arm would not move as it used to, but I could still play with her.
Until last week, it felt like the doctor's single concentration was how to make my heart last as long as possible. As goofy as this may sound,these feelings reminded me of asking my dad to fix my broken doll. I did not expect a "good as new result" but I knew he would try to make it better. It would have been easier for my father to simply place the doll up on the shelf with her arm carefully placed to look like it was not broken, then tell me not to touch or play with her any more. I would still have my pretty doll to look at for a long time, I just could not play with her.
It has felt, for quite some time that like the doctors had placed me carefully up on the shelf.
I need to function even if there are limitations or risks. I do not want to be the broken doll on the shelf we all look at it and remember how much fun it used to be to play with.
The HF clinic (Donna) promises to work with me to achieve two things, optimize my heart function/life and keep me out of the hospital. Finally, someone understands that I am no longer interested in focusing on what is wrong with my heart; I want to know how to best use what is left of my heart.
Someone finally hears me!
I am getting off of the "I am broken" shelf!
No comments:
Post a Comment