Away was good, particularly good — writing, walking, reading, breathing — and the birthday. Good enough, strong enough, that my birthday made a mark with me; I thought, “I am not old, not at all!” This is big: for almost two years up til then, I had out of nowhere been struck with feelings of debility associated with the very elderly and feeling very elderly. Quite suddenly and then very profoundly, more and more so with the passing months/years.
The connections are there — between doing creative work again, being able to physically, and the further increase in overall physical ability — walks of good length/miles and in the mountains/uphill and so on — I came home feeling well beyond refreshed, excited…
Since home, things have unraveled some; I’m struggling to keep hold. The kids were here through which I was able, strong, and enjoying/enjoyable; by the end of the three days, there came the laryngospasm, the sore throat, exhaustion, fever, chills, the aching, et al. Laryngitis and no voice for three days now. A horrible encounter with a doctor, who is supposed to become my doctor here, now, since I refuse to keep driving down to FL. This is my second visit to him, and my last, most likely, as I don’t think it’s a good match, not a bit.
It would be funny, much of it in many ways, and it may be one day much farther down the road — C. and I do make much of its humor, laughter being such good medicine and all — i.e. laughing rather than crying — and all the applicable cliches. C. is set on writing about the experience; he is an excellent writer; why not?
Currently, I am researching the doc’s scripts — an antidepressant I hadn’t heard of before, for one. His diagnosis? Connective tissue disease, fibromyalgia, possibly rheumatoid arthritis, lupus. Oh, but of the fibromyalgia, he’s positive — is that because, I wonder, that it is the one pronouncement I most argue against? Would Sontag had she had the chance written of fibromyalgia as she had about tuberculosis, cancer, and AIDS — Illness as Metaphor? Everything I know makes me deny this disease.
Of one of the many idiotic things the doctor had to say (keeping in mind that he is sort of the star of rheumatology in this area): “I have never heard of antidepressant vasculitis.” This is supposed to inspire confidence? What does someone like this think you’ll say? Oh, okay, never mind! It is time for some deep breathing, I believe.