Yesterday, I awakened with something
under my right armpit. Artery sticking
out? DSL cable in my right arm?
This morning I awakened with the same
thing, but my hand was swollen and my
right arm felt numb (or swollen inside).
She already made coffee. Oddly, I slept
through the event. So long ago in fact,
that it was about to turn off.
“Do you want a fresh pot?”
“No thanks. This is good.” (A pot of our
daily Maxie Meecie coffee is too good to
waste.) Over breakfast we talked about
the armpit thing among other things and
calling the doctor would be smart. Regular
whipped cream cheese on a toasted bagel
was a treat. My second cup got too cold to
drink as I worked my way through the
electronic attendant and got to speak with
a real person at doctor’s office to make an
appointment. She put me on hold. When
she came back, she said, “You need to
come in right away. We’ll fit you in.” I did.
I put it in gear; got there within the hour.
No one in the waiting room; two crossed
off names on the sign-in sheet. New year.
They needed copies of all ID cards again
and a signed statement for Medicare that
I was not going to commit suicide, didn’t
fall down, and how much I drink or not.
I really needed coffee by now. None in
sight. I had to watch the time because
my EMDR session is at twelve. One
nurse inquisition was followed by a
short wait. The doctor I told you I never
saw walked in. He looked at my armpit
and my complete history and said, “You
are taking too many vitamins. It is not
an artery; it seems fibrous. Maybe it
is Valley Fever, or from heavy metal.
You’ve had this angio-edema since
March and earlier in 2012. Did they
ever take an x-ray? No. You are going
to take an x-ray, blood test, and two
ultra sounds. One for the armpit thing
that we don’t know what it is and of
your shoulders. Good you’ve got your
EpiPen. Speech okay? Well, if it slows
down, call 911; you’re having a stroke.”
He checked everything. He and his
tag-along medical student touched,
squeezed, and prodded me from neck
to foot. “Something is causing all this;
we’ll find it.” From there, I walked from
building H to building K. X-rays are there.
Their ultrasound office is not here; it is
behind Thunderbird hospital but they can
only do one of the tests; another office
has to do the other ultrasound. I waited
while she called my doctor back for some
clarification and called in to make my
appointments for tomorrow. Oh, I forgot
x-ray is walk-in only. So, I’ll be there when
they open tomorrow, go home, then drive
to the two other appointments. I’ll make
the blood test appointment myself online.
“When was your last colonoscopy?”
I couldn’t remember. I’m supposed to
let them know when and who. No clue.
She entered, “2012.” I fear it may have
been in Indiana before I moved here;
or right after I got here. Don’t know.
After today, I think a session with the
KGB would be a piece of cake.
I feel like Harry Truman playing the
piano in 1945, when they carried 21
year old Lauren Bacall and put her
on top of the piano. Harry knew
nothing but Bacall. The room went
wild with applause at the service club.
(Harry played along with Bacall and
the press went crazy with it. All good.)
KGB, Bacall, doctors, forms, office waits,
tests, I’ll play along like Harry. Valley
Fever? More tests. I’m not dead yet!
(I made my EMDR session and what a
session! Another poem; another day.)
Healing is on the way. Can’t remember
where I heard this, but I’ve never forgotten
it: “God always has one more move.”