Just another doctor’s appointment

I’m not exactly sure what I expected to happen today at the doctor’s office.

Honestly, I genuinely thought I wasn’t expecting anything at all.

But when I looked at the man who’s been treating me for the last few months, and told him that I had indeed quit my job at the church, and would be moving in with my mom who lives near Rockford and that I needed a referral, I guess I just thought he’d have some sort of reaction.

But he didn’t really. Or, well, he didn’t have the reaction, I guess I wanted him to have.

He just gave me the same stupid nod he’s been giving me all along.

The same stupid nod he’s been giving me at every appointment for the last four months, no matter what the situation was. The same stupid nod he has used to say hello or to pathetically try to reassure me when my eyes were filled with tears of desperation, or to falsely tell me he was working as hard as he could when I couldn’t sit upright long enough to ask even one question.

That same stupid nod.

I don’t know why I expected anything different this time.

He said it was probably going to be a good thing for me that I’m going to be quitting my job at the church and moving in with mom. I’m assuming it’s because he thinks the extra rest will be good for me, but he never actually articulated that.

He rambled on about how I would need to request my records once I got settled in with ┬ánew doctor and specialist out there. He told me how the doctor or the institution couldn’t request the records, but how I had to request them myself. And how I could probably fax a request, or if it was easier I could call in a request, but either way, I would have to make the request.

And then, because he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was rambling, he apologized for sounding so convoluted about something that neither one of us really cared about.

Then, he just said he’d be available if I had any other questions before I moved, and he scurried out of the room, like he was relieved to be getting rid of me.

I guess I can’t really blame the guy. Everything he tries to do to fix me fails miserably.

It’s just, I realized, in that moment, as my eyes started to tear up, and I was suddenly hyper aware of the constant stabbing pain in my lower right ribs, that I had hoped for something more from this man.

I hoped that when I told him I was quitting my job at the church, and leaving behind one of my true passions, that I would get some sort of a reaction. That maybe then he would finally understand the severity of the situation. And maybe he would suddenly remember some new treatment, or pull some magic pill out of thin air that he hadn’t mentioned before and he would try it on me, and it would work and I would be better and I wouldn’t have to leave the church after all.

Or maybe he would apologize. He would cry with me, and hold my hand and tell me how sorry he was that he couldn’t help me find relief after all this time. That he would tell me that he knew how hard it must be for me to go through so much at such a young age, and how being in pain all the time must be near impossible for me to deal with. And he would tell me he wished he could have done more to help me.

But he didn’t do do any of those things. He just nodded, and then he had his resident refill a prescription for a sleeping pill I’m on.

So I grabbed my huge medical binder, my tablet with all my questions for the appointment listed on it, and my purse and walked out the door with tears in my eyes.

And it hit me.

I really am quitting my job at the church and moving in with mom.

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