After treating me so kindly, listening to all my worries, and then sometimes changing his planned course of treatment so that I would feel more comfortable...after making me feel like a real, thinking, breathing person, and not just as a bottomless drug receptacle...after assuring me that I could call him whenever I felt like I was getting sick, or even if I just had a question...After all of that, my beloved Dr. Pulmonogist just turned up...
...[Gasp] missing!
I was sick -- really, really sick. Fever-of-102 sick. I needed Dr. Pulmonologist, but I was told he wouldn't be in this week -- or next. I was offered an appointment with his Nurse Practicioner; I accepted.
Now you know all about My Awesome Husband Greg, right? How he loves taking care of people -- especially me? How, at the beginning of my being really-really sick, he couldn't do enough to make sure I was warm/cool/quenched/comfortable? But I was taking a long time to get over being really-really sick, and life (i.e., The Show) had to go on. It was Valentine's Day, and Greg had obligations to fulfill with The Greensboro Tarheel Chorus...Singing valentines promised must become singing valentines delivered!
So with a fever that should have precluded my operating a motor vehicle (or other heavy machinery), I drove myself to Dr. Pulmonologist's office, hoping for some relief from his N.P.
N.P. seemed like some sort of an angel to me -- But then, I was so wrought with fever, I had hugged the trash can in the hallway because it didn't give me a dirty look when I accidentally bumped into it. She spoke in the most loving, soothing tones. So did all of the other nurses and attendants -- even the one who put that little germ-catcher mask on my face. I know that's supposed to be their job, but I still wanted to lie my head on their collective shoulders and let them soothe away all my aches and pains...
Yep -- In my feverish vulnerability, I was pulled in by all the free-flowing kindness going around that day. That's why I could only argue weekly -- and unconvincingly -- when N.P. told me she was going to inject me with 80 milligrams of prednisone, and then have me take decreasing doses of the stuff for a week. She smiled affectionately when I told her that I'd just gotten that monkey off my back, and didn't care to pick it up again. (Later, sans fever, I realized the smile was part of her caring/compassionate act, and that she really wasn't even listening to me.)
That's why I walked out of that office with prescriptions for cough syrup with codeine, musinex, and an antibiotic I would later discover cost the insurance company nearly 500 dollars after my co-pay. (Poor insurance company.) That's Me -- the one who doesn't want to take drugs...anymore.
So I didn't take them. I smoked herbal cigarettes, hand-rolled by my Helpful Husband Greg. I steamed my head and face over pots of boiling water and sea salt. I ate raw ginger root.
I'd like to say I got "cured,", but I can't. I did, however, recover from whatever was causing my fever/chills/achy feeling all over -- kind of like the flu, but apparently not.
And I did finally have a follow-up visit with Dr. Pulmonologist. Who, although he may have been acting out of fear, asked me lots of intelligent-sounding questions about my holistic remedies, told me he wasn't against my using them, and told me to let him know if anything helped so he could pass the info along to other patients. You know -- kind of like I was his partner or something.
Best of all, he told me that, even though the Pulmonary Function Test I took that day showed that my pulmonary was not functioning as well as it had been six months ago, if I was happy with the way I was feeling, he'd be okay with my not taking any prednisone for a while. (Even though he thinks I should probably be on at least a small dose.)
So because I'm trying to be an optimist here, I've decided to stay in love with my Dr. Pulmonologist, because he lets me make up my own stuff. (If I were not being an optimist, I might think he really doesn't know what to do, and has decided to just wait and see. Hey -- maybe he's hoping for a miracle, too!)
