Friday, December 11, 2015

Small steps...

The Medicare insurance agent called today to let me know he was faxing my signed application (I had asked him to do that).  He doesn't mind my nervousness. And he understands that I will not rest easy until I have the new insurance card in my had.

The house/auto insurance agent came by to photograph my house.  He also brought me the termination letter for Liberty Mutual.  And he understands that I will not rest easy until I have both the new insurance card and the automatic billing by Liberty Mutual has ceased and the automatic billing with State Farm has begun.

Both men are named Scott.
Both men have been inordinately patient with me.

The alarm system came and I spent lots and lots and lots of time and energy working on setting it up. That involved standing on ladders.  Georgie apparently does not like me standing on ladders.  That also involved the use of a circular saw.  Georgie does not like me using a circular saw either.  The system works. The signal is strong.  The connection to all the sensors is "excellent," as I heard many times.  The base unit is up and running.  But the sensors are jury-rigged.  I need inset sensors where they will fit.  So, another extremely helpful tech, who took my call, ordered replacement sensors at no cost.  And I begged Firewood Man to drill the holes for me.  I have absolutely no drilling skills.

Even though I have yet to have my first alarm set, I really like the LiveWatch company.  They seem intent on providing unassailable customer service and service that has no hidden traps or long commitments.  I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop!  What's the catch? I keep thinking.

With all those tasks in the waiting phase, I have less crowding my mind.  I want more crowding it.  Much, much more.

Wednesday, I go back to see the surgeon.  My biopsy results were inconclusive.  I preferred to wait until next year, but that is not why I am going, though I wish to avoid the subject.  The repeat test last time was negative.  Let's just assume it will be this year, shall we?  No, I have been having bleeding and pain and no longer feel like I should ignore it.  Plus, we have been doing this dance for a long time about the Risk/Reward of trying to repair the damage I have from the abuse in my past.  The damage causes me pain and problems.  There is a very strong chance that an attempt at repair will result in pain and problems.  A veritable medical Catch-22.  That's another conversation I wish to avoid, because how ... how would I make it through the surgery???

No, this is something different.  I am 99.99 percent sure that after extensive testing and many meltdowns, all we will conclude that it is nerve pain being exacerbated and magnified by Dysautonomia.  But the pain I had some days ago was ranked right up there with the worst episodes of pain in my entire life.  I vomited and fainted from it.  SIGH.

I really wanted to talk to the doctor about it.  But I keep thinking that I would just be waisting her time.  Mostly because she's already said the next episode would necessitate on pulling the trigger on finally doing the sonogram she's talked about for a while now.

Sonograms mean things inside me.
I do not do well with things inside me.
I am weary of not doing well.

I mentioned it to my counselor and she told me to call, to let the doctor know I wanted to talk to her.  I asked why, when I knew what she would say and what it probably is.  My counselor replied, "Because you want to talk to her."  To me, that isn't enough.  To her, it was more than enough.  I deserve to be cared for in my body and in my mind.


With things stilling in my mind, I texted my counselor.  [This outside-sessions access has me discombobulated.]  I asked her for a thought to rehearse.  Something small and non-threatening, baby steps on trying to work on thoughts.  She had two for me:

Dr. Kennedy is safe.  This is important because it is not saying that I trust her, raising all the upsettedness around the idea of trust and my ability to trust or lack thereof.

This invasive procedure is to help me, not harm me, and is unlike the trauma I have endured.  "Trauma" is a word the counselor uses often, reframing what happened by focusing on its impact on me rather than my thoughts about how, given how often it was, that I somehow attracted those men.  After all, the common denominator was me.

I am wondering ... I am wondering if I asked the Doctor to speak these thoughts to me ... what her response would be.  She already says good words when I am hurting there.  Maybe she would be willing.  Maybe if she did it would help.  The external is still so very important to me ... having good things come from outside of me, poured into my ears.

Still, even with trying to think positively about the appointment, my fear is beginning to rise.
Still, I cannot see a way through enduring what I must to investigate the pain.
Still, I cannot fathom surviving how I feel after.

Yep, I wouldn't mind a supernova.

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