I never had any intention of this blog being about my health, but it turns out, health takes up a large chunk of your life when it’s not quite right. So here’s a follow up to my last post.
Mayo Clinic was awesome. Great facility, excellent doctor, caring staff. If it wasn’t in Arizona, it would have been perfect! I did well on the flight, which was awesome, but by 30 minutes into the trip there, we were not so lovingly referring to AZ as “Fucking Arizona.” The wacky freeways and lack of appropriate signage was beyond frustrating. Apparently there are Arizonans who have issues with Californians, which I still don’t quite understand. And damn was it HOT there! However, even with all that said, I’d go back just to see the doctor I saw. He was unlike any physician I have encountered before, in that, he has a profoundly thorough understanding of what people with Dysautonomia and POTS go through. He had some insightful thoughts on my case and what caused all this as well as ideas about how to handle my condition, which is more than I’m used to getting from doctors. He also ran a battery of tests on me, most of which came back normal, which is very encouraging. (Still waiting on the rest to come in.) Before leaving AZ, we devised a plan, which I’ve been following since returning home…though not without difficulty. Nothing worth having comes easily though, does it?
The idea that one appointment with one doctor would change my life, was a pipe dream. I knew that, but I had to hope. Ya know? Hope is everything when you’re chronically ill. Hope is the thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. The hope that I will have a decent day. The hope that I will be able to complete my rehab workout and not crash and burn after. The hope that, little by little, I will get better and return to some semblance of normalcy. The hope that one day I will eventually be well enough to travel with my wife, get my black belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu, and go back to school to earn a degree in science/medicine so that I can help others. The hope that my dreams will not remain as such. Hope.
There is no magic pill or silver bullet for this thing. There is no easy way out, just the hard way through. On that note, I’ve got to go do some rehab with the hope that it will make my heart stronger, my mind tougher, and my determination ever fiercer. As a dear old friend of mine use to say, I will keep on keepin’ on. I hope you all do the same.