Cardiology Limbo
I've been on hold with my cardiologist's office for over 20 minutes. I haven't talked with a human yet, but I can't bring myself to hang up because I am enjoying being incredulous that their on-hold music appears to be one repeated track from the Disney Princess CD. I've been listening to "So this is love", sung I think by Snow White, for over 20 minutes. Wait- A human voice. Oh, this is priceless. I have the WRONG damn cardiologist practice. Spring- the receptioninsts name no kidding -and she sound well over 40- informed me I've been waiting for nothing. And when I asked if her office was for pediatric cardiology she was taken aback and said "No, it's a practice serving adults" like I was an idiot, so I said way too sweetly, "Oh, I just thought it must be because while I was on hold for 20 minutes I listened to the same song from Snow White over and over" to which she got defensive though I hadn't exactly meant to criticize. After that I called my REAL cardiologists office and didn't even get to hear 2 lines from one of my old favorite by Janis Joplin (Me and my Bobby McGee) before a chipper receptionist picked up and told me the earliest appointment I could get with my cardiologist would be December 6th. I expressed more than mild surprise as I'd been scheduled to have the failed angiogram STAT and now, what the hell, why not wait until the 6th? In the meantime my boss is calling to find out when I'm coming back to work and I have no idea whether I should go back yet- I know I don't feel like it but is that physical, mental or what?
I sort of joked to my husband this morning that I'm having a nervous breakdown and as soon as I said it I started hyperventilating and feeling the walls closing in on me. I'd gone back to bed after getting one son off to school and calling the other in sick because of a big fat chipmunk cheek/tooth ache that had us up half the night. But suddenly I felt I'd come unglued if I didn't get control of myself. "I've got to blog" I announced sitting bolt upright then throwing off the covers.
But now that I'm sitting here I'm still feeling crazy. OK, I haven't taken my Prozac in a couple days (haven't had it in me to get the pharmacy for my refill) but I don't think I'd be feeling that so quickly. I think it's more that I'm so frightened for myself and once again having a full blown identity crisis.
What is my problem? Why am I writing this as if it's some kind of magic? Why do I want- no need- total strangers to give me some affirmation I am clearly personally lacking? How pitiful am I anyway?
Yesterday when I read blogcabin (Ithink it was blogcabin) about the phenomena of blog "relationships" it gave language to what I've been feeling and got me really focused on what I am actually doing here. This blog thing started at 4 o'clock in the morning the day after I got home from the hopsital and was convinced that I was moments away from dying of a heart attack and leaving my boys motherless with their depressed dad. So, it started in an irrational state, but what kind of state has it continued in? Blogging, I realized today, is a secret I am largely keeping. Of the chosen few I've told of my new compulsion, I see mostly worry on their faces. My best friend said, "What if you get weirdos commenting to you and finding out who you really are?". And that has really stuck with me. And just now I've realized that I'm trying to exchange one compulsion I'm ashamed of with another compulsion I'm ashamed of. Now I have yet another secret I am keeping even from the people I love most. I am all about secrets really, and I am sick and tired of it. Secrets are enough to give you a heart attack, never mind high cholesterol and obesity.
So I'm thinking now, as I blog- what's to be ashamed of? That I am someone who seems to have to have an addiction in order to get through even the best day? No, that's not quite it. I can think of lots of people I consider bright, talented, even successful who have life-sucking addictions. True, I'd feel a whole hell of a lot more respectable if I were a crack addict instead of a donut addict (and I bet I'd look a hell of a lot better too!), but it's not the addiction I'm so much ashamed of. It's the need. The neediness. Yuck. I am someone who so needs the approval of others that I will go to total strangers to find it. And truth be known, it isn't enough that a handful of marvelous, kind people have emailed me and kept me going another day. Now I'm greedy for comments the way I used to be greedy for food. I want more. I crave more. What can I do to get more hits? More fans out there? More comments? Even bad ones. I am the Sally Field of blogs. I am desperate for everyone (not just someone, but EVERYone to like me, or at least pay attention to me) "You like me- you really like me" that would go further than donuts. I know, I know. I've had enough therapy to know that I can really only truly feel "full" if I love myself, and I have enough faith to know that I can only truly feel "full" when I know I am loved by God just as I am (isn't that the Billy Graham altar call song?) but in reality, in my heart of hearts, I believe I will feel full when enough people read my writing and then want more. How distorted is that???
Well. I began this blog promising myself to find at least one miracle a day. Yesterdays involved my nemisis the Jelly Donut. Someone left 3 unattended, fresh dunkin donuts in the church kitchen and I found them when I went to get my son a snack. They were clearly left in the "help yourself" area, though even if I'd thought they belonged to someone who'd go looking for them I most likely would not have been able to resist stealing the jelly (and feeling quite pleased to only steal the 1)just 2 weeks ago. But yesterday, I heard this voice in my crazy little head say, "Donuts are death, tea is love" and I actually laughed and said outloud, "Shouldn't that be 'tea is life'?" But the voice was insistent that it meant, "tea is love". And then I remembered that I'd written "Tea is love" in one of my early blogs here so I decided that that is some kind of new word from God. So I have honored the voice by renaming my blog.
"The voice". I am honoring "the voice". Not my voice, mind you. I am much better at honoring disembodied voices. As soon as something gets connected to me I mistrust it in my own mind. My own mind is a bit of a scary place as you can now see. It seems to have a life of it's own. Just the other day when I was hanging out of (vs. hanging out in!) my jonnie at Mass. General listening to the sane conversation of the beautiful Greek woman across from me in the waiting area, that same disembodied voice in my head suddenly said, "I never thought of my body as belonging to me before" and that was so fucking sad and so fucking alarming that I had to immediately forget it until just now when I remembered it. Is it OK to say the f-word in blogland??
Well, my husband just called. He's heading home with more poor sad 11 year old who needs a root canal. What kind of shitty mother am I that I let him suffer for 3 days stuffing him with advil, letting him watch the Sci-Fi channel while I read blogs and drank tea. The dentist's office was closed and I couldn't decide when the on-call service asked me if it was an emergency whether it was or not. I am so not good at knowing what is really important and needs serious attention and what should just be suffered through. I'm afraid I clearly lean towards always "suffering through" which is not something I ever wanted to pass on to my children and yet I think I model that for them pretty much every day. Another thing to ponder...
I'm suddenly trying not to panic about my unpaid leave, or all the time my husband is having to take off from his job, or the fact that we'll now be paying for a root canal which I'm pretty sure my 11 year old is not going to understand might have to be his Christmas present as I'm quite sure the root canal is going to cost more than our 700 dollar Christmas club!!...But hang on- wasn't I writing about miracles back aways? The church-kitchen-jelly-donut miracle. I've got to hang onto that. And another morning without my beloved bitter coffee that always begs for donut accompaniment (is that a word?). Wild Berry Zinger tea with no sugar eaten without the last piece of apple pie which I hope my husband is grateful I've left for him for 2 days now even though he hasn't had the decency to eat it. Some people!!
I think I'll go take a bath. The scary thing is. At this point, I'd be happy to never leave my house again as long as I could read, blog and drink tea. I'm worried that when I have to go out and face my real world again it's going to take more than just one donut.
A day at a time. A day at a time. One donut-free day at a time.
12:09:24 PM 
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