Post cardiac hospital appointments with my cardiologist are the hardest for me. I absolutely expect Dr. K to come into the room asking what is going on with my heart, knowing that he has the test results and knows more than I could ever Google. I'm going to have to tell him that I've had 2 appointments with J from Dr. B's office where she mentioned Pheochromcytoma's and after Googling Hypercoagulable States I think that they should be looking at Antiphospholipid Antibody Syndrome. I don't usually try to play my own doctor, but either diagnosis could well be true. Then on Wednesday I have the appointment with Dr. R who will inevitably treat whatever is happening and I don't want to suggest a diagnosis, either J's or mine. I would so much prefer him to look at the records and tell me that nothing is wrong, go home. But I can't read those symptoms and think that I'm going to come out with a good diagnosis over the next two days. I'm not ready for another OH SHIT!!! diagnosis. Can someone tell me when enough is enough? When do I reach my quota of OH SHIT? Then I read this post from a young woman struggling to raise children without much back-up help. Her mother-in-law is in the final stages of disease after struggling with breast cancer for eight years, and I feel humbled. I survived for eight years. It grounds me back to earth. Nothing has been great, but nothing has been Alexander's terrible awful, no good day either.
Into tomorrow I go.
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