#you learn pretty quick that life is fragile in healthcare

[hyacinthusmemorial]

I have alluded to my background in medicine in previous posts and in the author’s notes of my stories. I have had these thoughts circulating in my head about Apollo and Asclepius for a while, and I just need to release them.

TW: Mentions of Death, Healthcare Stories, Blood

I work in a sinking ship in the American healthcare system. (But that’s another thing that I won’t talk about, this is about Apollo and Asclepius). I think the thing that is hardest about working in my field (Emergency Medicine) is that I watch people suffer, and obviously I signed up for that when I got into it. But, sometimes I am the one that makes people suffer—that is what people do not realize. Healing is painful. And resurrection is the MOST painful. When I do CPR I crack ribs (which is an unfortunate reality of proper resuscitation efforts) and I look down at dead faces, and I don’t really think. I just have a metronome going in my head to the beat, and I am really good at CPR. I pull people back almost every time I do CPR—I get people back—I circulate the meds, I remind the heart how it works, but ultimately, almost all these people let go again. And I clean up the body for the family to see, and I pick trash off the floor from all the garbage we produce when we resuscitate, I pour hydrogen peroxide on the blood to make it bubble and vanish, and sometimes if I’m alone in those efforts (because no one likes cleaning up), I tell the person goodbye and I’m sorry it hurt.

Asclepius (there’s obviously more context and meaning to his story) couldn’t say goodbye, and he couldn’t tell people sorry. He kept defying Fate. He kept bringing them back, but the thing is: sometimes a second life is not a gift. He is a warning sign to doctors and medical professionals that life has to have an end, we cannot bring the world back, we can’t rob death. Because here’s the thing, if we focus too much on Making People Live Again, it will kill us. Maybe not with a lightning bolt, but slowly, overtime, our faith dies, our belief in humanity dies.

I think of it every time I see his staff.

And I wonder about Apollo too, who stormed the forge of the cyclopes for revenge—slaying the makers of Zeus’s bolt. I think about the grief families feel at loss. But, Apollo didn’t bring Asclepius back. He didn’t defy fate like Asclepius did, he let him have his death, and I think that’s utterly fascinating. That in a story about healing, medicine, and resurrection—the god of healing lets someone go even though it hurts.

[coffeewithcalypso]

I guess I could do a proper post instead of after-a-whole-bottle-of-wine-and-health-scare-from-my-cat post. Seriously though she really freaked me out. She started walking almost like she was having a stroke or possibly like she got something on her paw she didn’t like (think the kitten mittens sketch but just one leg). A few minutes later she was running up and down the stairs and acting like I was the idiot for my worry. But she’s like fourteen and all I can think about is her dying and me being all alone in these four rooms. Alright, we’re not off to a good start. I may have to break this up like it’s a real blog or something because I feel like it’s going to be long and disjointed on it’s own.

I think about death a lot. Not in a suicidal way, just in a that’s a thing too way. Which is not say that I don’t love living. Travel, food, wine, friends, there are great joys in being alive. There are great struggles too. Death is a permanent off button. I just wouldn’t have to worry any more. I often weigh both sides of this in my head. I worry a little when the scales of the living side loses something because the death side is a stable weight. “I think about death so much it feels like a memory.” 

The past year and half have been fragile. I spent almost all last year clawing my way back from a break up that I did to myself. I had friends, and travel, and wine, and my cat though, a brief bought of therapy and I started this year feeling much better. I had a year of travel and things planned. None of this is new for people who actually read this. Quarantine happened though and my extroverted self spiraled a bit through but using a lot of what I learned last year I was able to stay pretty stable. 

I got a newer car that maybe I didn’t love but it was going to be reliable and had all the features I wanted. It’s a Subaru and makes me feel like a fake because I hate the outdoors, the sun, and most things related to outdoor activities, particularly in the summer. I tend to change cars every 5-6 years, basically at the end of a note because I’d rather a controlled note than a surprise mechanic bill, but I usually get the same car at least once more. My cars usually feel more like a home than the place I live in. I moved a lot in college. Even at my last place I was starting to let myself feel at home and my landlady kicked me out. Oops, my bad. The universe caught me slipping and fixed it. I can’t move into an identical house but I can get a same or similar car. I think this is also part of my obsession with games like Animal Crossing and Stardew, things with a home element. I just want a home.

I dyed my hair back to brown. I adored my blue hair. It felt right. People complimented me on it. That was nice and made me happy. But I think it made other people happy too. The people who complimented me on it always seemed so excited by this bouncing mop of blue. As excited as I was. I had it for six years and it was getting unhealthy (and was expensive but we’re getting to money). So I dyed it back to my natural color. My dad was excited, so much so he reimbursed me for the cost of the coloring. So now I look like a well behaved, status quo bank teller. I do comfort myself by acknowledging that when I protest now I lend more legitimacy with my status quo hair. I look like a good citizen that politicians would take more seriously, not some blue haired liberal snowflake.

Last month during my yearly exam my doctor said my uterus felt tilted and to get an ultrasound. Within four weeks I was getting put under for a quick outpatient surgery to remove a cyst. I have insurance like a responsible adult. I have a silver plan insurance too. I figured it’s expensive but so is healthcare and I want to be covered. Well apparently the numbers changed this year and I didn’t notice. All the numbers were staggering. To make matters worse a quick surgery turned into a fully invasive surgery to remove endometriosis I never suspected I had. It had spread to my appendix so that came out too. I had to stay overnight at the hospital. Now instead of meeting my deductible I’m assuming I’ll be hitting my max out of pocket for sure. And that’s assuming they don’t find a way to get more money out of me. 

I had a bout of… I don’t want to call it body dysmorphia but of body separateness? after my surgery. I felt so apart from it, so betrayed by it. I didn’t understand how it could do this to me when I feed it healthy foods and don’t get mad at it for not losing weight and generally try to appreciate it and it would just plunge me into debt on a whim. I did some grounding mediations focused specifically on like body scans and stuff. I realized what I was mad at was a for profit system that refused to take care of the people it was supposed to be taking care of but being mad at my body and punishing it was easier but that wasn’t what I should be doing. I still let myself cheat and have some sugar when I knew I shouldn’t have.

And now my biggest thing is money. And I know everything I’m about to say is drowning in privilege so there’s that. But this new debt is all I can think about. I’ve been so fortunate to never be in debt before, other than a car or whatever. I don’t even have a credit card. I’m so careful with money. I save tons to travel because I adore traveling and maybe I should have just been saving but at least I never went on a trip until I could afford it. I was thinking about maybe finally buying a house this year so I could have a sense of home that wasn’t on four wheels. My sister keeps saying to set up a payment plan and then buy a house anyway. But how can I do expensive things when I have this debt hanging over me? I can’t do anything big until this paid off. And god knows when that will be. I was finally, finally at a place where I was comfortable money-wise. Not secure but content. I could buy things without thinking too much about it. Now my whole life feels defined by “can’t”. Everything is something I can’t buy unless it’s an absolute need, no matter how cheap. Can’t buy a $15 top when you could put that $15 into your medical fund. Shame. I know I won’t lose my apartment and my family is probably going to pay for some of my bills and promise I can pay them back and then not let me. I think my dad already gave the hospital some money and won’t tell me if he did or not or how much. I should be grateful for this but really it’s just embarrassing. I’m the failure, charity child now. It hurts my pride and my family is not discrete so literally aunt, uncle, and cousin probably knows now. Yes wounded pride is better than homelessness. I hate it though. I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to do or how to exist anymore. I am nothing that I was. I feel unrecognizable

But I’ll be fine. As my grandmother and I say when we’re checking in with each other, “I’ll be fine. What else can you be?” Be fine or be dead. There’s not really another alternative on the living side of the scales