After a hiatus of visiting various orthopedists (and a hiatus from blogging…life has been busier than usual) I will head to a new doctor next week and follow up that consultation with cocktails with my general orthopedist (one can only hope).
In a previous post, I discussed how I’ve seen foot and ankle specialists in several corners of the country. I also acknowledged that the ability to do so, while financially draining and emotionally exhausting, constitutes access that many people do not have. I expressed my gratitude for having the option to explore the medical terrain. And I do remain grateful.
However, I have come to realize the issues that arise when one has a quasi-unlimited number of doctors to visit. Where do you draw the line? When do you decide that you have a permanent impairment that will likely not be fixed by a nascent surgery? Is stopping the search “giving up” or is it a positive step towards accepting a physical — and consequently a social — reality?
I remain in a liminal place: the daily pain I experience and the extent to which this hurt and limited mobility restrict my life lead me to continue a no-holds-barred search to find the doctor that will cure me. Yet at the same time, a part of me is tired of this rat race and the perpetual process of getting hopes up, having them squashed, and blurting out obscenities about orthopedic surgeons during the car ride home.
In 4.5 years, I have come to control my wishes upon entering a doctor’s office. I acknowledge that the doctor will likely disappoint me; he (and a few she’s) will not have an answer.
This coping mechanism of sorts has recently turned into jadedness. I am jaded: “tired, bored, or lacking enthusiasm, typically after having had too much of something” (Apple Dictionary).
I’ve had too many doctors. And not one of them is named McDreamy.