That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger
Beloved readers: I am back and it has been a long and (for me) interesting, life-altering journey. If you are not interested in the more-than-month-long medical journey I have been on, I encourage and beseech you to turn the page and read the rest of this newspaper.
If you are interested, hold on … this may take several chapters. I always wanted to be serialized!
During the evening of June 1, I experienced what seemed like flu symptoms – fever, chills, body aches, etc. We had just come off deadline and I attributed it to exhaustion. I had had seven interviews or events in the previous weeks and although that is about the norm, it had been kicking my tail.
Wednesday is a down day and my fever and other symptoms had diminished to a level that I was able to fake feeling good and forge on.
Thursday, I attended the Phoenix High School graduation, which was very good and very emotional. My good friend Dwayne Ismail was the keynote speaker. He encouraged the grads to always be the best them they could be. I have a feeling they will!
Leaving that event, I got caught up in a swarm of exuberant kids, one of which inadvertently stepped on my foot.
Small (large) confession here: I have had an untreated wound on the outside edge of my then four-toed foot for over a year. Yes, I know, I know. Dr. Gilbert had it under control (control is a big deal in my world) and I thought I was managing. I ducked medical treatment because I mistakenly believed it would cause me to “take to my bed” and I was not doing that!
Well, the inadvertently stomping was right on that wound and it was excruciatingly painful, and I have a high pain tolerance.
Friday morning, that stomping had caused yet more damage to that wound, but I persevered. The Clarendon Citizenwas having a party for our friends and advertisers (who pay our bills and make this free publication possible) and I was NOT going to miss that.
Saturday, the pain was much worse, but I was able to make it bearable with over the counter drugs and I went to the party, by golly. Of course, I took a seat and never budged from it for one minute. I had no appetite for food (a dooming warning sign) and therefore held court on a pretty little bench at Jeffrey and Stephanie Black’s gorgeous poolside. Admittedly, I had a good time. Until I had to walk to my car to go home, that is.
By Saturday evening the offending wound had begun to take on an odd color that should have sent me to the ER right then. But I had to work on Sunday, because, you know, the Clarendon Citizencould NEVER function without my input, right? I had a team to be a part of. We had a paper to get out by the following Tuesday. And work on Sunday I did, complete with fever and lots of pain. At this moment, I could not tell you what I did that day or how I did it.
Later on Sunday, I sent the High Commander an email telling him I was in bad trouble and laying out the options, one of which was to go to the ER at Clarendon Memorial Hospital, the other was to try and get an appointment with my dear friend and surgeon Dr. Ray Dominici. I thought it would be Tuesday at best to see Dr. Dom and going to the ER was just not something I was into. (I rule the world, right?)
The High Commander responded thusly: “OMG! If you didn’t do the ER, call Dr. Dom this morning. This is nothing to screw around with. Call me when you can. Cleve.”
Because I make every attempt to do just what the High Commander orders, I called Dr. Dom’s office first thing Monday morning and was in his office by 1 p.m. that day. He barely had to look at what I had presented him and I got admitted to Clarendon Memorial.
Folks, I can now admit that I was truly on the edge of a complete breakdown. I was deeply depressed and horribly misguided about what my priorities should be. My anxiety level was off the chart and I was playing a silly, and potential deadly game of “faking it, till I could make it,” and it almost cost me everything I care about. My relationship with my mother, my work and my friends and all the things I care about, which is a lot. I hope and pray daily that will never happen again. I mean serious prayer. Daily.
This little missive is getting really long. I hope I haven’t bored or aggravated you.
Next week: 18 interesting days at Clarendon Memorial Hospital … or how it feels when the doc tells you your kidneys are failing.
Love you all!
