slow motion

The last few days have been happening in slow motion.  Not dramatic slow-mo, slow like a battery that’s nearing its end or a watch with a slipping gear.  There will be isolated episodes of activity, of what seems like normal, or possibly even a little over-fast and manic.  Then back to the crawl.

It makes it hard to do things.  One of those things is put together papers for my appointment with the surgeon today.  What papers?  Med list, FMLA crap, and questions/concerns.  I managed to do the first two – more or less – last night.  Questions/concerns.  That is a problem.  The document was open on my computer for well over 2 hours last night but all I got was “November 22, 2010” and the date and address for the appointment today.  It’s not difficult to see where the reticence comes from.  This is the history part.  This is where I think I need to find the special words to say to convey to the doctor what is wrong with me (globally or at least more globally than just the endometriosis and adenomyosis, the reasons for the surgery).  I say I think because although I’ve tried that for years and years with doctors, been motivated by the belief that it is my job to prepare and provide information in a way that is understandable and which will be least likely to trigger comprehension impeding psycho-social cues for them (i.e. “crazy lady patient with hysteria” or the more sophisticated but still unenlightened “woman whose gender identity won’t allow her to seek power and control in other spheres of her life and who thus subjects her own body, which she of course feels deep, feminine shame about, to a sort of cruel tyranny of over vigilance and care”).

I’ve taken on that job, that probably impossible job of leading the communication (without appearing to lead of course, that also is bad.  That = “pushy uppity strident bitch”) through the mess of perceptions and perceived perceptions and so on ad infinitum or at least ad-end of the cognitive system’s ability to process on so many self entailing, embedded levels at once.  And you know what?  I fucking hate that job.  I hate that it is mine to do and I hate that I have to do it.  I’ve tried abdicating.  It doesn’t work.  And so the only responsible thing to do is to continue, to try, to refine, to type up the questions in advance.

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