I'm freaking out. I've been through such hell these past few years. But nothing, NOTHING freaks me out like an impending vote on health care. Not cancer screenings. Not the mystery surrounding my digestive issues. Not even knowing I'm at risk for so many cancers.
When there is about to be a vote, I'm so agitated, I have trouble thinking about anything else. I barely read books anymore - which used to be a soothing hobby that ALWAYS gave me pleasure. All I can do is obsessively read articles. I've noticed that I post more frequently - often about something I wouldn't normally post - as a way to calm the anxiety.
What is it like for someone like me? So vulnerable. So dependent on medical services and equipment? It's like a gun against my temple, cocked, ready to fire. It's like I'm hanging from a branch on a cliff, and the branch starts to pull out of the dirt. It's like sitting in an out-of-control car spinning toward a concrete wall. Will the gun explode? Will the branch stay attached? Will the car stop in time?
This is how I walk around, every minute of every day while the vote comes closer and closer. And all the while, I feel like I keep hollering, help me! Can't you see this could kill me! But life goes on around me. Every day tasks taking up our day.
And there is hardly anything I can do. I make my videos (panacea again for the anxiety), research, share, type up excel spreadsheets with senator numbers, A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G I can do to channel my terror that they will rip the rug out from underneath me. Every 8-9 months now, something happens inside me and my diet shrinks. I've known since the fall that it's the last shrink. There is nothing else to eat if something goes wrong again. Tube feeding is something they only do temporarily. And that won't help me get the food OUT of me. Even if I stay insured, what will happen to finding the right specialists to help me? Getting the tests? I already wait months to get into doctors NOW. If IS is scar tissue that keeps growing inside me - twisting around my intestines, choking them slowly over time - how do I know they won't finally twist up to the point that NOTHING gets through the knotty mess inside me? If I can't find answers in time....
This is what haunts me. I know I look fine on the outside. But my insides are a tangled mess. That plus all the biochemistry fucked up from insta-menopause and 18 wks of chemo...sometimes I don't know how I'm still walking around.
If I think about my case objectively, I have no idea how I'm still walking around.
But I am. With a gun against my temple. Hanging by a small branch. Hurtling towards that concrete wall. I smile. Joke, even. Make small talk. All the while, I can feel the cold steel metal pressed up against my skin, Congress fingers wrapped around the trigger.
Will they pull it?
Will you let them?