I don’t share as many soliloquies (aka my musings) on social media as I once did, and I am not sure about all the whys and wherefores of that, but I made an exception this morning as I waited to see the sunrise because yesterday was worth noting. Due to the response there, it suddenly struck me that I have this Substack account out here desiring my attention, and my musings.
Yesterday, I saw Dr. Baltz for my regular six-month appointment. Some know that he has been my Hematologist for about 15 years give or take. I landed in his care due to a potential health scare that ended up being nothing, but in the years since he has helped me successfully weather two legit health scares. I might be his biggest fan. His cantankerous (hiding an oversized heart) personality and patient-centric bedside manner suit me. Perfectly.
Last May, three days before I was scheduled to board a flight to Italy, I saw him for my regular six-month appointment, and it did not go well. He was NOT happy with my bloodwork, or to be frank, anything else reflected on my chart. I did not even try to feign surprise; I mean it all reflected how poorly I felt in a very 360-degree way - heart/mind/body/soul. He grilled me with questions for which I had zero good answers. I mean can you blame everything on a rough state legislative session? I joke. He demanded me back in a matter of weeks for another round of bloodwork for which I had to sweetly say, “I won’t be in the country.” I didn’t exactly lie either when I further neglected to tell him I was planning to extend my teaching trip. I left that day with him thinking he would see me back in two months.
I am making light of it, but the entire interaction was frightening. I have had bad bloodwork before; Baltz and I are used to my body acting wonky. There is a running joke between us about how my body responds dramatically differently to extremes than say Keith Richards’. This felt different, but then again, I felt like I had been holding a lot in my life together with duct tape and Elmer’s Glue for a good long while so why wouldn’t the best indicator of how my body was functioning reflect that? Plus, what was one more thing to add to the pile of secrets I was being forced to hold? There was no way I could share this before getting on that plane. In classic Heather form, keep it moving.
Back to yesterday. I expected some progress, but I was ill-prepared for Baltz’s gushing. Hand to heaven I wish I had thought to record him on a Voice Memo. #missedopportunity I mean the man offered to let me fire him due to the pristine nature of my current test results. Well, that is a first, and let’s be clear, ain’t never EVER gonna happen. Also, Substack needs emojis.
I have a lot of thoughts on (well, everything really) work-life balance, stress, transitions, sabbaticals, mental health, codependency, and a lot of other words that would be a wee bit too transparent for the current days we live in. Most of my thoughts are a result of having made every single mistake in the book and the lessons learned as I crawled back from them.
While grateful for my 52 years of life and everything I have been able to experience (and also endure), I am committed to making a more conscious effort to not treat myself and my body like a WWE fighter* in the ring. I have been an “I got it.” girl since the age of eight, and that posture has nearly taken me out more than a few times. Prostrating ourselves on the altar of spinning all the plates while asking for another is simply stupid. And yes, I am calling myself stupid.
I have made a lot of changes in the past nine months. Some I started preparing for twenty-one months before that. Some came as a direct result of that scary appointment with Baltz ten months ago. And there are more to come.
I guess I have simply grown weary of faking a smile while feeling like shit, and if I did have the guts to show (perceived) weakness, being told to suck it up. I am 100% done sucking it up. That ship has been burned at the shore.
I guess this is a PSA to be honest with yourself about what is giving you life, and what (may in fact) be killing you. I’m not proud of being a late bloomer in so many ways, but better late than never.
The best is yet to come.
#musings