The Doctor Visit
It was a frightful, frost covered day and my old coat failed to keep the cold at bay. I was concerned but strangely calm. I set up an appointment and made my way to Wentzville, a township about 30 minutes from my home. Later others would ask why I did not go to the emergency room, the answer is simple, I didn’t think it was an emergency.
I parked my car, slid from my seat, and was greeted by a cold wind against my cheek. It was already difficult to breathe, and it became more challenging through my chattering teeth. Making my way inside the cold chill became less as my flesh began to thaw. I was met by a nurse and taken back to an office to hear my tale and run the typical tests. After she left I sat in my quasi-comfortable chair, nervously wringing a magazine between my hands. I stared through an arrow slit shaped frosted window admiring the leafless winter trees. Though there were no buzzing bees the office was fluttering with all sorts of energy. I could hear the murmur of talking through the walls, the tip taps of shoe covered toes and the hum of the lights above. A time passed, my body warmed and then I was welcomed by a knock on the door.
I was greeted by the friendly face of my primary care physician. His youthful insides gleamed with a friendly smile as he sat across from me. He clicked his fingers against the keys of his computer then turned toward me.
“So what appears to be the problem?” His voice was soothing and strong.
“I started coughing up blood this morning.” I said.
“What kind of blood are we talking about? Is it pinkish, streaky? How would you describe it?”
“I have some with me if you want to see it?” Reaching into my coat I pulled out a blood-filled Tupperware container from my inner pocket.
“Sure” He looked excited. “Can I see it?” He outstretched his arm.
“Are you sure?” I was surprised he wanted to hold the Tupperware container in his hand.
“Yeah, let me take a closer look.” He accepted the container and tilted it from side to side. He watched the blood slide from one corner to the other. “We need to get you in for an x-ray. I bet this is pneumonia. I am going to send you next door to get some tests. I’m sending you home with some steroids and a Z pack.”
We shook hands and I went on my way.
He sent me for an x-ray next door. I collected my belongings and stepped outside, a blast of cold air reminded me how terrible the winter was as it tore through my coat and clothes. I pulled my arms across my chest and headed into the hospital. Stepping inside felt good and I looked around at its interesting décor.
It looked like an old craft store was turned into a hospital, strange to say the least.
The front desk person guided me to radiology where my inside zones were photographed with fancy x-rays. Dreading the intensity of the outside air I stayed in the hall and made a call.
I called one of my greatest friends Ashlee. We chit chatted small talk for a few minutes before I broke into the business of my bloody cough. She was concerned but played her hand well and her words comforted my soul. After saying our goodbyes I pulled my coat in close and dared the outside world. I ran to my car unlocking it from afar. I hopped inside and slid the key into the ignition. It struggled to start and when it did, lukewarm air poured from the vent. It smelled like maple syrup, it was thick and sticky, clinging to everything causing the windshield to look greasy. I sighed, reached for a rag, and attempted to clean it away so I could see. It did little to improve visibility, mostly it created snot like oily streaks that made it more difficult to see.
Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. I sat for a moment soaking in the sad scene. Wind howled around the car and fluffy snowflakes collected on the grass. It took me a few moments to recollect my cool, but once I did, I clicked my seat belt into place, pressed play and pulled away.
In the moments to come, I took a few tests, received an X-Ray, and was sent on my way.
I was sent away with great news!
I was sent away with the good news, I had pneumonia. It eased my soul and helped me navigate the red waters I walked, but the treatments didn’t stop the blood from pouring from my lips. Each day seemed worse than the last, but as any other hardship we become accustomed to it. After a week I told him the symptoms were still the same, he said it was just the damage caused by the pneumonia and it would pass. I was giving clearance to return to school, and I went on my way. Over and over the doctor continued the same medicinal routine, he heard hoof beats of another disease, but didn’t listen. My illness was a zebra, and he was treating it like a horse.
I returned to school
My doctor informed me I was not contagious, and he cleared me to return to school. Throughout class I discretely coughed up blood into a napkin then excused myself to wash my hands. If I was performing a massage I would swallow the blood as I coughed it up. It was becoming more challenging to perform massage, but I pushed through it. Throughout each session sweat dripped from my brow like a waterfall, it was hard to breathe and with each gasp for air I would wheeze. My instructor could see I was struggling, but no compassion was shared. During one of my massages the pain became too great to bear, my energy was so low I had none to give. I paused for a moment to regain harmony and looked at the stool at the end of the table, then slid it closer and sat down. It took a moment to rethink how to do a massage seated, but I knew it was the only way I could finish the massage.
Afterward the instructor approached me and told me I could not sit during my massage. He said it was against school policy. I asked him why and he replied, “Not only is it against school policy, but it is also against the law.”
If this is how it must be, then ok, I thought to myself. I knew there was nothing I could do to change his mind, even though I was certain there was no such law.
Clinicals continued to be terrible, and I looked forward to leaving this place and finding somewhere to learn and explore as a practicing massage therapist. The other students were now rushing to learn what they could, especially the ones who missed the greatest number of classes. Others were disinterested and had already given up. Some were saying they were not planning to even apply for a job because they were already burned out.
Toward the end of clinicals I was approached by the sleepy instructor from the school. He asked me where I wanted to go, and I said I did not know. Immediately he said I should interview with Massage Luxe, because he was certain he could get me a job. I already knew I could get a job anywhere I applied. The sleepy instructor was compromised, earlier in the year I learned he was working for Massage Luxe as a recruiter and was being paid $1,000 per student he brought to the company. I told him I was not interested, that I would prefer to work for a company who actually cared about its team. “You think you know what you are doing, but you are making a mistake.” He shook his head as he replied.
