Left Right, Or Maybe Not
I am starting to wonder about myself. Some would say that is long overdue, but that is not currently the point. I will deal with those individuals later.
Each time I go to a doctor, they ask me to describe, honestly and in detail, how I am feeling. I tell them. Then they usually look at some things, check some pieces of paper, and make their determinations.
In recent months, each determination has been nearly the complete opposite of the symptoms I describe to them when they ask how I am feeling. If I tell them I feel fine, they tell me that is strange, because there are a million things wrong. If I tell them something hurts on the right, they tell me it should hurt on the left. It goes on. Each doctor can find a list of things that are not quite right, but none that can explain the symptoms and none of the symptoms can be directly related back to anything.
Today, for instance, I went to the ear, nose, and throat doctor. He is just as much fun as he sounds. A very nice guy for someone who takes thin pieces of metal and shoves them up your nose much deeper than any child could ever lodge a raisin. So he asks how it’s going. I tell him I don’t breathe so good on the left side of my nose, but the right is doing just lovely. Up go multiple pieces of metal, jabbing my tear ducts and possibly muddling up my brain a little, though I can’t be sure. He checks the right. He checks the left. He grunts and asks which side I can’t breathe from. I mumble back at him since by now my throat is numb. He grunts again, shoves a vacuum into my head, and giggles a little. I think some people become doctors for the specific reason that they can legally torture others.
When he removes the metal from my face he comments that I should have had problems on the right. I disagreed, and even breathed for him so he could note that the problem is in fact on the left. Up goes the metal, but he still insists I should have more problems on the right, although he admits that I am not breathing so well on the left and seem to breathe fine on the right. But then he shrugs, removes the metal, hands me a tissue, and tells me to have a lovely day. Apparently not concerned that the evidence does not support the overall conclusions, nor really interested in figuring out a suitable excuse.
So I continue, for about another week, to wade through this medical conundrum that has become me from the neck up. Whispers of another medical board, referrals to other doctors halfway around the world, and an awful lot of shrugging has accompanied the past two weeks, and I figure it can only get better from here. But it has caused me to question myself, to make sure that I do in fact know my left from my right, at least well enough to figure out which side hurts and which side does not. Having done so, I then wonder if perhaps the doctors are unsure of their left and right, or if maybe someone in the lab is playing pranks again because they know how much I love to have blood drawn repeatedly.
Next Wednesday I should be able to escape this hall of torture and find my way to the greener pastures of leave and then, perhaps, Germany for at least a little while. I haven’t seen my Soldiers in a bit and I understand one is on crutches, one got promoted, and the third is probably still pouring coffee out the window with no one around to make him strong for it. Crazy or not, I really should get back and make sure all is in order before whatever other adventures the Army can throw my way.