Maybe I am becoming an angel. I am trying to slowly flap my right arm covered with a polyvinyl chloride wound protector. I earned a wing!
"You have very small veins…" Black, gray, and white shadows chase each other on a screen as the IV tech examines my arm with an ultrasound before inserting the needle.
I have never learned so many things about myself in my entire life! A large mirror right in front of me reflects my image with cruel accuracy.
"Either your liver or your kidneys are not working well." My new primary care doctor is alarmed by my acne. The spots resemble some kind of an African wildlife. He inquires about my diet and my medications.
"Your skin is taking over for either your kidneys or your liver. That is where the acne is coming from." I chose my new doctor because he studied at the Paracelsus Institute in Switzerland.
"You are completely missing one of the liver enzymes" Dr. Sponaugle knows exactly what to test for. So that's the reason why I am leery of entering stores for fear they will call animal control to remove the leopard in isle seven! A leopard with a wing!
Wednesday is my meeting with my nurse. The news is not good. The toxin level is so high it has brought my hormones to rock bottom. If my progesterone falls any lower my body will not be able to repair damaged myelin. I have to get three prescription medications. This means the treatment will be much longer than anticipated. The nurse is concerned and schedules an appointment with Dr. Sponaugle for next week. After much consideration I postpone any decisions I need to make until I talk to the doctor.
Wednesday night I enjoy a brief moment of clarity. As I am falling asleep I am able to determine in my head that 787 is not divisible by any prime number up to 53. I choose to test my awakening braincells on 787 because I have the feeling the number itself is a prime (The next day I do a search online which confirms my hunch. Time for a party!). Thursday morning my brain refuses to cooperate again but the small timeframe of tangible progress keeps me going. My reaction to the IV is much more manageable although still very toxic.
With the prognosis I wonder what is going to happen with me. I have a PhD in Life and a PhD in Being a Wife. I am working on my second Master's degree. I am broke, sick, and my hair is falling out. There is something wrong with this picture! I can't help but wonder what God has in store for His one PVC winged angel...
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