It’s Wednesday night , so this series continues.
I left off last week being prescribed beta blockers.
Let me take this opportunity to give my rant on medicine.
I hate medicine.
I really, really, really hate it. A lot. If I ever have a cold, or a muscle ache, or anything of the like, invariably someone around me asks if I’ve taken medicine. Why would I? I’d rather just power through.
Sometimes “medicine” is used as a very broad term. I don’t dislike modern medicine. I like the idea that doctors can fix things that happen to me. I don’t like pills, or syrup, or really any kind of thing I have to take. (I dislike pills the most, though.)
I always thought I was very polite, and possibly even somewhat quiet about this fact. But every time I met a doctor on my case in the hospital (or even now, if I go to a doctor for any reason), the first thing a doctor does, as she looks up from my chart, is say, “So, you really don’t like medicine, huh?”
It probably says I’m a troublemaker in my chart, doesn’t it?
Anyway, the doctors at Tufts gave me a prescription for beta blockers. I reluctantly, begrudgingly got it filled, and started taking pills daily (maybe multiple times a day?). Doctors kept stressing that this was my heart, and my life, and everything. They made it sound super serious. Fine. I’ll take your medicine so that I can live. Or whatever.
I returned to school that Thursday. It was so weird going back. The last time everyone had seen me, I’d been walking out with paramedics.
I didn’t know what to say when I came back. I tried to apologize for the big interruption (and possibly startling people), but it’s hard to make that sound sincere (even though it was). I tried to make light of it, but I’m sure my jokes were awkward. I don’t remember what I said, or I’d tell you my awkward jokes. (It wasn’t like I was doing stand up or anything.)
I also was kind of full of questions (which I’m sure was annoying). I like to be present. I usually like to be pretty in control. And here was this crazy occurrence in my class that I kind of missed, you know, by being unconscious.
I wanted to know what happened, who called 911, and all that jazz. The boys – I’m pretty sure I was the only girl in my class – gave me the story, even though I felt weird being curious about it.
But how can you not be? Everyone else was talking about it. I wanted to feel as though I was a part of the trending topic at school – which was especially weird, because I was part of it! After all, the story revolved around me, which is not what I wanted…
I mean, I did want everyone talking about me. Let’s get real. Otherwise I wouldn’t have taken on fun dares such as this one. But that’s the kind of stuff I wanted them talking about, not weird heart stuff.
It was so weird too, because everyone was asking me how I was doing. On the one hand, that was very sweet. On the other, it was so awkward. Having a heart problem is totally awkward.
And then it was weird because I didn’t have a definitive end. It wasn’t like “well, they fixed me right up!” It was more like, “Well, I have this really rare thing that they couldn’t fix on the first try. Now we’re trying medicine. And we’ll see.”
Of course, many people just got “I’m fine.” The longer explanatory version was mainly for close friends or super curious people.
We’ll pick up here next week.