The Furious Spinner

Tuesday:
Got an anxiety attack at the second CAT scan. Wasn't even nervous. Five minutes into it, I had to screw my courage to the sticking place (yeah, well, Lady Macbeth does have her time and place) and just keep still. There's no reason to be claustrophobic in a CAT scan because you're not enclosed. I started wondering what the hell I was going to do during the MRI—where I will be enclosed. But onward.

Drove to Pill Hill. Imagine a castle built on rock high above the village. Then imagine you think the medical industrial complex has gotten way out of control and you're driving into it this giant medical industrial complex and you're imagining patients lost in overlooked corners of these old looking buildings; across the steep street, construction workers build onto the castle, as though the owners of this place have embodied Mrs. Winchester who kept building onto her house to appease the spirits of all the people who died because of her family's Winchesters. I told myself to change how I was imagining the place. Come on, Kim. Get a hold of yourself.

Inside the office, like any other office, I had to fill out this long questionnaire. Remember every illness. Recall all that was wrong with my family. By the end of it, I wanted to run screaming from the building. Disease, disease, disease. Me stepping into the medicine assembly line has been like stepping out of paradise (albeit it a sickly paradise) into Dante's Inferno. I put my feet on the floor and breathed deeply, trying to ground. I could do this, I could do this—but I was sure it was going to be a major disappointment.

Then the doctor came out into the waiting room and called my name. I stood up and shook her hand. She was small, like me, only more slight. Warm. Personable. I said, "Man, that form is terrible. So depressing."

"Yes, it still based on the disease model of medicine," she said, or something like that. She wasn't defensive at all. She led me into a small room where four other people already sat. I shook everyone's hand. A Naturopath, an Acupuncturist, a medical student, a Chiropractic intern. The doctor got Mario a chair. Then they began to ask me questions. They seemed to listen, to look at me. I'm sure I babbled and went off track. I couldn't remember a lot of things—often happens when I go to the doctor. (I hear that's quite common.) We talked for an hour. An hour! No one was threatening me. No one was in a hurry. No one appeared to have an agenda, besides listening to me.

Then we went into an big examining room. First they all washed their hands. I laughed because it looked like they were rubbing their hands in expectant glee. The sweet intern took my blood pressure. I was certain it would be high because at the other doctor's it was high. But it had gone down 30 points!

They continued to ask questions as they listened to my heart and lungs, looked in my ears. At one point, two of them were kneeling on the floor on either side of me taking my pulses. I felt as though I was contained (in a positive way), tended to. I thought of that ancient relief of the Graces (Muses, Fates, Handmaidens) lifting the goddess (woman) out of her bath. That was what what I felt like. In fact, this ancient art piece summarizes how the entire experience felt for me.


At the end, I thanked them for their healing. We had spent two hours together. As we left Pill Hill, I still shuddered at the strangeness, but I had found the sacred space within. I felt better than I had in weeks. Next week, I'll go see them again.

Wednesday:
On my own. After an appointment in town, I went to the Tao of Tea. Felt contained again. In a positive way. Not smothered. Contained and protected in my own space. I ate dal and rice, sipped Zen tea, wrote in my journal, and took photographs.













2 comments

2 Comments:

I also felt like the experience at Pill Hill was very positive. It was unlike any other medical experience I have seen or been a part of. The patience and interest was astounding. It seemed like they were searching for what was right with Kim instead of going over what was wrong. Feeling very hopeful.

By  Mario, at 2:25 PM  

It was grand have you along.

By  Kim Antieau, at 3:38 PM  

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