“Still Waters Run Deep” by Rhiannon Gomez
I just got back from a horrible experience in Mexico and I couldn't feel my legs from the knees down. I figured that I probably was just stressed out or something like that, so I decided to make an appointment with my chiropractor. Dr. Kollins was a hip dude with long flowing grey hair and a wandering eye, which you could see plain as day through his thick Coke bottle glasses. He was portly and stood about only about 5'7" or so. He always dressed for comfort and function, so your chances of seeing him in a white doctor's coat were slim to none. His usual daily attire consisted of a sweatshirt with his clinic's logo and a pair of khaki slacks. As a matter of fact if you saw him on the street you would never think that he had a Ph D in Psychology, much less be a doctor of chiropractic. He was a good guy and was wise beyond his years. He also had a sixth sense about what was really going on in his patients' minds. I went for an adjustment and he was just as confounded by my symptoms as I was. Nevertheless he figured it had something to do with stress and nerves and sent me home with a bottle of B complex vitamins. I thought I would give it about a week or two and things should be back to normal. Unfortunately I was sadly mistaken.
After three weeks with no improvement I became a little concerned. In fact things began to get worse; the numbness had traveled up both my legs to my waist. I could no longer feel anything from the waist down. This is not good, I thought. I'm supposed to be starting school in about three weeks and this just isn't good at all. I had made all the necessary preparations to transfer to UW-Whitewater in the fall and was looking forward to an exciting and challenging semester. I'm not really into traditional western medicine but something kept saying to me that I should seek a medical doctor, so I did. I was referred to a neurologist named Dr. Clare Joseph.
Dr. Joseph was Indian and had light brown skin and dark brown eyes. She was petite and wore the traditional white lab coat that most western medicine doctors wear. Underneath that she was wearing a pair of tan linen slacks, a white silk blouse, and to pull the look together a pair of black flat strapped sensible shoes. She was wearing big and round brown framed eye glasses that appeared to perch on top of her cheek bones. She wore her black hair down in an unkempt fashion, much like Farrah Fawcett did in her Charlie's Angel's days. She was a cantankerous woman who got on my very last nerve.
"So when did you first notice the numbness in your legs?" she asked as she perused my file.
I responded carefully by saying, "Right after I got back from Mexico, which was about a month ago."
It looked like she was mentally analyzing what I said, and then proceeded to ask me, "Are you imaging these symptoms?"
I was shocked! Were my ears deceiving me or did she just accuse me of lying about my condition?
I quickly responded, "No, I most certainly am not. Why would I lie about being ill?"
She looked at me with some doubt in her eyes but decided not to continue with that line of questioning.
After she had had her fun antagonizing me she ordered a battery of blood work and a series of MRI's. Once I had those tests I was sure that I would know exactly what I was facing. Or so I thought. I was looking for a compassionate ear from a doctor that could tell me what the heck was going on with me and instead she accused me of faking my symptoms! The reality of the situation was that I was paying this person to ridicule me and make me feel like a fool, when the only reason I'm here in the first place is because that damn vitamin B didn't work.
I ended up becoming a human pin cushion and giving away way too many blood samples. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened during these tests; I found out the hard way that I was claustrophobic. This blessed event occurred when I went for the MRI of my brain. I always thought I was so tough but I learned that when it comes to being confined in small cylindrical spheres I will panic and cry like a little school girl. It was so bad that I had to keep my eyes shut and wear head phones the entire time while the technician talked me through the hour long examination. I felt pathetic.
It was the beginning of September 2000 and the semester had just begun. I had great expectations of learning many new things and meeting new people. By then I still hadn't received a diagnosis and my symptoms worsened, and I was completely numb from the waist down. Dr. Joseph then recommended that I be hospitalized and undergo a lumbar puncture and more MRI's. At first I was resistant, but in the end I conceded to having the tests. I had the lumbar puncture and while I was there I also got a visit from one of the infectious disease doctors telling me that I had mycoplasmia, which is basically walking penumonia.
After all the test results came back I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Not only that, but the lumber puncture didn't heal which meant that my spine was leaking cerebrospinal fluid. This caused migraine-like headaches to occur every time I would stand up. Lucky me! Now I get to return to the hospital to have another procedure to heal the hole in my spine.
I had to have my mother drive me to the hospital for this procedure. My entire body was numb, and I couldn't stand up without stabs of pain shooting up through my neck to my head. I had my window down and in flew a fuzzy bumble bee which promptly landed on my right hand and stung me. When we arrived at the hospital a nurse promptly got a cold compress to put on my hand. After that I was taken to treatment room where I was going to receive a procedure called a blood patch. As it turned out this was a simple procedure in which they draw your blood then inject it into your spine to heal the hole that is holding you hostage from leading a normal life. I had been brave up to this point, but I was in so much pain I broke down and started to cry. To my surprise and for the first time since I was admitted to the hospital, a doctor actually showed compassion toward me. He actually asked me if I was okay and sympathized with my situation. Unlike Dr. Joseph, who accused me of faking my symptoms, he knew that my pain was real and wanted to help alleviate it. He even cared about what I had been through and wanted to take that suffering away. That was nice.
I was waiting for my ride home in the hospital entry way when two different ladies approached me. I must have looked like death warmed over because the first one just came over to me to see if I was okay. The other must have really felt bad for me because she asked me if I was okay and if I needed a hug. Wow! I guess you can rely on the kindness of strangers! Even though I don't remember anything else about them physically, except that they were seniors with short gray hair and casual dress, I will always carry their kind gestures in my heart.
It is present day, October 2014, and I'm still walking and able to care for myself. I used to think that physical beauty was the most important thing in life, and that if you were thin and pretty the world would be such a great place. As I have gotten older I realized that that is not the most important thing in life. If you don't have your health you don't have anything. And if you can't take care of yourself being the most gorgeous woman in the world won't help you bathe or get groceries. I have learned that just because someone looks healthy they may not be. I especially hated it when someone would say how good I looked. That was fascinating to me since most of the time I really felt like shit. That was a complete change from my younger modeling days when that was what I lived for. Now I know that looks can be deceiving because even if someone looks good to me on the outside they might feel awful on the inside. I have become more spiritual and realize that all life is precious and not just fully-functioning individuals. I was never cruel or prejudice against people with physical limitations, I just didn't really understand what they were going through.
I vacillate back and forth between thinking that this happened to me for a reason and asking the open sky, "why me?" It doesn't really matter why because in the end this is the reality of the situation which is my life. I do believe that I have learned so much from this experience and will continue to learn. I learned that I'm a fighter, and that when the going gets tough I rise to the challenge. I learned that being "beautiful" on the inside is much more important than being beautiful on the outside (although it would be nice to have a good hair day now and again.) As I continue to live my life unfettered by negative thoughts I have decided that I don't have to be better than anyone else, just better than I used to be.
After three weeks with no improvement I became a little concerned. In fact things began to get worse; the numbness had traveled up both my legs to my waist. I could no longer feel anything from the waist down. This is not good, I thought. I'm supposed to be starting school in about three weeks and this just isn't good at all. I had made all the necessary preparations to transfer to UW-Whitewater in the fall and was looking forward to an exciting and challenging semester. I'm not really into traditional western medicine but something kept saying to me that I should seek a medical doctor, so I did. I was referred to a neurologist named Dr. Clare Joseph.
Dr. Joseph was Indian and had light brown skin and dark brown eyes. She was petite and wore the traditional white lab coat that most western medicine doctors wear. Underneath that she was wearing a pair of tan linen slacks, a white silk blouse, and to pull the look together a pair of black flat strapped sensible shoes. She was wearing big and round brown framed eye glasses that appeared to perch on top of her cheek bones. She wore her black hair down in an unkempt fashion, much like Farrah Fawcett did in her Charlie's Angel's days. She was a cantankerous woman who got on my very last nerve.
"So when did you first notice the numbness in your legs?" she asked as she perused my file.
I responded carefully by saying, "Right after I got back from Mexico, which was about a month ago."
It looked like she was mentally analyzing what I said, and then proceeded to ask me, "Are you imaging these symptoms?"
I was shocked! Were my ears deceiving me or did she just accuse me of lying about my condition?
I quickly responded, "No, I most certainly am not. Why would I lie about being ill?"
She looked at me with some doubt in her eyes but decided not to continue with that line of questioning.
After she had had her fun antagonizing me she ordered a battery of blood work and a series of MRI's. Once I had those tests I was sure that I would know exactly what I was facing. Or so I thought. I was looking for a compassionate ear from a doctor that could tell me what the heck was going on with me and instead she accused me of faking my symptoms! The reality of the situation was that I was paying this person to ridicule me and make me feel like a fool, when the only reason I'm here in the first place is because that damn vitamin B didn't work.
I ended up becoming a human pin cushion and giving away way too many blood samples. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened during these tests; I found out the hard way that I was claustrophobic. This blessed event occurred when I went for the MRI of my brain. I always thought I was so tough but I learned that when it comes to being confined in small cylindrical spheres I will panic and cry like a little school girl. It was so bad that I had to keep my eyes shut and wear head phones the entire time while the technician talked me through the hour long examination. I felt pathetic.
It was the beginning of September 2000 and the semester had just begun. I had great expectations of learning many new things and meeting new people. By then I still hadn't received a diagnosis and my symptoms worsened, and I was completely numb from the waist down. Dr. Joseph then recommended that I be hospitalized and undergo a lumbar puncture and more MRI's. At first I was resistant, but in the end I conceded to having the tests. I had the lumbar puncture and while I was there I also got a visit from one of the infectious disease doctors telling me that I had mycoplasmia, which is basically walking penumonia.
After all the test results came back I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Not only that, but the lumber puncture didn't heal which meant that my spine was leaking cerebrospinal fluid. This caused migraine-like headaches to occur every time I would stand up. Lucky me! Now I get to return to the hospital to have another procedure to heal the hole in my spine.
I had to have my mother drive me to the hospital for this procedure. My entire body was numb, and I couldn't stand up without stabs of pain shooting up through my neck to my head. I had my window down and in flew a fuzzy bumble bee which promptly landed on my right hand and stung me. When we arrived at the hospital a nurse promptly got a cold compress to put on my hand. After that I was taken to treatment room where I was going to receive a procedure called a blood patch. As it turned out this was a simple procedure in which they draw your blood then inject it into your spine to heal the hole that is holding you hostage from leading a normal life. I had been brave up to this point, but I was in so much pain I broke down and started to cry. To my surprise and for the first time since I was admitted to the hospital, a doctor actually showed compassion toward me. He actually asked me if I was okay and sympathized with my situation. Unlike Dr. Joseph, who accused me of faking my symptoms, he knew that my pain was real and wanted to help alleviate it. He even cared about what I had been through and wanted to take that suffering away. That was nice.
I was waiting for my ride home in the hospital entry way when two different ladies approached me. I must have looked like death warmed over because the first one just came over to me to see if I was okay. The other must have really felt bad for me because she asked me if I was okay and if I needed a hug. Wow! I guess you can rely on the kindness of strangers! Even though I don't remember anything else about them physically, except that they were seniors with short gray hair and casual dress, I will always carry their kind gestures in my heart.
It is present day, October 2014, and I'm still walking and able to care for myself. I used to think that physical beauty was the most important thing in life, and that if you were thin and pretty the world would be such a great place. As I have gotten older I realized that that is not the most important thing in life. If you don't have your health you don't have anything. And if you can't take care of yourself being the most gorgeous woman in the world won't help you bathe or get groceries. I have learned that just because someone looks healthy they may not be. I especially hated it when someone would say how good I looked. That was fascinating to me since most of the time I really felt like shit. That was a complete change from my younger modeling days when that was what I lived for. Now I know that looks can be deceiving because even if someone looks good to me on the outside they might feel awful on the inside. I have become more spiritual and realize that all life is precious and not just fully-functioning individuals. I was never cruel or prejudice against people with physical limitations, I just didn't really understand what they were going through.
I vacillate back and forth between thinking that this happened to me for a reason and asking the open sky, "why me?" It doesn't really matter why because in the end this is the reality of the situation which is my life. I do believe that I have learned so much from this experience and will continue to learn. I learned that I'm a fighter, and that when the going gets tough I rise to the challenge. I learned that being "beautiful" on the inside is much more important than being beautiful on the outside (although it would be nice to have a good hair day now and again.) As I continue to live my life unfettered by negative thoughts I have decided that I don't have to be better than anyone else, just better than I used to be.
