Pegasus Unicorn

 Discussion of medical issues today. You have been warned!

I had a follow up appointment today to check on progress from the recent surgery. I'd mentally prepared myself as best possible, knowing that the doctor would need to do a physical exam. And honestly, I am not certain whether I, or my doctor, was more concerned about how my healing was going. He spoke to me first before the exam, to be sure I was comfortable with the idea of an exam, and he explained how he had gone to a continuing medical education course specifically relating to one of my issues, because of me. He filled me in on what he had learned and how we would change my treatment plan if the current regimen proves to be insufficient. 

It was kind of endearing, honestly, to know that he voluntarily took these extra steps to ensure he is providing me the best possible treatment. After being my doctor for over twenty-five years, he knows well that my assortment of issues makes me a sort of pegasus unicorn medically, and he went out of his way to take a specialty class in unicorn management. Good for him. Good for me. And good for any other unusual patients, especially unicorn patients, or even -- if she exists -- another pegasus unicorn.

I did my best not to flinch during the exam (and pretty much failed at that), but I was able to relax enough for him to take a good look and proclaim delightedly that "things look great!" I could hear the genuine relief in his voice. We then had a discussion of the very specific details of my anatomy and the use of the prescribed medications, and scheduled another follow-up for two months from now to see whether the discomfort I am still experiencing has further improved. He seems optimistic. That's good.

As I walked to my car, I realized that my jaw hurt from clenching my teeth, and I had to make a conscious effort to allow the stress to drain out of my body. I thought about the treatment plan, especially about the fact that I really do need to gather my wherewithal, get a mirror, and take a good look at everything myself. That way I will know what exactly the new-and-improved situation is, and can ensure that I'm following the treatment plan correctly. 

I don't really want to look. But it does not behoove me to be a coward.

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As I drove back to work, I heard echoes in my head of follow-up appointments from eons ago: those six-week appointments after delivery of a baby, when I awaited the same "things look good!" reassurance from the doctor. That anticipated-and-dreaded blessing to resume... activities. Those were tricky times -- weeks of gingerly parking my exhausted self on a donut pillow with a needy nursing newborn, feeling touched-out by children, wanting to be held and simultaneously to be left alone, wondering if I could ever feel amorous again. 

When permission was eventually granted postpartum for me to use my undercarriage as I saw fit, I had to summon all the courage to begin anew once more. Healing and moving forward takes time, and patience, and a certain amount of tender care -- both physical and emotional. Then (as now) I was afraid. The line between pleasure and pain, always so fine. Was it desire that quickened the pulse, or was it fear? Or perhaps a little of both? 

As these reminiscences flowed, Paloma Faith's "Only Love Can Hurt Like This" came on the radio. So very apt, in both a literal and metaphorical way.

Only love can hurt like this
But it's the sweetest pain
Burning hot through my veins
Love is torture
Makes me more sure
Only love can hurt like this

Only time will tell whether I will be brave.