It happened again.
A doctor told me I’m weird.
The Mighty published my personal essay “The Hard Realties I’ve Faced After My Doctor Told Me, ‘You’re Just Weird.’ “
Now it’s winter 2020.
And apparently, from a medical standpoint, I’m still weird.
Here’s the thing. I’ve said it before, I’ve written it before, and I’ll write it again – I’m okay with being weird. I know a lot of people think it’s weird I like to eat leftover Thanksgiving turkey cold and dipped in ketchup. Maybe it’s weird that I always have to sleep with blankets covering me. Some might find the nine rings I wear to be weird.
Weird can be good. Weird can be unique. And special. And celebrated. It tells the world I don’t need to be like everyone else.
Except – when it comes to medicine.
I’m going through a rough time right now. Actually, for the last several months. My rheumatologist referred me to a neurologist in his office. I’ve had two different (unpleasant) tests/procedures.
One test revealed “muscles abnormalities.” Abnormalities – just a fancy word for weird.
The other test supported the findings of the first test.
But when my rheumatologist walked into the exam room the other day for my follow-up, he told me he had met with the neurologist, reviewed the findings, and in his words, “She says you’re weird.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I replied.
But inside I didn’t say that. In my imagination, a whole other scenario played out. I got off the exam table and started screaming at everyone.
“Don’t call me weird,” I hollered, enunciating each word.
“Tell me you don’t know what to do. Tell me you don’t know how to help me. But do not f – – -ing call me weird. It’s not me that’s weird. It’s this disease.”
I had images of me standing outside on Wilshire Boulevard, using a baseball bat to whack the street signs.
The police officers would come. I would admit all my wrongdoing. Take full responsibility. And tell the officers that I was just overcome with emotion. I had been called weird once too many.
Because when my doctor told me I was weird, I knew we didn’t have any more answers. I knew I wasn’t going home with a new treatment plan.
I live with pain. Each and every day.
Pain isn’t weird. Pain is exhausting. Pain is depressing. Pain is want-to-pull-the-hair-out-of-my-head upsetting. But it’s not weird.