August 2006: Two weeks in New York City: a dream vacation made possible by a house swap. We walked the riverfront each morning, feasted on ethnic delicacies, and stoked ourselves on the unique flavors and aromas of New York. We shopped the farmers’ market, applauded park concerts and reveled in the end-of-summer giddiness before returning to the “real world.” It was a magic time.
September 8, 2006 we drove from The City to visit friends and attend two reunions. This day marked the first appearance of a common symptom of this illness: diarrhea.
During the next three weeks, I developed skills I never guessed I would have to learn. Each stop tested my ability to identify with all due speed the location of a public rest room. Courtesy gave way to urgency in ladies’ room lines. Hasty excuses presaged a flight to a loo. There was no time for witty euphemisms or demure excuses. My body felt dissociated, acting independently without forethought, and failing to give me sufficient advance notice to gracefully tend to excruciatingly private urgencies.
During the remainder of the trip, other symptoms appeared. Daily walks took longer to cover the same distance. My ankles and feet became chubby with edema. Any sparkle I might have brought to the events dimmed, replaced by anxiety.
Back home at last, I delayed calling for a doctor’s appointment. A tinge of dread replaced the uneasiness I had been feeling in July. Then the pictures from the two reunions began to arrive and I saw myself not as in a mirror but as others saw me. I was stunned: “That is a sick woman!” my mind shrieked. I picked up the telephone immediately and arranged to see my doctor the very next day.
Next time: Diagnostic tests.
Copyright 2008
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted August 21, 2008
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