once the time changes it starts getting lighter earlier and earlier. despite that light, i wake to the gray dimness of rain. i slosh my way through it to work. i usually don’t dry out until the beginning of july.
arizona kids grow up equally worshiping the abundant sun and reverencing the seldom rainfall. i miss those distant heavy clouds. the smell of that rapidly changing sky. the paralyzing electric green lightning strikes followed by the sound of those powerful thunder claps.
the rain that falls now is different.
other than vials and vials of blood work last summer and three cycles of femara this year, not much has been done. two doctors told me not to worry. you’re young, they say. keep trying, they say. but two years seemed like a long enough wait. a month ago i asked my doctor to be more aggressive.
diagnostic tests were scheduled and minutes later a phone call from the hospital trapped me in my car. in a parking lot. tests canceled. doctors. codes. insurance. phone calls.
without warning my doctor has assigned me a code. the code that few insurances cover. a code that apparently cannot be reversed. countless friends have gone much farther diagnostically than me, and they have not been given this code.
shock. that’s what i feel when i am not feeling desperate. sometimes i’m confused and uncertain how to move forward. i try not to think about it but i am.
even during this unwanted drizzle, the sun still managed to break through. it shined brightly the past two weekends.
raining in baltimore, by counting crows