First, The Hard Part
I originally wrote the following on May 20th. I’m in a much better place now, and I have a surgery date! But I knew it was something that I needed to let out, as anger has its place in a journey like this. Now I’m filled with excitement that good things will come in a future that I can see. Having a surgery date feels like I won the lottery.
What I’ve discovered about working with folks who don’t speak English as a first language is that their communications are simple and direct. I love it. “You don’t have to be a doctor to know that this is a problem.” That is what the doctor said to me yesterday. I went in for a second opinion and to schedule a surgery to finally resolve the issues I’ve been dealing with for years.
About a year ago a Gastroenterologist noticed a mass protruding from my abdomen and sent me for an ultrasound. She didn’t think it was related to my GI issues, but ordered an ultrasound and encouraged me to see a Gynecologist about it anyway. I did.
“It would have to be really big to affect your digestive system.” “It’s not a thing you have to worry about right now”. “Take some fiber and come back and see me if it doesn’t work”. This is what I was told by American doctors who were charging me over $150 a visit. They were “the best”. They had awards and magazine covers hanging in their office waiting rooms. I was in good hands. They diagnosed me with IBS and sent me on my way.
I followed their advice, “didn’t worry about it”, worked my ass off, and had a pretty good little 2021 season. This year, however, things have gotten worse. I am always uncomfortable, certain foods cause my body to have a GI shut down, I never poop without a stimulant or laxative, and every time I do something remotely hard I feel so sick and can barely function. I’ve been downplaying my symptoms for a while, but it’s gotten so bad even I can’t ignore it.
I’ve seen two Gynecologists here in Girona and both have looked at me like I’m insane for having gotten this far without medical intervention.
I am exhausted from bad news. It’s been interesting playing mental gymnastics between how this isn’t the end of the road for me, I’m still alive, this could be so much worse and, this is such a trashcan situation that I don’t deserve, but have no choice but to accept.
It’s very likely that I won’t see another race day this season, and well. that really sucks. Is it the end of the world? No. Is it the end of my career? Not if I can help it. Is it the end of my season? Maybe?
I was in a videoconference therapy session when Biniam Girmay crossed the finish line in first place at stage 10 of the Giro D’Italia. I could hear William listening to the final in the next room and paused my session to hear the finish. “DID HE GET IT?” I asked hearing the excitement from the other room. “HE DID!” I put my hands in the air and explained to my therapist the significance of the moment.
When the session was over, I watched the footage and beamed with pride. I watched as Biniam stood on the top step of the podium, I also watched as he accidentally caught himself in the eye with a Prosecco cork. It looked like he’d hurt himself, but he took it like a champ and it seemed he might shake it off in a bit. He waved his hands in the air.
It was a happy moment. I was happy, Biniam was happy, and I told my friend Sam (who challenged me to a social media break) that I was going to pop onto Twitter only to share my glee. I did just that without looking at a single tweet or notification and made a clean escape.
A little while later I received a text message with news that Biniam hurt himself enough that he’d gone to the hospital and was unlikely to continue at the Giro. “We can’t have anything good” was my first thought. I’m not in a positive place right now, and that tiny bit of joy while still present was definitely somewhat tarnished with such a cruel and bizarre reason for Biniam to have to exit the Giro.
I’m still waiting for a date for surgery. Longing for the day when the doctor will cut me open and remove the source of my suffering. Am I being dramatic? I haven’t decided, and honestly, it doesn’t matter if I am or I’m not. In the end, I’m angry and I have every right to be. I’m allowing myself this time to feel my feelings so when I’m on the other side of this, I can montage my way to the greatness I know I’m capable of.
Everybody needs a montage. Even Rocky had a montage…
Things I’m excited about right now:
I have a surgery date!
It’s Peach Season!
The village pool opens next weekend!
I ran for 2 miles without hurting my knees. Hoka boat shoes for the win!
The elderly woman who takes super slow laps shuffling around the neighborhood insisted I take one of her vegetables. I put it on a burger! I think it’s lettuce?!
Teaching Will how to motopace me!
My mom is coming to Spain to worry in person and help take care of me!
