As I stood surrounded by the most powerful people in the kingdom arguing over me, I wished more than anything that I'd just stayed in bed that day and missed my doctor's appointment. The $50 cancellation fee would've been nothing compared to this.
An ironic thought crossed my mind—I was like that character in one of my favorite cartoons as a kid; every time his class ended up going on a magical field trip he always lamented "I knew I should have stayed home today!" as they left.
Me too, kid. Me too.
My life got turned upside down on an ordinary Tuesday. I sat scrolling through comics on my phone in the waiting room of yet another doctor's office.
It was my third visit this month, not counting the biweekly physical therapy appointments I had to go to for my back, neck, and shoulder pain.
Why was a twenty-three year old woman going to the doctor so often? Well, I'd been a bit of a medical mystery for the past five years.
I started getting dizzy, having constant stomach aches, migraines, and all-over pain my freshman year of college. Despite being on seven different medications and going to the doctor more than a dozen times per year, they still hadn't quite figured out everything that was going on with me yet.
I barely managed to graduate college working around my various health crises and, being a millennial, couldn't find a half-decent job without going back for more school. I had friends in grad school—from what they told me about the workload, my body would not survive.
So I took a part-time job as the "librarian" (they couldn't technically call me that since my degree wasn't in library science but for some reason they hired me anyway) at an elementary school and tried to work my doctor's appointments around my schedule as best I could.
It wasn't hard work at all but even the minimal effort of being at the school six hours a day took a toll on my already poor health. The majority of my time was spent cooped up in my studio apartment, devouring book after book (though I occasionally shook it up by bingeing a new TV show or watching documentaries). Fiction was so much better than reality! Or so I thought at the time.
"Katie Pullman?" a nurse called from the door. That was my cue.
Hopping out of my chair with a wince—my knees really don't allow for hopping—I closed my comic about a girl who found herself inside the world of a novel and shoved my phone into my pocket.
After taking my height, weight, and blood pressure, the nurse asked the standard question: what brings you in today?
"My primary care doctor wants me to get tested for autoimmune disorders," I said dully.
She'd already tested me for just about everything else and said her hands were tied. My pain was honestly unexplainable by any of the usual culprits.
"Do you have your referral with you?"
I nodded. "I gave it to the woman at the front desk when I checked in."
The nurse smiled at me. "I'll go check on that later. Would you please follow me to the lab?"
Ah, the lab. I'd been to a bunch before and they all looked roughly the same. As I thought. The usual reclining chair with a table on it used when drawing people's blood wasn't too far from the door.
My blood had been drawn enough times to know the drill. I obediently sat in the chair and didn't put up a fuss, politely requesting that the seat be leaned back so I wouldn't get as dizzy. No matter how many times I got stabbed with one I just couldn't get used to needles!
Squeezing my eyes shut before they even pulled the needle out was the only way I ever survived these sorts of things. It hurt but it was the sight of the needle that made me most woozy.
The nurse removed the needle and told me to stand up slowly when I was ready. I got up quickly. I still needed to go to the library and check out the books I had on hold about flora of the southwest before crashing for the day.
Cacti are more interesting than you might think. Small succulents already lined the windowsill in my apartment but I wanted to know more in case I ever managed to afford a real house with space for a garden out front.
The woman at the check-out desk told me my results would be in 7-10 days from now. I thanked her before adjusting my purse strap and heading out the door.
It was a beautiful Arizona day. Blindingly sunny, blue skied, and so hot you could feel your skin melting. I couldn't wait for school to get out for the year so I could just stay in my air-conditioned apartment all summer.
My beat up old car roared to life as I turned the key and the brake light came on instantly. It had been like this for the past two days but I hadn't had time to take it to a mechanic yet because of work. I was planning on doing it over the weekend.
A catchy song I knew most of the words to came on the radio so I sang along as I drove onto the freeway ramp. The library (and my apartment) was on the opposite side of town from the clinic.
This was my biggest mistake. About ten minutes into my drive the car in front of me slammed on its brakes. Of course, I slammed on mine too but my car was old. The brakes gave out.
The wheel spun out of my control and despite my seatbelt my limbs flew around like a ragdoll's as I hit the barrier on the side of the road before the car kept spinning and everything went black.