Some things aren't true until you say them...

04.10.2009 - 5:46 p.m.

I sign in at the doctor�s office five minutes before my appointment time, and they give me a huge packet to fill out. This is the first surreal thing. It is many pages of yes/no questions about the tick bite and my symptoms, ranging all the way from mild headaches to fibromalgia. I have three, and maybe one or two more, I�m not sure. In the back is a list of supplements I should be taking for this disease I don�t really expect to have.

Later, as he�s skimming through my packet, the doctor asks me what I was doing when the tick bit me. I tell him I was camping up in western Maryland, that we took a long day hike and that I found the tick when I got back to camp.

�Oh? How was the hike?� he asks.

�It was a great hike,� I gush, thinking of raindrops hanging from stickerbush branches like jewels, the owl we startled and how silently it flew, the quality of the company and the expanse of woods around us, �Really good.�

�Yeah?� he asks, and in his eyes I get a hint that he�d appreciate a good hike, but then he glances down at the papers in his lap again and the expression fades. �I�m sorry,� he adds with a wry grin, �I�m pretty much asking �So, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play other than that?� aren�t I.�

�No, it�s okay,� I chuckle, because the idea is funny and because I like this doctor, so I�m feeling relaxed. I am a person to him, not a puzzle, and anyway I�m not really like the people in the waiting room, used to seeing each other there every month, casually discussing pain management. Today is merely a hypochondriac precaution, a taking advantage of good insurance, a blip on the radar soon to be lost in the noise of normal life.

He looks at the red spot on my leg, and asks me a few more questions about the onset of the headaches and the tiredness. Then he pulls out a pad of scripts, and at first I think he is joking again, but then I realize he�s telling me about the drug he�s going to prescribe, which I already know about from googling the thing in the first place. And I want to explain to him that no, he's supposed to tell me that all the symptoms are from something else, I can chalk them up to the time of the month, the stress at work and at home, or the dry skin I get every spring. I�m just here because I�m being a ninny. But I don�t. Because really, I think I have it too. My body knows something is wrong.

There�s no point in testing this early, he tells me. It won�t be accurate. But early is good, because early cases can be curable. I nod, somewhat confused about the time he is taking to explain everything. I have only processed the words �early,� �good,� and �curable.� I want to go start my pills and move on with life.

At the checkout desk the receptionist processes my prescription and asks when the doctor wants to see me again. �I don�t think he needs to,� I answer, and she barely suppresses a laugh.

�That can�t possibly be true,� she says. �This is Lyme day.�

�Well he didn�t say anything in particular,� I answer, not entirely sure. I only remember him saying early, good, curable, and I am not like the other patients in the waiting room.

Even so, she looks up next month�s Lyme day on the schedule. And now I have a ten o'clock appointment.

-stonebridge

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