(Un)Reality

You know, thinking back, there really hasn’t been an official diagnosis, literally or figuratively.

I mean, every time my illnesses have been presented to me (by Doctor C), it has been in a very casual manner, like talking about the newest movie or something. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean.

I’ve never gotten that stern we have to talk type of conversation. Only blurred explanations, a lot of which I’ll admit that I don’t understand. T Cells and B Cells, DNA, and foreign invaders (oh my!). I suppose it’s stuff pretty common to a conversation about the immune system, but it’s a lot of stuff I thought I only needed to know if I was considering a career in medicine. And there is definitely no mention of statistics. Give me percentages, something that I might understand. What are my chances here, doc? Through me a bone, would you? But we don’t do things by the numbers. I’m not actually sure how we do them.

Your immune system has gone haywire. But this medication will swoop in and defeat your overactive T Cells.

It’s like the medical version of a comic book superhero tale.

And apparently the doctors and the medicine are the heroes in this story, not me.

I am supposed to remain a passive actor while my body, the doctors, and the medication, not I, do the dirty work.

Well, I think it’s about time that I faced reality. I’m starting to realize that it has been so hard for me to do because in some ways, I don’t think Doctor C has really been able to face reality, either. When I go to my appointments, Doctor C is only seeing an incredibly small snippet of what my life is like. And I think telling me the whole truth would mean admitting that modern medicine isn’t perfect and that there are some things we aren’t going to be able to fix. But doctors would never admit to that, would they?

But that’s what I need. I need someone to be honest with me and tell me that my life is not going to be perfect, but it’s going to be livable. You know, I forgot about fixating on perfect months ago. That’s not what I’m asking for. But I need to know. Otherwise I am led to have unrealistic expectations about my doctors’ (and modern medicines’) capabilities.

The other day when I was really feeling bad, I accused my medication of not working. But the thing is, I don’t know if that’s really true. It might be doing the best that it can. Heck, all I can expect of myself everyday is to do the best I can. That’s all we can ever expect of anyone…

But what if our best isn’t good enough?