Conversations I Have With Myself Before Taking My Invisible Illness to the ER

Maybe all I need is sleep. Closing my eyes now will give me eight hours of uninterrupted rest. As soon as I find a comfortable position. Turn off the thoughts in my brain. Convince my body to relax. One muscle at a time.

I ate less than an hour ago. It's never a good idea to visit the hospital with a full stomach.

If I walk in there and they dismiss my pain AGAIN, I may finally lose all sense of control, undergo a complete mental breakdown, and find myself committed. (Sedation doesn't sound so bad)

Maybe I'll end up with a Millennial doctor who grew up obsessed with House. They built their medical career emulating Dr. House, fancying themselves capable of solving any medical mystery. Not only will they resolve the source of my pain, but they'll also root out the cause of my illness. All before the midnight shift change.

Shift change is a terrible time to set foot in the ER. Everyone's struggling to transfer patient information and orders. Better to wait for another time—next week.

Still five hours of sleep possible.

Maybe the medical staff is tired of patients shrugging or stumbling over their answers. They'll be so relieved to find themselves with a patient fluent in her medical history that they'll rush to help. I'll get catapulted to the head of triage and find myself the center of attention. In no time, I'll get to talk to a doctor, receive a diagnosis.

What if this time the pain IS in my head?

It's probably cancer.

I need to give yoga a chance. Regulating my breathing, stretching, and lying on an overly-priced mat will correct pain where modern medicine has failed.

If I delay long enough, my body's immune system will eventually turn its sights on a major organ. Then I'll have a legitimate reason to present to the emergency room. Everyone will lower the tone of their voice, give me sympathetic smiles. Plus, I'll have a legitimate reason to walk into every doctor's office wearing a sad face.

A walk in the sunshine—that's all I need. Endless laps around the block, waving to reassure the neighbors my hunched posture is nothing to fret over.

I should walk down the street, do a quick observation of the hospital parking lot, ensure they're still open.

Come to think of it, the parking lot always seems rather full. I don't want to burden those poor nurses and doctors.

Maybe my sickeningly healthy doppelganger won't show up this time. The nameless, faceless individual who swoops in to corrupt every ER visit. This time, they could fail to appear. This is my chance to get labs and imaging performed without interference, finally get accurate results with MY blood, MY body.

If I fall asleep NOW, I can get one hour of sleep.

I don't invest enough time willing away my symptoms. Some part of me enjoys feeling the pain, interfering with my focused meditations to dismiss the illness from my body. That's the only reason I feel this way. A few neurons gather in a shadowy corner of my brain, sabotaging my efforts to dismiss this nightmare. If I tried hard enough, I could prevent the pain. It's all a matter of WANT.

My horoscope said today's a lucky one for me. That's a sign everything's in my favor—even trips to the ER.

Water—all I need to do is drink more water.

Well, now I need to pee. So much for getting to sleep. I'll try again tonight. Because if I get a whole night's rest, the pain will magically disappear.