It was near the end of June in 1989, I was at work feeling better than I had in years. Just knowing that I was going to have a colonoscopy in two weeks, was going to find out what had been going on in my "gut" and that my new Gastro. believed me, had an incredible effect on my spirit and body.
I had been out running errands when I got a call from the office. They told me that my Gastro had called and that I was to return the call when I got back.
There were two more destinations that I had to get to before I could get back and call. I was so curious about why he had called, I ended up distracted and missed roads I was to go down, and buildings I was supposed to stop at. Because of the fact that everyone thought my problems were psychosomatic, my mind started to play tricks on me, and I imagined calling his office only to find that he talked to my family doctor, who told him that I was crazy, so he had decided after thinking about it he wasn't going to take on my case. By the time I returned to work I was so worked up and believed that was going to happen, that I was afraid to call him back. Thinking that I was going to be in pain for the rest of my life, and that no one would ever believe me, I sat in the bathroom for a half an hour and cried
My immediate boss Leanne found me in there and told me to just call, that it could be important. So I went into my office, shut and locked the door, sat down at my desk and shakily dialed his office's number. When I told the receptionist who was calling, she got him right on the line. He told me that he got my blood test results back that morning, that they were really messed up and that he couldn't believe that I was actually at work, walking around and functioning properly. He told me to get home, pack a bag and head up to the hospital to be admitted. I was in shock.
I cleaned up the mascara and tears that had stained my face, and went into the big bosses office, to tell him what was going on, that I had to leave, and that I didn't know when I would be back. I found my friend Richard at his drafting table and asked him if he could give me a ride home. When I got there my Dad was just coming home, and I told my parents what was going on, and asked if one of them could take me to the hospital. I stood there as they argued amongst themselves about who had more important things to do, and which one was going to be able to take me. Again, still, I wasn't important. I went to my room and packed.
It was somehow decided that my Mom would take me, so he got in the car and headed to the hospital where I hoped my journey to a diagnosis and back to health would truly begin.