Friday I went to the MDA clinic in Phoenix for a visit with the neurologist and respiratory therapist. It was just a routine checkup and I’m doing OK, although they want me to see a pulmonary specialist since SMA does compromise my breathing ability in that it weakens the muscles of the diaphragm. I do miserably on breathing tests but my oxygen saturation levels are excellent so my body compensates quite well. However if I get a cold or bronchitis I have a very hard time. The neurologist thinks if I see a pulmonary specialist now it will be better than waiting until I’ve got real problems. He could be right — but I just hate going to doctors.
I also don’t like going to the MDA clinic. Don’t get me wrong, the people are always very nice and the doctors and other medical practitioners that I see there are for the most part tops in their field. The reason why I don’t like going has to do with my history. You see I’ve been attending MDA clinics since I was 18 months old. As a child and an adolescent MDA clinic was at minimum a twice yearly event and wrought with much emotional turmoil for me.
Going to the clinic would mean that I would see a pediatric neurologist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist and other various medical personnel. Usually there would be medical students there to observe. I would go through a battery of tests and questions which would bring me to the same result every time. The emphasis of all of this was on what spinal muscular atrophy was doing to my body. Everything I could not do was showcased. The reality of my fragile physical condition was laid bare for everyone much in the same way that my clothes were removed and I would be given one of those horrid hospital gowns to wear.
There would be discussion of my scholastic achievements and the fact that I was a normal active child much like any other child except for the fact of my very disabling condition. Somehow it seemed less important than the fact of my disease. I always left those clinic appointments feeling sad, very sad. I even remember crying many times at those appointments.
The emotions from those years, especially the adolescent years, are still very strong. I was astounded on Friday at how much of it came back to me while sitting and waiting at the clinic. I’m not a person who lives in the negative or dwells on what I cannot do. I’m a person who focuses on what I can do and strives for accomplishment. My life is a happy one and a satisfying one because of the blessings of God and my family and friends. I’m glad I don’t have to visit the clinic very often but I am surprised at how much of the pain is still there.
GG was off taking a nap somewhere in the house so she never got to see her prey again. Every time I go out in the backyard I scan the brick walls looking for a tailless lizard but I haven’t found him yet. I’m sure he’s out there somewhere no doubt telling all the other lizards about his close encounter with a terrorizing feline in our house. I can’t figure out how he got in the house unless he came in while I was going in or out the backdoor — or the front door for that matter. If he’s smart he won’t come back inside anytime soon!
Update 03/18: I saw the birds again this morning right outside my bedroom window so I got a much better look since they were only a few feet away. They are either American Goldfinch or Lesser Goldfinch. The Lesser Goldfinch is more common in this area but the American Goldfinch can be here as well and what I saw looks like that rather than the other.