So much to do

Jacki is a nurse-midwife who fills the role of gynecologist for me. She's good--really good. It was an odd moment at the end of my very first appointment with her. I said her last name and remarked that my last intern had not only the same last name, but the same initials. I asked Jacki if she was any relation. Turns out, my intern is Jacki's daughter. Small world. Really small.

Jacki is the one who convinced me to see the urologist. It took her two years, but she got me to go. Despite my ongoing saga of pain and treatment, I suppose it actually is worth it.

Jacki asked me what I was doing to reduce my stress. That again. I told her I was a miserable failure at meditation, but I was trying to remember to breathe. Otherwise, I was taking a crack at yoga--half-heartedly.

It turns out that Jacki had a heart attack last year and has been suffering from fatigue and chest pain ever since. She said she understands what I mean when I express frustration at having health conditions that nobody can see. She understands how the whole situation--especially chronic pain and depression--just wears you down. She went on to say that we live in a constant barrage of sound and motion, activity, expectations, productivity, and endless messages making it nearly impossible to find calm--inner, outer, or other.

I am exhausted. Yoga starts in an hour. Maybe sleep would serve me better. It's possible, but I already paid a lot of money for the yoga class.