I’ll be heading to the sunshine of Florida in a couple of weeks, but it won’t be for a beach-filled vacation. In my attempts to stay sane and return to my previously “normal” (at least by my standards) life, I am heading to the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville to let the wizards doctors there take a shot at figuring out why I have a life-altering amount of swelling that has left me feeling like “I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
Picking which Mayo Clinic to visit was a no-brainer. My sister, the kidney donor, lives near the one in Florida. Also, when it comes down to it, who would pick Minnesota over Florida in December? (The Phoenix option was just too far away.)
My favorite thing about the potential of this visit is the confidence of the place. After fully informing them of the thus-far-undiagnosable condition of which I have become the unwilling recipient (despite being poked, prodded and photographed by a plethora of physicians in various parts of the Midwest), their response was, “Come here, and we’ll figure it out.” I really liked hearing that, with no mention of words like, try, maybe or might.”
I am scheduled to be seen by several doctors from many different walks of doctoring over a four day period. I like the odds that they will figure something out.
I hope, upon arrival, it doesn’t turn out to be some has-been behind a big curtain. Although I’d take that if I could wake up and find out this has all just been a bad dream…a la Dorothy. There may be no place like home, but it’s time to give these out-of-town medicinal wizards a try.
After all, I still plan to be the one to teach my little girl to play tennis. I don’t want to just be the chauffeur who gets her to the courts.
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