WTF are liver enzymes anyway?

So. Here I am, poor little me, all by myself and trying to do…something. Actually, I’m setting a few goals, keeping this place reasonably clean, moving along with doing things I said I would do whenever I had some money. In the middle of that, here comes the curve ball from the cosmos – your liver enymes are high. We need to address this, sooner rather than later. Who the heck is “we”???

I had some lab work done earlier in the week as a follow up on a doctor’s appointment I had a couple of months ago. The results showed that my liver enzymes are “extremely” high. The erstwhile PA who ordered the lab work left me a message on the patient portal to let me know that, and said she is re-referring me to a gastro specialist. We had agreed to do that before the lab work came back since it was time for my scheduled colonoscopy. The clinic to which I was referred snottily said that they are “out of network” for my insurance, which is now Medicaid. Be gone, peasant. So, I found another clinic which is in the provider network for my insurance and asked the PA to let me know if she needed to do a second referral. She did, but let me know again that liver enzymes were very high. She even had not one, but two, nurses call me to personally relay the message. Just to make sure I understood that my liver enzymes were very high. Extremely. And that I need to have the colonoscopy “sooner rather than later”. 

My joy is indescribably. My panic level is immeasurable. WTF? Of course my only recourse is to have a consultation with Mr. Google and his consort YouTube to see what’s what. Apparently, the liver enzymes can be elevated by a variety of things, from no clue why to cancer. Pancreatic cancer, colon cancer, liver cancer. There’s also something called fatty liver that can elevate those enzymes, as well as diet and obesity. I am voting for the latter, but of course my anxiety is pointing me toward one of the c-words as the answer.

So, I will wait for them to contact me next week to schedule with the gastro clinic. News like this only comes on Fridays, when you have to sit and spin on it for the entire weekend, not being able to do a damned thing about it. Ugh. 

I did morning pages this morning, and discussed this unfortunate state of affairs, and one of my questions was: have I run out of time for getting my act together and taking my life back, if I ever had it. Did I cause this somehow by chronically offering myself such poor self-care and dietary habits. What if I’m really dying? Then what? I have lost two friends about my age to cancer recently. One was a high school classmate, and I don’t know what type of cancer she had. The other was someone here that I was exceptionally close to but who disavowed me for some unknown reason, out of the blue. Whatever. She was kind of kooky, but still it hurt. Nobody expects that kind of news, though.

The whole health speed bump has caused me to ask myself what the hell I’m doing, literally. Have I worked for change, as I preach so often? Have I done as much as I can do? I think not. Have I done what I came here to do? Not a clue. What resources do I have, and have I used my powers for good? To a certain point, I believe that’s true, but again I don’t think I’ve done as much as I can do.

Somebody posted on FB earlier a parable about a hummingbird. There was a great fire in the forest, and all the animals were leaving to escape the smoke and the flames. A jaguar was plodding along, and saw a humming bird flying over head. Jaguar found that to be curious, because the hummingbird was flying toward the fire. That didn’t seem right, and while the jaguar was contemplating that, the hummingbird flew overhead once again but this time in the direction jaguar was walking – away from the fire. This was repeated several more times, and finally jaguar called out to the hummingbird. Hummingbird paused for a second, and looked won questioningly. Jaguar asked what it was that hummingbird was doing flying back and forth from the fire. Hummingbird said, “I take up a single drop of water into my beak, and fly into the fire to drop it on the flames.” Jaguar said, ”That makes no sense! Everyone has tried putting out the fire, and it is still burning. How can your single drops of water do anything?” Hummingbird said, “I know it’s only a tiny drop of water, but that is what my beak will hold. That is what I can do, and that is me doing my part to save the forest.” And then jaguar understood, and so did I.

So, what is my part. I can write some things, I can discuss and strategize, analyze some things. My fear is that mostly I can be outraged and righteously indignant, but cannot effectively organize or DO anything that changes ANYTHING. I can talk a good game, but can I take a good action? I suppose I see what I’ve done as incredibly inconsequential, changing nothing. I’ve gotten a few letters to the editor published, made some phone calls, participated in many discussions. What has that done for the “movement”?

To drill down further, for which movement do I allegedly work? Is it the GLBT movement, or the racial equity movement, or the women’s equality movement? Is it the immigrant movement, the disability front, or the class effort? It’s all necessary justice agitation, but I’m wondering if my personal effort should be more focused in order to be effective. Where am I a stakeholder? As they say – to whom do I belong?

There’s a particular spot that’s coming more into focus for me lately, and it’s a truly frightening one: should I come out of the closet about my disability? I am certainly not ashamed of it, but have never wanted people to see that first when they deal with me. The same is true for my sexual orientation, my race and ethnicity, my socioeconomic class, or anything else about me that is immutable. I don’t quite know why this one factor is so intimidating for me. What do I care what people thing about it?

Maybe I’m not at peace with being disabled. Maybe I’m still not really accepting of it, still afraid of accepting that status. I’m on Medicaid now, and truthfully I have no idea how that happened, but there’s a small piece of me that looks down a bit on that circumstance. I don’t look down on it for anyone else, just for myself. I should have been able to dodge that bullet, and not been in need of government subsidy. Had I sucked it up and maintained employment with the dark overlords of Wells Fargo, I certainly could have. How ridiculous of me, because after working all these years I will take away next to nothing financially. 

And there it is. I have mishandled my life. I should not have to go to the halls of injustice with my tin cup asking for help. Why is it perfectly acceptable for others to do that and not me? I would fight to the death for anyone else to get that help when they needed it, but cannot accept it for me. Why am I so special?

Asking for help, accepting help. No, that’s ok – I’ve got it. I can do it. Maybe I fear that I’ll be seen as weak if I need help, ask for help. Do I think that of anyone else? Maybe. I suppose I do make judgements about certain people who make odd decisions about their lives based on pride or mental health issues, or both. A friend of mine, well at least she’s on my FB friends list, got cut off by her ex-husband financially and is literally broke. She claims to have a couple of college degrees and is a public policy expert, but I have never known her to have a job or generate income. She decided to move to Michigan after her financial status changed and she got evicted from her apartment, but she doesn’t have a job or any source of income in Michigan, either. She is living in a women’s shelter but claims she is sending out her resume’ and composing cover letters. Hm. I suppose I do judge that, because she appears to have resources but depends on – or maybe expects – others to provide for her. I know there’s a mental health issue at play, but am I any better?

The whole issue of declaring a disability is complicated. Medicaid says that I can’t have more than $2,000 but how can I live? I have more than $2,000 and I’m going to have to figure that out – I have bills to pay, and I am paying them without asking for any kind of subsidy for that. The whole situation makes my brain hurt. This is why I went a long as I did working for the corporate fascist pigs, so that I could maintain as much of my autonomy and independence as possible, for as long as it’s possible. 

We don’t do this aging thing well unless you’re in a nuclear family, although even then people run into difficulties. Once again, aging is not for cissies. It’s also very scary – lawmakers are trying to eliminate Social Security, which I suppose many people my age presume will be there when we need it. Maybe not. As with many issues that define our lives, it all boils down to money – if you can pay for it, you’ll be fine. If not, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.