At my first visit, my new rheumatologist asked some questions about my symptoms (I had none save the one time blue finger) and ordered additional labs. When all the results came back, I had a second appointment and the Dr. basically told me that I had markers of a possible, future autoimmune disease, but in the absence of symptoms, there was nothing to do but wait and see. I pressed her for solutions, things I could do to keep the odd in my favor — is there a diet I could follow? preventative meds or supplements? I am not a lazy woman, I explained to the doctor, I will do whatever it takes, just tell me what to do. I am, a doer after all.  But rheumatology doesn’t focus on disease prevention, it doesn’t know much about what causes the body to start attacking itself in the first place; a rheumatologist just writes prescriptions to manage symptoms once a disease has explicitly arisen.

I left the appointment thinking that the doctor, the entire field of rheumatology was crazy –everything has a cause, if I can do something now to prevent the cause of a diseased state, I can mitigate the result. Waiting and seeing seemed like crap medicine to me. I seriously didn’t want to just sit around waiting to get sick and die.

And yet, it is inarguable that this little arrangement, birth into Death’s waiting room, was one I willingly embraced: Everyone already knows damn well this is part of the contract, exactly what we sign-up for.

I don’t want to wait and die– why be born?

I don’t want to be sick –why have a body?

I don’t want to suffer — duh, this is built into the fabric of the world, why entrap and tether myself to it?

The answer is, I think I can game the system. I think I can trade painful things I don’t like for awesome things I do, and somehow walk away net ahead. It’ll be worth it, I know.  I accept what I imagine will be brief hiccups of time I don’t like for periods when I can be happy. Or at least periods I imagine I will be happy. This is the siren song of hope. It is fueled by the sometimeses. By the belief that some trait or characteristic, the force of my will –I am a doer after all — will mean I get the last laugh.

But in the end, I can do, I can bring the force of my will,  knowledge, preparation, with me into that waiting room. And what does it really buy? Duration –either upping or lowering. A change in the details of the circumstance –either better, or worse. I can laugh and I can cry, but none of that changes the reality of the situation: I am just sitting around waiting to get sick and die. If this is unacceptable to me, I had best identify and mitigate the causes, otherwise, long or short, over and over I will wait and then I will die.