So, if you know me, you know I'm a bit anti...medication. Or, well, that's not entirely right -- I'm more anti-throwing-medication-at-every-ache-and-pain-and-twitch. Probably goes back to when I was younger and sickly for many a years and my conversations with doctors would go like this:
Doctor: What seems to be the problem?
Me: *describes various ailments that no doubt have to do with stomach issues*
Doctor: Ah. I see. *writes prescriptions* Take this. Come back in two weeks. If it doesn't kill you, we'll up the dosage.
Okay, well, maybe they didn't say it exactly like that. But it sure felt like that's what they did.
Anyway, this always left a bad taste in my mouth as far as modern medicine went. I'd get put on anti-depressants and fight tooth and nail to "heal myself." I'd get put on BC (not because of THAT. Because of girlish hormone issues. Get your mind out of the gutter.) and slowly ween myself off them to avoid yet ANOTHER influx of hormones into my body (seriously America?? What is with this hormone obsession?? *twitches*).
Suffice to say, when I got sick last week, like really really REALLY sick, the last place I wanted to go was a hospital.
But then, you know, I couldn't breathe, and after some prodding from The Mother and The Boyfriend, I ended up in the ER. And this one experience shed a much needed beacon of light on modern medicinal stuffs.
See, turned out I had (have) mono. No cure for it, but what the doc's did for me left me feeling like a whole new woman. Two prescriptions, a dose of Motrin, a shot that if it were human I would marry and have its babies later, I went home able to BREATHE and stuff. And now, almost a week later, I am back at work and kickin' like I never had tonsils the size of golf balls at all.
Mondays posts are supposed to be about things that I LOVE LOVE AND ADORE. I'm not now suddenly an advocate of modern medicinal thingies (I still firmly believe that if you can heal on your own, you should), but something I do LOVE LOVE AND ADORE are second chances. If I had held to my previous bad experiences with doctors and hospitals, I might still be lying in bed gasping for air and cringing every time I swallow. But because I was able to let go of my own biases (and perhaps embrace a bit of my oxygen-deprived delirium), I got much better much quicker than I would have on my own.
So here's to second chances and being open to changing your biases -- because sometimes that thing you hate might not be so completely life-destroying as you thought. Or maybe it is and a second chance will affirm that. But probably not.
That didn't end as inspirational as I wanted it to.