Iron Woman or Incredible Sulk? Probably both

My adjustment into single life (gawd, I hate that term) can be compared to a dance. Any dance. 

Sometimes I’ve glided gracefully into a new routine and sometimes I’ve trampled over everyone — including myself — with my two left feet. My reality is I have to handle situations differently now and sometimes I hate that I have to do it alone. The thing I hate the most? Going alone to any medical appointment that’s not routine. Maybe it’s because I’ve had my fill of emergency department waiting rooms and hospitals and doctors when My Favourite Husband (MFH) was alive. I know that hospitals and clinics mean shit is getting serious. Maybe it’s because I’m too damn stubborn to be unwell and think I can will myself better.

Whatever my underlying reason is — and, no, I haven’t dug deeper into the why — I just know I hate going to anything other than a routine medical appointment alone. Out of everything that I now do solo, this bites. This stings. 

I could break down and ask someone to come with me but I feel completely like an imposition doing so. I never felt that way with MFH but we were married. That’s different.

And with this in mind, I put on my big-girl panties and set out alone to have an iron infusion. Blood work from a few weeks ago show my hemoglobin and blood cell levels good but my ferritin level low. It’s meant low energy and a take-no-shit attitude. I’ve written about this already in a recent post but what’s changed since is that I’ve had an iron infusion in an attempt to get my number up.

Being a regular blood donor, I’m used to seeing rich, red blood flowing out of my body, through a clear plastic tube and filling a bag that gently rocks back and forth on small machine. What I’m not used to is seeing red liquid of any kind flowing into my body. I’m not used to looking at an IV pole and watching crimson coloured fluid inch its way down the bag. It’s unsettling seeing something go into my body. I’m wasn’t scared. I am, in fact, hopeful about the procedure. I really want to have the energy to do all the things I want to do — exercise, see friends — without taking frequent naps. But as I sat alone in my reclining chair, as the hours passed, I thought I really don’t want to be here alone. I wanted someone with me to tell me that this was going to work. That the expense and the time and me sitting scared in this chair was going to be worth it because I’m going to be better. 

It didn’t happen. 

My nurse at the clinic was wonderful. She’d been an intensive care unit nurse for more than 25 years and needed a change. She found herself at the private clinic working with patients who required iron infusions as well as other types of IV medications. She monitored my vitals constantly and we chatted softly about mundane things that helped calm my mind. My trepidation surrounding the procedure was eased and replaced with a gentle sadness, one which I did my best to hide. 

I spent a little over two hours hooked up. I had a quick nap. Played on my phone. Had the snack she brought me. Relaxed. I couldn’t push myself to go anywhere or do anything and honestly it was what I needed.

There was one point during my infusion that a forgotten memory washed over me and made me smile. MFH had an iron infusion before he went on dialysis. I went with him to keep him company. At one point during the procedure, he looked at me and announced: “I am Iron Man!"

I remember rolling my eyes and giggling at his proclamation. He knew what to say to break the tension in a situation.

I’ll admit that when I remembered that moment, I did think to myself: “I am Iron Woman!" What would’ve made the moment even better, though, is to have had him beside me when I said it.

I left my appointment tired and hopeful. With the maximum dosage of iron pushed through, it’ll be a wait and see how my body responds. 

Hopefully it won’t be long until I’m back to being me, with a little Iron Woman thrown in for good measure.