I had a bad report from my physician. Rather, it came from my blood test results delivered to my email, showing that my thyroid was mis-behaving. Hypothyroidism. I did what we all do...constantly google the word to control my fear of it to submission.
I spent a week researching all the options. Everything about why the thyroid stops working, prognosis, medication, side effects. And because because there is a genetic link, I even called my parents only to find that my mum suffers from an imbalance too. It started to get clearer. Then I starting framing the questions I was going to ask my much younger GP. I went through all the scenarios with him in my head. But at the back of my mind was the idea that there is a problem with my symphony.
My belief is my worst enemy. Let me explain.
Lets start at the beginning. One of the books that I recommend to my students is Sherwin B. Nuland "The Way We Die." In it Nuland has a beautiful description of death..."The very old do not succumb to disease-they implode their way into eternity. " Describing to my students about how specific cells are engineered to die--which Leonard Hayflick discovered and has subsequently been termed as cell senescence or cell death--and how this affects each organ of the body separately. Some organs have backups (kidneys for example), while others are peripheral organs that do not affect our lives (hair senescence.) But, as I explain to my students, if you imagine that your body is an orchestra and you have one of the players playing the wrong song, or worse still, not playing at all, it creates dissonance in your ongoing symphony. What happens when it is more than one orchestra player, and other players start to abandon the stage? When do you stop having an orchestra? Perhaps when the conductor storms off the stage in disgust, perhaps that is death. But before that event, when does the conductor storm off, how do you define the last stages of death? When the flutists are all alone in the front of the stage?
My thyroid was off the stage. I furtively looked at all the other orchestra players. I went through my blood test with the persistence of a mathematician. Any blood result that veered away from the middle of the normality range I held up as suspect. Is that player ready to run off stage too? Can I continue playing without the trombone, without the percussion? And where the hell is the clarinetist going?
Though my life is more of a jazz and choral music, my body is regimented in its consistency. I still wear my first adult suit that my parents bought for me for my graduation thirty five years ago.
I started to appreciate how personal ill health is. It is about me, my music my orchestra and they are not playing it correctly.
Then came the meeting with my GP. Which went something like this: "No no no, it is the other way round, you misread the result and it is not such a bad indication. Means that you are healthy. All other blood indices have improved. Continue what you are doing."
But I can look back and see how desperate I became so that I could continue with my orchestra. To continue playing the same music that I equated with my life.
Hiking down a local mountain where I live, early in the morning, feeling unstressed and in my quiet place, I started thinking about the music that my body is playing. I define my life by the music I create. My bodymakes a specific type of music that makes me feel good about myself, that makes me feel vigorous, healthy. Can I still play without the trombone, without the percussion? And what if the clarinetist goes off somewhere unexpectedly? Can I still play music, and should I start changing from an orchestra to an ensemble and perhaps prepare for a quartet?
I like the sound of a quartet. It is minimalist. What instrument would I select and what music can I still play that makes me feel useful, alive and vigorous? I need to explore that. I have a task ahead of me. I am going to prepare for my quartet and if you know me, I will be calling on your help, more than I have done in the past. But for right now, I am going to play Vivaldi and enjoy the return of my prodigal thyroid.
© USA Copyrighted 2013 Mario D. Garrett