A tip of the hat – to women

International women’s day 8th March 2019 A fitting coincidence for this week’s post – as I recall the hard to comprehend but insightful and wise referral from my GP – whom I was meeting for the first time. My featured painting above is not of Dr Wong – who proved an excellent physician in my time with her. If I were to paint or even list the women I have met, whom I admire for qualities that I aspire to myself; I’d lose any time to dedicate to this post! I decided instead given the timing of this post to paint the three most important, loving, inspiring young women in my life.

“…Neurologist…” The word reverberated, bouncing off the inside of my skull, compressing its ‘alphabetti spagetti’ letters against the bone, reorientating, and launching back through my muddied mind, slowly losing momentum, until eventually settling into focus.

Sadly, by now I was sitting back in my car having not allowed any further advice or information from Dr Wong to penetrate into my short term memory. Most of the fundamental cores of my identity, sprout from or entangle with my mind: my intelligence (not MENSA, but no dummy!), my lateral thinking, my problem solving, my wit, my leadership. To refer me to a brain specialist was about the most disparaging insult that I had been belted with in my life – and let’s not forget that the handsome man you see now , grew up in a country town, with three brothers, a mop of red hair and a tan that preferred to emerge as many individual, teeny tiny tans, rather than an even coating regular one. You have to get up very early to penetrate my alligator tough skin with an insult!

Yet, there it was, my brand new GP (having not been to the doctor since moving to town more than a year previous) who I had misjudged immediately, to be too soon out of Medical school, too timid, too gentle. This ‘caveman’ needs a doctor capable of communicating in guttural groans, interspersed with a vigorous yet simple, European sign language styled vocabulary. A doctor who is able to lather their patient chair with concentrated sulphuric acid – because they have no intention of letting me sit down long enough to start the corrosion of my derrière. A brief, deeply vibrating shudder coursed from my heels through the tip of my spine, catalysing a slow shake of my head, whilst persuading me to gently massage the back of my neck with my clammy palm. I don’t like being wrong, and my inability to cope magnanimously with my wrong presumption; escalated my current physical symptoms. Dr Wong – although packaged as delicate and dainty as a butterfly; was sharper than a hyperdermic needle and as hard hitting as Sonny Liston.

Still, I refused to believe that my casual mention of a caffeine fuelled hand tremoring on the keyboard, could possibly indicate a problem with my brain. Perhaps arrogantly, more likely fearfully and with the safety of being alone in my car, I thought to myself as I took a final lingering glance at the referral form, “Not this brain, no way.”

As the date of my referral loomed closer I clung to one final act of defiance against Dr Wong’s wisdom. In hindsight, so very predictably I made the last minute decision to prioritise my work over my health; and in the blink of an eye I had postponed my neurology appointment for another 3 months – allowing me to snuggle comfortably with my denial through the Christmas break – right up until the beginning of February in 2017.