double, double. toil, and trouble.

My therapist encouraged me to buy some clothing that fits my shrinking body. So a few months ago, I bought two pairs of Old Navy sweatpants and they fit reasonably well.

I took a leap and advantage of a sale to buy five more pairs. Same size. Too big. Too big. Slide off when I put them on, offer little warmth too big.

I was supposed to see my Gastroenterologist yesterday. I was concerned he would hospitalize me because of my deterioration. Instead, he didn’t show up – I believe that’s called ghosting? It was the last appt of the day so I’ll not know why until Monday. A weekend to fill with pondering.

My original PA is back to seeing patients. Her nurse called me in response to a message I had sent, worried about me. She asked me to call to make an appointment. They could see me on April 25.

double, double, toil and trouble.
fire burn and cauldron bubble.

What do I do between now and then? I keep asking and asking.

So twice the GI doctor-power leaves me with nothing. More phone calls, more messages, more trying to embrace this new reality. More toil. More trouble.

Garments meant to cheer me up just reinforce that nothing fits. I’m afraid to buy smaller, like wishing myself away, ounce by ounce. Is it better to feel uncomfortable or to feel reduced?


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