PTSD, Integrative Medicine, Aggravation, and Me

I got a speeding ticket today.

I was the only car on the road, in either direction.  As soon as the cones started I slowed down to the speed limit.  Apparently, that wasn't enough for the nicest Sheriff ever, who didn't cite me for criminal fastness nor for going so quickly through a construction zone. That was kind and I'm not taking anything away from the gesture, but there was no danger to anyone because there was no one else around, the speed which inspired the ticket was the posted limit,  there was nary a construction worker on the scene, and I was finally going home after eight hours away.

I'm too aggravated to think through more than a paragraph at a time.  My brain refuses to let go of the angst. TBG tried to talk me down, reminding me that it's over, I can't make it not have happened, which is what I asked for when he offered anything at all, trying to put a smile on my face. He's right of course, but the aggravation has taken hold and is in no mood to let go.

I'm a bit vulnerable.  I had a two hour visit with a physician at the University of Arizona Medical Center's Center for Integrative Medicine, Andrew Weill's brainchild.  Integrative Medicine was one of the attractions of Tucson; I figured that any community willing to adopt Dr.Weill's attitude toward health and alternative modalities was a community willing to learn and grow.  After this morning's appointment, I can attest to the fact that there is no other form of medicine quite like it.

The doctor apologized for the table between us.  There were floor lamps and no overhead neon bulbs.  The floor was faux-wood and the exam table was as comfy as Douglas.  (Douglas is my couch, if you're new here.)  We talked for over an hour before he looked at the blood work and medical report I'd provided, before he listened to my heart or tested my reflexes.  He wanted to know about my diet, my sleep patterns, my supplements, my relaxation strategies.  He wasn't that interested in my structure, which was odd.  He was interested in how I intersected with life, which was odder.

He had some suggestions for me from the neck down, after reassuring me that I was doing a good job of meeting my body's post-perforation needs.  He wondered if I had taken the same amount of care from the neck up.... and I've been thinking about that ever since.

I haven't gone there because I know it will hurt.  I haven't gone there because I seemed to be doing just fine while ignoring it.  I haven't gone there because I don't want to cry.

I have someone, a fabulous therapist, a woman who will let me sob to my heart's content, and then gently nudge me toward congruity.  I could try meditation. I can look at the things which are blocking my healing. He seemed to be suggesting that it's more than a physical, myo-fascial tenseness impeding my gait.  I don't want to believe it, but, perhaps, the time has come to try.

Perhaps.

In the meantime, I will continue to wallow in the well of PTSD-enhanced misery over the fact that I broke the law and got caught.

So healthy.  I know.