The problem with their finding nothing wrong is that they don’t find a cause, either– which means the cause is still out there. Which means it comes back. Creeps back, so at first you don’t really notice, a little bit of exhaustion, a small bit of nausea, some tiredness, until your friend wafts some cookies you’d try under your nose and it’s all you can do not to hurl. You’re pretty sure your gag– almost heave– is plain on your face.
You’re woozy– tired– sweaty and feeling lightheaded in the large crowd when you go sightseeing with friends and think to yourself well, it’s been a long couple of days as great as it’s been, that and you never were fond of crowds and the air’s kind of stuffy in here. Something to drink, a little trail mix, a few minutes to yourself on a bench at a quiet spot outside in the back, you’re almost right as rain. You try not to think about losing your footing on the stairs with one of their bags just that morning– you’ve always been a bit of a klutz and there needn’t be more to it than that.
But Saturday comes and you’re tired after a long day of work– feeling crushed– and a grilled meats and vegetable dinner, just the thing to restore the anemia that was the only deficiency the doctors said that they found doesn’t make a dent, not at all. Sunday’s even worse, and halfway through your shift you’re sweaty and nauseous again, just like a month ago, wondering if you’ll make it through your shift without your knees buckling.
They checked everything– blood tests, blood sugar, blood pressure, physical, all of that stuff, reduced some of your meds, changed your diet around, and they said that everything checked out on an immune and endocrine level except for your iron once all was all done. Their best guess is that some combination of your little yellow pill and your weight loss, maybe some stress all combined to take advantage and make you feel so very ill. But that’s just a guess.
The problem with inconclusive is that– it’s no conclusion, it leaves things open-ended. Anemia isn’t an answer to why you have sweats and nausea– it doesn’t explain why Sunday night when you go down to the break room to heat up your dinner, the heave you have when you take off the microwave lid has you clapping your hand over your mouth and running out of the room, then grabbing onto the wall, your knees shaking because fuck, the dinner you ate last night without problem now smells utterly nasty and your poor boss, the one twelve years younger than you, has to come out to the basement to check you haven’t passed out on him because it’s his dinner break too, the poor suffering bastard.
Diet Coke. It’s a hell of a dinner, but liquids are better than nothing.
Monday morning’s hardly much better. Your morning pills stay down with the kefir your nutritionist recommended you try (a former Fat Kid on the outside, always going to be one in your heart and your mind, the fact that you need one to figure out how to keep weight on is such a damned mindfuck), but then when you try to have something real later on, up it comes a half an hour later and you’re headachy and shaky and sick the rest of the day, your blood pressure up and down and all over the place. You call in sick and it’s the same boss from last night, so he knows– understands– and you promise to keep him posted about the next day, but there’s an unspoken question there you can’t answer–
Damned if you know.