Sometimes, it’s not easy to see the glass that’s half full. I have my good days and my not so good days. Some days I seem to be the eternal optimist. Others I’m just rolling with it. Still others I’m about as negative as they come. I like to think we humans are all like this. So, most days I walk around with a half full glass.

Recently, that’s not been working for me. A number of things have happened in the last few weeks that make me feel like the glass is half empty. Or even three-quarters empty. There’s been some friendship stuff. There’s been some family stuff. There’s been a whole lot of medical stuff. There have been set backs on so many fronts. None are insurmountable. Compared to many, many other people my problems fall under “first world problems” as my daughter calls them.

So, I’m cynical right now. Faced with yet another health issue, I’m worrying about how things will turn out. Will the doctors listen to me? Will they understand just how stressful this is for me? Will they do what I ask them to do and not get so wrapped up in how things *should* be? These doctors don’t know me and it’s my first experience at this hospital. My Autism is telling me I must have everything planned. I have to know what’s going to happen. I have to know the outcome. But, that’s just not possible. My body tells me that my mind is just along for the ride.

I have people telling me to trust that everything will be fine. I’ve been down this road enough to know that “fine” is a very broad state of being. I have to trust people I will have met maybe once for something that has gone wrong more often than right. Stop thinking like that I’m told. Stop worrying. It will all be fine.

I wish. I really, really do. I wish I could believe that everything will be fine. I wish I could go into this expecting a great outcome. But I can’t. Fear, hope, helplessness, frustration. And, because of past experience, a whole lot of cynicism.

The one bright spot in this current mess is my primary care provider. She’s been working with me since February, when the local military healthcare providers decided to fire me as a patient. She inherited what is now known as a “hot mess.” In 8 months, we’ve come to understand each other. So when I messaged her that I needed help, she called me almost immediately. Her response was to ask what I needed, talk through the options and then handle the need. I must say, I found it encouraging. Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

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