Back at the end of February a bombshell was dropped. It was expected, really, but no one thought much of it, and certainly didn’t expect it to happen so soon. “We’re leaving.” A cross country move. At that point it was at least thrown out into the ether that it was happening, like it or not, and we should maybe begin to wrap our heads around it.
And then the blowback. “We’re listing the house June 1st.” What?!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your roll, bubba, back up, we’re WHAT?!?! And so it came to be that in the waning days of April we were purging every extraneous object we owned, listing others for sale, and with May waiting around the corner planning sprucing projects to make our love-worn home of 22 years more appealing to potential buyers.
Don’t get me wrong, there is a certain level of excitement that comes with the prospect of being somewhere new. For me that’s the excitement of a new care team. Likewise the fear of a new care team has me physically ill. I love my primary care doctor. She is supportive and listens, and still pushes me to meet goals I might shy away from. My Neuro-Ophthalmologist is shaping up to be that kind of doctor, too. The rest I either don’t mind much or am gleefully awaiting their replacement. We’re moving to an area with a large teaching hospital that touts a great reputation, and I’ve already been in contact with the Neurology office satellite and have received a comforting welcome in advance with the peace of mind that doctors within the practice currently handle cases similar to mine. No worrying about “What did you say it was again? And are you sure you were diagnosed with that? I need to read up on that.” Uh…
So, yes. Forgive me, errant reader, for my maintained radio silence as we begin the transition to a new house, a new state, and a new team.