Last night, I tossed and turned in my sleep, worrying about today’s doctor’s appointment.

That in itself is not unusual for me. As healthy as I am today, I still get severe anxiety surrounding the hospital, even on days where I know I’m just there for a routine doctor's appointment. I mean... for most of my life, a routine check-up often ended up with nothing but bad news and new, invasive procedures and hospital stays. So, no wonder I couldn't relax!

Somehow, I fell asleep, but didn’t feel rested when my alarm woke me up. Still, I forced myself to get up, get ready, and eat a hearty breakfast of salmon, peaches, and milk to start my day. But I wasn’t just anxious about my doctor’s appointment. I was terrified of the drive to get there, as I’d be driving myself to the hospital for the first time. 

To get to National Jewish, I’d have to drive the busy, congested streets that criss-cross the city, from my home in west Littleton, to the hospital downtown. I already have a hard time driving just around my neighborhood. After all, many Denver drivers are a special kind of batshit insane behind the wheel. And most people drive vehicles as big, if not bigger, than my Nissan Xterra, which makes the fear of driving around this place infinitely worse. 

But, I still had to drive myself to my appointment and back, as my physical and mental health more-or-less depended on it (if I didn’t go to my doctor’s appointment, my doctor wouldn’t renew my Trikafta prescription). So, after breakfast and a walk with Toby, I clambered nervously into my Xterra and started it up while repeating the mantra, “You’re an adult and you can do this, damnit!”

With that motivational mantra in mind, I headed east around 11:00 AM, to give myself plenty of time to get to my appointment. 

The drive started off mediocre. I was in my neck of the woods, after all. But, shit got real once I crossed the South Platte river and made my way through downtown Littleton towards Broadway. 

I began to get nervous when traffic began to clog up, and the streets grew narrower and narrower. Still, I pressed on. Yes, I was scared shitless. But, that didn’t justify me not going to my appointment. I mean… if I didn’t go to my routine doctor’s appointments, I couldn’t get my Trikafta. That fact alone lit enough of a fire under my ass to get me to take Broadway past where I would’ve turned to go to my great grandma’s house by the University of Denver, deeper and deeper into Denver. 

The further north I drove, the more claustrophobic everything got. The traffic worsened. The buildings got taller and more imposing. Soon, I began to drive past homeless encampments, and at one point, a very unwell man ran out in front of me to cross the street. But, I kept my cool and found my way through a shitload of construction to Lincoln street. Finally, after a harrowing two more miles of huge buildings, narrow streets, and people with the brains of deer, I got onto a side street and, before much longer, found the hospital parking lot. 

I was frazzled. But dammit, I’d made it! I’d faced some of my greatest fears and overcame them. At least, for a time.