Shock of diagnosis

It's a pretty ordinary Friday. The last Friday before Christmas. 13 days remaining of 2020, the year of covid-19. The grass is still as green as it was this summer and the weather is 50 shades of grey, as it has been the last couple of weeks. There is not much resembling December, except for all the Christmas lights.
 
The dashboard shows 08:40. My foot press a little harder on the gaspedal. A couple of more turns left. I went by the doctors office on my way to work and am running a little later than usual. They needed a few more bloodtests and a urine sample. A eery warning went off in the back my head when the doctor asked me to come back in for a few more test and a talk. But the women who drew my blood this morning assured me sometimes they just double check to rule something out.  
 
It can't be something serious. Its probably some sort of angry bacteria trying to set up shop in my hands. The knot in my stomach is not completely convinced though. A flash in the corner of my eye, draws attention to the passenger seat. A call from the doctors office lights up the mobile screen. I have to take this. My fingers fumbling a bit to get it on speaker.
 
The doctor's tone of voice quickly reveals that this was not just a double check. There is a soft compassion behind his carefully selected words. It reeks of bad news. He has talked to a specialist, and there are some quite significant findings in my blood tests. It becomes obvious he would have prefered to had this conversation in his office and not over the phone. I should probably have waited. Theres a sinking feeling in my gut as I turn the car into a bus stop. My thick, swollen fingers look like tiny sausages as they cling a little harder to the steering wheel. Waiting for the word «arthritis», my grandmother's hand flashes before my eyes. -They suspect Systemic Lupus. The words breaks up the image of Grandma's hand. Lupus? I think I have heard the word before, but it means absolutely nothing. Can't remember the context I heard it. It sounds like an STD.
 
-You will be referred to a specialist for further examination. The fertility treatments in Danmark has to be paused until this is under control. That last sentence is a punch in the gut and the remainder of the conversation is on autopilot. No no no! This can't be happening. Everything was lining up so perfectly for the next attempt. As if it was meant to be successful. I finish the conversation. Shocked and empty inside I turn the car back on the road again.
 
I try my best to look normal when I get to work. My head is spinning  while turning on the computer. Need to google now. "What is Lupus?" As the search is loading, that sinking feeling in the gut explodes. An illustration of the body appears, arrows pointing everywhere. A picture shows a woman with hectic rashes on her cheeks. It becomes quite clear that Lupus is in fact not an STD but a serious autoimmune disease. By the looks of it my immune system is going crazy and has started attacking the body.
 
What the hell is this? This must be some sort of mistake? I can't have this disease? Even though I am convinced there must be something wrong with the tests, my eyes are starting to fill up. I lower my head behind the screen and try to silence the sob that's starting to build up. The Google result is a really depressing read. A page says something about a 50% survival rate after 5 years. I make an awkward attempt to work, but my my gaze keeps going back to Google. It's not even half past ten before I give up. Putting on a "yay-its-finally-weekend-face", mumbling something about buying Christmas presents. As I drive out of the parking lot,  I can't hold back the tears anymore. They will not stop before dinner..

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