It turns out that even in a moment of crisis, or recognition, or incoming reality, I think of Star Trek.
When I try to put words on going back to see the doctor and getting his assessment of my ongoing ailment, which at first seemed like one thing and then another and then perhaps another yet, when I try to put words on hearing that it is really the middle one, and it's not the worst news ever compared to some things, but it's also not that great, I think of the geekiest metaphor available to me.
For although I knew it was likely the news I would get, that the doctor would say it's rheumatoid arthritis, I feel a bit like I imagine the theoretical aliens, the bad guys and even the red shirts did when they were hit by the phasers set on stun.
Sometime soon I'll get up off the ground on this alien planet of the inner landscape. Someone will help me back to the ship; maybe Scotty will even beam me up! We'll talk things over and figure out what to do next. Bones will remind me that he's a doctor, not a bricklayer or a mechanic or an escalator, for that matter, and explain about the treatment I'll be getting. Spock will raise an eyebrow and suggest a different and no doubt more logical perspective on things. I will open hailing frequencies (because when I played Star Trek on the playground in 1st grade, I was always Uhura) and figure out where communication needs to occur.
All the parts will come together, and although there may be no magic answers, there will be help and coping and learning to live with what is and to make the best of it.
All that will happen.
I believe it.
But for now, I need a little time to get over being stunned.