I am faithful about doctor and dentist appointments. I do my checkups when they are supposed to be done and I do not put them off. Ever. Where I fail spectacularly is when I actually feel terrible. I am not going to link to all of my past episodes of Medical D'oh!, but you can rest assured they are documented well.
This last round began just around Labor Day - it involves chest pains and shortness of breath. Since I am still able to exercise and can even run a mile non-stop, I was fairly certain that I was not going to have a heart attack. And since I am typing these very words, it seems I am still kicking (and screaming.)
I am 39 and am at the age where nearly every week involves some new ache or pain. If I ran to the doctor at every sign of impending physical doom, I would be there at least monthly. So, when I feel terrible, I put off the appointment as long as possible in suspended belief that I will just magically get better.
Damn it, am I the only one who plays Medical Martyr on this crap? Am I the only one who puts off the doctor when they are sick?
Anyway, I finally broke down and called uncle -- I had my appointment today and my EKG came out okay (See! I was right.) We still do not know what is wrong, it still feels as if a rock is on my chest, I am still short of breath. But my ticker works fine, apparently. And I am now the proud owner of a bottle of Alleve, which seems as useful as chomping down a bottle of Tic Tacs. Something does not feel right, but I have to go through the motions and hope for the best. This will probably be the last I mention of this and in the case of my demise, my friend Celeste has been named as my virtual next-of-kin, so you would hearing from her anyway. Either way, you can breathe easy that you will not be subjected to any more of my adventures in real and imagined hypochondria.
In the meantime, I am going to throw out some snappage to lighten things up. At this point, I am tired of myself.
1st Day of School
The Hazards of Co-Sleeping.
Marching Band in Front of the House, yo.
It is not an Old Settler's parade in Kansas without a motorcycle-drawn hearse.
Or, a toilet on top of a truck.
Or, a human hamster-ball thingie.
Or, a church group totally rocking out to Jesus.
Or, a Candy Catastrophe