Tuesday, June 26, 2012

It's just a number

No clock ticks louder than a wall clock that ticks in a doctor's examination room while you're waiting to have a biopsy done.

When you see an older person walking around with a bandage on her face after an obvious biopsy, you don't ask, "Oh? What happened?" It's assumed that person had a carcinoma or melanoma removed and you just silently hope for the best. Or, if you're an uncouth cad like I am with my own father-in-law, you point to the giant bandage and ask, "Who'd you piss off this time?"

I'm still young enough, I think, that most people will probably ask me--most likely in the form of "hiding a hickie?" or "pop a giant zit?"--why I have a bandage on the side of my face so I'm coming clean now to the four people who actually read this blog.

I have a lesion on my face that refuses to heal. (God I hate the word "lesion" because the only other time it's ever been used in relation to me and my body is when I had lesions on a very sensitive area that is cancer free but for a while was dangerously close to being cancer full. Thanks Planned Parenthood. I owe you my life.) I'm 100% positive my skin is fine and even though I live in the world of language and spin, even though I know a "more affordable" vacation is the same exact thing as a "dirt ass cheap gross" vacation, I am fully comfortable having the lab "rule out" cancer as opposed to the more terrifying "verify as" cancer. It's semantics, but in this case, I'll take the positive language thank you very very much.

I never get too excited about things because experience has taught me that my excitement level for an event has a direct correlation to the chances said event will never actually happen. Whether we're talking about going to the movies when I was 10 or buying a new car when I was 25, every time I got really excited about something, it wouldn't happen. Over the years, I've learned to maintain as blase an attitude as I can about things. Yes, we are having our kitchen remodeled. Yes, I am excited. Sooo, no, I do no think I will see the final product. I'm way too psyched. Does my fear of cancer make me reluctant to buy a car? No, of course not. Does my fear of cancer make me think I'll never see my kitchen finished? Absolutely. I assumed I'd end up in a car accident, but fatal illness is as good a reason as any other.

There is a point to all of this, I swear, and it has to do with the "honesty" part of my new life plan. I was indulging in the concept that I may not live to see my remodeled kitchen and I was so annoyed by the irony (or is it coincidence) of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" playing in the background....brown skin shining in the sun.... that it took me a moment to recognize the numbers on the scale when I weighed myself.

My blood pressure and pulse? 125/80 with a resting rate of 76. Okay. I'm not an athlete and I don't have an athlete's numbers but I'm okay with them. My weight? I'm not telling you what my weight is, I'm not going to be that honest, but let's suffice it to say...holy too many donuts. Yea yea, we can go down that "muscles weigh more than fat" road for a while but... whatever. I am not Arnold Schwarzenegger and my muscles are heavy only because they are wrapped in a delicious layer of bacon like a bunch of scallops.

This whole day has reminded me of a story from about 10 years ago. I was having some health problems, difficulty breathing, weird anxiety. I had multiple doctors take a look at me and there were various possible diagnoses going about. Heart condition? Ruled out. Autoimmune disorder? Likely, but too many options to rule everything out. Bad lungs? Maybe. I was just coming out of another test for another possible diagnosis; it was summertime; and I wanted to buy some shorts. So, I called a good friend and we went to Old Navy. While perusing the aisles, I started losing my breath and passed out.

This good friend piled me into her car and drove Mach 10 to the closest emergency room all the while asking, "Did you have panic attack because you couldn't get shorts this late in the season?" and exclaiming, "You're not dying on my watch, Devlin!"

While I sat on the ER examining table with the weird restaurant paper sticking to my ass, she started a phone tree. One by one my lovely friends showed up at the ER to offer their support. The final friend to arrive was holding a bottle of orange juice and a thermos filled with tequila. Within 10 minutes, my ER bay was empty as everyone had wandered outside to drink margaritas and, as I imagine it, play hacky sack in the hospital parking lot. In short, I imagine the parking lot looking like this.

Alone in the ER room, I was told I had suffered an ordinary, run-of-the-mill panic attack and I should go home.

Yes. I am an incurable hypochondriac.

Oh, and all those ailments with the breathing? I went in for my annual gyno appointment and my doctor said, "Have you tried taking some Pepcid AC for your symptoms?" I was better within a week. So, multiple doctor's appointments, visits with specialists, and thousands of dollars later? It turns out I had acid fucking reflux.

Back to today. It takes me a long time to acclimate to a new lifestyle. I've worked at the ski resort for four years...five years?...and I have yet to acknowledge that I spend more time in the mountains than I do on the coast. Heck, I moved out of my apartment in Portland after Groom and I got married eight years ago and I still act like I live there. So, as you can imagine, changing my habits is pretty dang hard. I've been working some form of activity into my daily routine and I definitely appreciate a difference. But, I never weigh myself. I've always believed my weight shouldn't be a factor in how I feel about myself.

If I'm going to be honest, my weight number gave me a scare today.

PS, While looking at cars online today, I found a car that looked affordable, got great gas mileage, and was just super damn cute. I glanced at Groom with as serious face as I could muster and he said, "Look at you trying not to get excited." So, even he knows. Tch. I'm not getting a new car now, am I.


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