Okay, so there’s skin cancer, big deal, removed and stitched up. If it were a serious life-threatening form of cancer, I would ignore it.
But somehow, I’ve ended up making a million doctor appointments, as though I’m a car getting everything checked before a long trip.
Sticking with the car analogy, I don’t even want to leave the garage but I guess I thought I should know what condition I’m in, just in case.
Today I went to the eye doctor, who revealed that I can have cataract surgery, even though I wasn’t aware I had cataracts! What are they, even? All I know is, the surgery would improve my vision so much that I wouldn’t need contact lenses.
That sounds wonderful! Except there must be a downside, like possible blindness?
Who cares! Life has become a game of dodge-ball, and I was never good at that. Cancer, blindness, fragile bones, you try to keep ducking but there they are.
Also, and this is way too much information, for the first time in years I went to a gynecologist, who loved what she saw and said my muscles were too toned! She pressed several different places and asked how each place felt. Some were “Don’t love it”, a couple were “Ow”, one was “Nothing” and others were pretty nice, although I am too classy to say “Keep going!”
Later this week I have an appointment to discuss my shitty bones, and then a regular annual physical.
I feel a weird mixture of dread and elation. Dread of finding out awful things and elation at knowing I don’t care about dying, if only it would hurry up.
If you were ever a smoker, I’ll bet you think if you had six months to live, you would smoke your head off. If you’re concerned about your weight, you probably think you’d go on a wild 6-month eating binge.
Me, I eat cookies all night long, I don’t exercise, I don’t care about my cholesterol, I don’t want anything more than a little dope to smoke and something good to watch on Netflix. I’m ready to die, like Leonard Cohen was before he recanted, but first I have to go to a million doctors.
But here’s the good news: Two different blood pressure tests today at two different offices revealed that it was 150 over 80, and also 114 over 51.
So that’s a relief.
“If it were a serious life-threatening form of cancer, I would ignore it.”
lol…I probably would to, but if it’s cancer you actually have to look at, like skin cancer, I’m getting that shit removed!
Well Joanne it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine. And you know that I’ve always loved you for your beauty and your wisdom, but I don’t need to say anything more about that because you know all about that. But now, I just want to wish you a very good journey. Goodbye old friend. Endless love, see you down the road.
😉
Suspended – So long Maryanne to you too, my dear!
I think a brown recluse bit me on my unmentionables. But there’s a giant fire between me and my doctor and I’m pretty sure I’m not covered at my local clinic and they’d probably just tell me to put ointment on it so I went to the dollar store and bought ointment. I mean, I could circumvent the fire but that would make my hour long drive turn into two hours (four hours round trip) and I bet my doctor would just tell me to put ointment on it. But now I worry about what if necrosis sets in and they have to cut off my unmentionables? I don’t want to grow breasts and speak in a squeaky voice! But if I could get rid of those things without suffering those consequences? Good riddance. That shit is unsightly and uncomfortable. Also my eyesight is getting worse.
Fuck you, God!
I use the car analogy a lot. I used to have this kind of new, indestructible car, all clean and shiny and never had to go to the mechanic. Now I have this thing that makes weird noises and smells and I have to go to the mechanic all the time.
I have been to three different kinds of dentists. One for teeth, one for roots, one for gums. And the gum guy told me my tissue is of poor quality. What the fuck. How did my gums become “poor quality”? It’s like I bought them at Marshalls or something.
Romeo – Don’t they have an Urgent Care clinic? Or, CVS and Target stores have Nurses, some of them, who will diagnose and prescribe! God damn you.
Suebob – “Poor quality”????? Did you tell him to stop gum-shaming?? Bastard.
The internet says: put some ointment on it, get surgery in case of tissue death. I mean, it’s great that you can get your cataracts removed but I think most medical options come down to apply ointment/physically remove defective area.
Also: there’s like only 600 people where I live. I don’t want to get a reputation in town as the guy with bug bites on his junk. Although the nickname “Bugbite Willy” amuses me.
I need one of those shitty bones appointments, myself. And the gyno appointment, and the cholesterol thing, and the colonoscopy ream-out, and teeth, and my cataract and floater-riddled eyeballs….sheesh. Instead I keep getting pulmonary CT scans, and echocardiograms, and ventilation/perfusion tests. My lungs keep me attached to doctors but I don’t know squat about the other guts and muscles and nerves and stuff.
When I was in the ambulance, riding out to the hospital earlier this year, I had a few moments where if I could’ve gotten enough breath to speak up I thought about telling them to turn this fucker around, take me home, and let me die. Then I got there and I was hysterical and yelling at the poor nurses and even accusing one of trying to kill me because she was having trouble getting my IV going. (I did apologize.) But, what the hell? Do I want to shit, or get off the pot? I kind of know how you feel, Sister Wolf.
I’m so glad it’s looking like you’re healthy, please stay that way. Me, I want a big bottle of Soma and a nice, dark bedroom.
Ok, so my Hubs sez; “You’re sailing along on the sea and all’s well…
till parts start falling off and you notice you’re a shipwreck!”
Sister, I hear your pain and frustration…but, we all need maintenance…I am so irradiated now I probably glow in the dark! Cataracts? Gone and I can see 20/20 without contacts. Lung cancer? Check! Been there done that. Spinal fusion? Check, but can do everything better then before. All free passes for a few weeks of quality pain killers and daytime tv. I don’t care about or fear dying either, I don’t want to be 80 years old, I don’t want to be creaky, bitchy and constantly at the dr. Office.. So, to make things more palatable I have started asking the dr.’s ages, I look online to make sure they are under 50, cute and charming or I won’t go. Put on sexy undies to throw their game. Cute and young really make a difference!
It’s all part of the cycle…shipwrecks have a breathtaking charm.
As long as you don’t drool when you eat and don’t smell of piss, it’s all good.
The cataract thing is a picnic in the park, according to my dad. He did both eyes, and no longer needs glasses, but needs sunglasses more, because of the lack of filter. He said colors are different and everything.
He is also in the dermo all the time having things cut out and burned off.
And I know I am not far behind.
Already have had uterus out, and now need surgery on both feet for bone spurs and extra cartilage in bith big toe joints. I worked on my feet my whole life, in heels. Like a prostitute, selling cosmetics.
I looked good, but boy am I paying for that shit now.
And the skin trauma is getting me too. A couple of things removed, and a weird other one needing looking at.
And like you, I dont know if I care. I kind of feel like-eh, whatever. If something hurts, or is an immediate irritant, I deal. Otherwise. Meh.
I have no desire to live to an old age, in a nursing home, with no one to visit. I have seen that play out. No thanks.
We are just dealing with what we can.
Stick around for a while with me.
I wish you lived closer.
Romeo – Christ. Keep me posted.
Bevitron – I guess we’re both a little conflicted. No Soma for you without me!
Stephanie – As Derek and Clive would say, We’re not seaworthy.
Dj – I like your thinking on this! My doctors are young and cute, but they’re women who don’t seem impressed by my underwear.
Suspended – You are a sage and a poet, and I hope everyone is heeding your advice.
Kellie – Ditto.
Now I can definitely smell piss, Sister, because you’re taking it.
They tell me I can have cataract surgery too, but Jesus. They’ll be scraping MY EYES with LASERS. This just can’t be a good idea. And I can’t even see any cataracts on my eyes. I can see my dog’s cataracts, but not mine.