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.