You see, the problem is I am a closet hypochondriac. Here’s a great example. I was 14 weeks pregnant with my first son and did not know becuase I had convinced myself I had Colon Cancer. Yea. (Actually, the symptoms are pretty similar. Kinda) So, when something goes wrong in my body, I try and ignore it in hopes that I am imagining it and it will go away.
This seldom works. Luckily, My doctor is an awesome guy who is more than willing to deal with my issues. Except this time my issues were not in my head. He found the lump in my breast in under two seconds - which is pretty good seeing as his search area was a full sized C cup and I had neglected to get a grid pattern tattooed on beforhand.
He is confidant that it is a cyst becuase my breast’s are fiborocystic (sp?) in the first place, but he is not willing to take the chance that it is just a cyst and has made an appointment for me to have an ultrasound done on my breast. The appointment is 10:15, Valentines Day.
I think it is rather odd that my two appointments - both concerning cancer- bracket the anniversary of my mothers death from cancer.
I am going to try and convince the ultrasound technition to print out a picture of my boob baby for me to take home. The hubs thinks it is unlikely she will do it, but I figure it can’t hurt to try.
What do you think of the name Bekah?
Another early post.
I cannot say for sure I will be able to do much more than crawl into my bed, curled up and feel sorry for myself, later tonight.
All day long I have had periods of forgetfulness, when I don’t remember whats coming up tonight in eighty five short minutes. And life is fine, for those short, sweet moments.
When I do remember whats coming, I start to panic. I have some issues with panic attacks, and in most cases, counting out my breathing, and tapping my feet helps me deal with them.
Today, nothing has helped.
Because I know that tonight I am going to the dentist. Seven PM. To have a tooth pulled.
I had panic attacks today that have left me light headed and nauseated. I have had the ones where I shake uncontrollably. And of course, I’m extremely short tempered because of the fear.
Oh fuck. The dentist. Seventy eight more minutes.
I have had “bad” teeth for as long as I can remember. I was never the kid who came home with a shiny tooth shaped sticker for no cavities. I was always the one being drilled and suctioned, and as I entered into adult hood, where going to the dentist became MY responsibility as opposed to my parents, I slacked off big time.
I’m definitely paying for that now.
Now I am on my road to dentures. My molars have gone too far to be saved without more time and money than I deem worthy.
In the next seven months I will have all of my back teeth removed, one or two at a time. Right after Christmas, if all goes according to plans, I will have the front teeth removed all at once.
I feel nauseous just thinking about it.
If I had to choose between life without coffee or going to the dentist, I would lose the coffee.
I’m very much afraid.
At least one good think has come from me and my teeth; My boys are addicted to brushing and flossing. They don’t want to have teeth like me.
Sixty six minutes.
Shit.
