I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but usually I write in the morning. THIS morning, however, my head continued to scream at me and I didn’t feel like it. I’ve had a migraine on and off since Monday, which is becoming par for my course. They last ENDLESS numbers of days now, and I wish to be Marie Antoinette in that I want a bird’s nest in my hair and also I wish to be chopped off at the head. I want a bob, as it were. But don’t hurt the bird up in there, bob-bob-bobbin along.
Anyway now I’m drugged, and I’m taking a lunch break, which is a relatively new form of self-care I’ve embraced since getting burnt AF at work last summer. I found myself constantly exhausted and uninspired, so I Googled “What to do if you’re burnt out at work” and among other things I read, “Actually take breaks,” so now most days I dare to take a lunch.
The first few times I did it, I was on EDGE. What if someone emailed or messaged me and I didn’t answer immediately? It turns out, that has yet to be an issue. Me answering an hour later has not mattered. So. I take breaks. Like I used to in the before times.
At any rate, as I told you in a past post and why am I even mentioning this because no one reads me anymore. I belong to a page on Facebook that is allegedly for people who read this blog, except it’s becoming screamingly obvious that people are on that page and enjoying the cat memes but not my blog. They’ll ask me things like, “Oh, do you have cats?” or “Hey, June, are you hoping to have kids one day?”
“June, have you ever heard of Barry Gibb?”
Anyway. Supposing you actually DO read me, I mentioned the other day that I’ve been through one crisis after another since August of 2019, and with my first COVID vaccine this past weekend I’m kind of hoping my crisis days are coming to a close, but also that I had a physical coming up and I was hoping my doctor wouldn’t say, “Oh, June, your blood told us you have moments to live.”
You’ll be stunned to hear I worked myself up into sort of a lather over this. I even tried to go online and look at my blood results early, and they won’t show you till AFTER your doctor’s appointment, which seems…not legal. It’s MY blood. But maybe they know there are people like me who, when the result is .01 over normal, I Google it and find the worst thing it might possibly mean and then fly into a panic and buy my tombstone and order chicken salad for the gathering after.
So yesterday was my appointment and I had to call from the parking lot to say I was on my way up, like we were throwing a surprise party.
Here’s what I was hoping to hear: Everything looks good and your cholesterol is horrible. I say this because my cholesterol always looks horrible. So, being realistic, that’s the best I could hope for.
Her assistant came in first. Took my blood pressure. Looked for the telltale temperature. All was good.
“We might do a pap, so undress from the waist down. And then she’ll do a breast exam, so undress from the waist up and use this paper gown.”
“So, take everything off,” I said helpfully.
“Yes, take it all off,” said the assistant.
“Do you have dollar bills folded, or …?” I asked. No one likes me.
So I took it all off and waited in my paper gown for the doctor. I remembered the last time I waited in her office in this manner. I took a selfie while I was waiting, and I did a cursory search for it just now, to no avail. But trust me, I looked good. I—oh, wait, I just found it.
When I took this, so far all that had happened to me was a car accident. I had yet to be convinced of bladder cancer, then have surgery, then be isolated because pandemic.
I’d offer you a selfie of now, but just think of the photo above looking 20 pounds heavier and 20 months more stressed. Think of Elvis’s later days.
Anyway, my doctor came in, and I noted her looking at my white roots, with black curtains, at the station. “I’m getting my hair done April 24,” I told her, like this was a medical necessity she needed to be kept abreast of.
“Your bloodwork looks good. Everything’s great,” she said, and just as I was breathing a sigh of relief: “Your cholesterol is terrible, though,” she said.
I mean, it’s King Kamehameha terrible. So I hafta be on statin islands and as soon as I left, I immediately phoned my trainer and we got back together. When I last had my cholesterol checked, I was working out with said trainer and my number was HALF what it is now. And when I quit said trainer, I told myself, Oh, I’ll work out on my own and you know what I don’t do?
I also looked up “foods for cholesterol lowering” and have a list of items to get.
But, all things considered, I feel hopeful about it and am determined to lower the number because you know how I get. Well. Maybe you don’t. But it’s like my credit score. I get fixated and obsessed. This is my new fixated obsessed thing.
So that’s the latest and I will speak to you from a lower cholesterol level soon.