I hear panic attacks

This has to be the craziest thing that's happened in quite some time. Last night as I'm brushing my teeth I started hearing this humming noise. Sort of like a high pitched mechanical noise. Instead of thinking something like "gee, that's a high pitched mechanical noise" I immediately went to "gee, what sort of medical condition causes the hearing of high pitched mechanical noises".

The medical dictionary that is my brain could only come up with two things. Aneurysm and high blood pressure. As a matter of fact, I thing if you drew a decision tree of my medical knowledge it would look something like this:

Does your head hurt?
     |
     |
Do you have ringing
in your ears?
     |
Back pain
     
Frequent Urination
     |
     |
Swollen Uvula
     | 
Dark Eyelashes
     |
     |
You are having 
an aneurysm.  Please
make sure your affairs are
  in order.

Simple, concise, accurate. I really don't understand what the other 7 years, 364 days of medical school or for. Probably something about negotiating insurance contacts and when to use a sand wedge instead of a pitching wedge.

Anyway, turns out when I went in to a different room I couldn't hear it any more... Go figure. An aneurysm that only happens while I'm brushing my teeth.

The thrill of Victor and the agony of de feet

Let me start by saying I have never been as proud of a post title as I am of this one. As you will see its pure genius. An interesting aside about my, we'll call it, "writing" style. I tend to write the title of the post and then everything comes from there.

This is anti-7th-grade-english where we were taught to outline the story and then outline the paragraph and then, once you woke up, fill in the blanks with actual sentences. I'm sure to many of you, this comes as no surprise. Anyway, back to the story.

I went on a bike ride yesterday. OK, "bike ride" is an understatement. This was something like a cross between "National Lampoon's European Vacation" and "Deliverence". We set out on a 80+ mile trek. There were five of us. Myself, who I consider to be an above averge but not spectacular rider, another who is just as strong (but 30lbs ligher, the bastard), a third who is almost there but could stand to train a little more, and two guys who like to ride but for one reason or another have issues keeping up. One of which is Victor.

Victor is a great guy. He's fun to work with, great to be around, and I can only describe him as Tony Robbins on crystal meth. He is a 100%, full-time, grade-A optimist. The kind of guy that can find the silver lining in nuclear war. Again, I digress.

I titled the ride "The first anual 'Oh my god, the horror, the agony' bike ride" in order to scare the less capable riders away. This did not work. This sounds like a snobbish statement. And, truth be told, it is. When going on a 6-hour bike ride to the middle of nowhere, you want to be careful who you choose. Its like the "who would you have on a deserted island?" question. No one ever picks Gilligan. You want The Professor.

After about 2 hours of riding Vic is tired. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet. After 3 hours he's hurting. Then we start climbing. Let me say that I have a new disrespect for our civil engineers. We've sent men to the moon but we can't figure out how to get up and over a mountain without a series of switchbacks that look more like more like ladders than ramps. After 45 minutes of climbing straight up we reach the top. We meaning myself and the other strong rider. After about 10 minutes, the 3rd guy shows up. Another 10 minutes a fourth. No sign of Vic.

Here's where I have my first mini-panic. We're almost out of water and we have 3 more hours to go. The top of this mountain has what looks like a retirement villiage on it. I've somehow got it in my head that there might be "something" in the water. I do my best not to drink it for fear of some parasite or bacteria.

We head down the mountain and there is Vic on his cell phone. He's calling someone to come pick him up. We are at least 43 miles from East Egypt and he's giving up. Bad news. We convince hime to go to the next stop and then its all down hill.

Another hour of riding and we get to the next stop and there's no Vic. We wait. No Vic. We see three riders pass us and ask them if they passed another rider. No. We ride back and we hear someone yell at us from the side of the road. Vic is sitting on the porch of a U-Haul rental/taxidermy/country store with a guy who has, at most, 18 teeth. He can't go on. He won't go on. He's calling his wife to come get him. We tell him we'll go slow and that in another 11 miles its all down hill. he won't budge. Vic is broken.

Reluctantly we leave him with Bubba and as we ride away I swear I can hear banjo music and squealing pig noises... Here's where the wierd part kicks in. For the next hour I'm anxious. I'm worried about bee stings, fire ants, flat tires, how far we are from civilization, how long its taking to get home, my blood pressure, you name it, I'm freaking out about it. Vic started an anxiety storm.

For two hours we ride . All the while worried aboout Vic. He won't answer his phone (or can't) and hasn't called and left us a message to say he was picked up. Others are angry, I'm anxious. Not about Vic, but about me.

Its now Sunday night and I still haven't heard from Vic (I don't have his phone number so I sent him an email). I assume I'd get a call if he was missing. I'm still anxious.

We rode a total of 85 miles. Arriving back at our cars almost 7.5 hours after we left. This is a new personal best for me. My legs hurt, my feet hurt, I think my pancrease even hurts.

I'm not sure why being worried about Vic caused so much anxiety elsewhere. It does seem like there are triggers but its usually things like work or family that make me go off on a panic bender.

I'm sure I'll hear from Vic tomorrow and we'll all laugh. Or punch him. I haven't decided.

I haven't taken a bath in over a year

OK, before you become repulsed and question whether you should disinfect your keyboard (and your eyeballs) let me say that I take (at least) one shower a day. I'm speaking specifically here about baths. As Kramer put it so succinctly, "stewing in a tepid pool of one's own filth".

I used to enjoy baths to some extent. Especially after a long workout or bike ride. I'd sit in the tub and read a book or a magazine and just waste time. Then I started worrying about my blood pressure. The what-if engine started revving and I worried about all kinds of things. Mostly about passing out and drowning. This has in some way prevented me each time from taking a bath. Yeah, crazy, I know.

I do enjoy my hot showers on a daily basis but even those, sometimes, scare the livin bejesus out of me. Especially if I'm having an 'episode' of low blood pressure. This, of course, is probably totally ficticious and is simply me being tired and/or freaking out. Which means my BP is probably actually up...

Anywho. Yesterday I had a particularly long and arduous (more on this later) bike ride yesterday and I caught myself worrying about taking a hot shower because I felt weak.

Yes, you read correctly. I'm now afraid of water droplets that fall from a brass fixture. If I could sell tickets to my mind, I'd be a millionaire.

Get up git git git down 9/11 scared the crap out of me

Hypochondria is a disease of selfishness. Its all about me. How do I feel today? I'm sick. I need to see a doctor. Are my lymph nodes swolen? Is that mole on my back cancer? I've found it interesting that I manage to turn any event even remotely medically related into a personal strife.

I submit to you as exhibit A, how I handled 9/11 and the anthrax scare of 2001. You might ask "what could this possibly have to do with you, who lives at least 1000 miles away from said carnage?" To you I'd say "shush, I'm talking about me"

The day the planes hit the World Trade Center I was on my way to get blood work done (imagine that). This should have been the test that told me I needed cholesterol drugs. Instead, I couldn't find the lab so I went to work (I wasnt' able to avoid those pesky drugs, though). By the time I got there, the first plane had hit and the second was on its way. I panicked. I work on the 6th floor in the tallest building downtown (24 stories). In my mind, this meant I was next. I concoted some story about needing to go home and wait for relatives to call. I went home and watched CNN and Fox News for the next 6 months.

In the coming days I got increasingly worried that we'd be attacked. The slightest vibration would practically send me flying under my desk (somehow this seemed safer even though, technically, it'd be closer to the explosion). I'd find ways to come in late so that I wouldn't be there at "the best time" for the terrorists to attack. All U-haul, Ryder, Fed-Ex, UPS, ice cream, mail, and pickup trucks became suspicious. At times even girl scouts on bicycles looked ominous.

Then the Anthrax hit. Not anywhere near here, of course. But it might as well have infected my whole town. I went online and contemplated purchasing Cipro (or, it turns out, pills that say "Sip pro". I purchased these carbon masks that were basically surgical masks "guaranteed" to give you 5 minutes in a building that was under biological or chemical attack. I thought I had anthrax for 3 solid months. I even contemplated moving to Canada.

This is all embarassing looking back on it now. I never realised just how selfish I can be some times. It wasn't bad enough that 3000 people died and a dozen got anthrax. I had to make it about me.

I have no point to this. Only observations. Its like I'm working a 12-step program and this is my inventory. My name is Dave, and I'm a hypochondriac.

Opening a can of whoopass on the "what if" engine

I haven't mentioned this sort of thing in a while. When I was in therapy we went over a "technique" I'm supposed to (and do) use when I get anxious. The technique is called mindfulness. Mindfulness is defined as:

[...]the paying of bare or direct attention to each moment of our lives[...]

The basics of this I outlined in a post many moons ago (almost a year...wow!) called Woooosaaaaaa. The goal is to call things what they are. If you're saying "what if" then you simply tell yourself "self, this is anxiety". It seems simple at first. But, the trick is knowing what's anxiety. We're so good at it that we can be anxious and not even know it. Mindfulness requires that you pay almost constant attention to the thoughts you're thinking while you think them. Realizing you were anxious an hour later is really of no use. In reality that will probably make you more anxious about being anxious which means, like me, you need drugs and a good stiff shot of whiskey to calm down.

I still practice this on a regular basis. Even during the periods I feel well (like now) I still catch myself "what if-ing" like in the last post. At that moment I stop the thought and remind myself that its anxiety, that just because I'm not near a hospital it doesn't mean I'll have a heart attack. I've yet to have one in the 31 years I've been near them, why do I expect to have one now.

This takes practice. We're our own worst enemy. At first I found it exceedingly difficult to believe myself. After a while though, I proved myself right. I didn't have a heart attack. Its the same positive reinforcement you use to train dogs and babies.

Anyway, try it sometime. Use it along with meditation and I promise you'll see a difference. Here's a rather lengthy article on mindfulness:

Mindfulness

I am not made for the mountains

Allow me to make a list of all the things than ran through my head this weekend during my trip to the mountains. Lets remember, this is a house with running water, electricity, an electric gate (with remote control) satelite TV and cell service.

1. I wonder if there are fire ants (I actually started thinking this about a month ago)

2. What if I need an ambulance? it might take an hour to get here.
3. How would I call said ambulance if my cell phone doesn't work?
4. I wonder if I'm allergic to anything else up here?
5. What if it takes more than 2 epi-pens to stop whatever reaction I have should I be bitten by something from question 4?
6. Do any of the people I'm with know CPR?
7. How will I know if my blood pressure is high?
8. I'm dizzy maybe its low blood pressure (this was after a night of drinking then rising at 5AM to pee. I imagine this was actually caused by still being drunk)
9. Is that a fire ant?
10. Repeat thought 9.
11. Repeat thought 10.
12. Repeat thought 2 and 3 because of thoughts 9-11.

And there you have it. A "relaxing" weekend in the boonies hypochondria style.

Hypochondriacs Unite!!!

Actually, the title of this post should be "Hypochondriacs Unite (But wash your hands first because I don't want to get sick). But, I think that might be a little long. Anywho.

I got a comment that really put this blog in perspective. The gist of the comment being that the commenter is starting to blog their (notice the smooth usage of impersonal and gender non-specific pronouns) hypochondria as a way to see just how irational she/he/they are being.

Maybe this is why I do it. I don't know. Of course I know I'm irrational. Even though the idea that I know I'm irrational is actually a rational thought (wow). I think most people who are so 'afflicted' know they're irrational. I don't know that I've ever met a hypochondriac that truly thought they were sick 24/7. Its just those short (a relative term) periods of time where the fear and anxiety is overwhelming. Those are the times when you need a release.

Its important to get them out. I've said before that I don't think you should burden the general population with your (our) delusions. At least not the specifics (my toe hurts, I have a basil cell carcinoma, you know, the regular stuff). First off it makes that person very uncomfortable and not want to be around you. Secondly, they can't possibly understand and will either worry needlessly because you've conviced them you're sick, or just laugh and call you a moron.

Only one psycho can truly understand another. Even though the blog is cathartic for me, I really hope others can see that we all think the same way, we just have different diseases...

FYI

I've started moderating the comments due to all the spam I was getting. So if you don't see your comment pop up immediately, that's why. I promise I will post it as soon as I see it. Thanks for commenting. It makes my day.

The final countdown.

T minus 100 days until my next doctor's appointment.

Lions and Tigers and Bugs, Oh My!

I've never really liked bugs. Being a male this has caused me some issues in my life. I'm not the kind to run screaming like a girl when I see something with more legs than a dog, but I also wouldn't be caught dead with a pet tarantula or, for that matter, any pet bug. Not necessarily cause they're creepy but, come on, they're bugs. I can't imagine you can teach them to sit, stay or fetch the paper (not that I've trained my dogs to either).

Now, however, I've got reason not to like them. They tried to kill me. Now I realize I shouldn't be indicting all bugs. I'm sure grasshoppers and daddy long legs have nothing against me. But I also didn't see them coming to my recue when I was viciously attacked by one of their bretheren.

I guess I really can't blame the bugs. It was going to be something. If it wasn't being bitten by a bug that sent me into a tizzie (if that's even how you spell it) then it would have been some nameless disease that only shows up on the 4th page of a google search. But in true freak out style I'm now constantly monitoring myself for any sign of itching or hives. I'm always trying to figure out where my epi pen is or, if its not around, who I can signal with my last gasp of air to call 911.

The only solice is that this is an identifiable and concrete 'condition'. Its not like I drempt something up one night and decided I was alergic. Of course, this goes along with hypochondria. Current theory is that we really do feel the aches and pains of our 'illness'. Its just that these are the aches and pains of being alive, not being sick. So in my case, the allergy is real, the way in which I've blown it out of proportion is what makes me a hypochondriac.

Hypochondria by proxy (or not)

The other day my son (who is 2) fell on our hardwood floors and hit the back of his head. He's fine. My wife on the other hand, is not. She's afraid that he has some sort of brain damage or that he's got internal bleeding.

I keep trying to explain to her (given my vast medical knowledge) how he's fine and that kinds don't get hurt like we do and that he would have shown some signs by now, etc. It didn't help that she saw a Reader's Digest article about some kid that hit his head on the corner of a table and ended up needing brain surgery.

Her concern about him I can understand. My lack of it I don't. Its not that I'm not concerned but that I'm not freaked out. It seems fairly selfish that I'm only abnormaly worried about MY health and not that of my first (and middle and last) born son. You'd think that I would freak out even more for him.

My wife (who likes to say she's a hypochondriac but has no idea what its really like) is worried about him constantly. Its always worry about cancer, or some bruise or that he's acting funny or that he's sweating or too hot. It sounds exactly like me and how I worry about myself.

Maybe that's normal. Its easier to be objective when its not you in "danger" of being sick or dying. I just wish that somehow I could get that detachment for myself.

The British need spell check

I'm trying to understand why I have good days and bad. As I've stated countless times, I go months without even the slightest (OK, maybe the slightest (OK, its more than slight but less than nuclear explosion)) episode of "symptoms" or worry. Then, all of a sudden, I'll have a complete break down. I've theorized in the past that it was a build-up over time. That I wasn't truly dealing with the problems simply masking them or ignoring them.

This is where the meditation came in. I don't do it as much as I used to but I try to do at least 20 minutes a week. Its way down from the 70 or so a week I was doing but it still is helpful.

I've also stopped taking my blood pressure. I like to tell myself that its because my last visit was good and I don't need to check it so much. In reality, I'm still afraid to. I think I'm afraid that I'll invalidate th results at the doctor's office.

That is the sign of crazy right there. I used to be afraid to go to the doctor's office cause I know my BP would be bad. Now I'm afraid to take it at home because it WASN'T bad at the doctor's office.

All of this is generally lowing my "generalized anxiety" or as the British say "Generalised Anxiety". It seems that its common. The GAD article at this site says this:

The severity of symptoms tends to 'wax and wane' with some good spells, and some not so good spells. Symptoms may 'flare up' and become worse for a while during periods of major life stresses. For example, if you lose your job, or split up with your partner.

This sounds more like VD than anxiety (with the exception of the burning pee). They also say this:

People with GAD are more likely than average to smoke heavily, drink too much alcohol, and take street drugs. Each of these things may ease anxiety symptoms in the short-term. However, addiction to nicotine, alcohol or drugs makes things worse in the long-term, and can greatly affect your general health and wellbeing.

Wonderful. So anxiety not only leads to "flare-ups" but at some point I will be a crack whore with lung cancer.

In reality, I think I'm getting better. I'm sure the Zoloft has something to do with it but, in general, I feel good. The bad times aren't so bad and the good times are really really good. I think that's all I can hope for.

I just blew my own mind

What if I develop of phobia about being a hypochondriac? That would be like having an anxiety over having a health anxiety about being unhealthy. And since people who have phobias are in someways considered unhealthy then I'd be having a fear of a fear of being unhealthy.

So not only am I anxious but I'm anxious about being anxious about being sick.

Keep your eyes peeled, I may be the subject of a medical text any day now.

Itchy and Scratchy

I'm going crazy. Now every time I itch for any reason I begin to wonder. I know I'm a hypochondriac and I know its probably all in my head but this is rediculous. I think I now have to add "phobias" to my list of illnesses (perceived or otherwise).

I wonder if there's a latin term for this. Itchiphobia? No, too easy. Pruriphobia? That could be it. At least, that's what the latin dictionary on google says is latin for itching.

Yesterday on the bike my arm started to itch and (probably from scratching it) started to get a little splotchy. This to was full blown hives. Again I started thinking about how to contact the EMS and if I left a will in a place where my wife would find it, etc. Of course while I'm thinking about all this the itch goes away. Or moves.

At least this is manageable though. Chances are I won't die of itching so that tends to not make my nuts-o-meter go off the scale. But then again, I haven't been bitten by anything more than a mosquito. For all I know I'll be mainlining Benedryl and sticking epi-pens in both my legs on the mere sight of a fire ant.

There's an ant hill in my yard. My wife brought it to my attention yesterday. I spent 5 minutes watching it waiting to see what kind of ant crawled out. Very reminicent of taking my pulse to see if I'm having palpitations or my blood pressure to see if its high...

See, I told you I'd be back before too long.

Ninja fire ants

Now I'm afraid of sweat. More specifically of itching. This morning on my ride I started getting that sort of itchy feeling you get when its humid and your sweating and you're uncomfortable. However in my mind, I'm thinking I've been bitten and now I'm going to have to use my epi-pen. I start looking for people I can flag down so they can call 911 for me, etc.

Its as if I think there are ninja fire ants just waiting to do some Jackie Chan flying leap off of an overpass onto me while I'm riding and bite me. I guess it could happen.

Fire Ants on a Mutha#%$&# Bike!!!

I have to tell this story. Its one of my new favorites. Well, favorite as in "I'm telling you this because even I don't believe it happened". Let me set this up by saying I've only ever been to the emergency room once in my life. Suffice it to say, I didn't enjoy it. I ended up having a doctor tell me I might have cancer. Well, I ended up forcing a doctor to say that if they rule out everything from pneumonia to SARS and Anthrax, that I might have cancer. Its a subtle difference...

Anyway. Once a week I go to a "training race" for bicyclists at a local airport. We essentially ride around a 8-mile loop exceedingly fast and then try to make ourselves puke by sprinting to the finish. This is fun. If nothing else for 2.5 hours I have a different reason to think I might die. A fiery bicycle crash.

I get there and park in the same spot I've been parking all summer. I start to get changed and I feel something bite me right abouve my ankle. I look down and its a fire ant. For those of you that don't have fire ants, just wait, you will. They're like thos African Bees that have been migrating from Mexico for 20 years. They're taking over everything they come in contact with. I expect there to be a movie any day now.

So I get bit. By one ant. This is important because fire ants generally bite in the dozens at once. I don't think anything of it and just keep getting dressed. Within about 5 minutes my ankle starts itching like crazy. I think nothing of it and get on the bike.

Within 10 minutes everything from the waist down is itching like I was battered and fried in itch powder. I think nothing of it and chalk it up to the heat (it was 100 degrees). Within about 15 minutes I'm itching all the way up to the base of my neck. Especially on the inside of my elbows which makes me look like a junkie needing a fix. Somehow, I think nothing of it.

I get 2 miles into the ride and look at my arms and they are covered in hives. I immediately think A LOT of it. I have never had hives from anything. Ever. I decide to turn around and head back to the car as I didn't want to get stuck 5 miles out covered in hives.

By the time I get back to my car I am covered in hives and scratching like there's a million dollars hidden under my skin. I decide at this point that I shouldn't risk driving home and having going into anaphylactic shock on the highway.

This is where being a hypochondriac comes in handy. Most people don't even know what shock is let alone that you can go into it. I, being a highly trained medical practitioner, recognize it immediately.

I go to the fire station and they tell me they don't have anything for fire ants. No Benedryl, no epi-pens, nothing. So they call an ambulance. They start to work me up taking my information, vitals, etc. At this point my blood pressure is 140/90. Slightly high but given the situation, I think nothing of it.

By the time the ambulance gets there I am one large hive. Remember this phrase, it will appear later.

They take my blood pressure, twice, and its 100/95, twice. This is the lowest its been since I had a blood pressure. We all decide I should go to the hospital to get checked out. Yes, you read that correctly. I was part of the decision. Actually I was asked, by skilled paramedics, if I wanted to go. Let me say that another way. They asked a hypochondriac if he wanted to go to the hospital and be seen by a doctor...

So we're in the ambulance (what did you think my answer would be, no?) and they give me an IV and put 25mg of benedryl in it. I immediately know why parents give it to children. All I wanted to do was nap. Of course, in my mind going to sleep meant I might not wake up. I don't know why, it just did.

So I get to the hospotal and they put me in "Critical Care #17". This is code for "the hall". After a few hours I saw a doctor. Dr. Ben. That is what he called himself. Nice guy. Very matter of fact. He tells me I'm fine and that they want to minitor me for a few hours. Then they pump me full of drugs. I mean full.

50mg of benedryl
150mg of Zantac (yes, that Zantac)
50mg of Prednisone
.3mg of Epinephrine

The last one was the kicker. I felt like I had been running a marathon. It got rid of the hives but man, that stuff sucked. At some point the doctor asked if he could send his medical student over to see me because I had a "good case of the hives". The then said "I don't mean good for you, I just mean a good case study". I then overhear him telling his student that I was "one big hive". I don't think this is a medical term. That would be something like "Megabumpatitis".

So now, short story long, I have to carry an epi-pen when I go outside. I'm only "slightly" afraid of anything that flies, crawls, scurries, swarms, or even looks like it might be able to bite or sting me. That includes small animals and children.

Things to note though. I did not freak out. The whole time I was calm. I have to say that was in large part due to the calm nature of the people that took care of me. I'm sure if I was bleeding from more than one orrifice they would have been more excitable. Of course, I probably would have been, too.

Details of my death have been greatly exaggerated

So there I was, minding my own business at the doctor's office when all of a sudden ninjas jump out of nowhere and armed to the teeth with sphygmomanometer (the blood pressure thingy) and large bottles of Lipitor! Next thing you know I've made nun-chucks out of a stethoscope and two tongue depressors. Long story short, I spent 2 months in Himalayan prison with Brad Pitt and Batman plotting my escape...

OK, I might have embellished a little. Well, pretty much everything after "so there I was". I have been away for a while. Partly due to my being in "remission" of my hypochondria and partly due to a new job. Allow me to sum up the last few months:

1. Doctor visit good
2. Lotsa work, also good.
3. Lab test not as good, get increase in medication.
4. Get bit by fire ants spend night in ER, not good.
5. Spend week on handfuls of strange drugs, not good.
6. Freak out, not good.
7. Recover from freak out, good.

With the exception of the fire ants, the good seems to equal the bad. That is also good. So maybe that means that the good outweighs the bad... That seems like poor math there somehow...but I digress.

I'm sure there are random other things in there but overall, everything is going well. I will do my best to pick this back up. Unfortunately (or not, depending on how funny you think I am) I just haven't had a lot to blog about.

Winter is coming. That tends to be a bad period for me. Bear with me while my crazy engine gets revved back up.

1 day and counting

There are certain things I don't allow myself to think about.  This is in order to maintain a certain shall we say "sanity" in my life.  They are, in no certain order:

1.  Death
2.  Doctors
3.  Sickness
4.  Defecit Spending
5.  My Parents Having Sex

OK, there is a definite order to those.  I do my best to put these things out of my mind on a regular basis.  Sometimes I get a little glimmer of one and realize that at some point I'll have to face one or all (okay, 4) of them.

I'm stuck today on doctors.  Especially the desire to get a new one.  I've been with the same guy since I moved here 6 years ago so I'd hardly call it doctor shopping.  I'm just looking for some affirmation.  I know I've been harping on this.  Sorry.  I can't help it.

We'll see how things go tomorrow.  Maybe it will be awesome.  Maybe everything will be perfect.

Maybe monkeys will fly out of my butt.  I'll bet he has a pill for that.

Dead man walking

Two days to go 'til Dr. "You're sick and you aren't getting better"... I thought about it today, he's never once said I was improving, progressing, even heading in the right direction.

Maybe I should just get a new doctor. Not one that will tell me I'm not sick, but at least one that will tell me I'm doing everything I can. Even that will be an improvement. I get the feeling my current doctor won't stop until I'm in a hospital on IV anti-hypertensives and statins.

Freakin myself out

I have a Dr. appointment on Wed.  Normal BP checkup.  Normal by other's standards, slightly worse than a hot poker in the eye to me.

I get really nervous.  I've covered this before.  doctors freak me out.  Mine doesn't even wear the lab coat, its just the whole environment.  The clinical settings, the attitudes of the nurses, the pseudo-life or death situations that the doctors seem to believe you're always in.

So to combat this I've started trying to visualize my next appointment.  This didn't work really well last time but I figured, what the hell.  So while I meditate I try to visualize the whole process.  From the walking in the door to the peeing in the cup to the getting the BP taken.

This isn't working out so well...  So far I can only get to "flipping through the 3-year old magazine" before I really start to freak out.  I figured I'd at least get into the waiting room (in my little mind) before I started getting worked up.

On the bright side, I was able to calm down and get melow again.  That was good.  Otherwise, I think its gonna suck.