In all honesty, I’m kind of hoping there is something wrong with my Thyroid. Of course, no one wants a physical ailment, but to be totally frank I’d rather that there BE something legitimately wrong with me, then, at least I’d have an excuse and wouldn’t have to take the sole amount of the blame. Damn, that was a long sentence. Take that grammar.
For those of you that don’t know, after much deliberation, suffering and gnashing of teeth I visited the physician for ye olde yearly physicalle.. Yeah. The deal goes like this: it’s not that I don’t like doctors. I know there are A LOT of people out there who get frustrated with doctors because science is never that exact and that sometimes it can take a long time to get to the bottom to what is ailing you or a loved one. Yes, I get it: no one likes to suffer or much less watch their loved ones suffer, but a good majority of the time, I think people forget that science isn’t exact and that doctors are human, and from time to time make mistakes. It’s a sad fact of life. Rant off. What bothers me about doctors are the needles; I hate, nay HATE getting my blood drawn, but I felt my body reacting strangely (more than normal) lately and it had been a rather extended period since my last appointment, so I decided to suck it up.
Bravely with cowardice I made it through the appointment, I’m not going to say there wasn’t drama during the blood drawing process however, I never went out of my way to stop them (it’s not my fault all of their needles mysteriously vanished that morning). After getting the results of the blood test back, the next week, I found out that I might be slightly hypothyroidistic (not a medical term), and would need to come in for further tests. Of course my reaction went exactly like this: Come in for more blood test?! I was hoping you were going to ask. In fact if you didn’t ask I was going to volunteer! Okay, so it didn’t go much like that at all, but reluctantly I agreed to further scrutiny of my hemoglobin and booked another appointment.
My next appointment was in the morning before work. I should point out that I am not a morning person, but I was feeling strangely brave after my last bloodletting and had “got this.” Cut to my next appointment; I decided to opt for giving blood from my right arm, even though Jeni insisted I should use my left arm with some hocus pocus about left arm being more directly connected to the heart or some such. To be completely honest I wasn’t listening all that closely, one of my many fun failings. My thought was: I had just had blood drawn from my left arm it was still slightly bruised, my right arm was injured from Kung Fu so it already hurt, what could a little needle do… twice? Yeah, after the first pull I heard the words no one ever wants to her, “let’s try that again.”
Now I want you to understand, I am not mad at my doctor or with his vampire… er… blood-drawer guy. I would rather ALWAYS err on the side of caution. I will say this, I survived. I am alive and honestly, I’m not as worried for the next needle to come my way.
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