Right now, I'm freaking out a bit.
Looking at me, you'd probably not realize this, but beneath the apparently calm exterior, right now, a guy is freaking out, hyperventilating and silently screaming in frustrating dread.
No specifics. Not that I'm hiding, but who needs details anyway?
The second bloodwork report (of the week) comes in tomorrow.
And it will effectively tell my doctor (and me of course), if my current ailment is just a minor thing or a chronic bedfellow I'll have to live with the rest of my life. With a lifetime of careful monitoring and medical regimen.
I'm trying not to sound so melodramatic, but it's hard to express verbally, the roiling waves of worry inside my psyche, without that bit of sensationalized prose.
I guess I need to indulge my drama queen side occasionally after all.
I don't mind the needles. To be honest, I HATE needles, but with the routine of the past year, I'm gradually growing accustomed to them. From a crippling phobia, they've turned into a temporary nuisance, that can be borne with a grimace and some grudging acceptance.
What really scares the bejeezus out of me is the whole WebMD-fueled hypochondriac paranoia about the possible ramifications of a bad-case-scenario bloodwork report. Some serious conditions which could potentially affect the quality of life.
I'm normally an abjectly apathetic person, with an unhealthy disregard for caring about myself (and others, I suppose), but this has been quite the jarring wakeup call. Whatever the diagnosis, I need to get the fuck off my butt and shape up.
Start eating healthier.
Exercise
Lead an active lifestyle
Walk. Or better yet, run.
Get started on that damn bucket list.
Do stuff to be happy.
It's amazing how things like death and disease make you appreciate life more. Nothing like a jolt of hard-hitting negativity to make you crave the positives in life.
No more c'est la vie. No more ennui. No more of that nihilistic bullshit.
Get the fuck out of your room and get a life.
Better yet, LIVE.
Looking at me, you'd probably not realize this, but beneath the apparently calm exterior, right now, a guy is freaking out, hyperventilating and silently screaming in frustrating dread.
No specifics. Not that I'm hiding, but who needs details anyway?
The second bloodwork report (of the week) comes in tomorrow.
And it will effectively tell my doctor (and me of course), if my current ailment is just a minor thing or a chronic bedfellow I'll have to live with the rest of my life. With a lifetime of careful monitoring and medical regimen.
I'm trying not to sound so melodramatic, but it's hard to express verbally, the roiling waves of worry inside my psyche, without that bit of sensationalized prose.
I guess I need to indulge my drama queen side occasionally after all.
I don't mind the needles. To be honest, I HATE needles, but with the routine of the past year, I'm gradually growing accustomed to them. From a crippling phobia, they've turned into a temporary nuisance, that can be borne with a grimace and some grudging acceptance.
What really scares the bejeezus out of me is the whole WebMD-fueled hypochondriac paranoia about the possible ramifications of a bad-case-scenario bloodwork report. Some serious conditions which could potentially affect the quality of life.
I'm normally an abjectly apathetic person, with an unhealthy disregard for caring about myself (and others, I suppose), but this has been quite the jarring wakeup call. Whatever the diagnosis, I need to get the fuck off my butt and shape up.
Start eating healthier.
Exercise
Lead an active lifestyle
Walk. Or better yet, run.
Get started on that damn bucket list.
Do stuff to be happy.
It's amazing how things like death and disease make you appreciate life more. Nothing like a jolt of hard-hitting negativity to make you crave the positives in life.
No more c'est la vie. No more ennui. No more of that nihilistic bullshit.
Get the fuck out of your room and get a life.
Better yet, LIVE.
