It's funny how a health scare can cause you to re-evaluate your life.. over, and over, and over.
A very frightening episode last weekend, an elevated d-dimer (but no sign of pulmonary embolism on the CT, and no sign of deep vein thrombosis in the legs based on my ultrasound), cystic changes in the lung, a consistent plaguing of "non specific" symptoms... (headaches, chest pain, dizziness)...
Yes, there are several factors that can cause an elevated d-dimer (which is a test that checks for the inappropriate formation of blood clots)... Things like rheumatoid arthritis, liver disease, kidney disease, chronic inflammation, cancers, pregnancy.. All of which I do NOT have. So why do I have those results? No one knows. I am going to push for the head CT, based on my symptoms.
And then the phone call with the news that the radiologist reported cystic changes in my right lung, and yet the resident couldn't quite explain to me what that means. I suspect it means I need to quit smoking. Damnit. Also probably means they'll refer me to a pulmonary specialist.
Tuesday I have my stress test, Wednesday I'll follow up with my PCP.
And then I guess we'll just go from there.
As I sit here eating junk, watching the Patriots, sipping coffee, facebooking and blogging... I wonder..
Why am I doing these things alone?
I mean, we all know why, per say. Life choices, failed relationships, current circumstances, etc etc etc.. But the question wasn't literal.
I want to spend these lazy afternoons with someone. I want to fall asleep listening to the breathing of someone other than myself. I want to wipe the sleep from my eyes every morning and see my partner on the pillow next to mine. I want someone to sit with me at every basketball game or soccer game. I want someone to cook dinner with every night (or better yet, cook dinner for me every night). I want someone at home each night who will listen to my stories about the drunks and the unstocked beer coolers and all my other work woes. I want someone to take me to dinner, rub my feet, play with my hair. To talk to. To hug. To turn to. All the time, for always.
I've always wanted that.
This blog probably looks identical to so many others I've written.
Somewhat relative, perhaps...
I recently saw an ambigram (a word or phrase that can be read in more than one direction and have different interpretations) "I'm Fine" in an article online. When written in a particular script, and then seen upside down, it reads- "Save Me".
The origin of this ambigram came from a young woman who had it tattooed on her leg. For her, it signified her fight with depression. When I saw it, I instantly fell in love.
For me it signifies so much more. Yes, depression. And anxiety, stress, addiction, loneliness, broken heartedness, hopelessness. And I am constantly saying "I'm fine". In fact, my mother hates it. I'm fine. But I'm not really fine. Save me.
And so I drew it, as I would like it tattooed. Probably on my wrist.
Not to sound melodramatic, but if in fact my life has become that much shorter, it might be time I figure out how to make it what I want.