I hate the title of this post, but couldn't shake it. Much like the song of the same name that won't get out of my head. I hate going to the doctor too (no this is not my grouchy smurf impression). Actually it's much more than that. Not a hate based on fear, more so a hate centered on the fact that some where deep down in my psyche it means I've given in to the pain and must admit I'm not an over grown muscle head (which you'd think one look in the mirror would rectify). Going to the doctor means I'm not able to tough it out. On a separate level going to the doctor also means that I'm putting actions behind my ache of the day.
The ache of the day could be back pain, maybe a cold, stiffness in the neck, a possible return of the gout. Very seldom could I honestly say nothing hurts. I don't walk around complaining all the time mind you, but there is typically a daily internal battle going on as to whether or not it really hurts that bad or am I just exaggerating. The point to all of this is that today I went for my first physical. Not a "turn your head and cough" physical more like an "lets just make sure you're still breathing properly" physical. I've been having chest pains for a week. I'm not falling over three times a day grasping my chest or anything. What I've been feeling is more like a spasm at times and an ache at others. Nine times out of ten the left side of my neck hurts so I've been writing it off as an extension of that. Yesterday morning there wasn't a pain of the day and yet the spasms were still there and so were the aches. Mandy didn't have to push too hard to get me to make an appointment.
It started with my shirt off. Scratch that....it started with me not being able to eating anything after 6:30 this morning. I'm hypoglycemic so come 2:00 this afternoon things were already kinda fuzzy. The EKG was first and that's where taking my shirt off came in. I think that was the first women to see me with my shirt off since 1997-ish when I started dating Mandy. I tend to swim with a shirt on. No sense in flaunting what I got. As the electrodes were placed all around I fully expected to flop on the table like I was going into cardiac arrest once the kicked the juice on. Instead nothing and honestly I was kinda dissapointed....
Next up I had to describe all that was wrong which included an explanation on why I waited a week and how I'm fully aware that I'm mental. The EKG came back fine and then came the hints that it my by my gallbladder. I'm going to try not to offend a few people here, so this is me treading lightly.....gallbladder surgery is the medical equivalent of Air Jordans. Jordans used to be huge!! Even last year people were lining up a week a head of time to give $200-$300 bucks for a pair of shoes. I remember in high school kids were "Do you have your Jordans? Are you gonna get Jordans? Check out my Jordans? Love my awesome Jordans!! They make me jump higher!!" That's how I see gallbladder surgery. I'm the only one that still has mine and everyone I know won't shut up about how awesome it is not having one, until of course lunch time comes around and they see me eating an entire large pizza with 50 toppings on it. Oh and pooping at a moments notice just doesn't sound like the thrill ride some of you are making it out to be.
Still though there is the spasm (flutter) problem.....so they poked my right side so deeply their finger came out my left side then asked if it hurt. Which of course it did, kinda like falling a fence post would except I was left looking at the lady with the thought that now was the time to see her diploma from an accredited college. My blood pressure was the lowest it's been in a long time so no talk of a daily pill. Then there was talk of making me walking around with a heart monitor for 24hrs, but insurance had to approve it first so that idea was tabled. Finally I had three large vials of blood, two x-rays, and any hope of them not finding something wrong from me taken and was sent on my way pending results....to McD's where I enjoyed my first bite in over 9 hours in the form of a double quarter pounder with fries and a coke.