“I pulled a muscle.”
“I’ll take a nap.”
“Im a hypochondriac, this is probably a panic attack. Chill out.”
“Breathing is over-rated.”
“Is an invisible Pirate is stabbing me in the ribs?” (Too much Once upon a Time and Sleepy Hollow Just saying.)
“Maybe, I should go to the Er.”
“It’s probably my gallbladder.”
“Or, maybe, I’m dying.”
“I’ll wait till Kyle gets home.”
Yes. All those things last week. And yes, I ended up in the ER. I was totally convinced that my gallbladder was next in line for surgery. I shaved my legs just in case.
Side note: Am I the only one who insists on pre-diagnosing herself before going to the doctor? I’m also bummed when I’m wrong. It’s a sick game. Sick in an “I kinda like to play it anyway- kind of way.
I was wrong. It wasn’t my gallbladder. Hate that. (the being wrong part- not the no surgery part.)
I wasn’t dying. It wasn’t a panic attack.
The docs checked for a blood clot in my lung. Blood test said yes. CT said not so much.
After 10 hours. a dose of morphine and 2 of dilaudid later, I went home somewhat relieved. But- without answers and still hurting. Though the pain was knocked down to a pirates punch vs stabbing. So there’s that.
The next morning I received the ubiquitous “We’re calling to check to see if you croaked on the way home” call from the ER. Not so much. Instead they let me know… “It’s not an emergency, but the radiologist found something on the CT scan. You’ll need to follow up on.There’s a dilation of your ascending aorta.” (She said as-cending. I’m twelve- but this time I didn’t giggle.)
I then did what all crazy people do and googled “dilated ascending aorta.” AKA: Aneurysm.
What? That is not on my watch list. Ebola is, and the measles, so is losing my mind and having a heart attack. But not this.
I got the call Friday. BTW? My primary care doc is not in on Friday.
I managed low grade panic all weekend with the great google of Oz. Which assured me that something of this size is simply watched and managed with blood pressure medication. No need to worry until it’s at least another centimeter in size…(So reassuring.)
The fact that once the last dose of Dilaudid wore off the pain was back -did not help.
I went to the Primary Care doc yesterday.
Google was right. No need to panic. Blood pressure meds now on board. (Which feels like a health moral failure. Just sayin.) Which should keep the fat artery from springing a leak.
The stabbing? Not related to either the heart thing or a pirate. It’s called Pleurisy. Which sounds like something Grandma would almost die of on The Waltons. Primary care doc said: “It’s pleuritic pain. They have it on the report- what did they give you to treat it?”
“Umm… morphine and dilaudid?”
Wrong answer. Prednisone and an antibiotic. A breathing treatment. And a shot of steroid jump starter.
As I picked up the blood pressure script- I hung my head in shame at CVS. Yup. I’m now THAT fat- 40+ chick on blood pressure meds.
I mentally argued with the diagnosis: But, I don’t (hardly ever) eat fried foods.” “I’m a good eater.” “I can’t have high blood pressure!” Well, I’m a good eater-except for maybe baked goods. That, and not eating all day.
Add that to not making time to exercise and the stress that is my current life- stir it all in a gene pool of heart disease- and this is what you get.
(Confession: not much exercise even though I DID get clearance to start back up. And even though- I daily nag my husband to exercise. Because I HATE working out on machines and the weathers just been nasty….and a thousand other excuses.)
Anyway-This weekend was a call to shoes. (Goes better with my theme than arms.. Just go with me. Okay?) Which is interesting because the beauties in the pic below, showed up at my door yesterday.
If I don’t want to be THAT,chick. I’m going to have to start logging some GENTLE miles in these.
NO running. NO incline challenges. No weight lifting.No psycho mileage goal setting. Because those could make ticker go boom. Boom is bad. (Not really at this point. But cranky it up would not be safe right now.)
Just simple, steady, healthy exercise. Something called: walking.
Ugh. Walking? Seriously?
Here’s the truth: I’ve been known to run my fat self straight to a tibial plating. I Biked myself to 3 cervical fusions. (probably not related to biking. But blew my biking fun for a few years:()
No more excessive pain filled attempts.
It’s time for something more drastic. Called: moderation. Who knew?
How appropriate that my new shoes have a reminder not to board the “crazy train” right there, on the tongue? Too bad I can’t bend my neck to see my feet…..
How about you?
Have you had any unexpected shoe- changes recently?
Life changes or challenges that are turning you in a different direction than you were going a week or a year ago?
Lets talk. Post your change ups in the comments!
Dear lord- I’m so glad they found this junk in time. Please help me to do the things I need to do. Change the things I need to change, and stop beating myself up over the whole thing. Help me to face this new challenge with wisdom. Grow compassion in my heart for others- cause this has brought up a lot of judgments I’ve been making about others health issues that I think are “their own fault.” That i didn’t even see as judgments. Help me be a merciful encourager to others as they stumble on their own path. In Jesus name- amen.
And now it’s time to go WALK on the stupid treadmill for 20 minutes instead of writing about it, which I greatly prefer.