So, this will be the last update on the health situation, which is, honestly, a pain in the butt, because when I write about it, it still feels like whining. But some people have asked, and it’s just easier to use a super public forum, where everyone can see it, than it is to tell everyone. Because yeah, everyone wants to know, right? I’m super special like that.
So, anyway, the cardiologist said my EKG, “looked funky.” I love it when they’re all technical like that. Overall, he “thinks” it’s normal. Sure, I had cardiac enzymes, but, as he put it, “normal hearts don’t typically do this, but ones that are damaged don’t do this either and don’t look this good. Overall, I think it’s normal.” As for the enzymes, “Well, it’s not entirely abnormal. It’s just not normal.”
A) Uh, what? and B) Doesn’t he know that the “looked funky” and “I think” parts don’t necessarily inspire confidence? One thing I’ve learned over time, man, is you have to sell the shit out of it. It’s not “I think it’s normal,” it’s “Rock me, Amadeus, this test is so f-ing normal!”
Also, for future reference, the “Oh, no,” and “whoops” during the stress test were not particularly awe-inspiring.
Don’t get me wrong, I think the cardiologist is a nice guy, and frightfully honest. I liked him.
However, at one point, I did actually say, “Oh, no? Really?” I thought they trained doctors better than that. When I worked in the SNF, we had a doctor who said “Neat-o!” to everything that looked interesting.
“Neat-o!” could mean “This patient is in cardiac arrest,” or it could mean, “Darn, I just spilled coffee on my tie.” One must admit, the word neat-o does not inspire fear of death. Neat-o does not say, “Holy shit, what the hell is that?”
It must have rubbed off, because the last time a kid had a seizure in my office, the first word out of my mouth was a really panicked, “NEAT-O!”
And I wonder why no one came running.
As an aside, my own personal doctor, whom I love (I’m not a fan of specialists, but I love my primary), decided today that I have gluten intolerance. So add wheat to the loooong list of things I can’t eat. Eggs. Beef. Gelatin. Fat. And now wheat. (And all of this since the birth of my son, five years ago. I could eat all of this stuff BC–Before Chewey. I also weighed a lot more BC.)
Basically, if that shit tastes good, I can’t have it. Again, decent for the diet plan, bad for my emotional health. As a former fat girl, it’s one thing for food to slowly destroy you. But to do it like this, where I can’t even enjoy my own destruction? So, so unfair. Gluttony is awesome, man. I love Gluttony. We used to be tight.
And now, Gluttony has broken up with me, and I keep begging for him to come back, like some sort of creepy stalker.
So, at this very moment, I’m bidding farewell to my one weakness, Oreos.
Yes, by eating them.
(And yes, I know I’ll feel it later)