I have been having a bit of writers block the past couple days. When I first started blogging I was coming up with a ton of ideas of things I wanted to write about, but of course, I didn't take the time to jot them down, and now I can't remember a single one of them. That may also be because my mind has been preoccupied with trying to figure out why my pinky finger on my left hand has had a tingling feeling in it for over the past week. Am I dying? That's what I have been thinking, which could explain the block in creativity on my part and the constant need to peruse the Internet for searches on WebMD for a self-diagnosis.
"Hello bloggersphere, my name is Angie, and among many things, I'm a hypochondriac."
"Hello Angie..."
It's been going on most of my life. Probably because I spent the better part of my years living with a condition that didn't get diagnosed properly until I had lived with it for 15 years. Nothing like reading every textbook on the subject, knowing what you have and having doctors dismiss you for one reason or another until you find the right one to finally say - "Why yes, of course you have Problem X - you have had it since you were 6! What do you mean no doctor has ever diagnosed you? Are they daft? Why it is as plain as the nose on your face that you have Problem X!" No Duh! was what I had been saying for most of those years. So now when something comes up, I take it upon myself to figure it out, thinking of course, what do the doctors know? I have diagnosed myself with Lupus, Deep Leg Thrombosis, Breast Cancer, and Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome - all of which were deemed false diagnoses on my part - of course...
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But now I have had a faint if not utterly annoying tingle in my pinky and all I can think is MS. I am going to have a debilitating degenerative muscle condition to live with for the rest of my life. I'm going to eventually lose the ability to swallow (hey - it may help me lose some weight - bright side ???) I know - not funny, and I know I'm over-reacting, but the way I see it, if I stop over-reacting now, then all my false alarms will have been for naught. The day I stop over-reacting will be the day my splinter turns into gangrene and I lose my leg or arm. It's my nature to worry. And it's my husband's nature to drag me away from the computer kicking and screaming saying, "There is nothing wrong with you! Quick making mountains out of mole-hills. I promise you that you are going to be fine." And with a quick kiss on the forehead, he makes everything all better.
(But I still have an appointment to see my doctor on the 22nd. I am not taking any chances...)
