I am about to do what I possibly dread most in all of life.
Go to the doctor.
Doctors and I do not have a great history.
When I was little my mom would never tell me that we were going to get shots until we were in the parking lot. I'm sure it was
killer to get me inside. My 2nd mom (as I affectionately like to call her) would have to come to back my mom up, basically to drag me through the door.
I'm sure there were many times this happened, but the one I most keenly remember was when I was about 7 or 8, I think.
I had to be coaxed through the office door as usual, but I got a bit smarter and tried to appear a bit more calm. When we were called back I
let Kayla (my dear older sister) go first and as soon as everyone had their back turned I
ran. I think my escape was pretty short lived, but I remember it being pretty awesome. Adrenaline pulse through my veins as I ran and hid. I think I made it to the opposite side of the back of the office, with the door to the waiting room in sight. I bolted for the door, but was caught mid-sprint by my dear 2nd mom, Kathy.
Once taken back to the room I had to be held down so they could administer the shots.
I still
hate, hate, hate, needles.
Given that I do not have any great affection for doctors, my track record in keeping myself away from them is not so great.
I broke my arm in the 3rd grade by jumping out of a swing. We were having a contest to see who could land the farthest away from the swings and I had to win. I thought that height must equal distance, so I jumped off at the highest point possible and sailed through the air to my supposed victory, and landed quite inefficiently on my elbow. My mom said that they could hear the crack of it breaking.
I ended up having surgery to fish a chip of my growth plate out of my arm so it could be put back in its proper place. I am happy to report that I have two correctly proportioned arms.
We never really went to the doctor that much. I still don't go unless I am really sick or have injured myself.
The next huge thing I remember was slicing my leg open on a recliner. A recliner.
I was sitting in it and decided to get up, and didn't put the leg rest down to do so. Apparently there was some kind of rod in the leg rest that was coated in plastic except for the end, which happened to be razor sharp. I ended up with a gaping and bleeding wound from that tumble with the recliner. We went to a minor emergency center to get it stitched up and they did a
horrible job of it. They gave me two numbing shots and hardly gave them time to work before stitching up my leg with thirteen stitches for a three inch long cut. I now have a caterpillar-like scar as a result. I have named him George. Pronounced in the French way of course.
I've done pretty well in the injury category since then, I think. No surgery or stitches necessary at least. Some ridiculous things like sprained big toes, fainting out of chairs and hitting my face on table legs, and sitting in an already broken chair which resulted in many bruises and whiplash. Plus, some pretty necessary dental work, like getting my wisdom teeth out, and oh yeah,
jaw surgery.
Most of my life I have viewed doctors as an annoying and painful step to fixing an injury or improving an illness, and usually I like to tough it out and get over whatever is ailing me without them, but at this stage in my life I have decided that it is time for me to grow up and try to see doctors as a necessary help instead of the-thing-that-plagues-my-existence-and-must-avoid-at-all-cost.
I have been getting sick pretty frequently over the past year and even more frequently over the past six months. This has thrown major kinks in my plans of getting a steady job and earning money for upcoming travel, but it has been good in the effects of making me more aware of how I am treating my body, making changes, and finally seeking help for it.
True to my dramatic, a bit hypochondriac self, I have WebMD'ed it up and have been freaking out about all the possible immune system attacking diseases I might have, but really I am hoping that it might be something as simple (or not so simple really) as food allergies or hormone imbalances. The worst answer would be "we don't know" or "nothing." There needs to be something tangible wrong with me so they can fix it!
All this to say, I am actually looking forward to going to the doctor next week to hopefully get some answers and make some more healthy changes before I embark on the World Travel Adventure of 2012.
