Put on a happy face

I have to wonder about myself sometimes. Do I even know myself at all?

I had my three month visit with my oncologist today. This time I actually went in with a well-thought (yet hastily-scrawled) out list of concerns to discuss. But first, the important news… all my blood work was perfect! No indications that there is any cancer on the horizon. Amen!

Rarely do I have lists for my doctors. I usually breeze in all sunshine and smiles making the best of even the worst of situations with a few notable exceptions. I was decidedly unsunny when I arrived at the Emergency Room with a ruptured fallopian tube. Once Daddy-O and Ben got there the whole episode became fairly foggy, but I do have a vague recollection of thrashing around on the table in pain, sure I was about to die and praying out loud for God to save me or at least not take me in front of my son. Or when I bawled my eyes out pregnant with Danny at my regular doctor’s office because I’d had undiagnosed bronchial asthma for months and was so physically stressed from just. not. breathing. that I couldn’t maintain anymore! Otherwise, I might have one off-the-cuff question or two but that’s it.

Today’s list read something like this:

  • Forgetfulness!!! Chemo-brain or old age?
  • Still painful sternum
  • Big bruise on arm since August!
  • Wake up still tired. Low energy? Depression?
  • Daddy-O says I’m a bitch… asks if meds can be increased… please?????

After regailing her with my many and varied tales of forgetful woe, Dr. Villa came to the shocking conclusion that I am doing too much multi-tasking. Put another way, if I put too many balls in the air one is bound to fall every now and then. Plus, I am getting older.

No worries about he painful sternum. I don’t know why I shouldn’t worry. She didn’t say. I didn’t ask. I’m ok with that.

Same thing with the ginormous bruise (which is really a mere shadow of it’s former self) that has been on my arm since August. No worries. Eh.

I worried that I might be having a bit of depression (even though I don’t feel like I’m depressed) as indicated by my waking tired after a full nights sleep, constant low energy, etc. etc. Those are the same symptoms I had the last time I didn’t feel depressed after I had my miscarriage. Turns out I actually was. Huh. Who knew? So I thought I’d ask. But my Dr. V gets the big bucks for a reason. Her first question was if I’d been excercising, which I haven’t. See asthma reference above which is triggered by cold. The virus I got in early December flared up the asthma and it’s been too cold and/or windy for me to get outside and walk until this week. So no excercise for me. Click! 100 watts glaring at me. That accounts for both symptoms. See. I knew I wasn’t depressed.

But apparently, I am a bitch.

I’m finding this harder and harder to deny. Though, in my defense, I do live with three testosterone-ridden humans and suffer with immeasurable provocation. Still, I do sometimes step out of myself in mid-rant and raise an eyebrow at my own hostility. At any rate, she is going to increase the dosage of my Effexor and see if that helps with my break-through hot flashes and these apparent nasty mood swings.

Daddy-O is lucky to have her as an ally.

As well as all that went, I left my appointment feeling less than satisfied.

We normally hug and gush and smile after leisurely minutes of familiar catching up. Today was more formal and doctor / patient like. She looked fairly sober as I left. No hug. No emotional fireworks display for the wonderful bloodwork and continued victory over cancer. I walked out feeling like a burden. *sigh*

Now I can’t help but wonder if I am always so positive and upbeat because that is the way I’ve always been or because I crave approval.

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