The 39 Lashes

So, I had a bit of what turned out to be a mental health scare a few weeks ago.

First though, a confession: I had been struggling with cigarette smoking, and had been indulging in them at work (this is the "lashes" part of the entry). I was fully conscious of the health risks that came along with my inability to remain nicotine-free, but this was an addiction that I just couldn't seem to quit. Finally, my shame at what I was doing, the fact that I had to keep it a secret and the thought that, were I to shuffle off the mortal coil at this point I'd be leaving behind both MLW and the mini-BG was enough to strengthen my resolve. So, I decided that enough was enough and went cold turkey.

Some days later, I started feeling like I had a lump of mucus in my throat. Nothing that interfered with eating or was anything other than an annoyance, but when it persisted for a few days, I began to think it might be serious. Then I started to obsess about it. What if it was something serious? What if I was developing thyroid cancer? Or, even better, esophogeal cancer? I was so focused on it that I had trouble sleeping. Eventually, I stumbled across a definition for Globus, which fit what I was feeling exactly. So I relaxed a bit.

A few nights later, I woke up around 3 o'clock in the morning with a slight pain in my chest and some tingling in my left arm. Since I generally sleep on that side, I thought it was possible that I'd simply cut off circulation to my arm. But I was also thinking of my step-father, who had heart problems last fall. So after about a half hour of waiting, I woke up MLW and told her that I was taking myself to the hospital.

In case anyone was wondering, waiting in an emergency room still sucks. There were only about four people there when I showed up, and I may have been the only one who wasn't under the influence of some substance or other. Yet I still had to sit there for a good half an hour to forty-five minutes. I should have realized that this was a sign in and of itself: if I were really having a heart attack, I probably would have been taken right away. At least, I hope that would have been the case.

So some three and a half hours and an EKG, blood test and X-ray later, the doc on duty said that it didn't look like I was having any heart difficulty. And although he recommended that I check myself in for observation, I went home. I tried to sleep, but I was still very anxious. I called our family doctor as soon as their office opened and scheduled an appointment for that afternoon.

Our doc listened to my tale, ordered another EKG (still negative) and another blood test. He also wrote a prescription for me to get a stress test at the local hospital (who knew you had to get a prescription for a test?) and, when I told him about my throat, an upper gastrointestinal workup. I also told him that I thought that anxiety could possibly be contributing to my symptoms. He asked if I wanted anti-anxiety medication, but I told him that I was so exhausted that I didn't think I would have any problems sleeping.

It didn't take me long to call and tell him I had changed my mind.

I was able to schedule my upper GI before the stress test, and it came back clean. So, no esophageal cancer. However, the test had revealed something in one of my kidneys. At this point, I was pretty sure my ticker was in fine shape, and I ended up canceling the stress test. And I stopped obsessing about my esophagus. But now I started to worry about my kidney. Once again I was looking up symptoms on WebMD, finding out the warning signs for kidney cancer, its different stages, survival statistics and the like. I also called my doc's office for another appointment, this time for another blood test to check my creatinine levels and a urinalysis to check for blood.

Long story short, everything came back normal. What I'd not seen or heard (or possibly not wanted to see or hear in my anxiety-ruled state) was that the doctor who performed the upper GI had already made a preliminary diagnosis: renal calculus. Or, as it's more commonly known, kidney stones.

So there's nothing physically wrong with me, although I may be in one hell of a lot of pain in the next few months.

In addition to resolving to finally do something about my weight, something that I've put off doing consistently for a few years now, I've been thinking about what caused me to drop into this spiral of the worst-case scenario. Why did I immediately convince myself that I was likely in serious trouble? And, as MLW pointed out, how the hell am I going to cope when I do have a serious illness? I've got a (cute as all get-out) 3-year-old that needs me to be around and needs me to be able to keep my shiznit together.

That's kind of where I'm at right now. I'm trying to eat a bit more healthy (or at least not quite so crappily) and exercise a bit more regularly. It ain't easy, though; my body isn't terribly thrilled about giving up fatty red meat in favor of rowing my way to a slimmer me. But I've got 20 pounds to lose, and it's not going to get up and move out on it's own.

One last note of interest: my brain was actually able to manifest symptoms for whatever ailment I thought I might be suffering. When I was worried about heart trouble, my chest hurt; when I thought I might have kidney trouble, my sides hurt. When I knew there was nothing wrong with me, my pains just miraculously went away.

Oh, and in case you're wondering about the other part of this entry's title, I'm currently 39.

My next bit will be somewhat more humorous and will contain dick jokes.