So I'm really sick with this chest cold and I'm not a brave soldier. My nose is running. I have a sinus headache, I'm coughing up shit I don't want to look at and my brain feels like jello. I'm having myself a big old pity party tonight. Feel free to not attend.
Meanwhile, let me at least start this long and sordid medical odyssey. It started last week. My belly button got all red and hard and angry looking and my belly was swelling and I was feeling like shit. I couldn't help but think it was the same sort of symptoms that Rob had before he died. Long time readers who know the depth and breadth of my life long hypochondria will appreciate the bravery of my decision to do nothing. Besides, it was a Thursday and I didn't feel critically bad.
So it got worse for a day and a half but it wasn't so painful that I reasoned I should panic about it. Then it started getting better but it wasn't gone, so on Monday I showed it to a medical person I know here. He wasn't reassuring and starts talking about going to the emergency room. And I, the hypochondriac who set the standard for panic, said no. I'll go home and get an appointment with my doctor tomorrow. I figured if I was going to die from it, I'd rather be at home than spend 12 of the 24 hours left to me in the emergency room.
Obviously, I lived to tell the tale but the doc's appointment and the ensuing wild ride to the surgeon will have to wait for tomorrow. It's too long and my pity party awaits...