Going White

15 02 2009

I don’t know about you, but I am one of those frantic types, but not overtly so.

I see a news special about the tell-tale signs of salmonella poisoning and suddenly for the next three days my stomach cramps and I feel ill.

When there were all of the anthrax scares post 9-11, I was one of those sitting at home wheezing and convinced that I was on death’s door.

I have a skin disorder, hydradenitisuperativa – a mild outbreak thankfully, but it causes what can best be described as acne…but for most of my youth and on up until I was 21, I didn’t know what it was and I was convinced it was a sign of some unknown illness that would rob my life from me whilst I slept.

I know this about myself though, so I tend to try to rationalize pains and illnesses and ignore some of the cries from my body that would send others to a doctor.  Sometimes, that is not a good thing.

In 1997 I was nine months pregnant with my second daughter and was in a bad car accident.  The accident left me in a good deal of pain and my father tried like hell to get me to sue the driver at fault – at one point he even took me to a lawyer.  The driver though felt bad and as my husband was out to sea, he would send me flowers and sent me gift cards to various places to show his sincerity.  My father said it was his way of trying to get me not to sue him.  But I couldn’t rationalize suing him for leg pains that could very well have been due to my pregnancy.  I convinced myself that I was again just psychologically in pain – that my subconscious wanted me to feel in pain for some reason.  But to this day, my hip and leg still has moments where it ‘goes out’ on me, for lack of a better description.

This last bout though, has lasted longer than any time prior.  For the past week I have found myself suddenly teetering over as my left leg just goes out of commission.  The pain radiates about my hip and upper thigh and walking or even standing becomes impossible.

But going to a doctor is not something I care to endure.  Last year I was in agony with back pains and convinced perhaps I had cancer or some such disabling me.  I finally broke down and went to a doctor – actually several doctors.  And then ultimately to get an MRI, which was dreadful as unbeknownst to me I have sensitivity to iodine.  Four thousand some odd dollars in bills later, they found nothing and a good back rub from Glenn wound up curing it.  And I am certain should I capitulate to the advice about me and go to a doctor this time; it will be the same again.

Instead I have spent today trying to stretch and exercise and self-diagnose the issue to prevent the need for a doctor’s visit.  I know I didn’t do anything that caused it – it was blow job week when the pain started so no funky positions were endured; I didn’t fall or wear heels to set my body out of alignment last week; my water intake has remained unchanged; and no changes to my exercise routine that could have impacted me.  That leaves me with looking at external impacts – such as the weather and as it was chilly and rainy and has been rather humid and cool all week long – could it be arthritis?  Certainly I am not old enough for arthritis as there is no pre-disposition in my family which could make me prone to having it during my youth.

Old age.

At thirty-three?

I am forced to remind myself that two years ago I began getting grey hairs.  I correct myself; they are white.  At first I was thinking they were perhaps lovely golden highlights in my beautiful auburn locks, but reality slapped me hard on that thought.

I have lost my sense of smell; though I think that should be attributed to a sinus infection I had about six years ago.

I cannot hear well, I find myself continually putting on the closed captioning for anything playing on the television and straining to hear even simple conversations in a car.

Gravity took over my breasts years ago and while I don’t have a belly button for cleavage yet, that too will come I am sure.

Oh dear god, I am getting old.

Not blue haired wigs and polyester pant suits, but that time is approaching quickly I now see.  It will be only a matter of time before I resort to a walker and dentures.  I think of the older women I know personally and it is frightening to think of becoming any of them.  I planned this time to come well after I become a grandmother, not while I am still raising my own children.

At least I live in Florida already – right?




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