on being fat, a hypochondriac, sick, and stubborn

(Make-up blog from 1/27)

Before I can start my story, I have to give you some background.  I have been overweight since I was 9.  It's a psychological problem, mostly.  I think I need food when I really don't.  I eat when I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm lonely, when I'm bored, or just because.  I had weight loss surgery when I was 16 (I'm younger than the youngest person noted in the textbooks on the subject), and I lost over 100 pounds in less than a year.  Before too long, though, I was climbing back up the scale.  In addition, the quick loss of weight led to my skin no longer being supple, which means that I look fatter than I am.  This causes doctors to go into spasms of doctorly joy when they see me.  This is how it goes:

I walk into the doctor's office.  He takes one look at me and says, "Oh, I know what's the matter with you!!"  He then schedules glucose tolerance tests, supremely happy that this is an easy one.  I obviously have diabetes!

Except that I don't.  Or didn't for many years.  About five years ago I went into "pre-diabetic", and so I shaped up my act, if not my figure.  I stopped eating so much sugar, so many carbs.  I switched from potatoes to rice or whole wheat noodles.  And my numbers went down--I was officially no longer diabetic.  Which inexplicably made my doctor very unhappy.  Ever since, he has been sure that I will climb back up the count and be his diabetic sweetie once again.  So now to my story.

It all started a few weeks ago.  I was overdue for my doctor's visit--six months overdue.  For some reason, he was not happy about this.  I came to his office with one problem--a sore that wouldn't heal.  This was NOT diabetes related--it was due to a surgery that didn't do what it was supposed to.  He checked the wound and chastised me on not getting the requisite blood work done (this man enjoys chastising me).  I reminded him that I came to his office and they gave me the slip for blood work. The next 10 minutes or so went along just fine, until he asked about anything else that might have come up. Silly me--I told him about climbing a steep hill in high elevation and having trouble catching my breath for a few minutes.

You'd think I'd given him a diamond ring!  Something to fixate on! I'd never before mentioned anything that might be heart related!  He went from chastise to super strength berating me.

"You need to see a cardiologist immediately!  You think that the wound is your most serious problem, but you could have heart disease! Don't you understand the need to care for yourself!?!"  He sent me on my way with yet more blood work and a referral to a cardiologist.  I promptly "lost" the latter in my back seat.  Nevertheless, Mr. heart doc's office called me up later that week wanting to schedule a visit. I politely said thanks but no thanks.  This set the stage.

I am a hypochondriac.  I know very well that I don't have heart disease, but he put that thought into my head.  From that point on, any time I was out of breath, any time I was out of sorts, and any time my chest hurt--whether from indigestion or angst or what have you--the thought came:  HEART ATTACK!!!  I knew it was silly, but there you go.  I couldn't help myself.  However, everything was settling down for me, and I was beginning to feel more my usual self.  Then came last Friday.

I began to have a build up of pressure in my chest.  Immediately, heart attack? queried my hypochondriac self.  No, my stubborn self replied.  It is centered more in your esophageal area. Oh, ulcer! maintained my hypochondriac self.  I should go to urgent care!  No, no.  Not necessary!  put in my procrastinating self.  Wait and see--it will probably get better.  And so it went, until Saturday.  I felt miserable, but no miserable than before.  So I went to a training with about 50 other people.  Sorry, guys.  Luckily, I came late, so I sat at a table by myself.  By the end of the training, I was beginning to feel nauseous.  Heart attack!! Cried my hypochondriac self.  Shut up!! said both of my other selves.  So home I went, and I spent the rest of the day sitting around without energy.  By the evening, I was very uncomfortable, but it was clear that I didn't have heart attack, ulcer, or anything else.  I had the norovirus. 

Today is Monday, and I'm feeling better.  Chest pain is completely gone, no more nausea, no more issues.  And so my hypochondriac self can go back to sleep.  Till the next time.