Bad Timing

The chunk of time after work and before Mr W goes to bed is a carefully-orchestrated bit of maneuvering that has to include a lot of things, such as making dinner, doing homework, and getting the dog walked. So I zip home yesterday to get Sally and take her to the dog park, and there's three new messages on my answering machine.

I push play, and before this goes any further, the story has a happy ending. I push play and there's a message from my doctor's assistant, saying that yes, there's arthritis in my hip (no surprise) and that I should give her a call to set up some physical therapy. Oh, and by the way, Dr. R wants me to have my annual girl-exam yearly instead of bi-yearly.

At this point, it's 20 minutes after the office has closed, so I'm out of luck until I can call the next day. Bad timing.

I had to stay on schedule, so that's all I heard, and I'm out the door. And the wheels start to turn. Well, OBVIOUSLY they saw something on the xray of my hip that made them think I need to have a pelvic exam, right?

And you should have heard the cascade of thoughts in my head. "Something's wrong", "I'm actually sick", "it's OK, I can fight it", "I feel fine", "I'll miss my kid", etc. I wasn't a wreck, but losing my sister to cancer that snuck up on her has changed me. Whenever I start to worry about myself, though, there is a very interesting process that goes on in my head, which is a combination of logic and emotion. I always come back to the premise that I am trying to live in a healthy manner, and what will be will be. That I'm taking reasonably good care of myself and that I need to spend my time living instead of worrying.

So, I do my stuff, and get back home, and listen to the message again. I had missed the part, after the assistant had said the Dr. wanted me to have yearly exams, where she said, "so go ahead and schedule that at your leisure." Oh, *sheepish grin* I guess that means there is no emergency.

It's a good reminder to live here now.