i have hypochondria in reverse. Rather than imagine that i’m sick when i’m not, i imagine that back labor and painful peeing is nothing to be worried about. Fever? fibro. Just keep working. Back labor for many days on end? Humidity. Just keep working. Full puffy body and tummy? flare. Just keep working.
i looked so damn rough yesterday that i took a shower, washed my hair and shaved, and put no make-up just to spare Sir Raven from looking at medusa. i did the minimum of chores, and made her dinner. Basically, i made stuffed peppers but omitted the part where you stuff the peppers and bake them because she likes the inside of the peppers. Sir Raven came home wiped out yesterday from the reading party. She said, “Oh Sweetie! I need some jade to refresh me!” Then, “Kiss this cheek” and i kissed her over and over, like she is my beloved baby. “Okay, now the other cheek!” and i giggled and treated her other cheek to kisses. “Now a hug!”
i was only too happy to oblige. i wished we would curl up together on my giant playpen. i need to feel her heartbeat against my cheek, to just breathe and be thankful to reunite again. Nothing is ever assured in something as fragile as life.
i found out then she had already had pizza and wings, and put away the already prepared dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and settled down to watch a movie she brought home. We talked awhile about some things that i needed to say, because i’m often silence, or the talk is abruptly ended before i feel heard. It’s par for the course, i suppose. But i still have to try on occasion to be heard. That took all of ten minutes, she started humming, walking out of the room to go to bed. She told me to go to the doctor today, to see if the pain is actually a bladder infection. She said she expects me to go. i keep thinking it will go away, so i put away the clean dishes and sit a few moments until the cramps let up. Mop the house, wait. Wash the table and the counter tops, wait. Make her bed, wait. Sort recycling, wait. Get cleaned up and dressed, wait. Dust the livingroom, wait. Take more meds, wait. All i have wanted to do-all day-is go back to bed. Ugh.
i am thinking, grumpily, doctor shmockter-this could be nothing and then i’ve wasted his time and money. i have to take the recycling down, get half and half and perhaps wine. i need to get the laundry done still. i am trying to see if the pain meds do enough for me to make it downstairs and get anything else done. i’m surprised that i’m actually thinking about not going. Sir Raven would think that even the thought is willful. Willful is very bad. i’ll be stuck sitting there though, which will make the pain worse, and it really could be nothing-right?
This is my picture of the day, sans glasses, for Butch. 😀