In trying to discover the source of my issues with memory, my primary care doctor set me up with an MRI, some blood work, and a visit to a neuropsychologist. I have my followup visit with the doctor today. I managed to accomplish two out of the three appointments. I've gotten the MRI done (see previous post), and did some testing with the neuropsychologist (I haven't finished writing about that one. It was very interesting though. The test, and the results.) The bloodwork, arguably the easiest and most routine of the three appointments on my checklist, is the one I'm scrambling to get done this morning. The morning of my followup with the primary care doctor. Who will in no way have the results ready in time to look at them for this appointment.
Why haven't I gotten the easiest of the three out of the way in time? The simple answer: I procrastinated because I don't like needles. I may have mentioned my feelings about needles. I'm not sure why anyone would enjoy repeated stabbings of a small, sharp, metal instrument (I'm looking at you tattooed folks, ya bunch of beautiful freaks).
"Don't like" may be misleading. There are many things I "don't like". I don't like the smell of boiled eggs. I don't like the color, salmon. And I don't like the Nissan Cube. Sorry, Nissan. You make some wonderful vehicles, but whoever ok'd that design needs to get written up and removed from that position. That asymmetrical window that curves around one corner? No thank you. Disgusting. These are things I "don't like". Needles, now... needles I hate. Wanna know how much I hate them? Let me count the ways...
Something that is piercing my skin and entering my body by someone else's hand is not only unnatural, but also painful. There's a reason it's painful. Our skin is the first defense against infection. Once you get under the skin, anything goes! Now, obviously, the medical staff know this and take precautions. I'm not necessarily worried about getting an infection at the blood work place. But that's why it hurts. Our bodies are like, "nope"! (For those of you who are expecting me to abuse the phrase "getting under my skin" in a way that is obviously possible, I will sadly leave you disappointed. I will not let myself go to such depths of simple, artless wordplay. I am a craftsman. Besides. I just implanted it in your mind without actually going there. So, in a way, you went to those depths. Not me. Shame on you. You're better than this.)
My fear, my distaste, nay, my hatred of needles goes beyond rational intellectual reasoning. I am mentally and physically anxious about going in for blood work. The mental part manifests as procrastination. I've had three months to get this done before my followup. Every time I've thought about it, I put a roadblock in my way. I'd have to remember to fast the night before. It's a twelve hour fasting test, I believe. So I'd have to set several alarms and reminders in my phone. I'm at work when i think about this. I'm not supposed to be on my phone at work. I could get in trouble. Then I'd conveniently forget while I was on break and actually had a viable opportunity to set all that up. And, I'd have to ask for some time off to get it done. I just started a new position in the factory, I have a new supervisor, I'm still feeling him out. I'm not sure how flexible he is about time off yet. Ok, I know these aren't good reasons. They can be worked around. But when combined with fear and no real desire to get it done... well, it doesn't get done. For three months it didn't get done.
Which then leads me to the physical aspect of my anxiety. I am writing this the morning of the appointment with my primary care doctor. I have spent the last two hours driving back and forth between the blood work place and a gas station restroom. My anxiety manifests itself in a way which requires copious amounts of public restroom grade toilet paper. It's bad enough that the inside of my gut feels like an active volcano, but now that I've been sand papering my bottom with... well, I'm sore, inside and out. Let's just leave it at that. I have now run out of time to get any blood work done before my appointment this morning, and am now endangering the appointment itself!
This is what I do. I've had to cancel dentist appointments for this very reason. (What's more invasive than an inch of metal inside your arm? How about a stranger's fingers in your mouth? Who may also want to poke an inch of metal into your gums?)
I have made it to my doctor's office. I almost didn't come in from the parking lot though. I sat there, evaluating the probability of having to go to the bathroom again. I'm hoping my guts are done with their attempt at purging all my fears and anxieties (along with everything else in that region). As I sit in one of the patients' rooms looking at posters of cartoon cross-sections of the human anatomy hung up on the walls, I see bio-hazard box for discarded needles. I again begin calculating the probability of having to leave unexpectedly and ask where the bathroom is, all while doing the clenched-cheeks duck walk and wondering how hard it is to find another doctor if I shit myself in the hallway.
Wish me luck!
Comments