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in which an anxious mind chatters to itself

Suddenly I’m frightened. I’m flattened again today, not better, still stabs of pain, no energy, no strength. What if the antibiotic doesn’t work and this recurs? I’ve been making a master list of things to take to hospital next time, if, of course, there is a next time, like eye shade, extra-long phone cord, light, not heavy, reading, and, most importantly, earplugs. (Write if you’d like my list and I’ll send it to you.) I’m going to get a bag ready, just like the bag you have ready when you’re pregnant. And I do look pregnant, more so today than yesterday.

I’m a worrier, so for sure I should take a deep breath. Heavy duty medication is doing its job, no wonder I’m not perky. I can feel the battle going on inside, the good and the evil, struggling. 

People have been writing to ask why the appendix didn’t come out last time, so let me explain. In March I was out of the hospital in two days and recovered quickly and it seemed completely. In my six week phone consultation with the doctor, I asked, “What are the chances of an attack like this recurring?”

“30% within a year, 10% every year after that,” he replied.

It was March, still full on Covid in Ontario, hospitals jammed. Why have an operation at a dangerous time with a 70% chance it wouldn’t be needed? So I didn’t. Very much the wrong decision, as it turned out. So this time, when I’m better, we’ll figure out what’s next. 

So boring! Skyped with Lynn today and we laughed that when older people get together, all they talk about is their health. She’s happy to have younger friends with whom to talk about other things, like me, a whole 13 months her junior, because we talk about many different things. France is wide open; you can dine indoors in restaurants, though there’s still an 11 p.m. curfew. Primary and middle schools, incidentally, never closed in France. Thank you, Ontario education minister Stephen Lecce and our idiot premier. No school for our kids.

Time for a nap. I’ll be fine. Apologies for whining. Thanks for listening.

PS. Two hours later – just had a very long phone call with my wonderful doctor and am feeling infinitely better. She explained many things that now make sense. On top of everything else with illness, we lay people don’t understand what the hell is going on inside our bodies, what the experts are doing, what they know and see. But I understand more now. 

It’s six. If only I could have a little glass of wine. Soon.

Cheers, my friends. Enjoy yours.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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