Today I had to go and be a pin cushion. I had a Glucose Tolerance Test. No big deal, right? We all have to have them when we are up the duff. Compared to pushing a baby out it's NOTHING.
So why do I get all wobbly about it? Yes, I must confess, I am big chicken shit, scaredy cat when it comes to all things of a medical nature. I do not like blood or needles AT ALL. The only way I can go about such a thing is to try to pretend it's not happening and look away. But my nerves are far too obvious and I'll usually get a patronising "Oh somebody doesn't like needles, do they?" type of comment from the pathology staffer who is about to jab me with the said needle. The fact that I am, of course, acting like the equivalent of a five year old and probably deserve their derision is entirely irrelevant. And they never give me a smiley stamp afterwards either. Hmph.
Hard to believe I spent months being jabbed with fertility drugs years ago and being poked and prodded in my quest to have a baby. I must have wanted sprogs very badly.
All of this leads me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:
a) grow up
b) grow some balls
c) grow some extra balls in case I lose the first ones, or
d) all of the above.
Might be d, I reckon. It's a tough one.
Spending two hours at a pathology place is somewhat depressing. A room full, of disgruntled, bored people, some of whom are ill and/or in wheel chairs. I realise I'm lucky because whatever the result of the test, I'll be able to do something about it. So I know I should get over being a sook and deal with it. Giving up cakies is not a big deal. Frankly, after having that revolting sugary drink they give you as part of the test, I'm not sure I want anything sweet EVER AGAIN. Or at least until tomorrow.
As well as being a big scaredy cat about all things medical, this week I've also been a gigantic sentimental sook. We had to go to Mr 12's High School interview. As we went over our paper work and what we had to take, I suddenly noticed that I still had baby photos of him on the wall. I do tend to procrastinate from updating things around here. And just procrastinate in general. But let's talk about that later. Boom Tish!
Anyway, he certainly isn't a baby anymore. Realising this, I just lost it and started bawling. Yes, I'm a tad slow at coming to this stunning conclusion. I have to also confess that just as I have a hard time coping with medical issues, I also have a hard time dealing with change. My 'baby' is going to high school, my other 'baby' is starting kindergarten and I am officially middle aged as I begin the slow descent into old age and all the medical things that pop up with it. Possible Type 2 Diabetes. Yay.
All the things that I thought were years off are starting to become a reality. I used to think about Mr 12 going to high school and Micky Blue Eyes turning 50 and they were still far off into the future. Now they are a reality. Really happening.
It's all good really. I just like getting myself all worked up and worried over nothing for no reason. Like the whole giving up cake thing. Gawd, my life is just FASCINATING. Why don't I just vomit it all over the Internet? Oh wait....
All of this can only lead me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:
a) get a hobby
b) get out more
c) get a life, or
d) all of the above
I think I'm going with option d. So excuse me while I proceed to go and get a life. Or something.
Linking up for I Must Confess, which is being hosted this week by Emily from Have A Laugh On Me.
Can you tell me where to go to get a life? Or just where to
go..............
So why do I get all wobbly about it? Yes, I must confess, I am big chicken shit, scaredy cat when it comes to all things of a medical nature. I do not like blood or needles AT ALL. The only way I can go about such a thing is to try to pretend it's not happening and look away. But my nerves are far too obvious and I'll usually get a patronising "Oh somebody doesn't like needles, do they?" type of comment from the pathology staffer who is about to jab me with the said needle. The fact that I am, of course, acting like the equivalent of a five year old and probably deserve their derision is entirely irrelevant. And they never give me a smiley stamp afterwards either. Hmph.
 |
| This isn't scary at all...*faints* |
Hard to believe I spent months being jabbed with fertility drugs years ago and being poked and prodded in my quest to have a baby. I must have wanted sprogs very badly.
All of this leads me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:
a) grow up
b) grow some balls
c) grow some extra balls in case I lose the first ones, or
d) all of the above.
Might be d, I reckon. It's a tough one.
Spending two hours at a pathology place is somewhat depressing. A room full, of disgruntled, bored people, some of whom are ill and/or in wheel chairs. I realise I'm lucky because whatever the result of the test, I'll be able to do something about it. So I know I should get over being a sook and deal with it. Giving up cakies is not a big deal. Frankly, after having that revolting sugary drink they give you as part of the test, I'm not sure I want anything sweet EVER AGAIN. Or at least until tomorrow.
As well as being a big scaredy cat about all things medical, this week I've also been a gigantic sentimental sook. We had to go to Mr 12's High School interview. As we went over our paper work and what we had to take, I suddenly noticed that I still had baby photos of him on the wall. I do tend to procrastinate from updating things around here. And just procrastinate in general. But let's talk about that later. Boom Tish!
Anyway, he certainly isn't a baby anymore. Realising this, I just lost it and started bawling. Yes, I'm a tad slow at coming to this stunning conclusion. I have to also confess that just as I have a hard time coping with medical issues, I also have a hard time dealing with change. My 'baby' is going to high school, my other 'baby' is starting kindergarten and I am officially middle aged as I begin the slow descent into old age and all the medical things that pop up with it. Possible Type 2 Diabetes. Yay.
All the things that I thought were years off are starting to become a reality. I used to think about Mr 12 going to high school and Micky Blue Eyes turning 50 and they were still far off into the future. Now they are a reality. Really happening.
It's all good really. I just like getting myself all worked up and worried over nothing for no reason. Like the whole giving up cake thing. Gawd, my life is just FASCINATING. Why don't I just vomit it all over the Internet? Oh wait....
All of this can only lead me to the obvious conclusion that I need to:
a) get a hobby
b) get out more
c) get a life, or
d) all of the above
I think I'm going with option d. So excuse me while I proceed to go and get a life. Or something.
Linking up for I Must Confess, which is being hosted this week by Emily from Have A Laugh On Me.
Can you tell me where to go to get a life? Or just where to
go..............
