After I wrote my post about anxiety, I noticed that I lost four or five blog subscribers. Sad, but not a huge deal. The first thing that popped into my mind was, “I hope they didn’t leave because they think I’m crazy.” Then I thought of the story I’m about to tell, and had to laugh to myself…

I went to my doctor’s office twice last week. The first visit was what I briefly touched on in my anxiety post. My heart was beating fast, and my doctor wanted to rule out every physical possibility, so I got an EKG and had my blood drawn. Staying true to my hypochondriac nature, my brain was Dr. Google on crack, and I thought I was going to have a heart attack or stroke out on the doctor’s table.

When you have anxiety, you allow fear to rule your existence. What is one of the biggest fears in life? Well, dying, of course. What is the second biggest fear? Deadly diseases, maybe? Since my cancer scare last year, my mind equates the doctor’s office with cancer. So immediately after my blood was drawn, I started wondering if they would find some abnormality. My doctor had a hunch it was my thyroid acting up. She told me to go home and rest, and that she would get my blood workup results the next morning. She would call me if anything didn’t look right.

I went home, and got a good night’s rest.

Sure enough, the next morning, I was getting ready and my phone rang. It was my doctor’s office.

Of course I missed the call and it rolled to voicemail. I checked my vmail and listened to the cryptic message. It sounded like, “blah blah…the doctor wants you to come in and go over your blood results TODAY…blah blah blah.”

HOLY SHIT.

I’m dead.

I called them back immediately. Of course, my doctor was with another patient and couldn’t be reached, so I scheduled an appointment to come in immediately.

I hung up the phone, and nearly crapped in my pants. I felt like Samantha in Sex and the City when the health care worker takes her into “the little room” after her HIV test and she passes out because she thinks that means she’s HIV positive.

To make a long story short(er), I raced down to my doctor’s office (which is about thirty minutes away) and waited in the exam room for what felt like an hour. When my doctor arrived with my paperwork, I braced myself.

She inched closer to me, and told me that my blood work looked fine.

EH?

It turns out my thyroid was actually okay. She wanted to talk to me in person, because diagnosing anxiety over the phone doesn’t translate well. Good thinking, Dr. T. We discussed my treatment options, and then she sent me on my way.

I had brought my mom with me again, because if it was bad news, I couldn’t stand to face it all alone. (L was already at work, and we agreed it would be better for him to stay there.)

As we walked out into the lobby and made our way to the elevator, I looked at my mom and exclaimed, “I’m not dying! I’m just CRAZY.”

We both got a little teary-eyed and laughed ourselves silly.

So if you quit reading my blog because you think I’m crazy*, you may be valid in your assessment. And if you read my blog because crazy doesn’t bother you, you are in the right spot 🙂

*The word “crazy” is meant in the most inoffensive manner possible.