I hate going to the doctor. This hate is not fear related because I honestly don’t believe they can tell me anything I don’t already know, or at least haven’t pondered. It’s the poking, the prodding, the closeness, and of course, the judgement, that bothers the hell out of me. It’s the all-knowing eyes, psuedo-empathetic head nods, and deep sighs that piss me off.
When I go to the doctor’s office, I am usually aloof and reserved. I may even be cold. And it’s very intentional. I’m not a sharer in general (I know, I know. I’m a blogger.), but I’m definitely not into sharing the most intimate details of my body–what it’s doing, how it’s doing it, etc. It’s overwhelming and it’s too much.
It’s not a secret that I have anxiety. My worry muscles are strong and I can and will make a mountain out of the tiniest, most insignificant molehill. It should be no surprise that when it’s time for me to go to the doctor, a task I tend to put off until I can’t any longer, I am a wreck weeks before the appointment. I dream about it. I wake up in the morning and it’s the first thing I think about. It’s constantly on my mind. So anxiety + a general dislike of doctors = me being a hot mess.
And my hot messness was front and center at my most recent (overdue) wellness exam a few weeks ago. After taking my weight, height, and blood pressure, the nurse asked if I was nervous. I replied “No, just a little anxious. Why do you ask?” “Well,” she stated, “Your blood pressure is really, really high.” Damn. Here we go.
I knew that my blood pressure would be high. It always is. The last time I went the doctor it was so high, I was prescribed medication. So it wasn’t news to me. The “Damn. Here we go.” came because I knew what was next. Eat less fat, exercise more often, blah, blah, and blah. Been there, done that, tried and failed. I don’t want to say I was over it, but on that particular day, I just wasn’t feeling the lecture, ya know?
But of course, I got the lecture. Then to my surprise, I also got a referral to another doctor and explicit directions to see him soon, “like today, if at all possible.” Hmm, that was new! I, however, followed the instructions I was given and went about scheduling an appointment. There were no appointments available for the same day, but I was able to get in two days later. Cue anxiety and general dislike of doctors hot messness.
After meeting with and being examined by the referred doctor, I realized I have A LOT of changes to make. My body has been carrying me along, but it’s tired, and I honestly can’t blame it. I haven’t been good to my body. I don’t nurture it, I don’t keep it active, and most importantly, I don’t listen to it. I have a go do go mentality, convinced that my body will just keep up and deal. It won’t and I haven’t been listening.
My body has been telling me for years to “do better, girl.” Ever the hard-headed one, though, I’ve ignored or justified all the warnings and blaring, flashing lights. But things that are buried have a way of making their way to the top and my health issues are no exception to that.
I need a health reset. I need to take charge of my physical health and not allow my mental health to dictate it. I need to do this so I can live. It needs to be done so that I can enjoy the years I have left on this earth. And it needs to be done so that I can be around for my child.
I hate going to the doctor. I probably hate it even more now. I’m glad I went.