I'm trying to tick off my various Dr. appointments before my divorce is final and I have barely-there crappy insurance. I've got the dentist down, the dermatologist to tackle my 44 year old persistent acne, and just now went to my regular Dr. for a physical. I've been going to this Dr. since my mid-20's..my doctor was a a good looking, fresh out of medical school phenome when I started going to him that shot my blood pressure through the roof every time I laid eyes on him, he was so smokin' hot. Now that 20 years have passed, his hair thinning but well groomed, he still shoots my blood pressure through the roof. I've literally had to have him leave the room and have the ugly nurse come back so I get better blood pressure readings....talk about white coat syndrome! So, you'd think I'd be much better about adhering to my annual physicals with such eye candy to look forward to, but I've been a very bad bad girl--I haven't been to see my hot doc in five years.
Since becoming a runner, I don't get sick. My chronic sinus condition is but a former shadow of it's ferocious self; I'm completely off sinus medication, don't get sinus infections anymore and even kicked my cayenne pepper spray habit. Last time I went to the Dr. was when I developed a very disconcerting issue where my colon would bleed everytime I did a long run in hot weather. I thought I had colon cancer, which my dad had, and rushed off to the Dr. to get this checked out. My good lookin, doctor referred me to a foreign butt Dr. to get a colonoscopy.
I tried to make the best of this bad situation. I did the required prep of eating nothing but jello, tea, and water for a day, then drinking that gingerale flavored elixir that makes you crap yourself silly in exactly 30 minutes. I think I timed it...very effective stuff. So, the next day, clean spankin' colon, I go to get the scope and see if I have colon cancer. I wanted so badly to stay awake through the procedure; I forced my eyes wide open like I had toothpicks prying them open so I could see what my colon looked like. The nurses started the I.V. of "la-la" juice and next thing I know my foreign Dr. is looming over me, smiling, telling me my colon is pink and perky..that the my bleeding colon on long runs is due to ischemia or lack of oxygen during hard running, aggravated by dehydration. He told me I could take a baby aspirin every other day and this will help perfuse the colon better. It works too, as long as I stay on the aspirin, I don't bleed from places you shouldn't bleed. I guess this qualifies me as a hard core crazy runner--I run till I bleed out my ass and no, it's not from kinky sex if you perverts are thinking that...Brian.
My good-lookin' Dr. is still concerned that I have episodes of this--he's going to dig up my old records (they were shipped off site, since I haven't been there in so long) and look further into this. He still thinks this is very unusual. The other major thing we talked about was my Raynaud's Disease. I love summer because I don't have to deal with my fingers losing all feeling. Next winter we're going to try Nitroglycerin paste, a vaso-dilator, that men/women slap on their chests to stave off chest pains, on my fingertips to bring more blood flow to my fingers during long cold winter runs. Between wool gloves, handwarmer, and nitroglycerin paste, I should get through next winter without an amputation.
I've been a very very bad girl in that I'm 44 years old, a former nurse, and haven't even had a baseline mammogram. My lame argument is this: my boobs are tiny and mauled on a regular enough basis to discern lumps or bumps, I don't have a family history of breast cancer, and the four plus years I nursed my children should afford enough protection from getting my tits smashed between a plate. I got a gentle lecture from my good-lookin Dr. I'm going to get my boobs smashed between a plate even though I don't want to do this. My mother told me it's the most painful thing she's ever done, but she has large pendulous things. Small breasted women say it hurts because it's hard to scoop up enough flesh to smash between the plates, but I've got Mama Bear, JUST RIGHT boobs, so my theory is it's going to be no big deal. It's the next thing on my agenda...get the stupid mammogramm done.
I was telling Debi about my good-looking Dr. We were complaining about age related weight gain. Here we are running ourselves silly, eating sensibly, and year after year we gain a few more pounds. Debi, turns out, goes to my good-lookin' Dr's partner, who's not nearly so good-lookin, but a good Dr. nonetheless. Our Dr.'s tell us we look perfect and yes, when we look around at the general, at large, Wal-Mart perusing population--we do look good, but we are runners, and a bit perfectionistic, I guess. Guess we need to keep on running...