Image by Black Country Museums via Flickr
Health, my own, dominates at the moment. Since late last year, it has been one thing on the heels of another. Despite my visible skin-crawling anxiety about dealing with the health profession, I’ve spent numerous hours trekking from one appointment to another.
The good news is that I am not officially allergic to anything, which should have me dancing about like Snoopy after sending the Red Baron into a death spiral. However, the allergist does concede that what I experience – hives, swollen itchy eyes, wheezing and sneezing – are allergic reactions.
To what?
Good fucking question.
But more good news is that though my system reacts, I am not at risk of anaphylactic shock and my body is just as likely to ignore a past trigger as it is to go haywire. Possibly it’s something to do with the planet alignments or moon phases.
Also, along the good vein is the apparent revival of my thyroid. I’ve gone from hypo to heading toward hyper. Woo hoo.
But the flip side, I am creaky. Tweaked here and there to the point that I am off to see the physio next week.
And,
the aging thing is on the warpath again.
Hormones. Malfunctioning. Tests. Doctors.
Probably it’s nothing. Usually, it’s nothing. Unless, it’s something, but that is rare absent a family history.
Let me pause to thank the bio-parents once again for not bothering to look me up as an adult to clue me into any medical history that may have cropped up in their lives in the last 47 years that I might need to know.
Rob let my latest testing procedure slip into a conversation with the older girls tonight. He didn’t note the alarm, but I did.
“It’s just the whole change thing,” I assured them. “It would be easier if I had a biological mother to run things by and ask if such and such was normal or ask how things played out for her. It would save me a lot of worry and the doctors a lot of hunt and poke. But the odds are it’s just aging and running down.”
Probably.
I can’t quite dismiss the “probably”, and it’s not like my doctor was worried, but she doesn’t know me well enough – yet – to know that I can worry in Technicolor 3-D with THX surround sound without taxing my vividly overactive imagination the slightest bit.
The getting old thing wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for my innate ability to worry about it.
anniegirl1138 
Practical and imaginative- I sure like reading tales of your journey.
Well, I am glad that someone can enjoy this. I am a bit tired.
My friend who’s 60+ told me, as I approached 50, that this is the age when the body starts acting up on you. Unfortunately, that’s proven true. Nothing major, more like one damn thing after another. Some things that could be scary- a tumor on my jawbone- that usually (and in my case, did) turn out to be nothing. Others you know aren’t life-threatening, like my tendency to sprain my ankle, but still are not fun to deal with.
So…. I go for physical therapy and massage, take hot baths, and read good stuff like your blog to keep my mind off it, work, all that stuff that leads to the crone crown.
You’re younger than I am, and every woman is different. Now that I’m on the other side of menopause I actually feel better. May you soon be on the road to health ~