My stomach still hurts.
I spent a while on Tuesday lying on my bed and wondering whether or not I should go to the ER. The pain felt like one of those female heart attack scenarios one reads about in the Health section of newspapers. Then, being lazy, I decided to wait 2 hours. If I weren't dead by then, I'd know it wasn't a heart attack. I'm scientific like that.
So that worked well, as in I was still alive after the experiment. In pain, but alive. Felt better Wednesday and Thursday (whew!), started to get my life back together, and then was laid low again Thursday night. Get this - I actually went to the doctor on Friday. I know, crazy, right? She ordered all sorts of blood tests - liver enzymes, pancreatic enzymes, I don't know what all - scheduled a non-urgent sonogram of my innards, complimented my knitting, and sent me home.
I spent the next four hours or so imagining every dire gastrointestinal scenario possible and sorting my yarn into projects I wanted to complete before I died. There were the fingerless mitts I had promised a friend, way back in April; another pair of mitts to use the yarn another friend had brought me all the way from Italy; a couple of baby hats for the grandchildren I'd never get to meet...
You know, I'm thinking no one does maudlin as well as me.
At some point, my Sensible Friend (who knew I'd been dealing with stomach pain) thought to call and see how I was. I told her about the multiple fatal illnesses I had diagnosed myself with and she said, essentially, "Oh, pooh, it's probably pancreatitis. I've had it, and I'm still here. Hurts like crazy, though."
She's a good friend. I'm still knitting those baby hats, though.
So here I am, Sunday, and still in pain. But, hey, that's only when I try to eat something, so technically the pain is avoidable. I mean, who needs food, anyway? Not me, apparently...