November is a melancholy time for me usually. It’s the month both my mom and my paternal grandfather passed away in. In fact, my grandfather’s funeral was held on the 7th anniversary of my mom’s death. That was not a good day. Hence, the melancholy thoughts and ruminations around this time. And this year…an added bonus.
Josh and I both had doctor appts this afternoon. We needed to find new primary care physicians, since neither of us have one in the area. Someone recommended a husband and wife practice, which suited us because he wanted to have a male doctor and while I’m not as picky, I thought having a woman would be nice.
So off we went on our family jaunt to the doctor. Josh got charge of Brianna because…well, because he offered and it’s rare that I do anything without her so off she went into the examining room with daddy. They were done and waiting for me for a good 45 minutes. Why, you might ask?
As it turns out, after taking my family history and discovering that my mom died suddenly at the age of 38 (and I do mean suddenly) of an unspecified heart arrhythmia which autopsy could not detail any more specifically than that generic term, she decided I should have an EKG to rule out my own heart problems. Something with a long name that I can’t remember (of course). But first, I had to recount the details of how my mom died because she was curious about how cause of death couldn’t be more specific and trying to get a little more information. Fun stuff.
I had the EKG- and the nurse was a little surprised when she walked in to administer it. Apparently, the average EKG recipient is generally at least 30 years older than me, so she doesn’t get to stick the pads on such smooth, supple flesh very often (sorry, couldn’t resist a little romance novel humor).
EKG done (it took longer to apply the sticky pads than to run the test) and the doc comes in after a bit of a wait. Turns out she had the other doc (her husband) and the nurse practioner look at it. He thinks it looks fine, she thinks it’s questionable, and the nurse practioner gets the swing vote with a questionable as well. Yippy skippy. I get to see the cardiologist.
While they’re setting up my appointment for the cardiologist, the one thing I can’t shake loose is how Joshua will react. He doesn’t like to think about things like me having the potential to drop dead at the age of 38 (only 8 years from now) or at any time for that matter and having an appointment to see the cardiologist is a little too real. But as I cheerfully told him, this is a “just-to-be-sure” type of thing. So I DON’T drop dead at his feet from a heart problem. He did not find my macabre humor amusing, to say the least. Ah well. I feel pretty confident it’s nothing, but what I didn’t tell the doc is that when my mom died, the attending physician suggested that both my brother and I visit a cardiologist to make sure it wasn’t something we might have inherited. Mmmmm…yeah, I didn’t do that.
But fate, she’s an ironic bitch, and next week, on the eve of the thirteenth anniversary of my mom’s death, I’ll be at the cardiologist, finding out if she passed on something other than a strong personality, boisterous laugh and the tendency towards wide hips. Send healthy vibes my way, okay? I think Brianna would like her mommy to stick around to write a few more birthday letters.