I hate doctors. Not really them, just going to visit them. I hate the whole entire process. Walking into the office, signing in, waiting (gods, the waiting), having the nurse give you the run down, looking at the scale, getting on the scale, looking at the scale again, and then waiting for the doctor, again, but this time in a room small enough to house towels and a dishpan.
I have to go to the doctor. I need to pick up the phone and call him. I'm sick. Very sick. I've been sick since Friday when I walked into the kitchen to fix Avery's oatmeal and semi passed out. I say semi because I think I was awake the entire time. It was the first time in my life that I actually saw the room spin...and really spin. Like I was holding my head trying to keep the room from spinning. And although I'm not feeling as horrible as I felt on Friday, I think this episode merits a visit to the doctor.
I don't want to go. I want to sit here and pretend that the headache I've been having for the last three days isn't sitting in the background living on the edge (threw that phrase in there for you, Tammy). I want to sit here and pretend that the absence of that little pain in the center of my chest, the one that's been there for a bout a week or so, won't be popping up later on in the day. I think that one is due to stress (good answer, huh?). Yesterday, my entire body felt weird...like it was tired all over. I remember feeling that way ten years ago.
I'm kind of scared.
I'm really scared.
It's probably nothing.
I'll go. I'll go. Jeez.
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