I don’t like to focus too much attention on health problems. I’ve always had the philosophy that if you don’t think about them they won’t exist. That philosophy worked pretty well for me until I turned 50. With each day after my 50th birthday it became harder and harder to make myself believe that my expanding knuckles were still delicate and balanced with the rest of my hand. The pain didn’t want to go along with my philosophy either. Still, I chose the fantasy route I had enjoyed for so many years, popping Ibuprofen when the pain became unbearable, and stuffing my hands in my pockets during conversations that had once required a great deal of gesturing.
There have been a few other signs that the body is wearing out. My eyes have developed a number of afflictions too, including a cyst the size of a golf ball right on my eyeball (you do remember, I am prone to exaggeration?), reoccurring inflammation, and constant watering. Still, the fantasy continued: ‘My eyes are fine. I must remember to stock up on purse size tissue packets.’
My body may be wearing out, but my serious gift of avoiding reality has kept my immune system in a state of such confusion that it keeps fighting like a whirling dervish trying to free itself of my massive denial. Unfortunately denial can only survive until it is challenged.
My denial was seriously challenged a few weeks ago when, for no apparent reason, my heart began to race, I couldn’t get my breath, my hands went completely numb and my skin turned ashen. My assumption that I must be dying was reinforced by my husband’s comment that he had never seen anyone that color unless they were dead. This condition actually needed to be dealt with.
Fortunately my doctor knew immediately that I had suffered from supraventicular tachycardia, or abnormal heart rhythm. Although the condition is generally a non-issue, in rare cases it can cause sudden death. That last bit of information sent my husband to the internet to track down a defibrillator. “Hey, they have one on Ebay for $300 less than the one on the medical supply site,” he announced, giddy with accomplishment.
Our eyes met, and he froze in the chill of my icy stare. “You would buy my life-saving device at a discount on ebay, where it’s probably being sold because it malfunctioned when the first owner used it on his wife when she was in the middle of an attack of SVT? Of course he doesn’t need it any longer.” The purchase of the defibrillator was put on hold awaiting further information from the doctor.
But, for approximately the 12th time in a week I was struck by the transience of our lives and the need to value every moment, not to mention the miserliness of my adoring husband. No, I don’t think I’m going to keel over from SVT in the near future. But it could happen. So I think it’s imperative that I stop hording my treasured Martinelli wines and start drinking them. I’m buying a hot tub to sit in while I sip my Martinelli 2003 Giuseppe and Luisa Zinfandel. I’m going to join my daughter in a makeover at the MAC counter (she always appears to be having so much fun), and I’m wearing my little short sweatshirt dress with leggings and boots because it makes me feel good and I don’t care what the fashionistas say. They don’t have SVT. I do.
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