Seems like pretty much everything has been going right for me over the last couple of days. Mom and Dad came to visit over the weekend, so I got to spend quality time going over a brand new cookbook with my mom (while catching up on family news and introducing her to my online friends), and I got to talk database code with my dad. Heaven! (They had to leave on Monday, so that was a pretty unhappy evening. But luckily I have friends who were willing to cheer me up by letting me beat them at Scrabble.)

Then, at work, pretty much everything I did turned out well, and people around me are generally in a pretty good mood right now, which makes everything even more pleasant.

Mom and I are also starting to think about maybe possibly kinda flying to California to visit family, which is exciting in a kind of thrilling-and-overwhelming-all-at-once kind of way. Do we go next month? Do we wait for spring? Does spring even matter in Southern California?

And I’m really excited to see what my choir does with an SSAABT a cappella piece I found for them. Will they think it’s as fun as I do? Or will they give me that “you want us to sing what?” look.

But speaking of choir, the one thing that hasn’t been a joy lately has been choosing music for them to sing for the next few months. So much drivel gets published and wastes hours and hours of my time. It literally took me 11 hours over the past two and a half days to get to the point of actualy ordering music (which I did this afternoon, by the way, which is contributing to my general good mood).

Today I went to the doctor to ask about the weird weakness and heart skippiness I’ve experience for the last few days. As expected, it’s probably nothing serious. (I’ll be scheduling a follow-up test soon, but the doctor is talking about getting baseline data, not looking for anything scary.) But sitting in the waiting room and trying maintain a lack of eye-contact with my fellow patients, I found myself contemplating why this is such a nerve wracking experience.

I suppose few people enjoy going to the doctor, but I’m not normally an anxious person, and I was decidedly anxious. So much so, in fact, that the nurse later commented on my blood pressure and heart rate. And no, this was not reassuring.

Letting my eyes wander across the four different patterns of chairs lined up in the waiting room, I tried telling myself that I was nervous because this is the only time I’ve gone to the doctor for anything other than a check up (except for one strep test when I was 9 or 10-ish). But then I realized that it probably has more to do with what has thus far been the majority of my interactions with doctors: traumatic injury, surgery, and rehab, followed by more surgery… and all of this twice before the age of 14. For whatever reason, ever since blowing out my elbow when I was 9 and similarly destroying my hip when I was 12, I guess I worry that most doctors really just want to cut me open and fill me with pins, plates, and screws.

“This doctor is not an orthopedic surgeon,” I told myself as I sat there in the waiting room, staring at the bewilderingly pattered rug and consciously unclenching my fingers under my folded coat. “She’s not even interested in my bones or in looking directly under my skin. And she certainly won’t want to knock me out.”

A tiny woman walked in and sat down, maneuvering a walker that was easily twice her size. She looked calm and collected.

“Nothing’s broken… I’m not even in pain. The worst they’ll do is stick me for blood, and that’s certainly not scary.”

A woman and a man walked in, arms entwined, and announced that they were there for a prenatal appointment. They looked downright happy.

The tiny woman got called back for her appointment.

“It’ll probably be a really quick appointment, since I’ve been feeling better yesterday and today. They’ll say, ‘Huh, that was weird. Let us know if it comes back.’ And I’ll leave.”

…

None of this helped. But I suppose I have to go to the doctor so rarely that maybe it’s ok just to say that this is one of those things that will scare me.

2008 has been an odd year so far, and not an entirely pleasant one. Of course, most distressing things in life seem to either work themselves out or become unimportant over time. I just hope that this happens sooner rather than later this time.

Of course, if I could figure out what caused those spells of weakness I had over the last 5 days, and if the weather would stop swinging 60 degrees in the space of a day and a half… perhaps I’d be able to turn down the volume on my imagination and get back to being content with reality.

An imagination is a terrible thing, sometimes.

Yesterday was weird. I had a headache in the morning, was listless all day, and had a weird pounding pulse at night (but no fever or anything).

Today I got up and got myself to work. I didn’t feel ill at all, but I can’t remember being so lacking in energy in my entire life. At one point I caught myself deciding not to write an email because doing so would require me to lift my arms. That’s when I got a little concerned.

But there was a lot to do, so I figured I could sit there and do it. And I did. And all of a sudden, just before the end of the day, I realized that I felt fine. I was working through all sorts of projects that would have been unthinkable just hours before. And now, as long as I don’t do something crazy like walk up a flight of stairs, it’s as if nothing had happened. What a relief!

[update: well… until later. Now I’m back to being utterly limp.]