"I get knocked down, I get back up again"

A lot can happen in three months, or as it has been so noted a million times in as many ways, your life can change on a dime. After the start of my new job came vertigo, a stomach virus, missing a week of work, and a deterioration of health that caught me by surprise. I have always been strong and healthy, and I suppose like most of us I have always taken it for granted. So I have bitten the bullet and signed on for health care at work. While I wait for July 1st when I can make an appointment to be checked out, I swing between eating healthy and taking very short walks and driving through for hot chocolate and sausage muffins to muffle the stress. To care or not to care, that is the question. Forget the whole being thing.  Feelings are often complicated, and mine are no exception. I am somewhat ashamed of my thought processes during these last few months, of the way I buckled to panic and even more so of the small cold survival kernel that is influencing decisions I make - It appears that I can be a little bit cold hearted to achieve what I perceive to be necessary.

At some point during my illness I fell, and I think it was at this point I injured myself. Something to do with my neck, arm and chest that keeps me in pain daily - hence the importance of finally going to get checked out by a doctor after 3 years without insurance.  I dread it all - the tediousness of the waiting room, the irritation of sitting in a paper jacket while I wait to find out who I have drawn in my choice of physician. I am already praying for someone smart, intuitive, and engaged. Not in the sense that they are to be married, but rather that they are actively interested in the process of bringing health to their patients.  I met such a doctor back in March, when I was so sick I made an appointment to get checked out; my vertigo wasn't going away and I had to get to work. And with that appointment my perspective on my health changed a bit. I am not ready to write about it, but suffice it to say I have been bouncing between scared and cautious and wary and not giving a fuck.

But I do have some things to keep me focused, again not ready to write about it, and I somehow convince myself everyday that I do care and that it does matter.

My positive note to end this sorry diatribe; my broken FitBit has been replaced, and today I start once again to make an effort to motivate myself. God forbid I should have to tell the new doctor anything but that I have been trying.