When I was a kid, I was sick all the time. Ear infections, earaches, bronchitis. I was at the doctor at least once a month until I got my my tonsils out, which decreased the visits, but I was an only child with protective parents, so if I sniffled, I was sitting on some crackling white paper with a popsicle stick in my mouth.
Which made adult Karen, in charge of her own health, rightly doctor-avoidant. I went when necessary, and then I didn't.
Until. Mario got laid off in February, with his severance, so our benefits didn't run out until the week because his new job started. Since his new job is also at a university, the benefits are more or less identical.
Except. The new benefits require a referral for my eye appointments, the one form of health care I haven't avoided. And I didn't have a primary.
So I got one. And she made me come in. And I heard more or less what I expected: "You're chubby, your blood pressure is too high, and why have you not done XYZ for this many years?" The blood pressure was a guess, because both my parents had high blood pressure by the time they were my age. And I was right.
Bleh. I'm pissed at my body for letting me down, and I'm pissed at myself for letting my body down. But that's fine, and now I have a happy little monitor to check my pressure at home and I go back to the doctor in in two weeks, where I'm sure I'll get prescribed something to deal With the problem.
Then I'll start dealing with the rest of the laundry list she gave me.
Fun fact: my BP was high, and then the doctor said "blood draw" and it actually went UP.
Diagnosis: advanced white coat syndrome.
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