View from the North 40: A little understanding makes everything better

Sometimes, you just need to talk to someone who understands your condition.

For instance, I have specific criteria to meet before protocols trigger a call to speak with a medical person.

My doctor knows through experience I don’t call to see her for any old problem because she practiced medical due diligence, and asked one day why I waited so long before coming in. And I was, like, Hey, doc, I call for three reasons: 1) I’m off my feed. If I can’t stomach food, I’m critical. 2) I have something that registers in my mind as weird or freaky, and I can’t even find an answer with Google. Or 3) I’m so miserable I’d be OK if I was just put out of my misery like Ol’ Yeller, if only to get away from the whiny voice in my head.

The doc said something to the effect of “duly noted,” which I assumed from the look on her face was doctor-speak for “You’re so much more trouble than you’re worth. I might just quit this profession to become an underwater welder.”

Surely not the first time someone has thought that while dealing with me.

Fortunately, I rarely reach any of the criteria that require medical care. But in a rare confluence of events I got ill two weeks in a row. It’s likely from the relentless heat, stress and lack of sleep, but I prefer to think it’s because I broke protocol earlier this summer and sought out doctoring — a colonoscopy — only because I was trying to do a responsible adult thing.

It’s possible that violating the three-criteria system gave me bad mojo.

One day last week I spent the better part of 12 hours after getting home from work reenacting some of the colonoscopy prep day, then I spent the next day feeling ragged and sleep-deprived. At one point the second day, after getting off work, I found myself staring blankly into the middle distance and sluggishly wondering if I needed a doctor’s appointment.

No, I decided, my inner voice isn’t quite doing the “I feel so dreadful I could just diiieee!” thing. It’s more like if the Yellowstone Caldera started acting up and all that steam built up until a big boulder was ejected from Old Faithful — like the geyser was spitting out a giant watermelon seed — and that boulder flew in a perfect arc through the atmosphere to wind up landing on top of me with a crushing thump.

Meh, that’d be acceptable.

About that time my husband called to see how I was doing, but when I told him he asked if he should be worried.

Me: What? Why? Oh. No. The point isn’t to actually die, the point is the jaw-dropping drama of the imagined death.

Him: The drama? Of the death that doesn’t happen?

Me: Exactly.

Him: OK, I’ll bite. What if blue ice falls out of the sky and hits you?

Me: What? Ew! Frozen airliner poo? No. That’s gross. I’m looking for wow factor, for a gasp of initial surprise then incredulous delight-type hilarity in the followup laughter.

Him: Surprise and, um, incredulous delight-type hilarity? How about hit by a garbage truck.

Me: (I couldn’t roll my eyes enough.) That old cliché? Boring. How many times have you seen that in a movie? Thanks for trying, but I gotta go.

I needed at least another hour of wall-staring before I start writing tonight.

Well, obviously, the giant boulder never happened, but to be fair I didn’t need it thanks to the added hour of recovery staring at the wall.

Or maybe it was because a friend called and I tried out the whole death by flying boulder schtick on her, and her response was “What if you’re just maimed?” which was depressing because the large, steam-powered boulder would be flying all the way from Yellowstone and landing on top of me. How could I only be maimed?

The incident needed to be Wile E. Coyote worthy, but I am not Wile E. Coyote. I don’t walk away from this with stars and symbols circling my head. Nor is this a real thing, so I would not imagine less than the desired imaginary outcome.

How hard is this to understand? Maybe, I thought, I do need my doctor just so I had someone who understood this concept.

Fast forward one boulderless week to me at work with a headache growing at the pace of my realization that I had a sinus problem from the heat and dust and smoke (and somehow the July colonoscopy was still to blame as well), but I couldn’t leave work for another half-hour.

In a trendy “quiet quitting” fit of rebellion, I took two minutes to message my sister-from-another-mister, with me calling everything stupid and complaining that my keen sense of duty was forcing me to work 30 whole minutes longer before I could go home to treat my sinuses.

Her reply was: “Just lay on your desk until they let you go.”

And all I could think was: Quiet quitting with an inappropriately dramatic twist? Finally, somebody who gets it.

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Just so we’re clear, I don’t actually endorse my three-criteria system as sound health care guidance for everyone. Please consult your medical provider at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40 .