It's been kind of an interesting week. An emotional week, actually, though I hestitate to call it that for fear of sounding as though I succumbed to PMS (a condition I do not suffer from) or had recourse to the fainting couch. I wasn't overwhelmed by emotions. I just decided it would be nice to chill out and deliberately rearrange my usual schedule to avoid an incipient sense of being overwhelmed. Call it preventative medicine. I took two days off from using the computer at home.
This backfired, of course. I can't actually not log in and have no one notice. I ought to have been charmed, I suppose, by the number of friends who wondered where I was and if anything was wrong but instead I felt irritated. For pete's sake, people do take time off. Am I supposed to notify everyone if I'm going to be gone for two days? I don't think so. Grrrr. Grrrrrrrrr.
Sigh. I know. It meant they cared. And I value that, I really do. So here's how to tell when something's actually wrong. I update my diary once a week, mininum, and usually twice a week, no matter how horrendously complex my life is. If I don't answer my email for a few days, well, that isn't such a big deal. If I don't update my diary after 10 days, worry.
And now, the reasons I was in the mood for reorganizing my free time: my brother pleaded guilty (I still don't know the exact charges but it has something to do with possession of marijuana) rather than face a trial and will be sentenced in five weeks, my father is back in the hospital for more chemotherapy, and I had a strange, worrisome growth on one of my breasts. Well, there's sweet f.a. I can do about the first two, but I was starting to be concerned about the last so on Friday I rang my health clinic and arranged to have a doctor look me over.
After being passed around on the phone to various Advice Nurses (a swell job title, don't you think?) I got to wait at the Palo Alto Urgent Care clinic for the next available physician. It wouldn't have been too bad, even though it was an hour and a half wait, except that I didn't have a book to read. After I finished the paper I was forced to read Parenting Magazine (I confess, I thought of what torture this would have been for Scott). Eventually, I got to talk to a couple of R.N.s and a real doctor, all women thank god. I really hate going to male doctors about female problems. Well, actually, I really hate going to male doctors, period. I won't do it if I have a choice. So I was pleased to find all three doctors on call at the clinic were female. Anyway. They looked at my breast for me and recommended immediate treatment. It wasn't cancer or anything, of course, but it was pretty gross: an infected pore which had gotten putrid. I know, I know. Needless to say the next hour involved minor surgery, a lecture on dressing and wounds, and an abjuration to not let anything similar go for so long without seeing a doctor. I endured the shots, the cleaning, and the lecture with meekness. I was just glad it was simple to fix.
The weekend has been more relaxed. After a slight bout of tummyache (from the antibiotics, I think) I spent the time updating some Archipelago data, catching up on all my email, buying some much needed flatware, hitting the bookstores for a pile of books to read on the train (and in doctors' offices), and simply getting out of the house to walk the dog or garden a bit. I stood on a hilltop at noon today and shaded my eyes with my hand so I could admire the gorgeous view of San Francisco, Mt. Tamalpais, and the Marin headlands clearly visible from the golden grass-covered hills behind Stanford. My dog stood at my feet, snuffling at the scents on the wind. John leaned on an old oak tree next to me. Then we hiked back down and went out for brunch.
Don't worry. Things are fine.
