I’ve been home for 11 weeks and it’s been a doozey. I’ve gone through two flights of antibiotics, a prescription for codeine, plus about two pounds of tissues. I have three prescriptions in my bag; two of them will be filled this week. I’ve had five cavities filled (yes, five).
My uterus is “wonderful” and my ovaries are “perfect”. None of my moles are suspicious. I weigh two pounds less than when I went to Paris.
Good lungs, low blood pressure, and my blood work was overall a-ok. I have one more doctor’s appointment later this week (if you consider the podiatrist a “doctor”; my dawgs do) but my final visit with an ear-throat-nose specialist was this morning. Finally, after all these weeks of feeling crummy, I have a diagnosis: silent reflux (doesn’t that sound like it should be said with an evil laugh??).
Brought on by stress, it’s basically gastric reflux without the heartburn. I’ll take some meds to calm my inflamed throat, and I have to avoid certain foods (including, um, chocolate and red wine? C’est trop cruel.). But overall, it’s a relatively benign situation that should be cleared up in time for spring.
Beyond being happy and relieved that I’m generally in good health, I just think it’s fascinating how connected our minds and bodies are. Stress and anxiety—and especially suppressing those feelings—are brutal and debilitating. It’s just as important to be kind and gentle to our souls as it is disciplined and active with our bodies. And, always, to be grateful for the health we do have.
Be good to yourselves, mes amis.