If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around…

I’m exactly sixteen days into my twenty-two day sentence of Rey-lessness. That’s right; my loving boyfriend hopped a plane to Asia and left me behind, ALL BY MYSELF.

Now, being ALL BY MYSELF poses several problems. The first being, I’m scared shitless to be ALL BY MYSELF. The most important being, I might go into anaphylactic shock and they’ll be no one there to administrator the EpiPen. Or, more realistically, I might choke on my Miss Vickie’s jalapeño chip and they’ll be no one there to perform the Heimlich maneuver.

Truthfully, Rey probably doesn’t even know the Heimlich maneuver, and sadly I don’t own an EpiPen (although I really should invest in one). And while I’ve been able to mostly overcome the being scared shitless part—by carrying a tool belt adorned with mace, a hammer and a butcher knife—I haven’t been able to overcome the need to verbalize my afflictions. Hence the reason Rey’s voicemail is no longer accepting messages.

This need to verbalize my imminent death, paired with my anti-social tendencies, has left me in a real bind. I need to vocalize that I'm dying, but I have no one to vocalize it to.

It’s ironic really; I like to believe that hypochondria is a lonely plight. Until left alone, I didn’t realize there were other players in the game. A hypochondriac needs someone to profess their hypochondria to, (at least in my case).

So here I am, to proclaim to the world that I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe because I have a blood clot in my lung caused by my new blood-thickening birth control prescription. And, you’re never gonna believe it, but I’m really dying this time.

Whew…

Another Close Encounter

According to plan, I should be at my doctor’s office right about now, getting a shot of the HPV vaccination by a bitchy Filipino nurse named Joan. Instead, I’m sitting here choking on the generic aspirin I swallowed over an hour ago and thanking the good lord that I stumbled across the truth about the vaccine in time.

I was originally scheduled for the shot last Friday, as a twofer with my ringworm—which actually isn’t ringworm—checkup, but God is good, and they were out of the deadly serum.

Their shipment arrived the following Monday and I naively rescheduled my appointment with death for today. I carried on about my business throughout the week and nonchalantly mentioned the shot to Rey on Wednesday. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

Nervous! I couldn’t believe it. Why—aside from the fact that I’m always nervous—would I be nervous? I was overjoyed! I was essentially getting the closest thing to a cancer vaccine. Or so my doctor had led me to believe.

Rey’s words stuck with me through that night and into the next day, and finally on Thursday evening (less than a day before my appointment), I—cue scary music—googled the vaccine.

“Deaths Associated with HPV Vaccine Start Rolling In” was all I needed to see. My innocence was gone and I knew, before I followed the link, that that bitchy nurse wasn’t getting anywhere near me. Before I blacked out, words like blood clot, heart problems, paralysis, and seizures were strewn across my screen.

I awoke this morning with one thought in my mind; to cancel that appointment. And that’s exactly what I did, (then followed it up with a false promise to reschedule next week).

With All Due Respect

In a world where I drink my cup of coffee over a headline that reads, “9-year-old girl's twin is found inside her stomach,” hypochondria is the only rational response.