Saturday night I was visited by a sharp pain in my left side. After a trip to the medical center Sunday afternoon, it was theorized to be an ulcer. An actual diagnosis can only be done with a scope by a gastroenterologist. I can live with the speculation because I’m not loving the idea of getting a scope down the throat.
When the pain hit, I honestly wasn’t thinking ulcer. In hindsight it seems so obvious. I won’t say it was a wake-up call, mostly because it’s so cliché, but also because I already knew I needed to change. What the ulcer did was let me know I’m sucking at the change thing.
Now the thing you don’t want to realize while you have an ulcer, given the whole “need to eliminate stress” thing that ulcers require, is just how old you really are. Because that was what I did while being driven to the medical center and it didn’t yield stress-free results.
See, I was still questioning whether I was overreacting. It’s a good one to ask before dropping at least a grand just to walk into the medical center (because my insurance sucks). If the pain was being caused by something life threatening, yes, I’d pay any amount of money to fix it. But, no, I don’t want to pay $1000 to hear I have gas.
As I looked really deep at whether going was the right choice, I was thinking with a 20-year-old brain. That was when I realized I’m closer to 40 than 20. A 40-year-old isn’t considered a hypochondriac because of a sharp pain in their left side. No, a 40-year-old, would be asked what took her so long to decide to go?
At that moment my ulcer knew it could sit back and relax. It wasn’t going anywhere with a mid-life crisis brewing. All the medicine and diet restrictions won’t do me any good if I’m indulging in the ridiculous.
My worry that me as “a 40-year-old stuck in a 9-5 hell” means anything more than me being “a 40-year-old stuck in a 9-5 hell” is ridiculous. It isn’t a prediction for my whole future, it’s a definition for now. And it only has to stay that way if I decide I don’t want to change after all.