Thursday, March 10, 2011

Purple

There are few things more pleasurable for an underachieving hypochondriac than having an over-achieving sibling in the medical field (aside from the whole having a younger sister that’s way cooler than you’ll ever be aspect).

Remember back in Korea when my legs went to sleep and I was 99% sure I was dying of a spinal tumor? Remember how Dr. Korea shocked the shit out of my leg (most definitely among the top ten worst experiences of my life by the way). Well, now I’m 99% sure my spinal tumor is actually a brain tumor.

Naturally, after my good friend google.com diagnosed me, I thought it would be a good idea to see a non-virtual doctor who’s main profession is not a search engine.

So today I went. She ordered blood to be drawn. I got the blood drawn and wouldn’t you know it? It was time for spin class at the gym!

I considered the possibility that doing strenuous exercise after having a hole punched in my vein might not be my most brilliant idea ever. I quickly dismissed that thought as completely irrelevant.

I headed for the gym, pretty sure my brain tumor would enjoy the strenuous activity and not kill me during spin class. And that the hole in my vein was fine with it too.

I nearly died in spin class. Not because of my brain tumor, which surprisingly has not kept me from participating in all my favorite activities, or my wounded vein, but because the instructor was a sadist nut-case.

I went to the bathroom to change into my bikini for another of my favorite activities: Sitting in the sauna till I nearly pass out from exhaustion and dehydration while talking to creepy and/or old and/or fat and/or ugly and/or awkward men lacking many basic social skills.

They all seem to think I’m their type and that creepy and/or old and/or fat and/or ugly and/or awkward men lacking many basic social skills are my type. They’re somewhat right.

It was as I was grabbing my towel that I noticed something might be wrong. My arm hurt. I looked down to see the site of my recent blood draw was a bulging, hard, knotted, purple mess. I was pretty sure I was going to die.

However, I had creepy and/or old and/or fat and/or ugly and/or awkward men lacking many basic social skills to converse with in the sauna! What to do!! My brain tumor and I decided that going in the sauna was probably not such a great idea.

Then we thought about all the creepy and/or old and/or fat and/or ugly and/or awkward men lacking many basic social skills that we wouldn’t get to talk to. We dismissed our earlier thought about going in the sauna not being a great idea as completely irrelevant.

In fact, we decided going in the sauna with a knotted, hard, purple vein was probably one of the top ten brilliant ideas we’ve ever had. But we left a little bit early, just to be on the safe side.

I changed and got in the junky truck I’m driving now (yay! Car wars!) and called my over-achieving, brilliant little sister in the medical field.

“You gave yourself a giant hematoma.” She said.
“That sucks . . . “ I took a moment to consider the enormity of what she was saying . . . Then I realized I had no idea what she was saying, “What’s a hematoma?”
“It’s basically just a big bruise. I can’t believe you went to a spin class after having blood drawn!”
“Yeah, that was pretty dumb.” She doesn’t understand the complexity of my brilliant ideas, so I decided not to tell her about the sauna.
“Well, have fun with that giant bruise that you’re going to have for the next few weeks.”

I will. Looking like a junky is one of my top ten most brilliant ideas ever. My creepy and/or old and/or fat and/orugly and/or awkward fans lacking many basic social skills will love it.

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