Doctor! Doctor!

I hadn’t really been to the doctor in four years when I moved here. I’m there pretty much close to every. single. day. nowadays. Between the therapy appointments, the thyroid testing and now the psychiatrist, I am getting the most out of my fabulous health plan.

One of the reasons I started going to therapy was crippling anxiety about my health. It’s really less of a big deal now, surprisingly, since I quit that job. That awful, awful job. Anyway, while I was off worrying about aortic ruptures, cervical cancer and Death by Farting, my left ear was quietly growing this small patch of eczema that wouldn’t go away. It’s still there, despite some steroid creams and though I’m likely going on something heavier tomorrow, there is still a chance that it needs to be frozen off, because apparently, persistent eczema can morph into something more sinister.

I am making this sound like I think it’s a big deal and I am giving you more detail than ANY HUMAN BEING NEEDS, and I just need to say right now that I don’t think this is a big deal at all.

Anymore.

My anxiety returned shortly before Adam left for Boston. It always does when he goes away, since I can’t be there to see him or hug him or make sure that I’m holding his hand when the plane goes down or the car mows him over or whatever irrational demise I can conjure. But instead of focusing on this actual fear, I usually channel it into something much more valuable. Like suddenly being afraid of needing a prosthetic ear. You know, because of the 1/4 inch patch of eczema behind my ear. Make sense? I didn’t think so.

I could barely focus on my pancakes that morning when I realized with utter positivity that I was going to be losing my ear. I love my ear, it was discovered, in ways I never fully realized. Suddenly my average, ordinary ear became the entire world. I need that ear, dammit! The way the earlobe was detached – would they be able to make a plastic one that had the same curve, the same flippy lip at the bottom and the third hole that I pierced myself with a potato and a needle when I was 13 that never really grew over?

I need to remind you that no one has even hinted that I will be losing my ear. And really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just an ear. AN EAR.

After I calmed down, I recounted the Ear Drama to my therapist with a certain level of humor. Usually she tries to deflect my laughter to get to the root of it, but I think she was just having an off day, or maybe she’s just sick of my random, completely irrational hypochondriacal fears, for she replied, “It doesn’t matter. They’re making human ears on the backs of mice, so you’ll be fine and you’ll get a real human ear. Let’s talk about how the medication is going.”

And so, I bring you my potential new ear:

And since some have asked, the medication in question is Buspar. I’m not through the requisite two weeks, so don’t ask me how it really is yet, because I don’t know. And of course, it comes at a time where there’s really not much going on from an anxiety standpoint. I realize that sounds insane, given the Ear Incident, but it was short-lived and has passed. And besides, the doctor seems to think that the majority of my anxiety came from a fucked up thyroid (being solved!), a job that I hated (and quit!) and an apparently ripping case of sleep apnea, caused by meatball-sized tonsils. I’m not sure I go with that theory, but whatever. I see additional doctor’s visits in my future and maybe a tonsilectomy. Hoo-yah! Searing pain! ICE CREAM!

*Thompson Twins. Neither Thompsons, nor twins. Discuss.

22 comments February 13th, 2006