Even though I know that what happened to you was an accident, I'm paranoid. Every minor thing I feel has me diagnosing myself with cancer or some other deadly disease.
Right now I have a transient pain in my upper abdomen and I need to see a doctor about it. I hate going to the doctor because they just look at me and assume it's because I'm fat and never do a really thorough job of figuring out the problem. I had nineteen gall stones and my gallbladder was four times the size it should have been by the time they took it out.
I was referred to a cardiologist who looked at my chart and said, "You're 29. Why are you here??" "Because I'm fat." He rolled his eyes. "Go home. Your heart is in excellent condition." I knew that. But that didn't stop the doctor from sending me to the heart hospital when I was having a textbook gallbladder attack.
I hate the prejudice, and I don't want to go spend my own money (my insurance is more limited now) on their stupid, prejudiced guesswork. They will run a barrage of unnecessary tests and never find the problem because they will be treating my fatness instead of my problem.
But...I gotta go anyway. What if it's something serious? Our family can't lose another person so soon. We just can't do it. And besides, L-- just had cancer removed. I can't get sick, too. I don't want to go, but I have to. For my family.
Why'd you have to go and die for? What were you thinking, doing that? Idiot. I miss you.
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