Ba-dum Ba-dum

I'm typing this in a hurry, not that it's really necessary to say. Will you notice any decrease in quality or a lesser likelihood of typos or cul-de-sac sentences that abandon thoughts half way through? Absolutely not, and that's the beauty of my don't-try-so-hard-anyone-will-notice approach: if you apply it correctly inconsistency and consistency are the same thing.

I got up to start work at 5 am today (that's an hour earlier than usual) so I could get out an hour earlier to facilitate me going to do a Medical Thing. It's nothing at all serious, just the latest (not quite the last, but close) in this past summer's parade of Medical Things that seemed concerning enough to warrant some kind of test but turned out to be mostly fine.

Overall, I think I summarize the syndrome I've been positively diagnosed with as Impinging Terminal Middle-Age. Any time you get saddled with an array of medical challenges for which there is no cure but eventual death, well, it's disheartening. The irony of this one is you can only contract it by not bothering to die sooner. So it's hard to complain.

So far I've had my first EKG and my first echocardiogram. The latter, for those who don't know, is an ultrasound of your chest and abdomen looking for heart issues. Today I will be getting a wholly different ultrasound, this one recommended by my urologist, so I'll let you imagine exactly where the somehow-colder-than-room-temperature ultrasound gel is going to be applied. Unlike the echo, this is not going to be the first time I've experienced this, so I'm something of an expert in the field of showing unassuming radiology techs my down-belows. This should not be construed as bragging.

If today goes like the other days, I'll have been prodded at for the sole purpose of letting me know no further prodding will be required in the short term. After that happens, I won't have any more excuses to continue my delayed post-turning-50 anxiety carnival, which will really free up my late evenings and nights for things like sleeping. Sounds boring, but I know in my heart-of-monitored-hearts a bottomless black void of existential despair can't really be filled in. But you can always drop a fun, festive throw rug over it for a while. You know, given the right test results.