Another day, another chocolate bar

Man, y'all.  In the past week, I've made appointments for a glaucoma screening (for my EBP), a mammogram, and an endometrial biopsy.  This means at least one of the following:

1.  I'm a hypochondriac.

2.  I got the short end of the stick genetically.

3.  I'm getting old.

I seriously doubt #1 is the answer.  I've been traumatized enough medically what with the bowel surgeries, dreaded NG tubes, collapsed lung, and that whole paralyzation thing.  I sure as heck don't seek out more of the same.  If anything, I wait too long to go to the doctor.  I usually have a laundry list of complaints gathered over months before I deem it time to visit my PCP.  (Doctors love that, right?) 

I definitely think there is something to option #2.  It's a trade off though.  If I hadn't inherited the autoimmune problems and mental health issues, I'd have missed out on the good stuff--like my sunny disposition.  Yeah.  My mom's side of the family has a strong history of cancer, hence the mammograms. And colonoscopies. (Crohn's disease makes having them more often than usual a necessity. Hurray.) Fortunately, I have a good butt doctor who is generous with the drugs, so the worst part about my colonoscopies is the prep. Greasy Sprite followed by hours on the john, anyone?  

I'm not going to insult my brethren by calling my 37-year-old self old.  But if skin tags, night sweats, and chin hairs are any indication, I'm at least on my way.  And arthritis has me walking like Frankenstein right now.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?  I think I need some chocolate--STAT.