I was back in Muskegon yesterday for my 2nd round of probulating. If you follow me on Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook, you can see the progression of pictures: Freaked Out and Crying, Drugs Kicking In, Just Waking Up, and Almost Functional.
The surgeon called me today to tell me my full results won’t be back in until Monday or Tuesday.
Meanwhile, I’m back in Ann Arbor. I want to see my pupper, and talk to Estranged/Ex Spouse about health insurance stuff, and see about getting rid of the Taurus that I wrecked in May. It’s been sitting in an impound lot for about 6 months now.
Speaking of 6 months.
I turned 31 on May 3rd. That was 6 months ago. And I’ve decided that I’m going to make every November 3rd its own sort of observance. I’m calling it Mortality Day. Instead of celebrating my birth, this is the day I set aside to contemplate my death.
What would happen if my CIN2 situation upgraded to cervical cancer, for example? Or what if I’m not even lucky enough to see it coming, what if I die in a traffic accident? What do I need to do to get ready for death? Legal documents, sure, but what about the human element? Who do I owe apologies to? Do my loved ones know they’re my loved ones?
What projects have I left unfinished? What destinations have I left un-visited?
It’s a little morbid, maybe. But this year, I feel like I’ve had so many brushes with death, it’s time I stop letting it catch me by surprise.