Last week I walked in to each one of my doctors appointments, pretty sure that I was wearing a giant "hypochondriac" sign on my back. But as long as my insurance company didn't mind, I was ok with that. All I wanted was a clean bill of health, some assurance that the little aches, pains and coughs I had been dealing with were the kind you could safely ignore. But when I called myself a hypochondriac in front of my doctor he looked up and said "You're not a hypochondriac...we call people who have been through what you've been through "justifiable paranoids". I liked that a lot. You can call me J.P.
I had a blood test called a D-dimer. It was to check for a blood clot in my lungs, that could possibly explain my coughing. The D-dimer tested positive, which meant I had to go directly to the hospital and have a CT Scan. I'm not afraid of tests like that anymore, but I totally hated the feeling of driving to the hospital at that moment instead of driving to my house to make dinner for my kids. I was supposed to turn right at the intersection, not left. Didn't the D-dimer know I already had plans for the evening?
Long (painful) story short, CT Scan was clean. No clot. Still coughing? Yes, but I guess I have to live with that. When it gets really bad, I go online and diagnose myself. Doctors must hate the internet for that reason. All these little know-it-alls sitting in their waiting rooms, writing their own obituaries. At any rate, last week I decided it was Radiation Pneumonitis. This week I'm pretty sure it's Pulmonary Fibrosis.
J.P. signing out.