Today was an amazing day in Spain. The wife, kids and I went to the nearby town of Blanes, a magical place with one of the greatest beaches I’ve ever seen. We soaked in the sun, gobbled down magnificent food (finally!). My daughter snorkled for the first time; my son learned to say “I’m ready!” in Spanish. Truly, one of those spans you wish would last longer than five or six hours.
And I almost ruined it.
As any longtime reader of this site knows, I am a hypochondriac. I pretty big one. I’ve gone to therapy for it, though I’m not currently. Over the past few years, I’ve been convinced I’m dying of:
• Stomach cancer.
• Testicular cancer.
• Neck cancer.
• Myriad other diseases and disorders that fail to come to mind.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been waking up with my hands tingly and numb. Sometimes one hand, sometimes both hands, occassionally neither hand. Then, during the days, I’ve been experiencing numbness/awkwardness in my left knee/shin area. Now, the average person experiences these sorts of things and wushes them away—Must be a reaction to this; Probably that; Carpal Tunnel; sleeping on limbs; etc; no biggie.
I, however, always think the worst.
I’m trying—really, really trying. i refuse to let this ruin an already incredible vacation. So I’ve been doing my best to put the alleged problems out of my mind; to think positively; to ignore. But it’s sooooooooo friggin’ hard.
Talked to my wife about it tonight for the first time in eons (have decided the worst thing for the marriage is constant, “I think I’m dying of —–” convos). And she said the following: “Let’s say you actually have ALS or MS or whatever. Would you want to waste those days in Spain living in fear?”
As always, The Wife is right. So I went off tonight to the basement to lift weights.
Feel better … until morning (gulp).
PS: The above photo is Mary Lou, the cat belonging to the fine folk we’ve swapped houses with. She’s 18, and has no teeth.