Last week I celebrated my birthday in the emergency room. Long story short: I appeared to have a blood clot in my leg. The Leg of Annoyance – the one that had me on crutches in October and doctor’s restrictions in November – struck again.
Luckily, the test revealed no clot. It’s just an infection in the muscle or bone. Yay!
Seriously, I’m a bit young to be viewing my birthday through the lenses of my own mortality (or vice versa). But there I was. It didn’t help that I worried my childhood friend (born the day after I was) when I told her a few days ago. It seems that a colleague of hers, a woman in her 30s, died suddenly of complications due to a similar infection. I had to reassure her that I’m seeing my doctor again next week.
So why am I bringing this up here, before friend and stranger?
This stupid illness is yet another thing interfering with my sleep and therefore my writing. (Let’s not mention work – ¡ay no!) Yet is also brings into focus how much I need to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile with my life.