God I hope so.

My imagination has been using it’s powers for evil of late, convicing me that I’m dying. I keep thinking of all of the worst things. I’ve been fatigued, my joints have been aching, I’ve had indigestion. Lupus, Anemia, Hepatitis, whatever. Anything autoimmune…I’d think about in the middle of the night. This becoming really unbearable, I decided I would gather my balls together and go find out for sure. So I went into the city to our family doctor (who has saved both my mom and stepdad’s lives from meningitis and a burst appendix) and he drew substantial blood and tested me for everything under the sun, poked, proded, squeezed me, shone lights in my ears, eyes, nose and throat.

And when he came back from his little lab and I was lying sideways on the little patient table with my fingers in my ears, my face wet and my eyes closed, I opened them to see a huge smile on his face. He gave me a strong long hug and told me I was completely fine. That I had beautiful blood with just the right amount of white and red cells, with the right amount of platelets.

Beautiful blood? mine?

I probably cried for a straight half hour in his office of relief and sadness at the beauty of how much life is actually ahead of me. I didn’t know there were a few tests still pending when I left the office, but he called me last night to tell me that those results had come in and he was overjoyed to inform me that those had also come back negative.

And although I only slept 5 hours last night, after a really great night of ridiculous behavior and much singing, they were solid hours.

And I woke up smiling.