in your brain you know it. eyes hurt to see it.

Last January I went to the family doctor for my blood pressure and he gave me the required blood work slip for when I go back. In January (or June).

They handed it to me, I threw it in my bag and didn't look at it. The last one was a checklist. Now they are spelling it out. I had no idea until I pulled it out yesterday and noticed the "O" word on it. It's one thing to look in a mirror and know you are fat. Doesn't take a rocket scientist. It's totally another to see OBESITY as my diagnosis.

It doesn't help that I've gained a good portion of weight since that visit in January. And that I don't walk nearly as much any more. I don't stand to work. I think I've been in surrender mode.

Reality check: I am turning 60 in two short months. parts of me can't believe I am that old. Other parts, not so much. 1969 only feels like a few years ago.

I hate medicine. I hate doctors and science and all the stupid tests. To me, hospitals are at least the 7th ring of Dante's Hell. But the reality of aging requires doctors. You have to know where you are, before you know which direction you are headed. I am planning on outliving the roomie. That is no easy fate. She is pickled. She'll be one of those old ladies in a wheel chair that they drag out for a birthday party in the nursing home at 110. Except she'll be yelling "I don't want no f-ing party". "Get those f-ing cameras out of my face." While drooling.

I've been thinking about these things since I bought my useless healthcare. Because that's why you buy insurance. Right? Wrong. I bought it because it's the law. It $400 a month and has huge deductibles to get it that cheap. So basically I pay twice. AND I lose the cash price discounts.

But I digress.

I've started to think more about it this summer because the aches and pains are arriving. Nothing to write home about, but noticeable, when it's quiet.

Then the other day my friend Angel sent me a snippit of her manuscript. The solider had lymphoma. I asked a question and it started a discussion. Mostly about my fears as related to healthcare and diseases. (Yes I have a top 10 list. It isn't pretty. I'm a pessimist, if you haven't noticed.)  And why I don't get my ample ass to the doctor. There are just things in life that require routine maintenance. Your body is one of them.

I pretty much hate birthdays. I'd like to crawl into a corner and hide till they are over. But this year as a gift to myself I am going to get my fat ass to the doctor. Many doctors. BEFORE I turn 60

I've already made the appointment with the podiatrist.

I've googled dermatologists. There's a huge practice near Elin's old house. I could walk. I guess hoping for South Bethlehem was too much.

Get obese girl blood work.

And the most difficult one—mammogram. For a person who works tireless for the cause, I avoid this one. It's not the couple hundred for the test that scares me. Or the test itself. It's the results.

I'm sure I forgot something. Bonnie and Angel will tell me what.

I will also get back in the habit of walking every day. And get my diet back under control.

Like this weed in the storm sewer this morning, I'm a fighter.