If it weren’t for my heavy winter coat and the “scratching board” I was carrying under my arm, I’d have pranced my way home from work last Sunday. The sun was shining, and I’d finished work about two hours early. The results of the Crystal Pool referendum were that the community voted to borrow money to build a new Crystal Pool. I’ve been extra anxious for the past few weeks, but in that moment, I had a reason to smile. An older man walking in the opposite direction appeared to say something. I let him know I was deaf, and rather than brush me aside, he signed, “Oh, I’m sorry! You look happy!”
“I am!”
The corners of my mouth spread further apart, elated with my palpable elation. I waved to the man cheerfully before carrying on.
At home, I set my bike up on the trainer and propped the front wheel on my new “scratching board”. A colleague stapled a thin piece of doormat to a board for me to use as a riser block so that my bike is level when I’m using the trainer. I got to release even more dopamine with a short tour of virtual France via Zwift without putting strain on my neck or wrists.
That was last Sunday. I also finished work early today and with much less energy. Had I encountered the same man on my way home, he might’ve taken a wide berth around me when he heard the gurgling of phlegm at the back of my throat. He might’ve noticed my crunchy red nostrils. He would not have seen a smile on my face as there was none.
I spent most of the week leaving a trail of goo everywhere like a slug, piling up wadded-up tissues on the coffee table, and sleeping on the couch. Even a low-effort activity like watching TV was too much for me. As it’d been a decade since I finished Breaking Bad, I’ve decided to re-watch it. By Thursday, I was only on the third episode of the first season, and I think all the talk about cancer summoned my mom in my dreams. I don’t remember much about this dream, aside from calling my mom “blueberry-brained,” as I’d mentioned this tidbit in a text to Alexa shortly after waking up. Blue, like the colour of the meth Walter and Jesse cook up on the show?
Last Sunday wasn’t all good: late that night, I panicked when I couldn’t find the piece of paper with the code needed to access my bloodwork results from a few days earlier. What if it’d fallen out of my jacket pocket while I was out? Whoever picked it up could type the code in and view the results. Or so I thought until I found it sandwiched in my To Do Journal. I’d forgotten I’d put it in there because “check results of bloodwork online” was among the things I needed to do.
As it turned out, the results were a little more secure than I’d believed, as it requires one to create an account. So, I registered only to find out that I already had an account, thus beginning the process of resetting my password. The password reset email linked me back to the website where I was to answer some security questions I’d apparently chosen when I created the account. One of them pertained to my relationship, but as I couldn’t recall having created an account within the last two years, I wasn’t surprised when my first answer was incorrect. I applied the security question to my ex, but that didn’t work either.
Was it the ex before the last ex? The one I broke up with a decade ago? Yes! Not only did it grant access to my bloodwork from February 4, but also the one from May 29, 2013, aka the good ol’ days when my white blood cell count wasn’t high, and Breaking Bad was a fresh show.
Maybe my white blood cell count was high because my body was brewing up the cold that appeared four days later? If only I had a medical degree. Alas, I didn’t go to school for… anything. I will consult with someone who did when I go to my appointment at the clinic later in the week. Then I’ll know what I’m supposed to worry about then!
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