dailydiatribes

There is a quiz on AOL health this morning called Are You a Hypochondriac?  I took it and received an almost perfect score.  Do I know my neuroses or what??   I know it's bad to put a link here, but I still can't do the other thing....http://body.aol.com/health/hypochondriac.  Take the test and see how you compare because I am the reigning queen of Hypochondria!!

The first question is completely legitimate, although slightly off base:  When you have a headache, do you immediately look up symptoms of brain tumors?  Well, I actually start out with aneurysms and once I have ruled that out, then I head for tumor.

Question number two is about strokes.  It lists symptoms and asks which one is not a stroke symptom.  Well duh, I know shortness of breath is not a stroke symptom!  It's a symptom of pulmonary embolism!!  Like I'm stupid enough to get my vascular diseases confused!

Question three is sort of silly:  what sort of doctor's greeting should make you think twice?  Renee not only says "back already", she already has a multitude of reference books out, ready to make my diagnosis of bubonic dengue tubercular plague fever, a virus that can only be treated with Tylenol.  After all, SHE DIDN'T GO TO MEDICAL SCHOOL FOR NOTHIN'!!!

I believe question four has been neatly resolved by events of the last week.  Obviously, not only do you need a surgical mask on hand, it should be worn AT ALL TIMES!!!  You never know when some idiot lawyer with TB (sorry A!!) is going to take it upon himself to honeymoon abroad and infect the unsuspecting.  Next time you are on a sunny Mediterranean beach and you see a happy couple frolicking in the waves, him bending over periodically to cough up a lung, you'll be glad to have that surgical mask close at hand!

With number 5, only the ER answer really applies to me.  Well, ok, I do use a paper towel to open the door of a public bathroom, but that's just common sense.  And I don't flinch when someone sneezes, I just bless them and move discreetly away, making sure my surgical mask is firmly in place.

Number 6 is a good one.  The internet is the most trusted source of medical information.  It is being constantly updated by hypochondriacs around the globe.  I know Renee went to medical school and all, but I bet she couldn't REALLY spout out the side effects of Yaz while out clubbing.  And what is she doing out clubbing anyway???  Can I trust a medical professional who hangs out at seedy bars?? 

Number 7 again addresses the number of doctor visits one makes.  Well of course I go at least once a month.  Doesn't everyone?  I want to start getting a total body scan once a quarter, just to be sure we're not missing anything.  I'm sure the radiation exposure will get me in the end, but at least I'll know what's going on with my insides.

Number 8 is a trick question.  Everyone knows brain tumor symptoms can be notoriously confusing.  A stuffy nose COULD be a symptom, because the tumor could be pressing down on the sinuses and interfering with proper drainage.  Don't these people read WebMD???

Number 9 is silly as well.  Of course there are not enough sick days.  One really shouldn't work between November and February at all, because cubicles are a breeding ground for dangerous bacteria.  And then the spring is no good because of allergies.  An ideal work year would be June to September.

Interestingly enough, number 10 is the only one I missed.  Can you guess why?  If you guessed it's because excessive use of antibacterials may contribute to the rise of superbugs, you guessed correctly!!  Every good hypochondriac knows that overuse of hand sanitizer could cause more harm than good in the end.  This is why I always wear surgical gloves with my mask!

Please take the quiz and see how you rate compared to me.  Now I've got to do some research on this  spot that has suddenly appeared on my leg.  It could be a bug bite, or it could be the first warning sign of scleroderma!

Some families are able to take vacations together.  They enjoy each other's company.  They frolic gaily among the attractions, holding hands and whistling tunes together.  They look like a freakin' Kodak commercial.

It became immediately evident the moment we got into the car, bound for Atlanta, that we are NOT that family.  You remember the Brady Bunch episode where they all drove to Arizona, singing "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"  Well, in our car, we were trying to hit each other with the bottles.  I completely neglected the family car trip as a circle of hell.  Imagine being trapped in a hot car for all eternity with squabbling children, all of whom "Can't hold it any longer...", no snacks, no electronic games and nothing but an AM radio.  Tell me that's not your worst nightmare!!

Before we even got into the car, Josh was in a major snit because he was not allowed to choose the in-flight movie.  Despite being told over 200 times that the blonde goddess was not old enough to appreciate the subtleties of Adam Sandler's humor, he insisted on choosing an inappropriate flick.  He then flew into a rage when it was replaced with "Pirates of the Carribbean" because pirates dismembering each other and members of the British royal navy are much more savory than Adam Sandler.

Needless to say, Atlanta may only be two hours north of Birmingham geographically, but in a car full of children, it's more like twenty hours.  The entire ride was punctuated with the usual cries of "he touched me" or "she hit me" or "Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm" wailed in an ear piercing shriek.  By the time we arrived at our hotel, I was more than prepared to serve prison time for the dismemberment of my children.

We checked in and then jumped back in the car and went to see another installment of "Pirates".  That was three hours of bliss in a dark, cool theater, with the children completely enraptured by the saga unfolding on the screen.  Alas, it would be the last three hours of peace we would experience.

On Friday, we got up early and hit the subway, to our first destination, the World of Coke.  The kids enjoyed it, primarily because there was a room full of soda fountains, filled with the brown, bubbly, caffeinated goodness.  We lurched out, belching mightily and energized for CNN.

Unfortunately, the blonde goddess was less than enthralled by the inner workings of the great cable news network.  Indeed, once we had ascended the 8 story escalator (something I rank right up there with playing with chainsaws in terms of safety) and she realized there were no cartoon characters waiting to greet us, she lost interest.  She sulked and pouted through the demonstration of the different camera angles, loudly letting us and the fifty people around us know that she was not interested.  Then as we descended through the building, she whined and snarled at each stop.  There were several moments where I thought CNN might have a live story in the making:  woman beats six year old to death on CNN tour with cardboard figure of Nancy Grace.  Great stuff on a slow news day.

By the time we were done, I was completely exhausted.  Unfortunately, we had to trek back through Olympic park and then walk six blocks uphill to the MARTA station.  Ah, what bliss to be alive on a summer's day in Atlanta, hiking in the humidity!  On the plus side, by the time we got back to the hotel room, everyone was exhausted and I had no problem getting them to sleep.

On Saturday, we went to Stone Mountain.  This is a large piece of granite with pictures of great Southern heroes carved into the side of it.  One reaches the top via a glassed-in car suspended on a tiny, unsteady piece of cable that is subjected to the elements daily and could at any moment, snap and fling the car and its passengers hundreds of feet to the ground.  Or at least, that's my theory.  But in the interest of not living my life afraid, I gamely entered the glass car of death and buried my head in Tim's shoulder.  If we were going to plunge, I was not going to watch it.  Everyone oooohed and aaaaahed as we passed Robert E. Lee and his brethren, mounted on their fierce steeds, immortalized in granite.  I just clenched my eyes tighter and prayed for a speedy death.

We made it to the top alive and once upon the rock, I was a lot more comfortable.  A fence surrounds the perimeter, so plunging off would be difficult, although not impossible.  I walked around for a few minutes, took in the view, and then went to sit down and mentally prepare myself for the descent.  When we entered the cable car of death, I tried to employ my previous strategy and cling to my husband, reasoning that if we plunged and I landed on him, I might survive.  However, he kept brushing me off to take pictures (ass) so I finally gave in and opened my eyes.  We were halfway down by then and I was able to take in the view stoically and kept my eyes open to the end.  But I DID NOT enjoy it.

From there, we spent the rest of the day walking around the park, squabbling about what to do.  The big kids wanted to leave, while the goddess wanted to stay for the entire day and play on the climbing wall.  Everyone did have fun in the big barn, which is a four story indoor playground.  It's filled with tiny foam balls that can be loaded into guns stationed at various levels throughout the playground, guns which can then be used to try and eradicate one's sister from the planet.  It's amazing how highly tuned a mother's ear is to the cries of her children.  Even in a four story room, filled with screaming children and all sorts of electronic noises, I could still hear Abby shrieking "STOP IT JOSH!!"  

We did not make it to the laser light show.  Seven hours was all we could handle, so we wearily trekked to the car and headed back to the hotel.  Tim wanted to leave the next day and head straight home, but I foolishly insisted we go to the zoo because I wanted to see the baby panda.

It was an incredibly hot, overcast day and the zoo was packed.  We waited in line for 30 minutes to see the panda and for me, at least, she was worth the wait.  She was so cute and she jumped and rolled, while her mother sat in the corner with her legs splayed out in front of her, munching on bamboo.  It looked a lot like a scene from my life, only I prefer bon bons to bamboo.  But after the panda, it went downhill.  Josh's friend was not the least bit interested in the zoo.  He was ready to go home.  But I insisted on seeing the rest of the zoo since we had paid a fortune to get into it.  

As we walked away from the panda exhibit, Abby's flip flop broke.  This was, of course, my fault, even though I had begged her to wear tennis shoes.  She would not wear them because they looked too "tacky" with her ankle brace.  She whined and moaned for 45 minutes as we made our way to the front of the zoo, hoping and praying there would be some sort of footwear for sale in the gift shop.  The only pair of flip flops they had cost $10 and were bright blue and printed with turtles.  I threw them at her and told her to put them on and shut the hell up before I fed her to the lions.

Two hours later, we were all hot and sweaty and ready to murder each other.  The highlight of the trip came when we paid $15 to ride the zoo train.  I believe the entire trip lasted about 4 1/2 minutes and covered ten square feet.  I thought Tim was going to choke someone.

We headed to the parking lot and got in the car and turned South for home.  About five minutes into the journey, the squabbling began, but this time, in my heart, I knew it would end soon.  I love my children, I really do, but I will not miss the family vacation when they are grown and gone!  We made it home without killing anyone, though, and we gratefully pulled into the garage and unloaded the car. 

An hour later though, I was once again the culprit.  Seems Abby and her friend had put their free, souvenir bottles of coke into the refrigerator in the hotel room and had forgotten to get them out when we left.  This was also my fault, since it is my job, as the mother, to anticipate when my child will decide to refrigerate something and to then ensure its removal from refrigeration upon our departure.  The difference between a fit in Atlanta versus a fit at home is that, after a minute or two of listening to her, I sent her butt upstairs to bed.  Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home!!