Visiting Morbidville

My mind lives in the land of Morbid. I have these dark thoughts. Often.

I am only going to tell you a few of my thoughts, lest I frighten you. I know they are scary because every now and then when I attempt to share with the hubs, he gets this look on his face like he is trying to remember the instructions to "How To Properly Buckle A Strait-Jacket" or "Three Easy Steps to Installing Your Spouse in a Looney Bin." Then I shut up.

Like today. I felt a small lump in my armpit. We all know that's where the lymph nodes are, right? There is a cancer called lymphosarcoma. Its terrible. Infiltrates the whole body. Well, by 3:00 today I was convinced that is what I had. I was already planning my trip to Atlantis in the Bahamas (snorkeling, dolphins, sand!) and then after the trip I would let the hubs in on my TRUE reason for our going.

Hubs gets home from work. He is changing clothes. I announce, "I have a painful lump under my arm. Its probably cancer." The look comes over his face. I then strip off my top to adequately show him said lump (yes, he made a few comments about checking my other, more obvious, lumps - the man NEVER takes me seriously!). That's when I remembered the time I went to the doctor - prepared for the Big C because of another small painful lump and found out it was an ingrown hair. I then told him about my plans for Atlantis to which he replied, "You actually planned all this?"

me: "Yes! What do you think about all day?"
Hubs: "Work."
me: "Is it my fault I can multi-task?"

There was the time I went to the doctor convinced I had cancer because my foot was killing me. The doc had hardly turned my foot over when he casually announces, "You have a plantar's wart." Yes, I was relieved it wasn't cancer but I was quite offended that he said I had a wart. I had never had a wart and (apologies now to all of you wart people) but only yucky people - toad huggers - got warts (I have seen the light and know this not to be true - because I have now officially suffered through a wart).

Then there was the time I was convinced I had arthritis. My walking days were numbered. A wheelchair was in my near future.

Doctor: "You have plantar's fasciitis. Stop running, change your shoes, rest."

I give out funeral arrangements to my friend's too. Is that morbid?

"Please play REO Speedwagon's "Time For Me to Fly" but explain to the throngs of people that the entire song isn't appropriate for the funeral."

"Don't let just anyone do my hair if there is an open casket. And, NO blue eyeshadow!"

And, a favorite of my mother's when I was growing up, "Hey mom, if I am ever decapitated you can identify me by the birth mark on my ankle."

Some call it morbid - I call it good planning.