Dear Darling Ones,

To be fair, my brain weasels aren’t working overtime. I have that XTC song stuck in my head and I inserted “weasels” in the lyrics. Have I mentioned lately that I’m kinda the Weird Al of my house, if Weird Al just inserted random words or his own name into songs?

Actually by brain weasels are right on time. This week is a gauntlet of medial appointments: Primary Care, Echocardiogram, and Neurologist. This morning my damaged brain has decided to be kinda worried about the echocardiogram. I’m not entirely sure why. Mostly, I think, because I’m going to a new clinic to meet with new healthcare providers and I’ve never had an echocardiogram. At least I don’t think so. They did ton of tests on various parts of my body whenever I was in the hospital. One of those could have been an echocardiogram. I don’t remember.

Rationally, this kind of anxiety makes sense.

Irrationally, my brain weasels are all, “what if you have to have open heart surgery next week?”

Even more irrationally, my brain weasels have clamped onto this because my dad had a bum heart. The dad I am not biologically related to. His official cause of death was heart failure, I think. Or maybe it was heart disease. It doesn’t help that since the stroke my mom tells all my doctors about my dad’s health. In August, when the neurologist asked me if any of my relatives had strokes at a young age, my mom told her about my dad’s stroke after lung cancer surgery. She ended her story with, “but her was old.” She didn’t mention that he wasn’t my biological father. Thanks, Mom.

The fact that my biological father died at 62 of unknown (to me) causes just adds fuel to the brain weasals’ fire. They are persistent bastards.

Thankfully, the weasals only clocked in today and my echocardiogram is tomorrow. Plus, I got the Lexapro that helps immensely.

Still, I wanted to get this out there in case I come back in like a week and I’m all, “I had open heart surgery!”

Heartily yours,
Jodi

P.S. I apparently like this headline.