Unnecessary worry?

Yesterday was quite an interesting one.   As a result of comments by two co-workers I spent the early part of the day wondering if I possibly have some terminal illness that I’m as yet unaware of.  

Let me create a little background.  I’ve always been slim.  Depending on who’s looking on, especially if it’s the older folks, it might be said that I’m skinny.

I wear size 4 normally and for work where I prefer my clothes to be a little looser, depending on the fit, I might go for a size 6.   When I’m feeling ‘fat’ the size 6 tend to fit a little better.  Of course I can still recall wearing size 1 (or is it 1/2) in jeans when I was in my early 20’s.

After I came back home from studying overseas, I had put on quite a bit of weight (probably the months of sitting in dorm room eating pizza every day while working on dissertaton) and even had a little rear end that was attracting attention.  My male friends loved it, my mother was elated (older people don’t like skinny) and my girlfriends all approved.  I was still wearing size 4 - 6 but the size 4 felt a tad bit tighter.   Let me not lie, it felt more than a tad bit tighter.   I hated it!   I had ballooned up to an unprecedented 130 lbs (and sometimes past that) and was horrified.  I’m 5ft 7in and by no stretch of the imagination would anyone describe me as fat even then, but I didn’t feel as lithe.  Because I wasn’t accustomed to carrying around that much weight, and yes it actually felt like I was carrying around the weight, it felt like I was logging a ton of bricks around every day.

So to the dismay of everyone (especially the men) every so often I’d commit to a two-week stint of running, plus a diet of meat and vegetable only.  I never quite got back to my very, very slim self but I was able to get rid of enough pounds for me to feel agile again.    Also, as long I was not weighing 130 and above that it was ok if I didn’t go back to weighing 122, afterall I had started to like the fact that I now had a little ‘junk in my trunk’ (is that the saying?) so I was quite fine.

Since the beginning of the year however, I started swimming and running on a regular basis.  So everyweek I do a few laps in the pool (major struggle since I’m still not fit) and run around the park a couple early mornings per week.   Since January too, I attempted to eat better (read plenty more  fruits and vegetables, little or none of the usual pizza, bread, etc).  I really wasn’t trying to lose weight, this was just part of an overall improvement on myself and my lifestyle.   Needless to say, after a month of this the pounds started to melt away and I was looking quite lean - more like my old(or young) self.   I didn’t have a problem with this ‘new’ look either especially since when I go to the pool, everyone (male and females) kept commenting how I look like an athlete, looked quite fit.  Yep, started getting those swimmer’s shoulders (so I thought) and could swear I saw some definition in my legs.  Added to all that, the fact that my stomach was once again nice and flat, I was feeling quite pleased with myself.  Of course everyone at work noticed the fact that I was looking slimmer and commented.

 

Since April I fell off the healthy eating wagon and was back to eating my usual fare of pizza, donuts and assorted pastry.  I was still swimming and running so I was still looking lean.   Then I got a bit lazy and as of today’s date, I really haven’t swam or run in about 5 weeks.  It did puzzle me a bit that the lack of activity in the last month or so and the return to my usual unhealthy mode of eating didn’t cause me to bump back up in the weight scale but I wasn’t concerned.  I just figured that all that exercise had given my metabolism a major jump start and as long as I get back in the game soon (I’ll be back on the track and in the swimming pool come July) I’ll be fine.

Then yesterday two co-workers commented that I’ve really lost a lot of weight and asked whether I’m still swimming.  I told them that the rainy season had dampen my enthusiasm a bit and I haven’t been to the pool in a month or so.

“Hmmm.  You’re not swimming and running and you’re losing weight?  Haven’t you noticed?”

I didn’t answer, they didn’t say anything else.  They didn’t need to.  Their looks said it all.  I spent the rest of the afternoon in a near panic with myriad thoughts of terminal illness unfolding in my head.  I tried to be rational by reminding myself that I haven’t been feeling ill, haven’t felt unusually exhausted, didn’t feel any different but it didn’t help.  I was in a state of full blown panic, increased heart rate, clammy hands and all. 

I hate going to the Doctor, absolutely hate doing tests.  I’m always worried that the results might not be to my liking. 

But maybe I should really check if everything is ok.  Afterall, what if…….?    

Kenya Airlines plane missing

Last weekend I was in Washington DC.  It was a four-day trip.   The plane landed at Washington Reagan International and the male passenger in the seat at the end of the aisle (there was an empty seat between us) turned to me and smiled, “You made it!”

He then told me that, he could see the sheer terror on my face.  He noticed the way I gripped my hands (I was desperately trying not to grab on to him!) and the laboured breathing.  He didn’t want to say anything though, thinking that it would have made me feel worse.   I was already screaming inside as I discreetly (I thought) wiped away the tears that pricked at my eyes then.  Nothing could have made me feel worse.

I absolutely hate flying.   The fact that I do so at least 3 times a year doesn’t cause that fear to subside.  As a matter of fact it seems to get progressively worse.  I have been known to grab unsuspecting strangers who had the misfortune to be seated next to me during a moment of turbulence.  So far no one has requested a change of seat, most of the time patting my arm comfortingly even as they try to disentangle themselves. 

I really can’t help feeling like I’m about to embark on a suicide mission every time I’m about to fly.  And so prior to each trip, I go through the usual ritual of checking my insurance documents, putting birth certificates, bank and other relevant documents on a table where it is easily accessible in the event the worse happens.  

 And now I see that a Kenya Airline plane is missing, disappeared without a trace.  According to the BBC news, it should have arrived at 6.15am.  Five hours later there’s still  no news of the plane.  As usual, whenever I hear of an airplane disaster, I swallowed hard, thinking, gosh that could have been a plane I’m on.

Now reconcile the above to my desire to travel the world, to my recent resolve to visit a new country each year.