It’s only the fourth day of April, but I think I already peaked for the month.
I decided on a whim a few weeks ago to fill out a March Madness bracket. I know NOTHING about basketball. I don’t even like it. It’s too squeaky and the constant movement on the court feels very chaotic. I file my decision to do the bracket under “mindless tasks to keep your mind busy so you have less time to think about all your problems, but all your problems are still there and you can’t stop thinking about them so you’re still anxious.” What a relaxing place to live. While my bracket efforts did not take my mind off my worries, I’ll tell you what did take my mind off things for a while- winning the whole kit and caboodle on said bracket. I threw names down on that paper with no research or thought, but low and behold my predictions came true. I went from 16 teams down to the final winner.
Sadly, I did not enter my bracket into any sort of betting pool so I am none the richer, but I’ve told everyone about my success and am beyond tickled about the results. I’m going to ride this high for weeks. I didn’t go to the grocery store and the washing machine needs loading but so what? I won March Madness. Who cares that it has no impact on my real life.
In other, significantly less lucky news, I had a kidney stone last month. How’s that for a plot twist? Thinking it might be a negative side effect from medication, we drove all the way to Atlanta on a Sunday to be seen at the fertility clinic. The doctor on call told me, ”Maybe you’re gassy” which I assure you wasn’t the problem. I wouldn’t spend 6+ hours in the car in severe pain if that was it. We got home and I drove myself to our local emergency room. I had to explain to everyone that I was not gassy so please don’t tell me to take GasX; that won’t work. For the love of everything, give me some good drugs. The triage room was not close to the actual emergency room and the man who walked me and a small group of other patients over to it was evidently practicing for the Boston marathon. He walked us outside, down the ramp, and across the concrete with the speed of a gazelle being chased by a cheetah. I limped along like the cheetah’s already wounded prey. I never got a room, but instead sat in a row of chairs separated by curtains. For hours on end, I listened to several people come in for what I’m sure were important issues to them, but seemed minor enough that my extensive WebMD knowledge helped me solve most of their issues. Several hours and three prescriptions later, I had the diagnosis of a large kidney stone. I went to the urologist later that week. The only other females (wearing shirts that said “urine good hands”) were the nurses. It was me and eight old men in the waiting room. What a humbling experience.
Speaking of all things medical, I binged all four seasons of New Amsterdam on Netflix in an embarrassing/impressive amount of time. A medical drama will reel me in hook, line and sinker. I don’t care how unrealistic it might be. Give me several good-looking doctors, a tragedy and I’m there with my blanket and bowl of chips. It took until the middle of season four for me to get grossed out and look away. I like to think I’ll be a brain surgeon in my next career so a little blood and organs seen on a screen don’t bother me. I am very upset about a big breakup at the end of the last episode but I’m predicting big things for my favorite characters.
After all, I did correctly predict the March Madness winner. I’m basically a prophet at this point.