I actually say that to myself sometimes, when I'm really stressed and having a hard time finding anything to feel truly grateful about. And it's true: I've been lucky to be be pretty healthy. I'd like to give myself some credit for eating well and exercising, both of which I do, but some of it is just good luck, and for that, I do give thanks.
Like many people, I tend to book my yearly doctor and dentist appointments in the new year, and I've just finished up making my rounds. This year, I have all new doctors, which is tough. I absolutely loved my doctors in Boston, and establishing that relationship is difficult. But I lucked out with both my GP and my OB/GYN here, so that's a relief.
What's not a relief is that all the tests that the doctors ordered for me came back wacky to one degree or another. I have a history of high (like 225+ high) cholesterol, so my doc wanted to check that. As expected, my numbers were elevated, 225. It's genetic, and my good cholesterol is off the charts while my bad cholesterol and triglycerides are normal or low. So that's not unexpected or a big deal, although it is annoying to be cursed with the bad cholesterol genes.
While she was at it, my doc ordered a fasting glucose test. I've never had an issue with glucose levels, so I'm not sure why she ordered the test, but she did, and so I got it at the same time as the cholesterol test—also fasting—was done. Those numbers came back in the "prediabetic" range.
About this, I am indignant rather than resigned. I eat well. I exercise. My BMI is normal. I control my lifestyle factors. In addition, I have no real family history of diabetes; I don't think the overweight smokers who don't watch what they eat and have onset in their 60s really count here. Psychologically, this result is a blow because diabetes = insulin = pancreas = NO FUCKING WAY IS MY PANCREAS LETTING ME DOWN. The other pancreas, so to speak, in my life already did that.
I'm getting retested; this might have been a fluke. No matter what, it's irritating. I take good care of myself, and yet my body lets me down. This test result, minor as it truly is, gives me the smallest glimpse into how John must have felt when he was diagnosed with cancer. His body failed him in the gravest possible way. If I'm this annoyed about a test result that might not even be meaningful, I can't begin to imagine the anger he felt at his own being when we got his diagnosis.
Also in the queue is an ultrasound for what the OB/GYN thinks is either a return of the fibroids or an ovarian cyst + a do-over on my pap as it, too, was abnormal but so marginally so as to almost certainly be a false positive.
Despite all that, I have my health. I do. But I'm still annoyed.