I'm still in the wrong profession

All I did today was run!

My first appointment was at 9:00 with my PCP and the first thing she did was hand me a typed letter stating my health problems and that she backed me with the surgery.  Totally unexpected but someone at the surgeon's office must have called her.  Then we discussed my weird problem and if it might be asthma, which I did have as a kid.  My weird problem is that when I become out of breath or when I walk outside into the cold, it can start me coughing.  I don't cough a lot, but I do at times cough HARD enough to make myself feel like I am going to be physically sick.  I have never actually upchucked from it, but I just have to be quiet, breath and swallow a lot until the feeling goes away.  This does not happen often; maybe once every couple of months, but it is a wretched feeling.  So, next week I go to the hospital for a breathing test and she also gave me a requisition for a chest x-ray, which she said I will probably need for surgery as I was once a smoker.

Then it was head down the road to the mental institution for my psyche evaluation.  Can I just say that it took me longer to fill out the damn forms than it took me to speak with the doctor?  He mostly asked questions about my family, my support system (which I told him that other than my husband and my mother, that I had the most amazing friends on the planet), my understanding of the surgery, why I want the surgery, etc.  He asked them rapid fire and almost didn't give me time to answer before asking the next question.  Then out of nowhere, he says "Spell table."  It nearly threw me for a loop, but I recovered and spelled it.  Then he says, "Can you spell it backwards?"  I felt like I was part of some demented spelling bee or something!  TEN FREAKING MINUTES with this guy, which included him dictating the notes over his phone with me still there and my co-pay was $55.00!  That's just the co-pay!  Highway robbery, I tell ya, but he did find me mentally stable and the Dyson never came up once .

Then as I was out and about, I headed over to the medical center to have the chest x-ray done, then to the store, then home to try to right my house a little, then to take my oldest son to the doctors. Thankfully, dinner is a beef stew that has been slow cooking all day, so no pressure there.

I have come to the conclusion that I have this odd habit of at times using the wrong word and not realizing it in that moment.  A few days ago, on this here blog, I wrote how "detrimental" my friends were to my support system, which is saying that ya'll are damaging or harmful.  When I proofread it the next day, I immediately caught it and made ya'll "instrumental" instead, as it should be.  I was once chatting with an on-line friend about the motive's of a criminal and asked about his "motif" instead.  Then last night, on the way home from dinner, my eldest son asked me if I could help him find the Big Dipper and my response was something like this:

"Oh honey, I stink at astrology.  Or is it astronomy? (I look at the Brit who is just watching this with amusement) Astrology?  Astronomy?  Star gazing, son.  I suck at star gazing...and constellations.  Not my thing.  Oh wait, astrology is horoscopes, right??"

And they found me mentally sound....