When my body isn’t being nice, I get so scared.  Guess I have a really low “toughness” rating when it comes to physical stuff.  “Please, no pain … or at least not much.”

I don’t expect that I’m all that different from you.  Perhaps we share fragility and despair and terror when the body hurts.

Last night I ate pizza, and shortly thereafter I had trouble swallowing.  With endless burping.  And a scared mind.  All that continued in bed … until I eventually fell asleep.

I’ve been down this road before.  The lowlight was a gastroenterologist feeding a one-metre “snake” down my throat so he could look at my stomach.  “Gosh, that hurt.”  (Said he with a thoroughly wimpy voice)  The bottom line is I’m terrified to go through that again.

I see my family doctor tomorrow.  If he orders the snake procedure, so be it.  Finding out what’s wrong trumps avoiding physical pain.

Part of me is saying “You should have written about something else.”  Most of me disagrees.  My stomach is here and now.  I have no interest in “there and then”.