Six of one, half dozen of Ativan

If it's above 30 degrees, I try to walk along this river every day. I am desperate to make friends with the men who sit in these little fishing shacks so that I can try it, but they never show themselves. I am fascinated by this world and vow to try it as soon as I figure out what permits are required and how to build a mini house.

The world is white today. We finally got a good snow yesterday after the mildest winter I've experienced in 10 years of living in New Hampshire. I fully recognize that my saying this in the middle of February will ensure that a mammoth blizzard will soon be at my doorstep, dropping enough snow to trap me inside my apartment where I'll live solely on the frozen zucchini bread that's still in my refrigerator from two Christmases ago. But, whatever. Bring it.

Just not tonight.

7am call time tomorrow for the adrenal biopsy. I hope to be on the road by 5:45 with the Broadway channel playing and a Dunkin' Donuts medium extra skim. The procedure should be relatively simple; well, as simple as a needle through one's back during a CAT Scan can be. My mom is not medically squeamish in any capacity...except for about these types of scans. She gets claustrophobic and the idea of it panics her a bit. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I have never seen my mom show even the slightest hint of panic in any situation whatsoever in my 28 years of life. Never. Panic is not how her anxiety manifests. She would probably make a joke here about how that's because of smoking and there's probably truth to that. (Though, she has, of course, quit smoking.) Still, she is just not the panic-y type. It was a moment of high comedy last week when, after recommending that my mom take an Ativan, an anti-anxiety med, before an MRI, the doctor offered to write a prescription for it and I (the sometimes panic-y type) practically raised my hand before blurting out, "I have an Ativan!" It was my pharmaceutical coming-out. I only take them when I really need them and not on a daily basis (at least not yet), not unlike how some people smoke. (And let's be real clear: I haven't smoked a cigarette in over four years and even I could light up right now.)

I wasn't going to post this entry because though I said I was going to write about this, my point was that I wasn't going to hide it, not that I was going to document every single step along the way or cross the lines of privacy. But, at this particular moment there's simply nothing else I'm thinking about. So much so, in fact, that yesterday an Oprah episode on pedophiles served as my escape...maybe even my pick-me-up.

Sounds like someone needs a daily Ativan habit.