Life resumed as normal. I had done my patient duty and other than the bit of spring in my step for having faced my fear, I didn’t give my blood work another thought. Christmas was right around the corner and sugar plums were dancing in my head. Sugar of any kind, really. This was the time of year that everywhere you went it seemed had a plate of cookies or pastries just calling your name and at a din that only my fingers could hear. I’ve always had a sweet tooth, and have routinely ended every meal with a tasty morsel. All bets are off in December when the sleigh bells ring and the pipers are piping and what not. My spirits were high, my cravings even higher and if the past was any indicator, my cholesterol (both good and bad) was low. When the email came that I had test results ready to view, I nonchalantly logged on and as I clicked through each line item, it was a sea of “normals”. Just as I got comfy resting on my laurels, there it was. A flag with an “H” for high. In my profession, high is good. High grades. High test scores. High percentile rank. In education, we aim for everything high. Not so much in medicine. As me and my cognitive dissonance had a little wrestling match, it slowly started to hit me: Maybe Warriors shouldn’t eat pepperoni & sausage pizza the night before a test.
In spite of all the other normals, that black & white flag stood waving at me as if I had just crossed the finish line of the Indy 500. The truth is, at that point, in my mind I crawled into bed with Ebenezer and started singing the Bah Humbug chorus.