...because it might come back and bite you in the rear years later.
The word "patient" in any of its incarnations wouldn't generally describe me.
I used to buy out of Kevin's urgings to get me to go to the doctor by promising him that I would be better at it some day far in the future when I was no longer running the daycare. My premise was that running the daycare made it next to impossible to keep a doctor's appointment.
It wasn't like I could just let the kids stack up in my "in box" until I got back or work a little later to catch up on time missed during the day.
Although the stress and chemicals of chemotherapy have left Kevin occasionally reaching in his mind for a last name or a date, he managed to recall my promise this week after Sunday's fainting episode.
If waving the promise wasn't enough, he threw down the cancer card and reminded me of how bad he feels when I won't let him do what he can these days to take care of me. He's a smart man and generally reserves that trick for things like getting Skyline Chili for lunch.
I got lucky and snagged an appointment with Peggy, the Nurse Practitioner. Both Peggy and I survived the encounter which says a lot about her patience with me as patient. I agreed to having some blood work done and Peggy extracted my promise to return in a couple of weeks.
And Kevin is pleased for the reversal, however brief, of our roles of patient and caregiver.
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