I'm feeling a little like a guilty youngster right now.
I had a recent routine physical, and had to fill out that wonderful form prior to seeing the doctor. You know the one. It has multiple columns describing multiple symptoms from multiple areas of the body. Aside from the fact that I felt fine when I walked into the doctors office but now, suddenly, am overwhelmed with an onslaught of symptoms that any hypochondriac would rival, I now also need to reveal:
a) if I am a smoker (no)
b) do I drink alcohol (yes)
and c) if yes, how much? (1x week).
One time a week. That was my most truthful, ballpark guess-timate. Who is really counting, right? Well, the doctor, I guess. She actually called me on it: "Oh, you have a drink once a week? Wine?"
"Uhhhh, yeah. Or a beer if I'm hankerin' for it. But mostly it's wine, I guess."
This conversation was on Monday, the morning after having been entertained with dinner and wine at a friend's home. Weekly wine allotment: check.
Back at the doctor, I am told I will have a fasting blood draw in two days. Fine. It's an easy 10-hour fast the night prior.
Except that was the night I decided to have a GNO with a coupl'a margaritas, Downton Abbey on Netflix, and a soul sister. All well-before the fast began, but, still, wondering if the alcohol and the guacamole were going to affect my cholesterol levels the next morning (and the doctor would somehow "see" I was drinking neither wine nor beer on a Tuesday night!!). Mucho agua went through this body before la sangre went out.
Now it's over.
The blood has been drawn.
I've had wine and margaritas....
Tonight was taco night.
My generous husband offered me a beer.
Why sure, I respond. What a nice compliment to my taco!
Whoa! Three drinks and the week is barely half-finished?
I would not be keeping a mental tally had it not been for that moment with the doctor.
Now you know why I am feeling like a guilty youngster.
Not because of the three drinks so far this week.
Because I don't know how to count.