I forgot to say why I was writing this, didn't I?

I said I would forget!

I am also forgetting things, which is not like me.

So, why am I writing this? Partly because it is interesting to see things from the inside, for a change. I am a psychologist, and I spend a lot of time talking to people with problems.

I don't really have problems, myself. Not real ones. I mean, my car is a mess, and my house is a disaster, and I don't talk to my brother, but problems? I don't really have them. My life is tremendous -- filled to overflowing with blessings and abundance.

I have a loving, smart, kind, funny, and tolerant husband. He likes me. We have been married for almost twenty years. I feel bad for him.

My kids are all amazing (as my five year old comes to breathe his minty-fresh breath in my face to give credence to the assertion that he brushed his teeth -- a nightly ritual -- and asks if we can snuggle while we wait for his dad to get home from teaching). They are all terrific. Healthy, happy, reasonably well-adjusted -- works in progress but sound. I wonder how three such individual beings can have all come into the world. I don't want their mom to be sick.

I have great sisters -- loving and funny and supportive. I would be best friends with my sisters, because I just like them so much. I have good friends, both close and far away. My work is interesting, challenging, and absorbing. I don't want the people that love me to have to deal with this. I don't want my patients to be impacted by the demands of my medical appointments. I don't want to have to explain why I didn't get something done or didn't get it done right.

I love my job.
I love my family.
I love my life.

My life is a bit too hectic, but I have always seen this as a temporary measure -- an ant summer, preparing for a grasshopper winter. These are the days to work hard and prepare for the time of rest.

(remind me to tell why I am blogging this, because I will forget)

So -- all that to say that I have a remarkable life and now there is something wrong with me.

I thought I would blog about it, because I like to write. And because I have never seen the process of becoming a patient. I am the doctor -- I am not the patient, and observing the process appeals to me. Sort of a role reversal ... seeing how one becomes part of the medical machine.

I am almost never sick. I have had three kids and breezed through the pregnancies. The most interesting thing that has happened to me physically was when I had gestational diabetes with my youngest. However, that soon became common-place. I distinctly remember sitting on on the edge of the bathtub, hands shaking, sweating and scared, trying to inject myself with insulin. I kept telling myself that thousands of people did this and to just suck it up. I managed to do the injection and became so proficient that I remember driving down the freeway, injecting myself. Not that I recommend that, but it became no big deal.

So that is one reason that I wanted to blog this process. Another reason that I want to blog this is because it is a blog-worthy topic. People blog about all kinds of things, their travels, their favorite foods, mustaches, shoelaces, their weight loss.

And I want to remember what this process is like.
And I want to see how I get through this.

So far, I am not impressing myself very much. I feel like I should be rising above this in some way, but I don't know what that means. I don't think I am coping with this very well -- not really.

I did not want to incorporate this topic into my other blog, because it does not fit. (and you should really go over to Stravaigin Aboot to see that blog, which is very nice, if I do say so myself).

So those are some of the reasons that I am blogging about this. It has been six weeks or so since my first trip to the emergency room on September 27, 2007. They still don't know what is wrong with me, but I definitely have something wrong with my brain.

Anyone got any ideas?

Bueller?