Get a drink before you read this

At my doctor's appointment the other day, I found out I am still eligible to donate blood. Yay! Nothing makes you feel like a good person better than allowing someone to stick a sinfully large needle into your arm and take something that keeps you alive.

So this morning when the Red Cross called, I actually answered the phone. Because the Red Cross calls us, um, a lot. Like every eight weeks. They seem strangely eager to get their hands on our blood. I think the Red Cross may be an organization of vampires trying to go legit. And for the last while I've been not answering the phone, because we've been busy and I've been thinking I couldn't donate. A couple weekends ago we got home to this message: "We're really low on your type of blood, and we were wondering, could you come in and help us out?" And that just made me feel bad. I know my blood type (AB+) is rare, and how can you ignore a personalized blood-type plea? So yesterday my husband, and today me, went in to donate.

And that makes twice this week that I've been told I have low blood pressure. Hm. I just thought the nurse at the doctor's office and the arm band with the velcro wouldn't stay fastened were being dumb. "Um, are you feeling dizzy?" "No." "Cause your blood pressure is kinda low." But that Red Cross lady was totally authoritative. Turns out being dehydrated does affect your body. I have really got to get better about drinking water. Lesson learned, everybody: don't leave it to young medical professionals to tell you you need to drink more water. Young punks.

P.S. To family members who like to worry: don't. It's not very low, or they wouldn't have let me donate today. So, if a organization of possible vampires is willing to take my blood, I must be fine.

Maintenance fatigue

The dentist office is one of my most unfavorite places. Ever. Mostly because I have bad teeth. So the dentist office has been a series of unpleasant memories. When I was little, maybe five or so, they gave me a little mask to breathe in, it was orange and smelled like oranges. I don't remember the anxiety that led me to need this calming dentist orange rubbery mask, but I do remember I got to take it home. Or the time they decided I didn't need any numbing, because it was such a little cavity that it would be not a big deal. It was a big deal. Or the time my brother Eric took me to get a cavity done, and then we stopped at a park on the way home to do a photography assignment. I tried not to smile in any of the pictures because of my half-numb face, but he caught me in one. It's a grotesque, piratey, half-smile grimace that sums up most dentist trips for me. Not to mention the disastrous results when most dental procedures and my overblown gag reflex collide.

I made myself go to the dentist today. Six months ago I used being on bed rest as an excuse to skip my dentist appointment (finally, I thought of something good from that five weeks). So today, there was a nice year-long buildup of plaque along my gumline. And the hygienist was very thorough in cleaning it all up.

Side note: I do not understand why people are dental hygienists. Maybe in some communist society where I'm assigned my life's work, sure, I could spend my days in other people's mouths. But I'm pretty sure kissing would be ruined if I were that intimately acquainted with the ravages of plaque and oral decay that go on in there. Hourly wage hygienists have to do all the grody work, and then the dentist sails in, pokes your just-cleaned teeth for three minutes and tells you he needs to redo a filling. His job's simple as that. I think there's a serious pay disparity going on here.

So, while I was trying to think about anything other than the hands in my mouth, I thought of something I've been thinking of lately. The sheer number of things we need to take care of our bodies. This morning I used: baby nail clippers, regular nail clippers, toenail clippers (I made the rounds). Shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash, hair gel, toothpaste, toothbrush, deodorant, acne cream, moisturizer, lotion, foundation, eyeshadow, mascara, eyebrow defining powder, chapstick. And this was a non-fancy makeup day. Is it any wonder I feel like I have a drugstore on my back?

And today I added this list: the number of professional visits we need. Annual exams, biannual teeth cleanings, well child visits, and something new this year, hematologist visits. (Which, by the way, my hematology office is also an oncology office, so whenever I go in, there's a roomful of feeble, in various stages of balding, cancer patients. I end up just feeling obscenely healthy. Awkward.)

And then we need clothes. The right clothes. We need clothes to stay warm, cool, covered from the sun, modest, stylish (the last one is not my strong point). We need a different pair of shoes for every occasion. And accessories. Oh, the accessories we need. Have you noticed I don't wear many? Especially since I had kids, accessories are just too much work.

Whew. These darn physical bodies require so much upkeep. Sometimes I wish we lived in pioneer times, when all this was less necessary. But, I do enjoy having teeth, and having teeth through adulthood used to be pretty rare. So I guess I'll stick with modern times. Dental hygienists and all.