For a few months now I have been having strange sporadic episodes of where a couple of my fingers go numb and turn white at the tips. It alarmed me at first, but I blew it off. Then it happened again over the weekend when it was 80 degrees out.
So like any normal person
hypochondriac would do, I Googled it.
Cold Temperature Exposure/hypothermia: Maybe the episode in December, but not one in June. Um, no. Next.
Boxers Fracture: Unless you count the time I flung my arm about to adjust my bracelets and I slammed my hand into a CMU block wall. No. Next.
The list covered the spectrum of a finger break to a stroke. Well, THAT was helpful along with scaring the shiznit out of me. Thanks a lot, Google.
Then one in particular caught my eye. I immediately diagnosed myself. Tingling – check. Numbness – check. White fingertips – check. I looked through the list of healthy methods for mild attack preventions.
-Exercise – I do that, everyday! Most days. Ok, some days.
-Control stress – HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-snort-HAHAHAHAHAHA. Seriously? Next.
-Avoid caffeine – (almost laughed as hard as the ‘control stress’ one). Not happening.
-Use insulated drinking glasses – wha? Stupid.
-Move to a milder climate – Hotter than NC? No, thank you.
As I was about to close out of this particular page, satisfied that I was not going to die of a stroke with a broken finger, then I saw something that completely effed up my day:
Tingling of extremities? You could be premenopausal… click here for more info.
I sat there staring at click here….. Seconds ticked by and I could tell those two words were taunting me. I could hear it screaming “You know you want to”. And I did. Dammit.
As I read through the paragraph connecting the extremity-tingling to menopause I saw a list of other things that hit close to home. Hot flashes, mood swings, heart palpitations, headaches, etc.
Check, check, check, check…. WTF.
GREAT. Now my tingling finger problem has turned into being premenopausal at 39 ½. And my attitude today has gone from a joyful (as one can be on a Monday) to hating everyone that crosses my path. Don’t take it personal. It’s the menopause talking.
Quite honestly, I have no one but myself to blame. I knew better than to Google it. Had I listened to Google in years past with ailments, I would’ve already died multiple times from various diseases, the most common would’ve been a brain tumor. Not to mention, the jobsite rescue kitty that Google Images had me believing was a girl kitty, would’ve gone through HIS life as Phoebe. Google is only good for one thing: definitions. Oh, and stalking (I mean…”people search”). And funny clip art. Ok, 3 things.
So here I sit, sweaty, numb, and moody.
Eff you, Google. I’ll show you a numb finger!!!
I think I’ll go home, cozy up in my AARP snuggie, watch reruns of Golden Girls, sip on some Ensure while enjoying Glade's new scented candle, Moth Balls.
Somebody pass me the Metamucil.