Yeah, it is. It’s called “Ohio”. Though Indiana and Illinois can make a case for being a close second and third.
My MRI’s been scheduled; I’m looking at Feb 25 at 9:00. I’m off that day, so I don’t have to worry about messing around with work. I’m nervous as hell, though. The MRI isn’t as bad as an ultrasound or a mammogram per se, but it involves an IV–which will have to go into my hand–and I absolutely detest hypodermic needles. That was one of the things that Prime and I agreed upon very early on: neither one of us like dealing with needles. We’d rather deal with something the hell else. Doctor’s appointments and the like would be a lot easier on both of us if we didn’t have to deal with the damned injections.
My anxiety seemingly spiked a few days ago; I had a couple of near panic attacks while at the exit door at work. I wasn’t entirely sure as to why until later on in my shift. The reason? It has to do with the current season.
It’s winter. Last year, my anxiety spiked in January and February, then dropped off in early March. This year? The same thing seems to be happening. Why?
My first mammogram was in January of 2016 and shortly afterwards, I needed a second. Then on the very day I had the second, I got a stereotactic biopsy of my left breast. When I got the results from that, I had to meet with a specialist and suddenly I was being asked if I’d ever had surgery or been admitted to the hospital before. (I had been admitted to the hospital, but I was four years old when it happened. I had been injured in a car accident.)
On March 1st 2016, I had a surgical biopsy of my left breast. The weeks following up to this procedure were among the most stressful of my life.
The season itself is now a bit of a stressor in my case. A lot of negative things happened in the winter of 2016 so when it starts getting cold, I start getting anxious, as if I’m waiting for the next bit of bad news, the other shoe to drop. I seemingly can’t help it; snowfall and colder temperatures encourage panic attacks. It’s something that I just can’t control. No matter how hard I might try, I can’t override that feeling of dread. The Zoloft has helped, so I’m not at the exact same point as last year, but I’m still antsy. Once I’m past March, I should be a lot better. At least, I should be.
For the first time since last October, I’m wearing my Milwaukee Brewers earrings. Spring training is just around the corner; pitchers and catchers have already reported in some cases. It won’t be long until Opening Day. I can barely wait.
It also doesn’t help that I’m watching For Love of the Game on satellite right now; it was the first movie that Prime and I watched on Pay-Per-View back in 2000. He ordered it for a full twenty four hours and we watched together.
I think that may have been the first time Prime admitted just how much of a baseball fan he truly was. I had known that he was a Brewers fan, as he had told me before the move, but I don’t think I had really glommed onto just how much he enjoyed the game itself. His love of baseball, his enthusiam and passion, spread to me during our first few months in our very first apartment together. In the early spring, he took me to Fox Cities Stadium for my first Minor League game.
That was when the Wisconsin Timber Rattlers were affiliated with the Seattle Mariners and we had Shin Soo-Choo playing. I freely admit, when the All Star ballots made their rounds in the years after, I voted for Shin every single time. I have a bit of a soft spot for him, because of that stint with the TRats.
Prime was patient; he expained the rules and what was going on during the innings. The action was easy for me to follow and I was pulled in, slowly but surely. Some years later, Prime and I made a pilgrimage to Milwaukee and Miller Park for our first Major League baseball game together. When I sat in that seat and looked at the field, taking in the names on the backs of the jerseys: Braun, Fielder, Hart, it hit me and hit me hard. This was the Bigs. These were the guys who were paid the big money. This was the real deal, professional baseball.
When I realized that, I was in awe. And I was madly in love.
And it all started with Prime and a Pay-Per-View movie. If you had told me twenty years ago that I would be a die-hard Brewers fan, I would have either laughed at you or said you were crazy. I wasn’t a baseball fan and it wasn’t happening. As always, Prime proved me wrong.
In this case, I’m glad he did.