I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.  It sucks, because it’s at 7:30 a.m., and no one should have to sit on a cold table covered in waxed paper that early in the morning.

Other than the early morning aspect, I don’t mind going to the doctor.  I’ve never been afraid of doctors or dentists or shots or needles.  In fact, of all of the places I’ve worked, I liked the hospital the most, because I love doctors.

I’m not a hypochondriac, because usually when I think something is wrong, I’m right.  I can sense illness like dogs can sense thunderstorms.  But I’m not the healthiest person in the world.  The Pontz family is not hardy stock.  We live pretty long, but we’re kind of weak and sickly the whole time.  We are sickly little addicts who are blessed with a nice long life of being sickly addicts.

I’ll feel more at home than ever tomorrow, because I’m going to the cardiologist.  I have heart defects- nothing super serious, but I’ll probably have to get some sort of valve transplants by the time I’m 50 (I’m hoping by 2028, I can get my pig valve in bacon flavor).  As a result though, I’ve been going to a cardiologist since birth.  Up until I was about 16, I had to go at least once or twice a year, and it was an all-day affair.  There wasn’t just a doctor to see, but EKGs and ultrasounds and x-rays.  I actually looked forward to it- my cousin Avery had heart defects as well, and our moms scheduled our appointments on the same day.  Avery and I played all day and then got McDonald’s for dinner.  That’s a pretty awesome day as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve been blessed with some awesome doctors, but I’m mostly glad that even though I’m not the healthiest horse in the herd, at least I’m not skittish about it.  I guess I was born to be sick.  And if that Facebook quiz is accurate (and why wouldn’t it be?), I’ll be doing this until I’m 96 years old.

I think I’ll have an apple.