90%

So, thanks to all of you who had the discussion a little while ago about grading how you did on exposures so that you could get credit for a less-than-100% exposure. I was thinking about grading what I did, and I decided that I was going to try to get my apartment I was moving out of 90% clean. An A, and no more. Well, the thing above the stove, I decided an 80% would be fine after scrubbing above my head for a bit. There is endless grease up there.

Aiming for 90% helped a lot. That way, when I noticed holes I hadn't seen when I filled the nail holes, I told myself they were covered by my 90% goal. When I realized I forgot a small section of the wall (washing it), it also was classified in the 10% I was leaving undone. In the end, I'm sure it wasn't exactly ten percent. Now that my OCD is peaking over my shoulder, it assures me I probably left like 50% undone, but thankfully, the 50% I missed would be invisible to most people without OCD. "So there, OCD! You must invite yourself to your own parties, or people aren't going to understand you." 90% gave me the freedom I needed to finish. So I still spent hours on it, but I got it done. And I'm pretty sure my landlord was happy with what she saw.

The other super good news is from the second opinion I got from a hematologist at a different medical group in a different town. He thought that I merely had a less-than-ideal but very normal shortage of iron and I was still in a tolerable range. He saw no need for a bone marrow biopsy or anything more invasive than an iron check every once in a while. I think if I had told him I could tell when my iron was low, he might not have even suggested the blood test twice a year. But I can't. My depression and anxiety and medications and life circumstances seem much more related to my energy level than my actual iron level and hemoglobin level. He said that possibly various antidepressants effected how well my body absorbs iron, but that there were too many possible factors for us to figure all that out. Anyway, he thought I was fine, and I'm so glad. I can write off that worry. (Oooh, sin... that word, worry, you just showed the world what a sinner you are... Shut up, OCD, or, to follow my own advice to my students, Be quiet please! But to follow a variation on my counselor's advice, Go ahead and say whatever you want, OCD, but I'm a little busy right now, so I might not pay much attention.)

Of course, basically, I'm believing the doctor who tells me what I want to hear. But with my lovely OCD or depression or "normal" neurosis, I had come up with a situation with two not very tolerable options, the one involving physical discomfort and costly testing, the other involving committing an unethical act by not taking proper precautions to preserve my life. The doctor who told me what I wanted to hear gave me an out from my OCD trap. And... I think I'll go ahead and take it.