Trust and the senses...

All my life I've been told that I should trust my senses. I've always taken that to mean my mystical sixth sense that apparently all women are supposed to have. In other words, I've understood the phrase to imply an unseen force that is unmistakable and unshakable.

Since I happen to lack that particular sense, intuition, or what-have-you, I've made it a practice to trust my tangible senses. If I can see it, taste it, hear it and physically feel it, I can trust it to be the truth, right?

That's what I thought before I received the news that my body was breaking down.

I feel great, physically.

I have the energy and stamina only rivaled by my 16 year old self.

I'm in the best cardiovascular shape than I have been in recent years, and my muscle tone is getting there. Heck, I was even talked into a triathlon for next year by a coworker.

But regardless of feeling fabulous, my tests came back less than.

This goes to show that I was once again proven wrong in my theories of life. My senses cannot be trusted. They lied.

Maybe I should have listened to that little voice in the back of my head that always reminds me of my fears and doubts. Perhaps that little voice IS this ethereal sixth sense I was so convinced I did not possess. I don't know.

I do know my body has betrayed me, both physically and evidently perceptually .

But the upside?

I may be dying, but I still feel great.