A chink in my armor.

I am practicing. Rehearsing. For a trip to my cardiologist. Usually, it's a fearful trip. Full of unnecessary anxiety. I don't sleep well. The night before. Because I'm anticipating. A fearful experience. Hey, the guy isn't going to hurt me. He's there to help. To give me insights. On how to cope. With a heart condition. I'm generally a healthy fellow. In good shape. For my age. But I worry. About something going wrong. About a worst case scenario. I know. That can exacerbate a benign situation. But when one has an anxiety disorder, logic and common sense don't always prevail. I hate to admit it. There's a chink in my armor. --Jim Broede