Hey Doc, Can I Tweet My EKG?
Has anyone on her death bed ever said: "I wish I'd replied to that last email?"
When my teen idol–Davy Jones–died of a heart attack last week, I reflected on the fact that only thirty-six hours earlier, I was lying on an examining table waiting to have my own ticker checked.
I would attach a photo as proof, but the world has barely recovered from JLo's nipplegate incident at the Oscars! We don't need a baby boomer version.
My original appointment was for my annual physical with my gynecologist. Since I'm the queen of multi-tasking, I took advantage of this medical opportunity and mentioned the chest pains I'd been experiencing for the past month. He looked at me appalled then stated: "But I'm only interested in what's below your waist."
It's been a long time since someone's uttered that phrase to me.
Fortunately he hopped on the phone and shortly thereafter I was on my way to see another doctor who would minister to my "above the waist" issues. Minutes later I was stretched out on an examining table, grateful that the satellite reception was strong enough so I could continue returning emails while the nurse strapped electrodes to my bare chest.
As my thumbs worked furiously in unison in an effort to squeeze out that last "oh so important" reply before they ran the EKG, it occurred to me that perhaps the reason behind my chest pains was the mobile instrument that had become an additional appendage to my body.
As an author, it's important to utilize social media to push our books and our personal brand. We Facebook, Tweet, Google+, and Tumble because we're told that's what we must do to sell books. If you add the stress of co-chairing a huge mystery convention in Sacramento like Left Coast Crime (heaven forbid I miss an opportunity to plug this conference) the stress levels can become so high I'm forced to medicate…
With chocolate!
Evidently I'm not the only patient who's been experiencing Social Media Stress Syndrome. It's a highly contagious disease. Fortunately it's curable by a minimally invasive process. With luck, my phone won't have to be surgically detached from my tapping fingers.
Of course, the physical therapy that follows can be tricky. No social media for at least 24 hours? If I can't tweet, how can my tiny twibe of tweeps survive? Can my Facebook friends and fans face a day without my smiling face and clever posts? Will my gaggle of Google plus connections glower over my absence? (Probably not, since I currently have a gaggle of one.)
What a surprise! The world can go on. And since I definitely plan on hanging around for a few more decades, a little less self-inflicted stress will be the best prescription for a heart healthy life.
Besides, even God rested on the 7th day!
I'd love to learn how you maintain your sanity in the new age of social media.
Leave a comment by March 13th, and you'll be entered in a drawing to win a $15 iTunes gift card guaranteed to provide the soothing backdrop to a stress less day.
When my teen idol–Davy Jones–died of a heart attack last week, I reflected on the fact that only thirty-six hours earlier, I was lying on an examining table waiting to have my own ticker checked.
I would attach a photo as proof, but the world has barely recovered from JLo's nipplegate incident at the Oscars! We don't need a baby boomer version.
My original appointment was for my annual physical with my gynecologist. Since I'm the queen of multi-tasking, I took advantage of this medical opportunity and mentioned the chest pains I'd been experiencing for the past month. He looked at me appalled then stated: "But I'm only interested in what's below your waist."
It's been a long time since someone's uttered that phrase to me.
Fortunately he hopped on the phone and shortly thereafter I was on my way to see another doctor who would minister to my "above the waist" issues. Minutes later I was stretched out on an examining table, grateful that the satellite reception was strong enough so I could continue returning emails while the nurse strapped electrodes to my bare chest.
As my thumbs worked furiously in unison in an effort to squeeze out that last "oh so important" reply before they ran the EKG, it occurred to me that perhaps the reason behind my chest pains was the mobile instrument that had become an additional appendage to my body.
As an author, it's important to utilize social media to push our books and our personal brand. We Facebook, Tweet, Google+, and Tumble because we're told that's what we must do to sell books. If you add the stress of co-chairing a huge mystery convention in Sacramento like Left Coast Crime (heaven forbid I miss an opportunity to plug this conference) the stress levels can become so high I'm forced to medicate…
With chocolate!
Evidently I'm not the only patient who's been experiencing Social Media Stress Syndrome. It's a highly contagious disease. Fortunately it's curable by a minimally invasive process. With luck, my phone won't have to be surgically detached from my tapping fingers.
Of course, the physical therapy that follows can be tricky. No social media for at least 24 hours? If I can't tweet, how can my tiny twibe of tweeps survive? Can my Facebook friends and fans face a day without my smiling face and clever posts? Will my gaggle of Google plus connections glower over my absence? (Probably not, since I currently have a gaggle of one.)
What a surprise! The world can go on. And since I definitely plan on hanging around for a few more decades, a little less self-inflicted stress will be the best prescription for a heart healthy life.
Besides, even God rested on the 7th day!
I'd love to learn how you maintain your sanity in the new age of social media.
Leave a comment by March 13th, and you'll be entered in a drawing to win a $15 iTunes gift card guaranteed to provide the soothing backdrop to a stress less day.
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