It's a quiet Saturday morning as I sit here reflecting on life as I know it. Shark Bait is gone hunting and it is just me and the kids (aka dogs). It's been quite a week, really. It's actually been quite a month, but let's focus on this last week. I'd like to talk about that.
So, Monday morning, I'm at work and I was having a lot of pain in my back that radiated through to my front just under my bra line on the right side. It was a very intense pain. I have had gall bladder pains before, but this didn't seem like that. It had been hurting since the Thursday prior and I had been taking ibuprofen, muscle relaxers and putting some heat gel on on it. Nothing was really helping and it was getting worse. My boss was like, "you need to get that checked out, it could be serious." I immediately was like, "the doctor isn't going to know what's going on, it's a waste of time."
Fast forward to a couple hours later. I arrive at the walk-in clinic and decide I don't know how long it will be to wait, so I go to the bathroom first before checking in. I check-in and they advise there is no wait. This is practically a miracle. Never happens. So, I first go to the "triage" person. He asks me a million annoying questions, some of them multiple times. Doesn't anyone freaking listen anymore? He informs me they need a urine sample. Mother Trucker. I told him, "I just went." He says, no big deal, they only need like 10 drops. Dude, what if there are not drops to give? He seems unconcerned, "There's a water fountain over there if you need it." Sigh. I head over to the bathroom with my cup. Now, I have nylons and a dress on, this is no easy challenge to straddle the damn toilet shoving a cup up there keeping your dress out of the way. And, men might not understand this, but as a woman, you don't know where that stream is gonna go. You could have the cup perfectly positioned (in your mind) and then you drop liquid gold behind it. It's complicated. So, there I am, straddling and contorted and the bastards in the lab on the other side of the wall keep checking the collection thing that is right next to the toilet. Like every 30 seconds the door opens and closes. Look asshole, I'm pushing so hard you might actually get a piece of organ rather than any liquids, so get off my case. So freaking annoying. Long story long, I finally produced the gold they were looking for. I mean, I don't know if it was 10 drops, but it was all they were going to get. I had to produce it from future water that I might drink later, you know? It was a serious effort.
I clean up and head down the hall when a medical assistant waves me in to one of the rooms. She proceeds to ask me all the same questions that the triage he-bitch asked. Seriously, the he-bitch seemed to be typing, does the system not update? After that agony, she leaves and here comes the doctor. Joy. I tell my story a third time and show him where it hurts. Now, I'm wearing a dress and a little jean jacket. No one has asked me to take it off. Don't you think maybe we should check me out? So, I said, "Should I take this jacket off?" He's like, "ok." It's like having sex, "So, did you want me to get naked...or...?" Anyway, he pokes around my ribs, "does this hurt?....how about here?....here?" He listens to my heart, which if you ask me is just something they do to look like a doctor. Like, in medical school, there is a whole course on just listening to the heart. "Oh, your finger seems to be severed, let's take a listen to that heart to rule out heart failure..."
So, now we are to the part where the doctor has come to the best conclusion he can come to. I'm bracing for it. He says, "Well, I think what is happening is because you are an admin and sit all day, that you have slouched and your ribs are pressing against your hip bones and you have bruised your ribs." I sat there, blinking. Not totally surprised, but still feeling like I lucked out and got the biggest moron this place employs I mean, what do I do with that diagnosis? I knew there was no point to press the situation. The doctor then checked his computer and says, "Well, your pee looks fantastic, if that's any consolation. So, we can rule out kidney or UTI." Well, I've finally done something right because no one has ever told me I had fantastic pee before. I could leave there walking a little taller, a little more proud. Indeed. The good doc provided me a prescription for some muscle relaxers (and a pain pill that I would later find out at the pharmacy they don't even make anymore) and said there really is nothing I could do except wait it out and to sit taller in my chair. I said, "Should I ice it or put heat on it?" He said, "Well, ice...wow, I mean, that would be cold. Yeah, I would only do heat." Which is pretty much opposite of what the chiropractor says. The doc went on, "you really only want to use ice if you have an injury, like your ankle is broken." Okay then.
I don't really know how the ribs right under my bra line are rubbing against my hip bones. I haven't done anything that I am aware of to injure myself or strain that area. No, it isn't a sex injury. I would definitely walk a little taller if that were the case. So, there it is, my diagnosis. Modern medical miracles happen everyday and what I am experiencing is the fact that I have gotten so fat that my upper body is crushing into the lower half. I'm basically turning into Jabba the Hut. In a nutshell. I don't know what the medical term for that is, but it might be "Blobitis."
I left the doctor frustrated. I mean, what if something serious is happening? How would we know? What if I have gall bladder cancer or some other highly difficult to detect disease? What if one of my internal organs is about to burst? I mean, when I Googled what could be happening, there were a lot of possibilities. If Google can think outside the box, why can't the doctors? So, if I don't have a severed finger or broken leg, who is going to help me? Who do we turn to? I'm not trying to convince myself I have some crazy disease, I'm just saying, I don't want to be sitting here with aforementioned terminal disease saying, "if only they had detected it earlier, they could have saved me...." You know? I'm just saying. Who's the guy we go to that actually cares? The guy that is willing to to think about what is going on? I mean, if Google could come up with so many possibilities, why can't my doctor say, "you know what, you're probably not turning into a blob, let's look a little deeper." That's all I'm asking. Is that so much?
So, that's pretty much where I'm at. The pain has lessened since Monday, but I might still be dying. Some suggested I might have Shingles, but not sores have appeared and I don't have fever or flu-like symptoms, so I'm just assuming what I am experiencing falls under the general category of "broken." A word I am familiar with.
I mean, I'm not a doctor, but if I had a stethoscope, I could be. I can poke you in the ribs and ask if it hurts, too. I'll print out a certificate and hang it on the wall to make it official.
On that note, happy Saturday my friends. I hope none of you have a need to go to the doctor. Just know that we are all one day closer to death each day anyway. It's just going to be fast-forward for some folks and the doctors don't know why that is...
So, Monday morning, I'm at work and I was having a lot of pain in my back that radiated through to my front just under my bra line on the right side. It was a very intense pain. I have had gall bladder pains before, but this didn't seem like that. It had been hurting since the Thursday prior and I had been taking ibuprofen, muscle relaxers and putting some heat gel on on it. Nothing was really helping and it was getting worse. My boss was like, "you need to get that checked out, it could be serious." I immediately was like, "the doctor isn't going to know what's going on, it's a waste of time."
Fast forward to a couple hours later. I arrive at the walk-in clinic and decide I don't know how long it will be to wait, so I go to the bathroom first before checking in. I check-in and they advise there is no wait. This is practically a miracle. Never happens. So, I first go to the "triage" person. He asks me a million annoying questions, some of them multiple times. Doesn't anyone freaking listen anymore? He informs me they need a urine sample. Mother Trucker. I told him, "I just went." He says, no big deal, they only need like 10 drops. Dude, what if there are not drops to give? He seems unconcerned, "There's a water fountain over there if you need it." Sigh. I head over to the bathroom with my cup. Now, I have nylons and a dress on, this is no easy challenge to straddle the damn toilet shoving a cup up there keeping your dress out of the way. And, men might not understand this, but as a woman, you don't know where that stream is gonna go. You could have the cup perfectly positioned (in your mind) and then you drop liquid gold behind it. It's complicated. So, there I am, straddling and contorted and the bastards in the lab on the other side of the wall keep checking the collection thing that is right next to the toilet. Like every 30 seconds the door opens and closes. Look asshole, I'm pushing so hard you might actually get a piece of organ rather than any liquids, so get off my case. So freaking annoying. Long story long, I finally produced the gold they were looking for. I mean, I don't know if it was 10 drops, but it was all they were going to get. I had to produce it from future water that I might drink later, you know? It was a serious effort.
I clean up and head down the hall when a medical assistant waves me in to one of the rooms. She proceeds to ask me all the same questions that the triage he-bitch asked. Seriously, the he-bitch seemed to be typing, does the system not update? After that agony, she leaves and here comes the doctor. Joy. I tell my story a third time and show him where it hurts. Now, I'm wearing a dress and a little jean jacket. No one has asked me to take it off. Don't you think maybe we should check me out? So, I said, "Should I take this jacket off?" He's like, "ok." It's like having sex, "So, did you want me to get naked...or...?" Anyway, he pokes around my ribs, "does this hurt?....how about here?....here?" He listens to my heart, which if you ask me is just something they do to look like a doctor. Like, in medical school, there is a whole course on just listening to the heart. "Oh, your finger seems to be severed, let's take a listen to that heart to rule out heart failure..."
So, now we are to the part where the doctor has come to the best conclusion he can come to. I'm bracing for it. He says, "Well, I think what is happening is because you are an admin and sit all day, that you have slouched and your ribs are pressing against your hip bones and you have bruised your ribs." I sat there, blinking. Not totally surprised, but still feeling like I lucked out and got the biggest moron this place employs I mean, what do I do with that diagnosis? I knew there was no point to press the situation. The doctor then checked his computer and says, "Well, your pee looks fantastic, if that's any consolation. So, we can rule out kidney or UTI." Well, I've finally done something right because no one has ever told me I had fantastic pee before. I could leave there walking a little taller, a little more proud. Indeed. The good doc provided me a prescription for some muscle relaxers (and a pain pill that I would later find out at the pharmacy they don't even make anymore) and said there really is nothing I could do except wait it out and to sit taller in my chair. I said, "Should I ice it or put heat on it?" He said, "Well, ice...wow, I mean, that would be cold. Yeah, I would only do heat." Which is pretty much opposite of what the chiropractor says. The doc went on, "you really only want to use ice if you have an injury, like your ankle is broken." Okay then.
I don't really know how the ribs right under my bra line are rubbing against my hip bones. I haven't done anything that I am aware of to injure myself or strain that area. No, it isn't a sex injury. I would definitely walk a little taller if that were the case. So, there it is, my diagnosis. Modern medical miracles happen everyday and what I am experiencing is the fact that I have gotten so fat that my upper body is crushing into the lower half. I'm basically turning into Jabba the Hut. In a nutshell. I don't know what the medical term for that is, but it might be "Blobitis."
I left the doctor frustrated. I mean, what if something serious is happening? How would we know? What if I have gall bladder cancer or some other highly difficult to detect disease? What if one of my internal organs is about to burst? I mean, when I Googled what could be happening, there were a lot of possibilities. If Google can think outside the box, why can't the doctors? So, if I don't have a severed finger or broken leg, who is going to help me? Who do we turn to? I'm not trying to convince myself I have some crazy disease, I'm just saying, I don't want to be sitting here with aforementioned terminal disease saying, "if only they had detected it earlier, they could have saved me...." You know? I'm just saying. Who's the guy we go to that actually cares? The guy that is willing to to think about what is going on? I mean, if Google could come up with so many possibilities, why can't my doctor say, "you know what, you're probably not turning into a blob, let's look a little deeper." That's all I'm asking. Is that so much?
- Synonyms for blob
- lump, chunk, clod, clot, clump, dollop, glob, gob, gobbet, hunk, knob, nub, nubble, nugget, wad
So, that's pretty much where I'm at. The pain has lessened since Monday, but I might still be dying. Some suggested I might have Shingles, but not sores have appeared and I don't have fever or flu-like symptoms, so I'm just assuming what I am experiencing falls under the general category of "broken." A word I am familiar with.
I mean, I'm not a doctor, but if I had a stethoscope, I could be. I can poke you in the ribs and ask if it hurts, too. I'll print out a certificate and hang it on the wall to make it official.
On that note, happy Saturday my friends. I hope none of you have a need to go to the doctor. Just know that we are all one day closer to death each day anyway. It's just going to be fast-forward for some folks and the doctors don't know why that is...
