I think that in addition to somehow magically aquiring a respiratory virus over the internet from Lildb at I Obsess last week, I have also managed to contract Bloggeritis from the lovely Ms. Sweatpants Mom. You know, that paralytic disease that somehow disconnects your fingers from your brain when you sit in front of a computer, rendering you completely unable to use the "Publish Post" button? Yeah . . . that one.
Or, actually, come to think of it, it's more likely that she caught it from me, being that I seem to have been suffering from bouts of Bloggeritis every couple of weeks for like three months now.
Anyway, this morning I went to the doctor. Not because of the flu (which is all better now-- thanks for the well wishes) or for Bloggeritis (because, sadly, the medical establishment has, tragically, not yet committed nearly enough resources to studying the epidemic of made-up virtual diseases plaguing unfortunates such as myself).
No, this was for a regular checkup. And . . . my two-years-overdue tetanus booster. Now can't move my right arm more than like two inches. But I can henceforth live dangerously once more, and garden without gloves. Ah, the power of preventative medicine.
While my doctor was confirming that I am not 1.) pregnant 2.) smoking crack 3.) dying of any serious disease, he asked me about my mysterious chronic left-side abdominal pain.
What, Jaelithe? You have mysterious chronic left-side abdominal pain?
Why, yes, yes I do. In fact, I have had mysterious chronic left-side abdominal pain for one year, one month and two weeks now. Have I not mentioned this to you before, dear readers?
Oh, right, I haven't.
Well, maybe that's because originally my doctor had been attributing it to a problem I have with recurring ovarian cysts (which I have previously mentioned).
Or maybe mysterious yet-to-be-diagnosed chronic abominal pain SCARES THE CRAP OUT OF ME, which is why I don't write about it. Out of blog, out of mind.
Anyway, several elaborate and/or invasive medical tests have been perpetrated upon my unfortunate person over the past year, which have led to several conclusions about what the pain is not. It is not:
1.) Colon cancer
2.) Stomach cancer
3.) Intestinal parasites
4.) Irritable bowel syndrome
5.) Ectopic pregnancy
6.) Ovarian cancer
7.) Uterine cancer
8.) Fibroids
9.) Pancreatitis
10.) Pancreatic cancer
Having ruled all those things out, my doctor seems to have concluded the problem is chronic inflammation of certain muscles and tendons in my abdomen and pelvis, possibly originating from undetected muscle tears during pregnancy, possibly exacerbated by adhesions or scar tissue from a previous surgery.
So, today, my doctor gave me a prescription for a ten-day course of anti-inflammatories, ordered me to call a physical therapist despite the fact that my health insurance is currently in company buyout-limbo (which has been my excuse for not calling a physical therapist for the past two months, but he told me he will call two different insurance companies himself and harass them for me if there are any problems), and, get this:
Told me to rest for the next ten days. Take it easy, don't do housework, pick up child as little as possible.
REST? For ten DAYS?
Ha ha . . .
Yeah, doc, I'll just pencil MANDATORY MEDICAL VACATION in on my calendar, and then I'll call in my two nannies to watch my two-year-old around the clock, my cook to make dinner for my husband and myself each night AND make a separate meal for my picky son, and, oh, I musn't forget to call my male maid from Puerto Rico, who scrubs floors in the nude.
Somehow I think I will be having mysterious abdominal pain for at least the next five years . . .
But this is a great opportunity to force my husband to cook dinner and wash the dishes while I catch up on my blog writing, eh? Now I have no excuses whatsoever not to spend my days regaling all you beautiful people with endless musings about musings about my own narcissistic navel-gazing. Sweet.
(P.S., everybody-- BTW, I got a Perfect Post Award for this post while I was hiding from my computer! I guess it's only fair now if I jump on the Perfect Post Award-giving bandwagon next month. So write well, friends!)
8 comments:
Aw, man. That sucks and is awesome all at the same time. I hope you figure out the insurance rackett and get what you need soon. And the hubs stepping up to the plate? Maybe you can give him the same sort of cooking opinions he gives you, sort of turn the tables so he knows that a "meh" isn't much of an indication of satisfaction with dinner. In the meantime, try (I know it's impossible to completely do) to follow the doctor's advice and take care of yourself. You are allowed to, now and then.
If you need anything, let me know.
oh. am I ever relieved. I was on the verge of contacting Andrea to determine whether we could, through her, deliver succor to your apparently in-dire-distress self. seriously. I was thinking about it this morning when the kid woke up crying at four or whatever, and after he fell back to sleep, I couldn't and was staring at the wall and thinking, "I wonder how I can, without Jaelithe's address, get her a care package?"
isn't that easy to say, since I didn't actually do it? yeah. it is.
but I would've, if I'd had your address.
I'm glad you're gonna be forced to get some rest.
here's a hug for the road. *squeeeeze*
I put off having my wisdom teeth out for YEARS due to the "no pick up child" edict. As fucking if. I also laughed at the doctor who suggested that I have my deviated septum repaired and that I would only be out of commission for "two weeks or so"
Dude. This whole carnival of fools would burst into flame, and I don't have an overly special view of my skills. Just realistic.
I once had a similar series of "pains". They kept rushing me into things scared that I was having an ectopic pregnancy. That was my first, but not last, intimate experience with the vaginal ultrasound....
The bloggeritis will pass, with time and liqour.
Congrats on the perfect post. Yeay You!
And I hope the meds help. And if it doesn't maybe you SHOULD hired a hot looking man to scrub your floors in the nude. All in the name of health, of course. heehee
Here's hoping the anti-inflammatories cure what ails you, with or without the ten days of lolling on the couch while the babe entertains himself happily and independently.
And if there's a cure for bloggeritis, get a hold of it! Because nothing fills me with greater anticipation than when Bloglines notifies me that there's another post up at The State of Discontent.
Remember, it's also not ebola.
Ebola would suck so I'm really glad you don't have that.
It's also not Mad Cow.
J,
You're an incredible writer with strength of vision and wit and poise, and I hope that I could get there someday. Not holding my breath though. Congrats on the award, which was very much deserved, and heres hoping we can get Cammy and you boy together for some play dates. Also, about you copy-editing...how can I be down...
Benticore
Out
It's also not your gallbladder. Regardless, get the scantily clad (if clad at all) floor guy, and while you're at it, find a Swedish masseur named Hans to work over your left side. Just relax and take it easy, as much as possible. A year in pain is a year too long.
Post a Comment