I freaking hate Cephalexin.
That’s the antibiotic my dermatologist put me on yesterday, and I hate it because it kills my appetite like a bullet to its forebrain.
Specifically, it makes me feel like i have a gut full of cold gravy. Just this big football shaped mass of glutinous gravy sitting there taking up space and radiating a dark kind of quiet menace, like a hidden void in space.
And that’s really irritating, because obviously, I’ve still gotta eat. And I generally take my pills with my meals. But that’s a tad complicated when one of those pills makes me feel like I swallowed a gallon of suet.
So now i have to plan my meals so that I take the pill when I am DONE eating. That way, loss of appetite is no big deal.
It is, in fact, mildly desirable.
I mean, you’re supposed to feel full when you’re done eating. Right?
Went to my biweekly appointment with Doctor Chao, my family doctor. Told him about that ache in my lower right abdomen that gets worse when I finish urinating.
He ordered a bunch of urine tests and a CT scan of the area. Apparently the ultrasound I got was good for things like my hernia but not good for detecting deeper things like appendicitis or diverticulitis.
Re : possible appendicitis, he told me to be sure to get my ass to the ER pronto if the pain gets way worse all of a sudden.
Probably didn’t need to be told that, but it helps nonetheless.
I am the sort of person who might well die of indecision. Having his voice telling me to go in my head might well save my life.
I’m glad I finally told him about that because it’s been getting worse and quite frankly has me worried. It’s a problem I have had for ages but at a very mild level – just a little twinge followed by soreness when I finished urinating.
But now it’s a hard pain and an aching soreness that makes me feel like I have a big rock sitting on my liver.
And that’s a possibility too – that it’s bladder stone. The whole male side of the Island side of my family tree has a history of stones – bladder, kidney, gall, etc.
And patient readers know that I once had a gall stone so bad that they had to take out my entire gall bladder – and it was almost bigger than the gall bladder itself.
So it being some kind of stone, probably a bladder stone, is my best guess right now. And hopefully, if that’s the case, it’s the kind of thing that can be taken care of by shattering it with ultrasound.
Handy stuff, that ultrasound.
But if surgery proves necessary, I hope I get a competent fucking surgeon this time and not one like that hack that took out my gall bladder.
He was so incompetent that what should have been a quick laproscopic job followed by a day or two in recovery turned into a three hour surgery where he split me up the middle like he was gutting a fish followed by eight days in recovery.
And the recovery was at Royal Columbian too, and that place sucks. I was mistreated by the staff on a daily basis. Left without pain meds, nobody willing to give me my desperately needed enema, I could go on and on.
Worst thing is, I was so incredibly depressed after the operation (because they never gave me my antidepressants when I was in there either) that when the surgeon summoned me to his office to discuss what had gone wrong, I just told him everything was cool and that I was not going to sue or everything.
I would not do that today.
I would take that motherfucker for everything.
Because I am through with being treated as less than human by the health care system because I’m I big fat ox.
Next time they try that shit, I am going to hit them like a lead missile to the forehead.
And they will pay.
More after the break.
On the other side from you
Did the therapy thing today, eventually.
There were some logistical hiccups too boring to relate.
Started off in a jocular vein but pretty soon I was venting my despair. Talking about how I felt like I was doomed because I was not only too sick to help myself, I was too sick to keep myself from getting even sicker.
I mean, you don’t have to be Joseph Heller to see what a Catch-22 that is. The only future I see for myself is one where my involuntary self-neglect lets my diabetes continue to destroy me until I end up in the hospital for good before one day it all catches up to me big time and I die a stupid, pointless, messy, lonely death.
But ya know, I try to stay positive.
I say these terrible things because that’s exactly how I feel. But I also say them because I am trying to galvanize myself into action by hooking the electrodes to the parts of me that should be scared and upset and even mad at my situation then running a million volts through the wires.
But like I said to my useless therapist today, there’s no point running all that juice through dead flesh. It isn’t going to bring it back to life. I am never going to get the emotions I want that way.
Because deep down, I just don’t give a shit. Let death come for me, if it cares enough to bother. I’m done with living.
I was never any good at it anyway.
I will do what my doctors tell me. I will pro forma try to stay alive.
But my heart’s not in it. A big part of me is just waiting to die, like I was 77 instead of 47 and this is my hospice period.
Maybe it just hasn’t gotten scary and/or horrifying and/or painful and/or gross for me yet. Maybe if something bad enough occurs, it will wake up my survival instinct and I will have the will to fight to stay alive.
But if not, whatever.
Honestly, I could go either way.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.