Well today’s been a galloping pile of heavy duty horse crap.

Woke up feeling quite crappy. Trouble breathing, heart beating hard, a terrible chill pervading my every tissue, aches and pains everywhere, and nausea.

There’s always nausea.

Well shit, I thought. But I was going to be going to the hospital for my IV antibiotics shortly, so I decided to wait till I had that done and see how I felt.

I told the nurses at Ambulatory I was having trouble breathing. They were completely unhelpful and unsympathetic. Told me it was not their department and that I would have to go to Emergency if I wanted help.

Jesus, I know it’s not your department, but would it have killed you to at least pretend that you gave a shit whether I lived or died?

I’m still processing that. Major, major loss of respect for those ladies.

So I humped it over to Emerge less than a week after going there for my back. They too seemed to lack all sense of urgency despite the severity of my symptoms.

By this point, I was shivering from the biting cold gnawing at my bones and I was so weak and dizzy I could barely make it down the hall to my bed.

Is there just something about me that says, “Not important, don’t pay attention, feel free to ignore unless actively on fire”?

Because that would fit my background.

Anyhow, the usual sorts of waiting and being probed and such went down. I felt quite miserable as my case slowly made it through the digestive system of RGH,

Of course, in the end, they couldn’t find a single thing wrong with me.

How is that possible? There’s several possibilities.

a) I have something obscure and bizarre wrong with me that does not show up on the usual sorts of tests they do in this kind of situation. This is, thankfully, unlikely, but my latent hypochondria insists I include it. I am not sure what could dodge three rounds of bloodwork, chest X-rays, three ECGs, and various other tests, and I hope I never have to find out.

And yet I still feel like crap. So I have to check the other possibility :

b) Psychosomatic illness strikes again. This is superficially plausible and fits the facts but it doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe my subconscious mind is putting on an elaborate show to keep me from having to deal with…. um, the very illness it’s making up?

So honestly I have no idea. Guess I am just fucked.

Oh, and the kicker? Fell down getting out of the cab AGAIN.

This time I landed on my knees, Thank god they did not go boom. But I am all sore from knees to nipple now.

And I have to battle my way through a bunch of neurotic BS about breathing again.

Seriously, fuck my fucking life.

More after the break.

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Oh yeah, my nuts

My balls are still all tender and swollen. Which is no fun.

Wish there was a way to relieve the pressure that didn’t require me to masturbate to conclusion. That’s something that, due to antidepressants and general poor health, I have difficulty doing even without my nutsack being all bloated and sensitive.

Maybe I need one of those electro-ejaculators they use on bulls and stallions. To get a semen sample, they stick an electrode up their butts and deliver an electric zap directly to their prostates to make them cum.

Seems like a dirty rotten trick to me. At least buy them dinner first!

And just in general, I feel ill. Like there is a phantom weight pressing down on me from all angles at once. And my heart does not enjoy that.

I have this subtle tremble going on all the time. It really undermines my sense of security. You’d think I had a profound shock of some sort.

Nope. Just lived another day of my current life.

Oh, and I have zero appetite. Which is particularly ironic because after I got back from the hospital, I had one of my worst run-ins with the Demon Hunger ever.

I am talking intense hunger pangs that forced me to stop whatever I was doing until they passed. I don’t know if that’s what starvation is like but I would not be surprised.

Made getting some insulin into me all the trickier. As patient readers know, that’s the cure. The demonic hunger comes from my level of insulin response falling to critically low levels, causing my cells to start starving.

It’s nearly impossible to cure by eating. I’ve eaten big hearty meals while in that state and had them barely put the smallest of dents in the raging void in my gut.

I guess that’s one way to get me to take my insulin. Harsh, but fair.

Sooner or later, I am going to have to face this whole conundrum of how I keep feeling like day-old shit while apparently having nothing actually wrong with me.

Right now I am leaning towards the “something not caught on standard tests” side of the equation. Which sucks because not only does it mean I am actually well and truly sick, it also means that it’s up to me to figure out how to get the medical establishment to do whatever it has to do to figure out what is actually wrong with me.

I am so fucking sick of doing their job for them. My job as patient is to show up and do what I am told without complaining or being difficult.

I should not have to do the investigative science too.

I mean, the doctor at the ER agreed that I needed to come in today given how I felt and my history of cardio issues and underlying conditions and so on.

And I am getting a grip on my highly maladaptive fear of wasting people’s time and resources on what turns out to be “nothing”. I did what I am supposed to do.

But I still would rather not have put myself through all that.

But what could I do? I felt so bad.

Let’s hope I can make it a week before I land in the ER again this time,.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.