First off, I just want to say, fuck you to all my fellow bloggers who’ve continued to write and produce shit while I’ve pissed away the weeks eating garbage then shamed myself into gym workouts that launch me directly into early arthritis.
I’ve spent the last month with a mysterious hip/groin pain that I subsequently self-diagnosed as a hernia. This seemed too direct and logical, so I did some internet research. I deduced it was either cervical cancer or a rare bone marrow disorder. I love the internet.
Never once did I stop at, You may need to stretch or Are you taking enough vitamins? Nope. I shot directly past those bitches to: You are dying, make some plans, hoe. I turned around after crossing the line of reason; Logic stood there waving at me, embarrassed, with its head in its hand and said, “I cannot believe they let this twat on the Google.”
I made an appointment with my primary care. She did the whole thing with the blood-work, and the cervical, and the xray. I did find it a little unnerving that she asked if it was OK to use the small speculum for my exam. No. If you could please locate the jumbo speculum, that would be great. If we need to get a forklift to hoist that thing into my vagina, I completely understand. My pussy is kind of a big deal, I want this to be extravagant – no small pap parties for this gal!
Don’t worry, everything came back normal and in the interest of keeping everything where it should be down there, I let her go ahead and use the small instrument. No sense in turning my vagina into the elastic band on a blown out pair of gym socks.
But, if it’s not cancer or some rare bone marrow disorder, what the fuck is wrong with my hip?
After reviewing the x-rays, it was apparent that I had mild arthritis. I’m 39 – she had to be kidding. This is mild? Bitch, I can’t walk without pain when I get up to piss in the middle of the night. This is progressive, is it not? Am I going to be in a wheelchair by the time I’m 50? This is bullshit!
It doesn’t help that I’m constantly trying to keep pace with this 20 yr. old goddess at the gym who frequently runs on the treadmill next me. She’s probably in the best physical shape of her taut, perfect life. I, on the other hand, am hyperventilating. Wheezing. I am 20 years her senior, have at least 30 lbs. on her, and am behind her by almost a full minute. This is depressing. She glides. I choke on my own snot. There’s no saliva left in my mouth, just sweat and snot.
I guess I’m supposed to start taking better care of myself? What does that entail? Am I supposed to start taking vitamins, begin drinking Ensure, wearing orthopedic shoes, carrying IcyHot in my purse? What does all of this mean? Should I just sign up for Publishers Clearinghouse now? Does Denny’s have a punch card? I liked the idea of a near terminal illness better. What would my odds be at getting on a live sports event recording? Would I get to meet the players?
OK, that was kinda sorta fucked up. Moving on.
This was a brief check-in. Come back later for the story of my trip to the Bay Area and how we managed more than 800 miles on fucked up tires (seriously, there were nails in them) and all the other bullshit since then.