Your Favorite Medical Drama

 Yo, what up, shortie? It's me, your favorite blogger-slacker! I, of course, didn't feel like writing on December 31st (or any of the other 11 days afterward), so you did not get to read an insightful, awe-inspiring, end-of-the-year message from me, and at this point, it seems kind of pointless to do so.

Look, 2023 was another one of those years where I just kept saying, "Yikes" over and over again. I finally decided to give into my hypochondriac fever dreams and schedule ALL THE MEDICAL THINGS, to the dismay of my mother, who said, "Well, if you go on digging, you're going to end up finding." Kind of the point, madam. Naturally, I found out some of the things I was worried about were unfounded, while other things I had not even thought about were like OOP, HERE WE ARE.

Let me give you a rundown:

1. Like every hot girl in this world (LOL), I suffer from tummy issues. Specifically, the lower tummy part--me guts, mis tripas (that means tripe, sorry not sorry). These issues are pretty severe, to the point where they interfere with my daily life if I'm not careful about my food. So, imagine my surprise when I get a colonoscopy and the doctor shows me pictures of the most PRISTINE, FLAWLESS, YOUTHFUL COLON. My colon. Looked like a feckin' German tunnel, or a brand new plastic straw, or a pool noodle that hasn't spent a day in the sun. Mate, how? 

2. Nursing school left me convinced that I had an autoimmune disease. The hair loss, the weight gain, the weird hives that lasted for weeks. So imagine my surprise when I go to the rheumatologist and he spends 15 minutes with me and blurts out, "Well, you have fibromyalgia." Who? Huh?

But then the follow-up reveals that, sure, I have fibromyalgia, AND arthritis in my spine, but no actual autoimmune disease (because my tests were a "false positive" because the doctor said so, eyeroll). 

3. So I already knew I had arthritis in my knees, but lately, it feels like other things hurt A LOT MORE than my knees. Like, my back, which is precariously held together by my lack of mobility and flexibility... or my hip joint, which I am convinced is now just a collection of river stones rattling around inside a worn-off, empty Osarka plastic bottle (you know how crunchy they get). Like, shit isn't right in there. I know it. But the problem is... ORTHOBROS!

Let me briefly explain: orthopedic doctors are the Chads of medicine. They're the Jason Mendozas (The Good Place) of healthcare. They think very highly of themselves, but definitely aren't attuned to the needs of their patients, nor are they knowledgeable when it comes to other body systems.  In short, they just like breaking ya bones, foo. 

Jason Mendoza Wisdom

So every single time I go to the ortho doctor, he tells me to rest, take advil, and ice mah joints. Which, how? And also, all of them? At the same time?

The last time I was in there, I finally got him to give me a steroid injection directly into my hip joint, which, firstly, OUCH, and secondly, H*LY F*** THAT HURT FOR A WEEK. I had to use a foam donut to sit down. People thought I had hemorrhoids, ya'll... and we know my colon is immaculate, so that's not even fair. When the big ass bruise and the soreness subsided, I was only pain-free in my hip for roughly two weeks. Now the pain is back, badder than ever, and I'm supposed to somehow do physical therapy and also my hot girl walks for my mental health, AND ALSO WORK 12-HOUR SHIFTS ON MY FEET. 

4. All these joint problems/mobility issues seemed to get worse when I started an exercise program that involved skinny people moves (I should have known better). But my joints weren't the only thing that suffered. Imagine my surprise when my heart rate would get anywhere over 120 or 130, and I started SUFFOCATING. As in, coughing, wheezing, having a runny nose and a lump in my throat, and phlegm ready to come flying out of my mouth (TMI, my bad). I've never been the best at breathing--at the peak of my athletic career, I was notorious for getting a purple tinge over my face when the cardio got a bit much. But nothing could have prepared me for a pulmonologist telling me I have asthma. At 36 years of age, lads.

And then sending me off to a sleep study and a lung capacity study only to find out that, I also kind of low-key die in my sleep every night... which would explain why I am always so DAMN TIRED. But the lung capacity exam turned out to be normal, so I guess these boobs are good for something.

speaking of jokes, ^^^

So now here I am, with two inhalers, a CPAP machine, an assortment of pills for different aches, and a squeaky clean colon.

5. OH AND I WEAR GLASSES NOW TOO. BECAUSE OF COURSE I DO.

And look, I know that glasses are hot now, and nerds are beloved and cherished in popular culture now. but I just LOOK smart... that's it, man. It's deception, it's catfishing. I have to keep reminding myself that they are transparent eyeglasses and not dark sunglasses and that people can see me staring at them. 

6. Oh, and did I mention I had a tiny cancer scare? YUP. Went to the dermatologist for my one million moles, and, let's be real, the probability of one of those moles being a bit wonky was pretty reasonable. Sure enough, ended up having a biopsy on a particularly wonky one, and having to wait a week for the doctor to tell me, "Well, it wasn't a normal mole per se... but it ain't cancer, so you're good." Good? Tell that to the big ole hole in my back now (and the subsequent BLOOD-CHILLINGLY UGLY SCAR). On a for real note, though, I am so grateful it was a false alarm.

And now I am terrified, dear reader, because I still have several more appointments to check other things, like my ginormous goiter, my dysfunctional pee pee bag and pee pee tubing, my cholesterol, and suspicious hemoglobin A1C. What will become of me???? It's barely day 11 of this year and I've already had a concussion on the fourth day of this year for which I spent a night in the emergency room (I know, WTF) and COVID. Freaking covid.

What's next, Count Choculitis? (Don't tell my haters, they might add it to the list)

I realize I am the luckiest gal for even being alive. But do send thoughts and prayers and if you open a GoFundMe for my birthday this year, I won't be mad. These medical bills do add up. Plus my brain is still broken so the cuckoo meds are still being consumed--and the psychiatrist and therapist are still being seen.

Anyway, Happy New Year, reader! Hope yours started better than mine and that mine keeps yours in perspective. Hope your body is not a Kia after 100K, like mine is! Cheers!