Random potatoes

Friday. Well, it’s Thursday. I’m lucky enough in America to be able to take days off. I remember jobs I couldn’t do that. I remember jobs where I’d take all the holidays because it was one and a half times pay plus, I had no friends, so working a holiday meant nothing. It was no different than another day. Back when I was healthy. These days. I should be able to take a day off until they find out what’s wrong with me. But it’s America. We don’t do that. We rip new assholes for people who look normal but can barely function. And we praise rich ass assholes who have none of the work ethic I’ve had over my entire life.

So I’m supposed to be packing about shit doctors but it’s my Friday and, oh, this is easy.

I’d been going in to my primary for years, hoping she’d make sense of what was going on with me. I only see that in retrospect. She didn’t care. She’d tell me my vitamin D was too low and order that to me. Over and over and over and over again. So what I remember I was in talking about my knees and about the spread of the symptoms slowly to other joints and the outcome of the meeting was nothing. Well, almost nothing. Exactly at the end of the appointment, as I was walking out, she handed me a piece of paper. If you read my previous post you should know what I’m talking about. It was something that looked like it had been photocopied a hundred times. “You have diverticula,” she said. “What’s that?” I asked. “Look at the shitty print out,” she responded.

Well, the last bit I made up. She didn’t say that. But it’s accurate to what happened. I was in my early thirties. I should not have had divtrticulity. I was too young. But who cares, right?

I’m not going to explain what that is. You have Google, for Christ’s sake. But it’s something that could potentially cause all the symptoms I’ve been having for twenty years, and I only get to see someone next month about—again. My point here is I was going to my doc for years, going way downhill, so bad that they’re throwing pain killers left and right at me (which they’d never do today because of fucking lawyers), and all I get is, “Oh, by the way.”

So the moral is, doctor’s suck. And I’m looking for a sunny day.

Going to the corner,


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