I have had this problem since pretty
much the beginning of October where I am unable to consume real food. My diet has consisted of mostly cold cereal
for two months. Any deviation from this
plan makes me horribly nauseated and I spend most of the rest of the day
praying that death will take me. Bright
side: I have lost 10 lbs thanks to my
new Carbs Only diet. Down side: I am
downright sick of this shit.
At first I thought I hoped it was a
bug, because my only other choice… was not worth thinking about. Unfortunately television says that any
stomach upset, headache, weird food craving or backache means an unwanted pregnancy,
and I could not help leaping to the worse possible conclusions. I have hysterical pregnancies all the time but mostly when I am in relationships that I know are not going anywhere
and I dread the idea of being tied to a moron forever by my being in the .01%
of women who are failed by The Pill. My
current Boy does not fall under such a category, but we are nowhere near the
kid stage, so I went ahead and panicked anyway.
As in all other times of deepest crisis, I called my BFF Meredith hoping
she would talk me out of my paranoia. Instead,
she told me to take a pregnancy test. Damnit.
If that is not the longest three
minutes in the universe, I don’t know what else could be. Both tests I took were negatory
(thankyouGodthankyouthankyou) but that left me with endless queasiness and
again, the inability to eat more than Rice Checks three meals a day. And also the nagging doubt that a pregnancy
test from the Dollar Tree may not be as accurate as the box claimed… In an effort to comfort me with my anxiety,
Meredith sent me this hilarious link that gives you helpful tips to know if you
are pregnant or not. Give it a looksee:
Since I don’t match the criteria
exactly (although it is not unheard of me to spontaneously want to make 18 deviled
eggs at 3AM), I must look for a new explanation for why my internal organs are
forming a coup against me.
Yesterday’s
appallingly stupid attempt to eat a full Thanksgiving dinner and my resultant
13 hour bout of misery and self loathing (Note: writhing in pain is great for
the abs!) has led me to lean toward a more dramatic conclusion- stomach
cancer. Extreme, I know, but let me tell
you why. I have been to the hospital 10
times over my short 24 years of existence for various ailments and tragedies,
including asthma, broken bones, tonsillectomies, wisdom teeth extraction,
surgery, etc. The odd thing is not so
much the frequency at which I find myself sitting on a gurney with a hose in my
arm, but the fact that I have only ever had to go to the hospital in the month
of November. Period! I dread the entire month and spend most of my
days trying not to step on slippery surfaces or be in a moving vehicle until
the month has passed. My most vivid
Thanksgiving memories are of my family callously cooking a lavish traditional
dinner while I lie on the couch staring disconsolately at my Campbells Chicken
and Star soup, which is all that the lingering effects of the anesthesia will
let me sip on without throwing up.
So
knowing my medical history as I do, I refuse to go to a doctor until November
is over. With my luck, if I see someone
before December 1, my diagnosis will be stomach cancer requiring the immediate
removal of all my lovely insides. After
that date, my diagnosis is much more likely to be something harmless, like
persistent indigestion. In the meantime,
I plan to watch marathons of House or Grey’s Anatomy to see if they spark even
more exciting ideas for self-diagnosis.
Hey, at least it’s not Web MD!
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