Welly McWellpants

It’s probably not a real surprise to hear that when I write anything — anything — I absolutely hate coming up with a headline or title. Probably my favorite title for a piece was a line I lifted from Sojourner Truth, and I’m not sure that necessarily counts. So… sue me. No, really, don’t. You’ll come out owing.

Now. Eddie, the local neuro, was supposed to call last week. I mean, we called and he told his office admins that he’d call by the end of the week. He said this Thursday. I also understand that in my case, when I say “by the end of the week” I actually think it’s Wednesday, regardless of what day it truly is. I am pretty sure I am not alone in this case.

I suspect this means that MGH sent more than a ream of paper via fax suggesting, over and over, that we all go get bent. I don’t know, maybe Eddie is a slow reader, maybe there are things he’s trying to line up, maybe he just never got around to it. I don’t know. That’s the pisser. If he’d called, I’d at least know that.

I am trying to track him down today, with the idea that I need to know at the very least the basic wavelengths we’re on… I suspect the strongest suspect is still a form of histiocytosis, but I believe the MGH folks when they said they were going to sit and mull it over and pinpoint as best they could any other likely suspects. It will save time in the long run. I know it takes time, I know that they are trying as well, and I know that none of that is unreasonable — except that it’s all completely unreasonable to live with.

It’s funny because things just keep rolling in and out as they have always done, just worse and worse and worse and it’s odd because there are things now that are obviously very connected to the situation that started years ago and I never really noticed. Mostly the skin stuff, and the runny nose (that isn’t sinusy. It’s hard to explain) and ears that feel like they are leaking battery acid, but are never infected.

There are things that are just rough getting used to… Really, I tend to like weight on me… well, more than I have. I know it doesn’t look horrible, but for the mutant lymph nodes. But it doesn’t look good either. And it doesn’t look like me. And it’s weird as hell to know that I have both an upper and lower line in pant size that I don’t want to cross. I am crossing the lower end. It pisses me off, because I’ll buy pants and wear them a few times and then, at least at this size, hopefully never again… But crap, I wanna spend money on fun stuff. Sorry. Pants aren’t fun. Pants are just pants — whatever the hell kids mean when they say something is pants.

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