You know what I'm getting tired of? Writing that first post after a long time off. It always feels necessary to give you all an update, which you can probably tell for yourself if you follow me on social media. But here we are again. Welcome back!
I'm on short term disability from work right now due to a horrible illness that I was hoping to never deal with again. What happens is, I feel nauseous, and it gets worse and worse until I puke. And then I puke again. And again, and by now I have a horrible pain jabbing through my stomach and to my back. And it's relentless. It goes on for days, and I usually go to the ER three times before they take me seriously and admit me until the sickness is over. It usually takes a lot of Zofran and morphine to do the trick. I was told that if I quit drinking, I would never get sick like that again.
Lo! and behold! The doctors were wrong. I'm dry, and I'm still going through this shit. So now I've been thinking about drinking again. If it doesn't matter, why not? Well, there's still the Fear. You could probably put a shot of Wild Turkey 101--hell, Booker's!--in front of me, and I wouldn't take it.
(The Pappy might be a different story. That's a once in a lifetime drink for someone as dirt poor as me.)
I probably won't, but that's what's been on my mind.
Then there's the thing about stepping in glass. I saw my podiatrist, and he said that there's still a hole there. He shaved off a callus and showed me. Just because dead skin grew over the hole doesn't mean it's fixed. So I still have that to fucking plague me. I've been sleeping badly because of it. I keep dreaming about my left leg getting amputated just below the knee. Not fun. Especially since . . .
. . . I've started a series of four spinal injections. They're being administered by the pain clinic. The first was for my bad foot, and the other three are for my back. Oh yeah, I have arthritis in my back now. At any rate, the injection for my foot just kicked in today, and I can walk without feeling pain! For the first time in years! It would be a shame to lose that foot now that I've figured out a way to kill that pain.
My hand surgery went well. I no longer have trigger finger in either hand, and now that the stitches are out, I'm back to typing, which means I'm back to work writing. Which means Good Morning, Fuckers! is going to be new on Sunday. Even better, the middle finger on my right hand no longer sticks, so I can flip people the double-bird again!
I have an appointment with my regular doctor tomorrow so I can schedule my return to work. I think I'll be back on 2/26. There are still a lot of tests to do, including a stomach emptying study in which I'll eat radioactive egg whites and get x-rayed a few times to see how fast it moves through me. Because my gastroenterologist says I *don't* have gastroparesis, as I detailed in a previous GF column. So yeah, the sickness thing is still a goddam mystery after all these years. What the fucking fuck?
Hopefully this illness is actually over, so I can get back to writing these columns (and other stuff) on a regular basis. I have not forgotten the five-part GF series that might get me killed if I was important enough. That will take place next week. I fucking hope. Because I wouldn't wish this horrible illness on Donald Fucking Trump, and that's saying a lot.
All right. That's all for now. I'll see you tomorrow for a real GF column. Goodnight, you lovely fuckers, you.
