I do not like the doctor and so I don’t go. And no, I’m not afraid of going because I don’t like shots or because I’m worried I’ll be diagnosed with some terrible disease. I just don’t like doctors because their answer is ALWAYS either “you’re fine, go home and come back if it gets worse” or “my guess is cancer”. Really, doctor? There’s nothing in between those two? And why is it that it takes eight years of medical school to learn those two answers?
So I just don’t go to the doctor. Now some of you nay-sayers and healthy people are probably saying “wow Tracy, that’s super not safe”, but really it just makes me EXTRA healthy! My body has been conditioned through years of neglect to know that it has to heal itself so I’m practically a terminator at this point!
…oh, except for the fact that I also have pneumonia…
But hey, even my pneumonia is tough! It’s not the lazy, lie about, death bed type of pneumonia. It’s the soldiering on because I have bills to pay and sh*t to do type of WALKING pneumonia. So well played body, way to keep me alive even as you shut down from the inside.
How did I find out? Well after several careful weeks of denial and just ignoring the crushing pain my mom took over as chief executor of my life and drove me to the doctor against my will. So solid work mother, and also thank you for saving my life because according to modern medicine I should probably be dead right now. Or as my sister puts it: “wow, for a girl with a crippling fear of commitment you really went all in on the diseases and dying. Is that progress?”
So I’m on crazy medicines and antibiotics, but not the good kind that make you hallucinate dragons and Tom Hiddleston, just the boring kind that make you nauseous and heal your stupid body.
But it is for this reason that my lungs (because they are apparently SO desperate to be noticed with all their damn wheezing) bring you this week’s blog post. Take it away, you two useless bastards: