Whoops My Garbage Body

As I've said before, the only thing I hate more than being sick is writing about being sick. I hate it for a lot of reasons—because it's more personal than I like to be, because there are people who hate reading about it, because it inevitably invites criticism that I'm attention-seeking, etc.—but I need to write about it, because this affects my ability to do this job.

Last Thursday, I started feeling really poorly. I had numbness in my face, hands, and feet; I had random shooting bolts of pain; I was nauseated and faint; and I had tics, particularly in my hands. On Monday afternoon, it had gotten so bad that I went to the doctor, who sent me to the emergency room, because, even though all my vitals were fine, they couldn't determine the cause.

I spent most of the day and night in the emergency room. In ten hours, I had a dozen different fluid tests, a chest x-ray, an EKG, a CT scan, a neuro assessment, and spoke to a doctor for a grand total of about five minutes.

The result is that I have a very minor infection that can be cleared with antiobiotics. Yay. The conclusion is that the reason my body is freaking the fuck out over a minor infection is that I have an autoimmune or inflammatory disorder. Boo. Yikes. Fuck.

This is not totally unexpected, as most people who have chondritis (inflammation of cartilage) get one episode, or the very occasional flare-up; they don't have it chronically for years on end, as I have. Still. Knowing it was a possibility hasn't actually made this any less shitty. I will soon have to start testing to try to determine what the underlying illness is.

What this means is that I still feel exactly the same as I did before I went to the emergency room, and will at least until the antibiotics do their job. Hopefully once the infection clears up, some of these symptoms will abate, but, in the meantime, it's like my nerve processors went on vacation.

It also means that I am going to really have to prioritize self-care. I will be here, but taking it very easy, over the next few days, which is easier than usual, because it's difficult to type when your hands are numb and twitching. And, in the future, I'm probably just going to have some garbage days where I can't do anything, and I'm just going to let you know that by saying, "I'm having a garbage day. I'll see you when I can." And no one need feel obliged on those days to wish me well, and no one needs to feel sorry for me. It is what it is, and I will carry on carrying on.

Now, for the most important information of all: I promise to do The Walking Thread this afternoon.