The Diagnostics Racket. Ft. Scooby Doo.

This needn’t be a long post but I was just thinking about how disingenuous it is to break up bodies into “parts” and “systems” in order to diagnose what’s wrong with sick people as if it matters.  Sick is sick, and if anyone were being honest about any of this we would all admit that what sick people need, more or less universally, is marijuana and a clean, safe environment in which to convalesce and to maybe or maybe not “recover.”  Some things have no cure.  We know that.

Marijuana works for everything, for every “part” and every “system” (the body/mind as a whole IOW) and this has been known by humans for thousands of years.  Playing dumb and worse, subjecting sick humans to inherently necrophilic compartmentalization in any form in order to heal them is not going to work.  Stabbing sick people in the bone to see if they have leukemia — when we already know that marijuana is a the safe and effective treatment both for leukemia and things that mimic leukemia — is simply cruelty.  Get it?  Subjecting anyone’s allegedly loved one to a bone-stabbing for no good reason — and I just showed that there isn’t a good reason — is cruelty.  And friends and family (and doctors obvs) should be ashamed for doing this but when it comes to the diagnostic racket people seem pretty shameless.  It frankly disgusts me.

You all just want to play dumb, acting like marijuana and a clean, safe place to convalesce isn’t clearly, obviously and universally what’s needed in every case.  Your ignorance is cartoonish.  You sound exactly like Scooby Doo in my exhausted fed up and terminally inflamed brain.

Sick person: I need real medicine that works in the first place and to stop being made worse in the second.

Everyone:  RUUUUTTTTT?  Rye ron’t ret it!

Sick person: The things I need cost money and I am unable to earn money anymore because sick.

Everyone: RUUUUTTTTTT?  Rye ron’t rav renny runny!*

* Obviously I understand that not everyone has money.  But one, a lot of people have a lot more money than they are willing to admit, they just have other priorities.  Also, there is a whole conversation to be had around the fact that sick people aren’t getting what they need, and that conversation needn’t center the finances of one person or one family.  If you aren’t the one who’s sick the conversation should NEVER center on you, it’s not about you.  RUUUUTTTTT?  Yeah.

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Aaaaaannnndddddd…We’re Back to Grateful. I Literally Forgot What a Full-Blown Crohn’s Flare Was Like.

So for the past week or so I have been in a full-blown Crohn’s flare.  Being sick as hell all the time anyway, even when my GI symptoms are relatively minimal (meaning, minimal for me as a person with a chronic and debilitating autoimmune and GI disease) I guess I had forgotten how bad things can actually get!  Despite having recently worsening symptoms like crippling fatigue, arthritis in my fingers, toes, shoulders, hips and spine, dizziness and trouble walking, my GI symptoms have been at a blessed minimum lately, consisting merely of having to ruthlessly police my own diet and avoiding most foods available in the supermarket or anywhere; waking up nauseated every single day and having to lay (well, writhe around) in bed for an hour every morning trying to fart (apparently extreme bloating makes one nauseated?  Who knew!); being hit randomly throughout the day with stabbing abdominal pains, gas and bloating, “heartburn” which is really esophageal spasms that feel more like a cardiac event than a gastrointestinal one, pangs of nausea and other distressing sensations, and being glad I live alone so I can accomplish this daily ritual/grind in peace.

Other than that (!!) I felt relatively okay until about 10 days ago when the dreaded intestinal gurgling began.  As far as I can tell the gurgling starts as I become more and more inflamed and less and less able to control my symptoms — is it masticated food trying to bypass an obstruction?  Because that’s what it seems like to me.  In short order I was in a full-blown flare in which my abdomen feels, looks and is like a bloated whiskey barrel overstuffed with boggy loaves of bread, broken glass, 190 proof alcohol, and poison.  The broken glass, alcohol and poison are self-explanatory (severe sharp/gnawing/grinding pain, burning, smothering malaise).  The boggy loaves of bread are my inflamed intestines and that’s exactly what it feels like — for instance, instead of moving and/or bending easily at the waist, bending over becomes grueling and distressing and literally feels like I am working against a waterlogged loaf of Wonder bread where my appendix and terminal ileum should be (abdominal right lower quadrant).  There’s another loaf where my ascending colon should be and so on.  If I drop something on the floor whilst in this sorry state it better be something I won’t be needing for awhile because I literally cannot bend over (or reach!) to pick it up again.

Continue reading “Aaaaaannnndddddd…We’re Back to Grateful. I Literally Forgot What a Full-Blown Crohn’s Flare Was Like.”