Personal Growth
I've spent the past five days screaming in agony, and I have to expect it to be with me for months more. If I survive.
I've got a tumour.
The vomming blood et al I had back in April is now a daily thing, and I didn't know it then, but it was my stomach wolverine being very angry about the company.
And it's not the worst of it.
My body has been broken for most of my life, and I thought I knew the utter worst of pain, but this, this is...more. Way more. Way way beyond human. The thing is only the size of a cough drop, still, it is fucking me up but good.
I got referrals to specialists, finally, but my appointment is in September. Apparently, a tumour that has me writhing and screeching my throat raw every day, unable to eat or drink or sleep, and, of course, pleading for death, is not important enough to bump the queue. I'm told there is only one thing that bumps the queue: pregnancy.
So, if my body had popped a baby, I could get treated right away. It just chose to grow the wrong thing, so fuck me.
Not that I am bitter.
No wait, I think I am.
For months now, I have been begging for help from anyone with medical anything, and they just keep telling me now to worry, that this isn't serious, that I don't need any medication, that really, I don't even need treatment, just to go home and wait and stop bothering them.
They can say that because it's not their guts being torn out every fucking day.
The SU has been fighting with receptionists, nurses, doctors, pharmacists, determined to get someone, anyone, to help me. It's not a cure the spousal unit is begging for, but something, anything, that can dampen the symptoms enough that I can make it to September. Or even tomorrow.
They all say they can't do anything, that I just have to wait. Really, they don't even say that. They'll only say 'we won't dispense medical advice over the phone'.
Okay.
But you don't do it in person either.
I've got a tumour.
The vomming blood et al I had back in April is now a daily thing, and I didn't know it then, but it was my stomach wolverine being very angry about the company.
And it's not the worst of it.
My body has been broken for most of my life, and I thought I knew the utter worst of pain, but this, this is...more. Way more. Way way beyond human. The thing is only the size of a cough drop, still, it is fucking me up but good.
I got referrals to specialists, finally, but my appointment is in September. Apparently, a tumour that has me writhing and screeching my throat raw every day, unable to eat or drink or sleep, and, of course, pleading for death, is not important enough to bump the queue. I'm told there is only one thing that bumps the queue: pregnancy.
So, if my body had popped a baby, I could get treated right away. It just chose to grow the wrong thing, so fuck me.
Not that I am bitter.
No wait, I think I am.
For months now, I have been begging for help from anyone with medical anything, and they just keep telling me now to worry, that this isn't serious, that I don't need any medication, that really, I don't even need treatment, just to go home and wait and stop bothering them.
They can say that because it's not their guts being torn out every fucking day.
The SU has been fighting with receptionists, nurses, doctors, pharmacists, determined to get someone, anyone, to help me. It's not a cure the spousal unit is begging for, but something, anything, that can dampen the symptoms enough that I can make it to September. Or even tomorrow.
They all say they can't do anything, that I just have to wait. Really, they don't even say that. They'll only say 'we won't dispense medical advice over the phone'.
Okay.
But you don't do it in person either.
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