Let’s review the facts:
Fact No. 1: God hates me.
Fact No. 2: I have a fucking weirdo, made-up disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis which is also known as Bamboo Spine because your spine inflames and then fuses together...exciting.
Fact No. 3: I have to give myself a shot every week (actual needle that I’m forced to jam into my thigh) to cure this fucking monstrosity.
Fact No. 4: The shot accidentally gave me something called Drug-Induced Lupus.
Fact No. 5: I started a new shot.
Fact No. 6: That shot gave me Drug-Induced Lupus too.
Fact No. 7: I’m on disability until I can get my fucking act together.
Fact No. 8: None of this is making me skinnier which is typically the silver lining when becoming ill.
Fact No. 9: I literally hate everyone.
I guess the good news is I don’t have any money. Wait…no. That’s not right. I have legs? I think it’s important to review your appendages when faced with life’s challenges. Every time I come back from a doctor’s appointment I like to check-in with my senses and appendages as a sort of self-help routine. “I have legs, I have arms, I can see, I can hear…” This placates me until I remember that lots of people have those things and none of their spines are fusing together.
I recently had to meet with my doctor again. He is a literal monster. Like many doctors, he doesn’t seem to fully understand the emotional ramifications of the things he says. He sticks to the facts with no regard for how a recovering alcoholic, chubby Midwesterner with no life skills might misconstrue those things to mean “you’re going to die.” He says things like this:
“The solution is simple. You’ll just give yourself a shot of painfully burning medicine every week.”
“Weird…you have Lupus.”
“Don’t be scared, but we’re starting you on chemotherapy.”
You can imagine how I reacted to that last bit of information. “I have legs, I have arms, I can see, I can hear…” The new drug I’m starting is called Methotrexate. He keeps calling it chemotherapy which makes me think I might finally get skinny in which case I take back everything I said about God. He’s a delight and answers prayers. But this theory has yet to be proven. I’ll believe that God cares about me if my ass gets smaller. My doctor wrote down the name of my new medicine and then wrote beside it in all caps: DON’T GET PREGNANT. I have to admit, I was alarmed.
Me: Don’t get pregnant ever or while I’m on this medicine?
Dr: While you’re on the medicine.
Dr: Methotrexate is often used to induce abortion.
Dr: And to treat cancer.
Dr: You might experience some nausea.
Me: Because the drug you’re giving me is looking for the fetus to kill?
Dr: It’s nothing to be alarmed about.
Me: Really? Cause it seems like you’re just prescribing me abortion medicine at this point.
Dr: Don’t be scared.
Me: Right. Nothing scary about cancer and abortions.
Dr: You’re doing great.
Me: I hate you.
There are only two things I’ve managed to do correctly in my life 1) not be an intravenous drug user 2) not accidentally get pregnant and then abort unwanted fetus. In a gripping twist of fate, I’m now forced to shoot myself up every week and am just blindly taking abortion medicine despite not being pregnant. I MEAN IS THIS A JOKE?! How fucking dare that doctor tell me not to get pregnant! I MEAN…I GET IT! I’VE BEEN NOT GETTING PREGNANT SINCE I WAS 15!!! YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME NOT TO GET PREGNANT. IT’S THE ONLY THING I’VE BEEN DOING RIGHT UP UNTIL THIS POINT YET SOMEHOW I’M STILL BEING FORCED TO EXPERIENCE THE EPIC STOMACH PAINS OF A SHREDDED UTERUS!!!
So that’s where I’m at. It clearly makes sense. I don’t have cancer yet am taking chemotherapy. I’m not pregnant with any of my horrible ex-boyfriend’s children yet am taking abortion medicine willy-nilly. And I’m still too fat to wear pants...obviously. It’s times like these that I like to think about my appendages. They bring me great hope. "I have legs, I have arms, I can see, I can hear. I have legs, I have arms, I can see, I can hear..."