I am not an old lady. I have to keep reminding myself this, as my body every so often attempts to prove me wrong. Recently I've had two maladies that one would be more likely to associate with an 83 year old, not a 33 year old. They are both rather gross, so the squeamish among you might want to bow out, along with anyone who wants to look me in the eye with a straight face ever again. So that leaves the complete strangers, I suppose. Well, you've been warned.
The first condition started as a pregnancy side-effect, and after giving birth four times, I've learned that most of the side-effects are now my body's trained response. Ugh, I can barely bring myself to say the word out loud, so I'll whisper it: I've got (hemorrhoids). There, now I've got that out of the way. Not only is it a horrible, painful affliction, but it's also a painfully horrible word. I mean, look at it! Those double r's followed by the h? I can't stand it. And I can't spell it to save my life. If the illness itself has to be so detestable, why can't it get a nice, pretty word to make the situation easier? Love-iculitis Floweropathy. Or something like that.
The other issue I've had, and this one just popped up recently, is boils. Seriously, boils. Does that not scream 80-year-old man to you? Boils, in combination with my aforementioned problem, are more appropriate for some old guy named Walter who wears hearing aids and grows hair out of his nose. Boils. What the heck! If you don't know, and I'd actually be surprised if you did (since I have very few 80-year-old readers), a boil is basically when bacteria infects a hair follicle and travels under the skin. It swells and puffs and eventually looks like every teenagers worst acne nightmare.
Why do our bodies go haywire like this? These totally random, unexpected things go wrong and bam! You're in pain. And if it's something gross or female-related, you can't even whine about it to your friends without making them very uncomfortable. (Again, sorry, but you were warned.) I like watching medical shows with bizarre illnesses that have weird names, but I never want to BE one of those people.
What we need is more doctors like Dr. House. See, he wouldn't just assume that my random old-guy illnesses are normal. He'd know instinctively that they were related, two symptoms of the same illness. And then the whole team would get to work, trading witty banter while I go through a battery of tests on expensive machines that never seem to be needed by other doctors. House would realize that my depression is actually a neurological component of the same illness and add it to the list of symptoms. Someone would break into my house and swab things with q-tips while mocking my lifestyle. Meanwhile, back at the hospital I would have had a seizure during an MRI, been given a spinal tap, and vomited blood. House would demand Cuddy approve a ridiculously dangerous procedure while making at least three innuendos, and I would have either kidney or liver failure and possibly a heart attack. By then, I've been given 18 different medicines for all the different theories they've had, but that's okay because none of them have any side effects whatsoever. Right before I'm going to die, House will be talking to Wilson and cut off mid-sentence, mouth hanging open and eyes glazing, as he realizes that the reason I'm dying is because my mother went to Borneo when she was pregnant with me and got a rare tropical disease but the only way I could have caught it is if my father was Puerto Rican, which he isn't! So he'd announce to my family that my father's not my real father, oh and that I'm really a hermaphroditic meth dealer and now my husband's going to leave me, but at least I'll be able to walk out of the hospital after a round of antibiotics and be good as new!
If a person's going to have a medical abnormality, does it have to be gross and embarrassing? Can't it at least be good tv drama?