I am writing post fever while still gritting though blooms of joint and muscle pain erupting everywhere in my body.
Thanks to all non-compliant, reproachable, selfish, doorknob lickers out there, I most likely have contracted COVID-19-omicron. And I get a bonus extra special prize! I’m having my period!
So, I have this sentiment to relate- I think you are perhaps adult enough to deal with it- I will not apologize either-
Sand. Fuck. All. Of. You.
I will try to look forward to the Tiger’s teeth of February. This month is dead to me. Just more dead time. More time lost to being sick. More wasting of the body and mind.
Mediocrity and suffering are the order of these days. And I am impotent rage; with relentless chin hairs.
I was told- to my face- without any alternative tests being done, that all my results were bogus and that I could not possibly have brucellas abortus or Salmonella.
Why?
Because. I. didn’t. look. sick.
I didn’t have a fever.
So what if my spleen was enlarged and my left kidney showed signs of infection, eh? That’s clearly nothing concerning.
Well, after TWENTY ONE days of antibiotic treatment- prescribed by a real infectologist (internist) who wasn’t inconvenienced by a patient seeking help- I finally feel like a functional person.
So….
Why be an ass?
Why go there?
Because every time I think on that occasion, I curse the man. And yeah, it was a man. Weeks of already trying to disprove this that and the other had already passed and was still in no way better. I almost cried in his office. I wasn’t about to fight with a man who didn’t even want to hear out my case as soon as I sat down.
I mean, I’m sorry for holding you up on a Friday evening, I guess. I can only assume that you must have shots of tequila lined up and hot fems to bang- Even if it’s your kid’s birthday party you have to get to- Whatever!- Aren’t you a doctor first and foremost? A medical professional? What about do no harm? Because you did some great emotional harm. And gained the scorn of a person who could be singing your praises right now.
No. No praise for this lummock, this thrice cursed homunculus in his slick tower.
His light is darkened.
His name is smeared.
Never go seek help from the infectologist at the New City Medical Plaza in Tijuana.
Payaso de puta, may he suffer a far worse bacterial infection than mine.
May the easy extra 50usd he received without earning wither his entire savings.
May he never recover.
💩💩💩
The only half way positive thing he did was give me an order for a CT scan to look at my organs more clearly. With that test I could know for certain that I wasn’t dealing with anything else beyond a bacterial infection. No block ducts or liver issues…
The cabrón did not order a more sophisticated blood test or any other bodily fluid testing. He wasn’t even going to. Nothing of the sort. He just knew for certain some how that I did not have a brucellas infection. And that I should just stop looking in that direction for the cause of my suffering. I am less than impressed with that choad’s ‘intuitive’ powers. I was and am disgusted.
This happened in October, and as I feel I am recovering now, it renews the negativity this selfish brainlet generated. Ugh. And I have to go through the extra work of shaking out that… that lack of flow, while I am ridding myself of a bacterial infection. Uuugh. Extra, extra work.
This Thanksgiving I will celebrate the real doctor in the house:
I write her name large, in fancy font for you to remember it. She was the one who took the time to listen to me and believe the test results that I showed her and prescribe to me a more precise treatment. I would not have the energy to be impassioned enough to write this post if it weren’t for her. If you are in need of some one to help with an ongoing infection of any kind, I would recommend her in a second. She doesn’t have a flashy office in a ‘classy’ location, but she does her job. And that is what matters.
