Phyrie goes to the Doctor...

About a year or so ago, I began to have what is so charmingly referred to as “hot flashes”. Believe me when I tell you there ain’t nothing fucking charming about ‘em. Up until the hot flashes I have had all kinds of other “female” symptoms. I am told I have PMS. I dare ya to tell me that around the middle of the month. I dare ya.
I wouldn’t mind so much, if it was the same every month, but it’s not. It’s like there’s some nasty moonsprite out there, coming up with new vicious ways to fuck me over. One month it might be moodiness (Or as Killer likes to say “Duck!! She’s gonna kill someone!!"...He’s so supportive…*sigh*) the next it might be pain and cramping, or bloating till I’m big enough to float to the mainland without benefit of ferry. Then nothing for a couple months, so I get a nice surprise while I’m walking in Walmart looking for dishwasher detergent. (For you men who don’t know what I’m talking about, ask your girlfriends, or your mothers...oh, damn, what am I saying…I meant getting your period when you don’t expect it, ya losers!!)
Perhaps I should take a minute to introduce those of you new to ..well, me, some of the physical crap I deal with these days. My doctor, the little Irish leprechaun smartass that I trust with what’s left of my health, asked me to step on the scale during my last visit.
I said “No”.
He said, “I beg your pardon?”.
I said, “Don’t beg, Kevin, it’s unattractive, and unnecessary. I meant No and I’m not stepping on that damn thing.”
“Why, if I may ask?”
“Well, let’s recap, shall we? I am over 40, overweight, and overmedicated. I have a heart condition, hypothyroidism, spondylosis, a scoliosis, a spina bifida, and arthritis in my knee and hip. I am an asthmatic, depressed, pre-menopausal insomniac. I have had open chest heart surgery, my collar bone separated, my ribs broken, and my spine fused: twice. I have so many track marks on my arms from being in hospitals, I’m afraid that if I’m unconscious in an accident someday, they’ll blow me off as a junkie, and donate my scarred, sorry ass to a medical school. I’ve had a broncoscopy, a tubal-ligation and an arterial cutdown, all of which ended badly. I have known the joys of medicinal morphine for 7 days in row. I know from personal experience you can hallucinate on pure oxygen. I take codeine every day for pain, and drink beer every day to help the codeine. I don’t eat anything but hickory smoked almonds and Skittles. But you want me to step on that scale so you can tell me if I have a weight problem??? Buddy, I don’t need anything else wrong with me. So I say, No.”

So, we’ve decided I need Hormone Replacement Therapy. I did mention to him that Killer thinks I’m a little bitchy, too. He found that funny. Which I didn’t. *sigh*

The little green pills seem to be taking care of the hot flashes.
The moods are something else. I hope it’s pre-menstrual. Cuz I think I might have to hit something, soon.

Phyrie