I have heartburn all the way down to my toes and the 48 Tums I have ingested this morning haven’t helped a wink. I don’t think the Costco Chimichanga I brought to eat for lunch is going to help things, but a Frosty from Wendy’s will probably go a long way towards healing. Blended with Oreos of course.
Having woken up three mornings in a row with a strange lump on the back of my neck (that drains by afternoon and seems to go away), I have been feverishly consulting Dr. Google all day. I guess if it concerned me the other two days, I should have been Googling back then, but hey! it was the Canada Day holiday and I had better things to do, like enjoying the high temperatures and eating gargantuan amounts of watermelon. Today I have nothing better to do but work, so OF COURSE there’s time for obsessing over WebMD. So far, I’ve managed to rule out Parkinson’s Disease, Lyme Disease and African Sleeping Sickness (No, not really, but that was House’s diagnosis of his patient the other night and my symptoms don’t exactly match hers. Okay, they don’t match at all. Also, she had blonde hair and I don’t).
Lymphoma was mentioned, but that’s extreme and my husband would only roll his eyes if I told him it was suspect. I have a leeeeetle problem with Hypochondria, especially when it relates to using my toe cancer as an excuse not to have sex. This is an undiagnosed disease that I’ve suffered from for almost seventeen years, since I got married in 1991, and it flares up at least once a week.
I think I’ve narrowed it down to the lump being caused by scratching at my scalp due to some dandruff I’ve had lately (TMI!) and causing a little infection of the lymph nodes. I’ll probably go to the doctor eventually, if I get a minute between taking my youngest to football practice three times a week starting tonight. Of course, I also left the buying of the football cleats to sometime between getting home from work tonight, cooking dinner, eating dinner, cleaning up from dinner and getting on the practice field by 7:00. I sure hope they have his size at 7-11.
See? I have no time to be sick anyways, so ignoring it is probably the easiest option.
I’ll be dead soon anyways, due to my stupid neighbour who thought it would be considerate to run his very loud, muffler-less Harley for TEN MINUTES this morning at 6 a.m. before leaving for work. See, the next time he does it I’ll surely be sentenced to the electric chair for stealing that bike, repeatedly running over his junk with it and then sticking the handle bars up his nose for good measure!