Yesterday I read a heartening news story of a 45-year-old woman who had earned her PhD in spite of a terminal diagnosis of cancer. Her university was so impressed by […]
What this body is experiencing is full-blown Sjogren’s, and maybe something else.
The end of the inflammation would surely mean the end of the stiffness and pain. My hands would regain their strength and acuity and I wouldn’t act like a zombie every morning any more.
It is always a pleasure to meet with the charming and approachable Dr. T. I did not expect to do battle with him.
Akathisia reactions are so rare that doctors don’t worry about them. I’ll bet that one of my docs two decades ago is still worrying about these reactions, however: I nearly committed suicide on a half dose of Prozac he had prescribed for pain.
When one considers the level of stress in our society, its effect on the adrenals and thus on the endocrine system, and the plethora of people sick with mysterious “auto-immune disorders”, is it really so crazy for a patient to inquire after the state of those endocrine organs?
It seems as if the entire society’s auto-immune system is falling down on the job. Perhaps I had just been handed another assignment as a canary in the mine. Here, strange bird: tweet this.
I turn and run out of the labyrinth, the walls shouting at me, “Take a look at platelet counts, the white blood cells! Any spleno-hepatomegaly (enlarged spleen and liver)! Radiation exposure! Copper deficiency!”
Probably my gimpy left knee was acting up from a long-ago accident which had broken the left leg at the ankle, torn up my back, crushed a shoulder and knocked me out. Who would notice a bunged-up knee in such a mess?
Okay: one, two…three! With a cry, I step out of the grave. “I am Zombie. Hear me moan. The blood I want must be my own!”