“You’re a healthy woman!” chirps my GP, her slim young hand on my shoulder. My internal wolf wants to bite that hand but just in time I remember I’d rather not lose another tooth.
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.
It is always a pleasure to meet with the charming and approachable Dr. T. I did not expect to do battle with him.
Even Hippocrates would have appreciated the idea of shoving a camera into a human orifice and taking a visual safari through the guts of the matter.
I tend to push off bedtime. The other end of bedtime is waking up screaming.
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?
Forget about trotting your malfeasant software into the Manufacturer’s office, or even into a medical fix-it shop. You’ll be as popular as a misfiring printer at a computer store.
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.