a billion little red pitchforks…

I AM SICK.  I hurt all over.
I went to a walk-in clinic* and they were absolutely bloody useless. The checkup was akin to being frisked, by someone who was long past caring if you were in fact, hoarding anything dangerous on your person.

I learned that something viral was trying to take down the ecosystem known as “I”. Wait – scratch that, I already knew that. It’s kind of why I took my behind to this place at all. Yet all they could do was to prescribe painkillers – a double-dosage of some off-the-shelf, over-the-counter headache pill combo. This doctor’s unique innovation, the insight that I had come all the way to see him for, was that I could take both of the aforementioned pills together. Together, get it? In parallel. At the same time. (Was he beaming with pride or was I sick enough to be imagining things?). I almost wanted to play along… “Oooh… you mean like, take BOTH types of pills? I’d never thought of that!”

Well DUH...

Tossed the barely-legible scribbles into the bin on my way out. The main reason for going hadn’t been to get a prescription, anyway. It was to double-check that this wasn’t a 0.01% case…

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The thing that tries to grow inside is… prickly. Its armies are armed with miniature pitchforks… of this I have very little doubt. And the battle has been waged in just about every nook and cranny of this being… I’ve watched (and felt – God have I ever FELT) the tides turn in my favour and then quickly against. The invading swarm scrapes and scratches and gouges away at my insides to make a home for itself, and yet in its wake my own flora springs anew, and gives chase.

What a remarkable body, this.
Fed so little, and nary a night of full sleep of late… and yet it fights on. Fueled by what, exactly? My recent penchant for lychee-juice-laced-red-wine? or The midnight cheese-on-crackers stints? What is it that keeps it going when the mind and the soul have turned and bolted… long gone from the scene of battle; no longer present… no longer
self?

I think my immune system must envy those lofty faraway places that the ‘self’ runs to.
No such escapisms here.
Over here is raw life, the raw biochemistry of keeping on keeping on. Of remaining present.

The home team will win, of course. Is that cheer-leading or pure presumptuousness on my part?
I wonder…
In the meantime, it all hurts like hell. Everywhere. I have a healthy respect for this invader…
I only wish I knew it’s name.
</backtrack>

Y’see, most things work themselves out. This is true of easily 99.9% of all illnesses, and so I ask you – what good are doctors? Seriously – when was the last time a doctor actually conferred health unto you? I swear, they don’t do anything… and it’s not even their fault. The odds are stacked against them. They can only prove their usefulness during a 0.01% event. They’re set up to fail, or underwhelm, poor things.

Let’s face it: the average GP (general practitioner) has about as much clout over your biology as a gibbering shaman with a headless chicken would (and shamans win pants down, because even if you’re not cured, you’ll be killed, which is a cure of sorts, and either way you will have been thoroughly entertained).

Is it not true that if we were all given prescriptive rights to demand amoxycillin in exchange for our own illegible scrawls, that there would be no further use whatsoever for GPs? Is this NOT TRUE?!

You know it’s true. Come to think of it, a lot of this goes for chiropractors, dentists, and all manner of medical and pseudo-medical practitioners. My favorites are the dentists who need a (to be charged for) x-ray of your gob before they’ve even heard what you came in for. Or the chiro who insists you need 20,000 visits to get better (I am exaggerating folks, I am exaggerating. All you medically-inclined folks just calm down).

As far as I can tell, the only people who make a tangible difference are surgeons and masseurs. And the nurses who ply the wards, actually tending to the bedridden, fighting the good bedside fight.

*This is mainly because my own doctor – who I have seen so long ago now that I would pass her in the street – has a receptionist that is the spawn of satan crossed with a pissy dragon. You literally must run the gauntlet that is her “HER-NESS”, in order to get anywhere near the doctor in question. That’s what I remember anyway. Who knows, the whole practice could’ve closed down, for all I know…

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