When I went for my routine annual physical exam I figured it’d be in spick-n-span shape, ready to carry on with my happy healthy little life. Besides been told I need to lose 10-12 lbs to be considered in the “healthy” weight range, everything first looked fine. Specimen of health.
Oh no, that was far too optimistic. Blood results came back with elevated liver enzymes and all of sudden I can’t drink, take birth control, Tylenol, or vitamins/supplements. (wheel screeching….S’cuse me?) Well, that’s shitty. Add to the list of other things I shouldn’t have like dairy or wheat, I’m not sure what the point of living is anymore. At least I had booze and sex as other ways to self-medicate instead of cake and ice cream. But now this!? Totally unimpressed over here.
So after a few rounds of blood tests and more inconclusive results, the doctor requested an ultrasound. Sure, whatever, rub some jelly on my belly and take some blurry pictures. So in a waiting room of a lot of preggers and one homeless man, I played along and waited patiently for my ultrasound.
Do you know where your liver is? It’s behind your ribcage, all protected from injury. I suspect that it’s because the Great Designer figured we’d destroy our livers from the inside, we should probably add extra efforts to protect from the outside. So when they want to do an ultrasound of your liver they get up into your ribcage and go poking around while telling you to hold your breath. You know what else is there….YOUR LUNGS! You know what doesn’t feel good: trying to hold your breath when someone is jabbing at your ribcage. But fine, I kept playing along.
But you know what, more inconclusive results, and I am not playing along anymore. Next step is a biopsy of the liver when/if the next ELEVEN blood results come back inconclusive.
My hot date tomorrow night has promised not to tell my doctor about that glass of wine I’m going to have. That’s how I like to roll, living in a world of lies.