Never mind my daily chronic pain since the 1980's. Here's a Dr. trip in May 2019 after a week in the hospital for breathing problems...

Mid-May Dr. J. Visit, 2019


This is MORE of why I cannot put my journal online...

...5-14-19 TU (according to my computer screen calender) begins at 10:30 am here. Doc appt. today at 2:30 pm. After 3 days of good improvement from my week of hospitalized 4-finger-death-punch: aggressive pneumonia, dehydration, pleurisy, and sepsis; I do not feel any better today. A shower didn't help--and may have made it worse, I coughed up stuff until my face hurt, again. The Skittles/rainbow sherbet of hacking. Gay Pride; or a Fruit Loopy Pebbles and Trix cereal commercial: Red, green, brown, grey and black-lung diversity; just make a color prediction, then cough and spit. Ouch. DEATH! Girlfriend said to eat some Tylenol. She is hilarious. Tylenol won't help this pain; but thanks, baby. It's 1:40 pm, so I will leave soon. Or die soon. Same difference.


Got seen around 3:30 pm for my 2:30 pm appt. Oh FFS! Punctuality is a lost art. DEATH! Dr. J. was again very distant, and very patronizing; like he always is when I am hurting. DEATH! But Nurse M stayed between us, and kept us from getting any open kill shots at each other, amidst all the doctor/patient hissing. When it was over, I got a minimal increase in pain pills for June; yay, but I cannot pick them up until the 19th; Sunday. Boo. I argued well, I guess. I didn't cuss too much; or maybe just enough. FUCKERS! I WILL EAT BOTH OF YOU! But, after all; shhh, my crack medical team here never told me that I was about to die from a bum lung. MYSTERY DEATH! So how good of a doc are ya, anyway, Dr. J.? DEATH! Nurse M did explain the spectrum of coughing colors to me/where and why they come out; so at least there is that. We like Nurse M; please don't make me eat her.

Sunday. Pills. Can I make it till Sunday? What day is it now? Tuesday? DEATH! I am so screwed. Norco's are the only thing that really seem to help. Norco screams as loud as the chest pain does for two hours. Never mind the chronic shoulder, back, leg, or foot pain that make my daily life a regular happy sit-com. This chest/gut/breathing pain is far above my regular 7; this is 'fetal-cringe, pillow-clutch to the ribs, and moan all night' kind of pain (you should see me watching hockey in my van seat). And; like an idiot--I've been looking up my diseases on Wikipedia. Free advice for you people: DO NOT look up your diseases on Wikipedia. We knew it was bad already, and then we see what other victimized, hypochondriac interweb shut-ins write about it. 'Death; massive pain, chronic agony, and more death.' Wait; we're going to die twice? WTF with the double DEATH? Stop. Stop reading. Stop writing. Just stop. All of it.

Think for yourself; there is no inner wisdom online. Use some sense. DEATH SENSE! No. We need to relax our external anger issues, and concentrate on our internal panic threats. Maybe we should just eat 2/3 of a gram of dabs. Done. Yes. Wait. Don't they have stickers on them that say DO NOT EAT? Yeah; but we already overthought this decision, and it's long past gulp time. Wait; what? Also; every emergency Norco pill in this tiny townhome has been located; it is scary that we still know most of those obscure hiding spots. And; we found 3 other Norco that we lost back in 2015; cool. Also found some mystery pink pills. Maybe we'll crush up and snort the mystery pink pills. Yes; and eat some more burn-only hash oil--that's a great plan! Astounding under pressure sometimes, we are. CREATIVE DEATH!

I mean; hello? Who eats things that are clearly marked DO NOT EAT? Death? Is it because you can't puff enough with your fatally flawed wikipedia lungs, and ain't-nobody-got-time-for-all-that smokey-smoke stuff, anyway? Rush delivery; like a concentrated medible dab. (We run loose with the logic sometimes.) Okay; but where are you, mentally? Are you racing off to die/trying to beat the final trans-humanism decision? DEATH! Is this conspiracy stuff; chemtrail rain, and your electro-sensitive 5G panic? Where's your fake moon landing now, spaceboy? And; are you still trying to chew the sickness out of your thumbtips? Because that's also totally normal. Jeezus. No wonder you have intensified road rage whenever you're not emotionally imploding. No wonder you shake, tremble and shiver in bed; always seeing and hearing constant half-flashes and/or foreign subtitles. And why do you still kick yourself awake from sleep cycles, like a 5 yr. old? OF COURSE you take multiple showers a day; you're trying to wash this fully fragmented, double-slit, ancestor simulation off of your skin. But you can't wash it off; not from here, anyway. There will be no 'stepping out of the shower, and into a new realm' for this Black Mirror episode.

Sunday? We won't last 5 days. DEATH! We're going to literally eat people; probably 2 per day, and then I'll have to buy bulk bleach again. Okay; let's make a list of reasons why they should NOT plant me in the ground and build a psycho-suicidal drug ward around my dead, twitching body. Ooo; nice subject-change. Legacy. I taste blood, I smell fire, and I hear a thousand different crying wind chimes 24/7. And I'm not whining about 'Oh, woe is me.' I'm just asking: What exactly am I supposed to do now; DEATH?

Also at Dr. J's on 5-14-19, I weighed only 207. My 4 diseases look good on me! I lost 20-something lbs. near death with no appetite; cool. I'm food-void skinny, with self-harm tendencies. A Hot Bald Mess of Arguing Voices and Internalized Baggage. Ask for the No-Filtered, hot sauce version of this insanity: Come play with us. Why? Kill. Eat. Fuck. Die. It's a new torture/comedy everyday. How the fuck did I survive that trip through Springtuckey with no pain pills? DEATH; mother fucker, I am amazing.

5-15-19 WE (according to my computer screen calender) begins with examining last night's journal entry. I may put it up online; it's not weird at all! DEATH! It almost makes me look like a regular consumer; sure it does.

2 cups of coffee, and a cookie base for another medical horse pill cut into thirds. Oh the fun!

Also 5-15-19; shower singing was "Pigs"--Pink Floyd, as life continues to 'radiate cold shafts of broken glass'. Perfectly normal.

And 5-15 WE was almost a full neighborhood walk with girlfriend. I did not think I'd be doing big walks yet. I'm also breathing much better than pre-death. The left rib pain also is less now. Still pretty heavy sharpness, but it's not the same pulse/throbbing fluorescent nuclear warhead that it has been. Pleurisy is not my friend. Also; I may (finally) be able to sleep on my right side tonight (no you won't). And this is only day 5 out of the hospital! And I will be taking the entire Summer of 2019 OFF, to recover.
Fuck this reality.
Fuck dimensional cross-overs.
Fuck their brilliant sales pitches.
Fuck it all. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm not even here anymore; leave a message at the beep...

R.I.P. Dr. J; he passed in July, 2019

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