Why do I even bother looking up my physical ailments on-line?
Bloating = Crone's Disease
Insomnia = Alzheimer's
Sniffles = Whooping Cough
All I need to do is Google one of my issues for a refresher course of why I shouldn't look this crap up. Have a tummy pain? Just step into the world of on-line medicine and find which digestive organ, or organs, is diseased and is in need of immediate removal! Don't bother with Pepto Bismol; you obviously need surgery my friend.
The world of the wide/wild/worrisome web is not a place I should hang out when my belly hurts. My moronic search for answers lead me there because what else was I going to do at 2:30 AM and awake with intense abdominal discomfort? The internet provided the illusion that I could diagnose the condition based on my symptoms, find an immediate remedy, and attempt to sleep next to my beautiful wife before the sun came up. In my feeble mind, all I needed to do was stop the pain and the computer was going to help me do that. After searching for answers and finding out from my symptoms that I was probably going to die a painful and gruesome death (stomach cancer) all I truly needed was my computer.... but only as an object to hit myself over the head with. Looking this stuff up on the internet doesn't make sense when you really need answers.
It's been 13 hours since I alternatively found out that I have pancreatitis combined with numerous gall stones which will shut down all of my vital organs without any notice. The pain I feel on my right side, below the rib cage, has not gotten any worse but I hoped it would have gone away by now. One of the remedies I found with my virtual MD, was to drink a vegetable concoction of disgusting ingredients and frightening proportions. Being the internal specialist that I am, I made a 6 fruit smoothie instead in the hopes that I will flush out whatever the hell is bothering my belly. So far there has been no progress to report. If things GO my way, I'll let you know if watermelon was the secret ingredient or not.
As for how my day has gone since I found out that I have only 3 to 300 months to live, I can't really complain. My girls are playing patiently behind me while I play the role of patient in front of them. As long as they think that I'm in pain, they play nicer together and don't bug me as much as usual. You know, when I stop to analyze that last sentence and fully comprehend the implication, why the hell do I want to get better? They don't have to know that my post midnight self diagnosis also revealed that I just have gas. Why should I clue them in that I will be OK if I fart a lot, when they are treating me so well?
This www.self_diagnosis/scare_the_hell_outta_u/u_moron/go_c_a_MD.now practice may just have some exciting benefits after all! Who knew?