Health Issues Etc.

Yesterday was time for my annual checkup, so after enduring the no-coffee / no-food “fast” for reasons of bloodwork, I settled in to have my chat with Dr. ShitForBrains.

Perhaps a little background is necessary.  I have had three primary doctors since the Great Wetback Episode of 1986 — or perhaps I should say that I’ve outlived two doctors, and am on my third.  (The first, in Chicago, died of leukemia;  the second, in Plano, died of a heart attack.)  Doctor #2 was nicknamed “Shit-for-brains” by the family because he was, to put it mildly, the world’s worst diagnostician.  No matter how much information we gave him, he’d get it wrong.  Lovely man, piss-poor doctor.  We were just about to get another doctor when he snuffed it, and we inherited Doctor #3 in the same practice, who is definitely not ShitForBrains, but the nickname (rather unfairly) has become generic, to distinguish him from the other doctors we’ve since acquired (dermos, heart specs, etc.).  We have an excellent relationship, truly fine, and he gets my sense of humor (as you will see).

Back to yesterday’s visit.  Here’s more or less how it went.

SFB:  All your vitals are good:  weight has dropped (by 40lbs!), BP is excellent, circulation fine, respiration excellent, thyroid fine.  When the bloodwork comes back, we’ll check the cholesterol and so on, but I don’t see any issues.  Had any problems since last time?

Kim:  I’ve just started having plantar fasciitus attacks in my right foot..  Came out of nowhere, very owie two days back, a little better today.

SFB:  [winces] Ouch!  Sorry to hear that.  I’ll give you a printout that’ll help, for exercises.

Kim:  Exercises?  I’m in pain, here.  Can’t you give me a quick pop of Lidocaine or something?

SFB:  Hahaha no.

Kim:  It’s a good thing I left my gun in the car, or else we’d be having a different conversation about Lidocaine.

SFB:  Kim, you know my policy about gun fights in my office.

Kim:  Wouldn’t be much of one;  you’re not carrying.

SFB:  No, but Christie is.  [nods towards his assistant, who gives me That Look]

You’d think I’d have remembered that, because ’twas I who taught her how to shoot and helped her buy her first gun, about eight years back  (S&W Lady Smith in .38 Spec+P — she’s since acquired a Kimber Ultra Carry in .45 ACP because she’s a big girl and can handle it).

Anyway, by then the pain had subsided somewhat, so after having had blood taken, I was on my merry way.

Good health:  I haz it.  (Apart from typical Olde Phartte issues and a sore foot.)

Not bad for… fucking hell, 69 on Sunday.

Time for another gin.

Point Of Principle

I see that the medical scaremongers and charlatans are now mumbling (soon to be shouting, no doubt) about how the latest ‘n greatest Covid variant is going to kill us all unless we do all that shit that didn’t work the last time.

I might as well get it off my chest now:

  • I will not wear a face mask, because they’ve been proven ineffective and hamper my breathing
  • I will not patronize any business (or government office) that mandates the use thereof
  • I will likewise not curtail my social or commercial activities under terms of any government-mandated lockdown
  • I will not get yet another vaccination of some unproven (and apparently also ineffective) drug against this new Covid, nor any other Covid strain for that matter
  • any attempt to coerce me into doing any of the above will meet with a hostile, perhaps (depending on the circumstances) even violent response from me.

Others may join me in this, or not — it is a matter of complete indifference to me, as this is a purely personal position.


We know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.

Well, That Wasn’t Any Fun

Last night I suddenly developed the most excruciating pain in my lower abdomen.  Came out of nowhere:  one minute I’m searching for pics of Carol Vorderman’s extensive superstructure, the next I’m doubled up on the couch and moaning like a Democrat forced to sing the National Anthem.

So did I go to the ER?  Silly rabbits, I’m a MAN — of course I didn’t wimp out and seek medical attention.

Now before anyone starts yelling at me — especially those Readers of the Female Persuasion — lemme ask y’all this:

What if it had just been gas, somehow bottled up and unable to be released?  You’d feel like a proper Charlie if the ER doc were to look at your CAT scan, shake his head sorrowfully and say, “Take two Gas-X and call me in the morning”, with the unspoken corollary:  “What a total pussy.”  That was not going to happen.  So I waited overnight.

However, by this morning the symptoms had not abated — got worse, actually —  so I girded up my loins and went off to the local Doc-In-The-Box to get a CAT scan.  But the nearest one had closed down for good.  So I went to another one close to the apartment, and they were open but — their CAT scan machine was broken.

By this time, the combination of frustration plus pain in my gut — I was driving bent over like a Florida geezer — made me say “Fukkit!” and so I ended up at GlobalMegaHealthCorp LLC, at the other end of Plano, FFS.  I went in promptly at 9.15am, was seen promptly at 11.15am, had the CAT scan promptly at 2.30pm, and was on my way to CVS promptly at 4.05pm.

Which is why I always try to go the the little ER clinics for visits of this nature:  in, scanned, diagnosed, prescribed and out in generally less than 90 minutes.  If they’re a little busy.

Anyway, I suppose you want to know why I’m still doubled over in pain, waiting for the Blessed Medications to kick in?

Diverticulitis (non-complicated), treated with Cipro and some other antibiotic.  According to Doc Russia (who diagnosed me correctly over the phone while I was waiting in the ER room), I should feel better by tomorrow.

Let’s hope.  In the meantime, I’m debating whether to pop a Tylenol-3 (the one with codeine) to help me get through the night.

Of course, I’m also counting my blessings.  This pain could have pointed to something really foul like a hiatal hernia, appendicitis (even though I’m too old for that shit) or the Evil Cousin of diverticulitis, a perforated bowel (which can seriously fuck up your weekend picnic plans).  Not to mention all the other shit down there that can creep up on Olde Pharttes and kill us like a smackeroo-blurdy.  That part of the body is like a WWII German minefield, with stuff just waiting to kill you.  But it wasn’t any of that.

Oh, and one small piece of other news:  my weight has gone down from 265 to 240, in just under two months.  My goal:  Army weight (205-210), or maybe even less if I can stick with it.  Here’s me, in approved SADF browns, circa 1977:

So there’s that, which is good.


Found recently in my Inbox (right-click to embiggen):

I know these things are all bullshit — but what if it wasn’t, and I went?

Suggested speech topics in Comments, please.

Missing Villain

Here’s a panic-button issue:

What’s behind the worrying rise of cancer in young people? After cases in people aged 25-49 rises 22%, experts are blaming processed foods, smoking, drinking and even pollution

They missed “climate change” in that list, but no doubt it will be added later.

Cases of thyroid cancer are also soaring among 15 to 39-year-olds, according to figures from the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation at the University of Washington School of Medicine in the U.S. Between 1990 and 2019 there was an 81 per cent increase in cases in this age group in G20 nations, compared to a 24 per cent increase in all cancers.

Despite my flippant tone, this does seem to be a problem, although it’s affecting mostly young people right now — Daughter’s fiance has just had part of his thyroid removed, not for cancer but for something else.

That climate change thing still needs watching…

Ending Stupidity

and about time, too:

It appears the Biden Administration has ceded to increasing calls for an onerous COVID vaccine mandate to end for international air travelers, along with federal workers and contractors.

Stuff doesn’t seem to have worked, caused possibly thousands of unnecessary deaths all by itself, and was the basis for so much governmental overreach and, in some cases, outright thuggery.

Good riddance, and don’t bother doing it again, no matter how scary the poxes and plagues look.  We’re not going to be panicked, or bullied, next time.