The Doctor and I.

So, off to the doc’s today loaded with a debrief and a lot of questions (I suspect my never ending questions are what causes him to seem a little impatient with me at times.)

First, the debrief on the fatigue condition. After I told him that it appears to have almost gone, he delighted in revealing that the first scan of my recent blood tests overlooked something. I have a deficiency, or excess, or whatever, of something or other unprounceable, which apparently indicates the likelihood that I’ve developed celiac disease. To be certain, I would have to have a tube thrust down my gullet and a biopsy taken. ‘Bugger that,’ I said (only more politely.) I dislike hospitals with a passion, especially modern ones that are all about science and little to do with humanity, and I think I would dislike having a tube thrust down my gullet even more.

I looked it up when I got home. For a start, I have none of the usual symptoms of celiac except for the tendency to get anxious, which I’ve always had, and the recent fatigue problems which have almost gone. Secondly, there’s no cure; the only thing you can do is go on a gluten-free diet for the rest of your life, and it doesn’t always make a difference anyway. Can you imagine me, a confirmed carboholic, being on a gluten-free diet? I’d be an even more miserable git than I am now. I doubt I could live with myself. I find it difficult enough as it is.

We moved onto the shoulder problem. He’s referred me to a physio. Good. One positive outcome at least. And then he told me that people of my age do sometimes develop pains that keep them awake at night. It’s perfectly normal. Is it, now? I bet I’m not more than five years older than him, cheeky bastard. I think he was getting his own back for me declining his offer of a tube down the gullet.