The internet is marvellous, sure. But if there’s one thing I shouldn’t do, it’s put my symptoms into Google and try and find a diagnosis for why I’m feeling so hot-damn shit at the moment.
Something’s not right with me. Since Friday, I’ve felt like I’ve been hit by a bus. I wake up OK, manage till lunchtime, and then suddenly I’m exhausted. Like, bone-crunchingly, achingly, bloody bastard exhausted. When Moo napped today, I lay on the sofa, unable to move, under two blankets, trying to get warm. I snoozed for a bit and had weird dreams. When Moo woke, it took me ten minutes to crawl upstairs to get her. Ridiculous. THEN I DECIDED TO WALK TO MY MUM’S HOUSE. Like a farking loon. Obviously, once I was out in the fresh air and moving along, I’d feel loads better. Mahahaha! WHAT A NOOB. A twenty minute walk to mum’s house took twice that long. I was hot, dizzy and out of breath by the time I got there. Yet I told myself it was only cos it was uphill, and I am
hugely mildly unfit, that it affected me so.
Anyway my mum is not a fool, and told me to go the doctor’s. And I always do what my mum tells me. Tomorrow I’ll phone up and book an appointment.
But this evening I thought I’d look up my symptoms anyway, just to save my GP some time. So, I’ll go in tomorrow and shove a sheaf of printed paper in his face and shriek ‘Oh my GAWD, save me Doctor, for I think I must have LUPUS!’
Cos I have lupus. OBVIOUSLY. Or if not that, then:
- Lyme disease
- Rocky Mountain spotted fever
- rhabdomyolysis (no, me either)
- fibromyalgia (eh?)
- glandular fever
- bum fever
- foof plague which has spread throughout my bones
- or… um… Tropical Ooga-Booga Monkey Disease
Whatever. It could be I’m just exhausted. Physically, mentally and emotionally. It could be a virus that my body’s not managing to shift for whatever reason. It could be just one of those things, and I’ll wake up tomorrow and actually feel OK for a change.
But man alive, do I take my health for granted. When I can’t carry Moo downstairs after her bath, then I know something’s up. When I feel better I’m going to do a farking victory dance and start looking after myself a bit more (which means – probably – less cake… doom).
I am relentlessly optimistic (stop laughing at the back there, I farking AM) so I know I’ll be OK soon. Maybe. Yeah, I will, I will. Hopefully. Oh Jeezus. Excuse me while I go on NHS Direct, won’t you…
Am I the only internet hypochondriac out there? Or is anyone else tempted by the lure of a Google diagnosis?