Plaquenil Farts and a Hooker Bra

Word on the street is that there is an unusually high smog alert over New York City. Yea, I apologize.  It is my fault. I’ve got the plaquenil farts again.  When the carbon monoxide detector goes off in the neighboring buildings I will not apologize.  I will deny any doing or knowledge. 

As of late, compliments of finally getting my health insurance reinstated (though, the dental and vision are still being hijacked by bureaucracy), my days have been filling up with doctor’s appointments and the gremlin bottles have been multiplying on my dresser.  I haven’t even spilled any water, as of late.  Though, give that five minutes as I’ve got a bottle of seltzer calling my name.  Those bitches always bathe my carpet, bed, and me before settling down.  You would think there would be a better way to open them . . .I wonder if getting a boyfriend to open them would make things less wet? Oh wait, would need a boyfriend first.  Though, I have dude friends . . . wonder if I can pawn my next seltzer bottle on them? Hmmm.

So those doctors . . . well, after eleven years I am leaving my long-time rheumatologist for a new one.  This one comes highly recommended, and the primary care pulled a favor to get me seen . . . wait for it . . . next week.  And no, I’m not keeping the old rheumatologist as a backup.  Long story short, there’s some concern over my pain threshold and lack of medication, telling me to get a cardio workup without examining my abdomen, and a few other things.  Oh well, shit happens.  I’m told the new one is divine, and that he will appreciate my guerilla warfare humor.  If not, he only has to see every three months or when I am in a flare.  So . . . he can suck it up since I pay to be there.  Yes, I know . . .do not offer him a bloody nose bleed tissue and ask him if he wants some Lupus. 

What? Nineteen years later and I still think that was a brilliant move.  Brilliant.  Granted, doubt I would do that these days, but it was vintage-Annessa-brilliance.

Though, aside from a sinus rhythm in my heart being mildly stupid and my acid reflux and ulcers deciding to throw a kegger in my body, blood shot eyes, all around exhaustion, medication side effects, and the perpetual rash, I’m good these days.  Of course, this was all confirmed by the new primary, who while listening to my chest needed to move the paper gown.  Um, yea, it was laundry day.  What bra did I have on holding the natural double Ds? The black lace, with embroidered flowers, and . . . a sprinkling of rhinestones. Imagine how big that Greek man’s eyes got, my face turning red as I said “Oh dear god, I apologize for the hooker bra.  I haven’t done laundry.”  

Him, “You never need to apologize here. You are the boss.” As he adjusted his eyes, “Besides, I see old ladies all day.”

Of course, the heels of my trip encountered the conversation for the newest drug. I dumbly asked, “Is there anything I need to stay away from?” Without batting an eye, MD said “Chocolate and spicy foods.”

Me, “Well, I’m allergic to red pepper so spice is already out, but no chocolate? You are kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Yes, it is.”

The even more fucked up part is that the pharmacist told me to avoid mint too, and after I tell my friends the woes of this news (added with a caffeine reduction ban) I learn I have jackals in my midst. Why? No less than three people asked if I wanted a can of homemade peppermint bark to make me feel better, someone else asked if Godiva Peanut Butter squares are still my favorite, and someone else asked if we were meeting for our annual holiday chocolate and coffee get together. I sure as shit hope these people were jesting.  If not, may god have mercy on your souls when I feel better and re-activate my superpower—only afforded through the massive consumption of various Lupus meds—and make your Momma’s weep at my fury to you. Yup, I may feel like crap on a cracker now, but I am secretly Wonder Woman (with drugs). 

On that note, I need to swig some Pepto to wash down the day’s last dose of gremlins. 

Oh, since I know you want to see the hooker bra (What? I posted my shrunken ass here a few months back--and the ass is smaller now) . . .