Sick and Tired and…Happy?

Yesterday I had a tickle in my throat that metamorphosed in the night into something more akin to a forest fire.  And I’m on day 2 of a weird, intermittent nose bleed.  And as I mentioned a little while back, I’ve lately been suffering from an increase in the severity of my Crohn’s symptoms.  But for all that, I’m feeling pretty happy today, for the following reasons, listed in ascending order of importance:

1. Magic robe.
2. I had an appointment with my gastroenterologist on Monday, and he decided that the backwards progression of my symptoms called for several aggressive steps to be taken on my behalf, including giving me stronger pain meds.  So now I have a magic robe and a big bottle of hydrocodone.  Even at this level of pain, hydrocodone seems to be strong enough to keep Zelazny’s Toothache at bay.
3. If you have clicked over to the “Writing” tab since last night, you will have noticed that there is now a firm publication date for the story of mine that Strange Horizons is publishing.  I’m going through the galley now.
4. I’ve spent the last three months on prednisone (which I was only supposed to be on for a matter of weeks) due to a protracted and ridiculous battle with my insurance company.  As of this morning, that battle is over.  I am finally going to be allowed to start on one of the class of medications my doctor first prescribed for me back in January.  If things go as planned, I will finally have a gleaming syringe full of specially tailored monoclonal antibodies delivered to me on Friday.

I’ve been putting off writing up a long, detailed account of The Harrowing Tale of E. J. and the Crohn’s until the insurance issues were resolved one way or another.  If I actually get my meds on Friday, that will give the narrative enough closure for me to be willing to commit it to text.  I expect it will be somewhat cathartic to write, though I can make no promises that it will be particularly pleasant to read.  And I might wait a little while to post it, as I’m not convinced that thousands of words about misery and blood and pain are what I want on the front page of this site when my first published story goes live.  But if my discussion of my health issues up to this point has, to borrow a phrase from Neal Stephenson, sounded like the terse mutterings of a pilot at the controls of a damaged plane, know that that has been more or less by design.  For the last 2/3 of a year, my life has been awfully one-note; limiting the degree to which I let it dominate my conversation has been an intentional coping strategy to force me to pay attention to more positive things.