An apple a day is what I should have been doing all along.

I don’t do doctors. I could have stage 4 brain cancer and would never know it, because I avoid conventional medicine at all costs. Yes, I take the occasional Midol, Advil, or what have you, but to be a regular? Not me.

For three years now, I’ve woken up nauseated about 37% of the 1,095 days in that time span. I have what many would call a “nervous stomach”. It has been way worse than ever lately. So today, I broke down and saw a doctor for a “wellness” visit. I can’t recall having one of those since my mandatory 6th grade physical. The prognosis wasn’t great. Probably ulcer caused from H. Pylori bacteria that I was treated for 6 years ago. SIX YEARS. To add insult to ulcerated injury, she says I’m probably still carrying around the bacteria because only 50% of the people treated for H. Pylori actually rid themselves of it the first time.

You have to know that stomach issues have plagued me all of my life. I think it’s a solid byproduct of being anxious by nature. I’m a worrier. Since I can remember, I’ve worried about everything. This has caused constant “butterflies” in my stomach for 30 years. These are not your average, run-of-the-mill Monarchs with beautiful, flowy, carefree wings. These motherfuckers are vicious. They have spiky wings and red, sharp, fiery tails. They flutter to kill. After they shred my stomach, they never fail to find a way through and out the other side. This has been my life for all of my life.

So the doctor’s strict orders for the next 30 days were as follows:

No caffeine. No chocolate. No carbonated beverages. No tomato-based ANYTHING.

This translates to the following:

No coffee, no tea, no sanity. No PMS relief. No afternoon pick-me-up from the RC machine at work. No pizza. No happiness.

But do I want to get well, or do I want to suffer for the rest of my days?

The answer is I want to get better. My actions don’t really relay that too well, because when I got back to work from this trip to the doc, I had Olive Garden and sweet tea waiting for me. Now my cubicle smells like a retirement home cafeteria, my belly is full, and I have to start fresh at supper. Like most things in my life, this is one where I’ll never learn.

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