Back to the Peeves
Okay, folks, you're reading it here — fair warning right?
You wouldn't ask a girl enduring severe menstrual cramps, "Have you tried taking an aspirin?"
You wouldn't tell a dyslexic, "Perhaps reading glasses would help."
So for the love of Christ don't ask someone who's had CFS for 12 years (particularly during a day that's been especially miserable but he's sticking it out at work anyway because there's too much to get done), "I just read this article [which indicated that sometimes sinusitis may be related to fatigue symptoms, could be misdiagnosed as CFS, or could worsen CFS] and wondered, have you ever tried taking a sinus pill?"
You may think you're being helpful, or considerate, or illuminating, or something like that, but you're really only being a demeaning retard who's trivializing my extraordinarily miserable day, and who thinks that after reading a single half-page article in Newsweek or something you're a better expert than all my doctors for nearly half my life.
It's not the flu (though sometimes I tell people it is to avoid annoying questions). It's not failure to go to bed early enough (unless you consider "all day" early enough). It's not laziness. It's not anemia. It's not AIDS. It's not a lack of potassium, or B vitamins, or protein, or fiber, or whatever. It's not thyroid failure. It's not a drug habit. It's not leukemia. It's not any other kind of cancer. It's not asthma. It's not arthritis. It's not a migraine, or any kind of headache for that matter. And, while stress definitely amplifies it, it's not "just stress" either.
If medical tests have determined all this stuff, then your holier-than-thou opinion doesn't count for shit, so I'd appreciate if you kept it to yourself.
I won't bother you with complaining about how I feel, because I figure that's no fun for anyone to listen to and it's my own burden to bear, so to speak, but your part of the deal is not to trivialize what you think is "wrong" with me at the moment, not to judge me for not seeking out a miracle cure every minute of my life because I have better things to do than to dwell on it, and not to act like I'm some tremendous drag on your social life because I don't feel well.
Deal?
Whew. Okay. Now that that's out of my system. . . .
I had an interesting experience the other day. I got in my car to drive to work, and had a Tosca CD in there. Realizing that since I was commuting during the 7:30am timeframe I was in no danger of exposure to Diane Rehm (I despise that woman — I don't care how much her stroke or whatever makes people think they need to compensate for her speech impediment in some bizarre affirmative action ritual — she still asks the most ridiculous asinine patronizing questions in the history of public radio, and I thought interviewing ability was the main criterion for a good talk show host anyway. Terry Gross is my hero, and I wish she'd show up at 9am some morning with some Yoda-style lightsabre skillz and wipe ol' Diane from the face of the planet. . . .), I pushed the FM button on my car stereo. The music switched from Tosca to Massive Attack, and I'm thinking, "That can't be right — did I hit the disc skip button instead?" — that is, until the music started to fade out and one of the Marketplace commentators began introducing a story about Charles Taylor in Liberia, or some other such current newsworthy item.
I so love being an adult finally and getting to be the NPR target audience.
(See? I'm not bitter about everything. Say "sinus pill" and I'll kick your ass though. Heh heh.)
You wouldn't ask a girl enduring severe menstrual cramps, "Have you tried taking an aspirin?"
You wouldn't tell a dyslexic, "Perhaps reading glasses would help."
So for the love of Christ don't ask someone who's had CFS for 12 years (particularly during a day that's been especially miserable but he's sticking it out at work anyway because there's too much to get done), "I just read this article [which indicated that sometimes sinusitis may be related to fatigue symptoms, could be misdiagnosed as CFS, or could worsen CFS] and wondered, have you ever tried taking a sinus pill?"
You may think you're being helpful, or considerate, or illuminating, or something like that, but you're really only being a demeaning retard who's trivializing my extraordinarily miserable day, and who thinks that after reading a single half-page article in Newsweek or something you're a better expert than all my doctors for nearly half my life.
It's not the flu (though sometimes I tell people it is to avoid annoying questions). It's not failure to go to bed early enough (unless you consider "all day" early enough). It's not laziness. It's not anemia. It's not AIDS. It's not a lack of potassium, or B vitamins, or protein, or fiber, or whatever. It's not thyroid failure. It's not a drug habit. It's not leukemia. It's not any other kind of cancer. It's not asthma. It's not arthritis. It's not a migraine, or any kind of headache for that matter. And, while stress definitely amplifies it, it's not "just stress" either.
If medical tests have determined all this stuff, then your holier-than-thou opinion doesn't count for shit, so I'd appreciate if you kept it to yourself.
I won't bother you with complaining about how I feel, because I figure that's no fun for anyone to listen to and it's my own burden to bear, so to speak, but your part of the deal is not to trivialize what you think is "wrong" with me at the moment, not to judge me for not seeking out a miracle cure every minute of my life because I have better things to do than to dwell on it, and not to act like I'm some tremendous drag on your social life because I don't feel well.
Deal?
Whew. Okay. Now that that's out of my system. . . .
I had an interesting experience the other day. I got in my car to drive to work, and had a Tosca CD in there. Realizing that since I was commuting during the 7:30am timeframe I was in no danger of exposure to Diane Rehm (I despise that woman — I don't care how much her stroke or whatever makes people think they need to compensate for her speech impediment in some bizarre affirmative action ritual — she still asks the most ridiculous asinine patronizing questions in the history of public radio, and I thought interviewing ability was the main criterion for a good talk show host anyway. Terry Gross is my hero, and I wish she'd show up at 9am some morning with some Yoda-style lightsabre skillz and wipe ol' Diane from the face of the planet. . . .), I pushed the FM button on my car stereo. The music switched from Tosca to Massive Attack, and I'm thinking, "That can't be right — did I hit the disc skip button instead?" — that is, until the music started to fade out and one of the Marketplace commentators began introducing a story about Charles Taylor in Liberia, or some other such current newsworthy item.
I so love being an adult finally and getting to be the NPR target audience.
(See? I'm not bitter about everything. Say "sinus pill" and I'll kick your ass though. Heh heh.)