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As our family ages, people who are not used to being ill are getting ill. Normally, L’il Sis and I are the go-to girls if you’re looking for someone who is unwell in our family. We like to feel that we do a great job of representing in this area, and have, between us, got pretty much everything covered – I think it’s just feet that between us nothing much is wrong with. Though, that said, the arthritis can pop up anywhere and our heels have been known to ache unreasonably, and The Mom was saying that L’il Sis has a whiff of The Mom’s funny feet about her of late. So, what I’m saying is that we’ve got medical issues sewn up between the two of us.

So it should come as no real surprise when things flare up. As it was the past week. At least for me.

Whilst The Mom was in New Zealand on her holidays, my back and ribs had been hurting more than normal. Now, I have had arthritis officially for the better part of thirty years. So I’m pretty used to a fairly constant amount of pain and discomfort. And I know there’s not really anything the doctor can do about the pain I’m in. This isn’t a brag or anything, but most of me hurts everyday, so when it’s bad enough for me to go to the doctor, then you’ve got to know that the pain is pretty impressive.

So I went to the doctor and said about my back, and mentioned, in passing, that my abdomen hurt and my pee was a bit red. I mentioned it in a full disclosure kind of way. The GP, however, felt this was quite noteworthy and insisted on a physical examination. I rolled my eyes but submitted. The fact that I nearly jumped off the table when she touched my abdomen led her to believe that there were other things at play. And my rose=colored pee was not encouraging. She thought maybe a kidney infection, but maybe also cystitis. All things you don’t want to include in an email to The Mom whilst she’s on holiday.

I got some antibiotics, and then went to see my Crohn’s doc for my twice a year check up, and mentioned these things, and he shook his head and ordered more tests, muttering about maybe there might be a stricture. Now to me, none of this is great news, but it’s also not the worst news. I mean, if you have Crohn’s the chances are pretty good you’ll get a stricture at some point. And as I’m not unwell otherwise, they can probably sort it with some meds. Not keen on that, but you know. Better than nothing, innit?

The Mom however has now heard about all these tests, and has quietly – and to herself – properly freaked out about it. She’s seen me at my sickest and she’s imagining that which is not what’s happening, but you know, it’s what she knows I look like when I’m poorly.

And this is the trouble with people who are not used to getting ill when they get ill: they freak out. If L’il Sis and I get ill, or there’s another addition to the ways in which we’re already ill, generally speaking we just sigh, and roll our eyes and shout to the heavens, “Seriously? Are you kidding me with this shit?”

And then we get on with matters. We’re very much hoping our other family members take a page from our playbook…

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