So let me tell you about healthcare. Think of torture, but you pay for it. Then get asked to come back for more and then you pay for it. Then you get a piece of paper saying in short "fuck if I know." Then they shuffle you off to someone else because the doctors can spend 5-10 minutes with you before the next billable fuckwit gets their 5-10 minutes. This week I ran on a treadmill, fat jiggling everywhere, until I failed. To my credit, I did not fall down, only through sheer fucking brute force of will. They have not called back demanding more tests, so I must have done as well as expected. A few days later, however, and HO-LEE-FUCK am I out of shape and fucking beat to hell. They also tested liver, glands and found that the kidneys are once again working as they should, and I thank Keto for that. Doctor likes the blood work, despite not liking Keto style diets. The one thing I will say in the favor of most doctors? They know it is a numbers game, and the numbers dictate the care more than feelings and other nonsense. If it works, and you have the data to back it up, it works and we call that medicine. I am not losing weight, which is really worrying, and we cannot figure out why; I'm fat as I have ever been and I should be dropping pounds, but those numbers can eat a bag of dicks for all the stubbornness about moving they exhibit. Speaking of numbers, the few docs and I had chats... all the numbers are moving ever so fucking slowly in directions some might consider "not dying, but think about life insurance and survivors." At least I am not getting worse. And I am not diabetic, which shocked the shit out of me. With all the baking and crap I have eaten over the years, and a family history, and the fun adventures with malnutrition and physical labour I no longer have any possible markers of insulin resistance, elevated sugar responses or the Type 2 death sentence. Yet the body feels like shit, I feel like shit and I get weekly migraines that are fucking with me.

The one thing that has come back is the bullshit fuckery with my sleep schedule. I fell into astronomy because I was up all night anyway might as well take advantage. Then I got old and shit went all tits-up. When I was a young man, I could go 2-3 days and not sleep, then sleep 4-6 hours and be fine. That all natural, no drugs, no weird shit, only coffee and chocolate and hate of the world. That, for me, was normal. Then, it hit me like a semi at 40MPH one year that if I did not get 8-10 hours of sleep I was dead to all but the angry voices in my head. I finally had a choice of fixing the problem or get fired so I got tested and well golly-gee no shit I have sleep apnea. Of all the things one could possibly fucking suck at? I choose breathing and sleeping.

I do not hate medicine, yet. I bet a surgery will shove that dial, and fortunately all my bullshit is chemical and not physical. Nobody wants to cut me open until there is an idea on what piece of shit inside me is being the asshole. Fortunately my health insurance is not totally fucked over yet, but I have no qualms that Congress will do something this year just to fuck with me and make my bullshit that much less pleasant.

After the testing, where I had lower than normal blood pressure, good cholesterol and good blood work, I celebrated with a pound of bacon and a 6 ounce steak. When I took a piss the next day, it smelled like bacon. There is something in that statement that I should be both proud of and ashamed of.