Just got home from the doctor. Apparently, I don't know my medicine so good. My rare skin disorder is somehow linked to that splatterfest of two weeks ago. You remember the one? 102 degree fever, seven days of diarrhea? Sound familiar? On the other hand, the doctor said, we may never know what's causing it. Doesn't that sound hopeful?
What I'm not is (1) diabetic, (2) suffering some cellular breakdown ala The Hulk, and/or (3) nerve disordered. My wife, always overflowing with empathy, diagnosed me with fibromyalgia, that offed maligned and favored disorder of the personality disordered. To which she laughed and guffawed and made general fun. Which is unfortunate for me since...
The doc suggested post-viral myalgia (way too similarly named), wherein that virus took a liking to me and decided to hang out in my skin and soft tissue (including the penile spongiosum). I'm also super-dehydrated. Is it serious, you ask? Only so much that these everyday, over the counter items will fix it. Maybe. And before anyone asks, yes I refill those Voss bottles, no one can afford that shit on a regular basis.
By the time I got home, everyone was aware of my skin issue and offers of advice came pouring in. Sauves from my best friend the witch doctor, my mother suggested I save some money and take her generic ibuprofen that expired twelve years ago (she would have gladly coughed up her supply of Mexican antibiotics had I only asked), my wife chuckled at my diagnosis.
Me: It's post-viral myalgia.
Her: Did you say Fibromyalgia?
Her: It's a non-specific generalized pain of uncertain origin?
Her: Isn't that fibromyalgia?
Me: No goddamnit! Well, yes. Shut up!
By the end of the week I'll have a full blown Borderline Personality Disorder sans cutting. My people are so sweet.