Friday, April 25, 2008

I am Jane's Sense of Delusion

Yes, as you may have noticed, I've changed the rugs, hung a couple of new curtains, and changed the format up a bit.

Let's just say that as I've been going through my maze of medical issues and no answer answers, I've realized that I harbor one abiding fantasy. I want to dress like Marla from Fight Club, light up a cigarette, and sashay into my pulmonology appointment on May 8th like I am the goddess of all things dark and brooding. If I can't get answers, I can at least make a hell of an impression.

Actually, I've been interested in finding a medical support group. The problem is, what medical support group? A group for people that can no longer zip their pants comfortably because their joints are so painful? A group for people that can no longer breathe unless they are on mind numbing amounts of prednisone so that swell up like a Macy's Day balloon? A group for people that go to work and then go home and lay down for the rest of the night because if they don't, they'll fall down? A group for people that can't climb more than four stairs without breaking out in a cold sweat, having tunnel vision, and shaking like a leaf?

Funnily enough, support groups aren't listed like that.

And funnily enough, I find that a lot of support groups meet during the day on a weekday.

Because obviously, SICK PEOPLE DON'T WORK.

So to wash the bitterness out of my mouth, I hunkered down with my favorite movie last night. And how can you argue with dialog like this?

Narrator: I wasn't really dying. I wasn't host to cancer or parasites. I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around.

Narrator: Bob loved me because he thought my testicles were removed too. Being there, pressed against his tits, ready to cry. This was my vacation... and she ruined *everything*.
Marla Singer: This is cancer right?
Narrator: This chick Marla singer did not have testicular cancer. She was a liar. She had no diseases at all. I had seen her at Free and Clear my blood parasite group Thursdays. Then at Hope, my bi-monthly sickle cell circle. And again at Seize the Day, my tuberculous Friday night. Marla... the big tourist. Her lie reflected my lie. Suddenly I felt nothing. I couldn't cry, so once again I couldn't sleep.

[about attending support groups for diseases she doesn't have]
Marla Singer: It's cheaper than a movie, and there's free coffee.

If I had a tumor, I'd name it Marla.

Narrator: Marla... the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.

Narrator: Marla's philosophy of life is that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't.

Narrator: I'll tell you: we'll split up the week, okay? You take lymphoma, and tuberculosis...
Marla Singer: You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn't go over at all.
Narrator: Okay, good, fine. Testicular cancer should be no contest, I think.
Marla Singer: Well, technically, I have more of a right to be there than you. You still have your balls.
Narrator: You're kidding.
Marla Singer: I don't know... am I?
Narrator: No, no! What do you want?
Marla Singer: I'll take the parasites.
Narrator: You can't have both the parasites, but while you take the blood parasites...
Marla Singer: I want brain parasites.
Narrator: I'll take the blood parasites. But I'm gonna take the organic brain dementia, okay?
Marla Singer: I want that.
Narrator: You can't have the whole brain, that's...
Marla Singer: So far you have four, I only have two!
Narrator: Okay. Take both the parasites. They're yours. Now we both have three...

Narrator: I got in everyone's hostile little face. Yes, these are bruises from fighting. Yes, I'm comfortable with that. I am enlightened.

Tyler Durden: We're consumers. We are by-products of a lifestyle obsession. Murder, crime, poverty, these things don't concern me. What concerns me are celebrity magazines, television with 500 channels, some guy's name on my underwear. Rogaine, Viagra, Olestra.
Narrator: Martha Stewart.
Tyler Durden: Fuck Martha Stewart. Martha's polishing the brass on the Titanic. It's all going down, man. So fuck off with your sofa units and Strinne green stripe patterns.

Narrator: Tyler was now involved in a class action lawsuit against the Pressman Hotel over the urine content of their soup.

Marla Singer: Listen. I tried Tyler. I really tried. There are things about you that I like, you're smart, you're funny, you're spectacular in bed. But you are intolerable. You have serious emotional problems, deep seated problems for which you should seek professional help.

Perhaps I don't need a medical support group. Perhaps I need to start a fight club?

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