Imagine living everyday with a buzz of discomfort constantly with you.

I have a very high tolerance for hard work and discomfort. I worked in stable 60 hours a week as a teen tossing around hay bales. Have you ever lifted a hay bale? I had both of my sons naturally. I drove from Texas to Michigan with a kidney infection. I thought they went away if you kept drinking cranberry juice. I developed profound hypothyroidism because I just thought it was my lot in life to be uncomfortable and more tired than other people. I just ignored the fatigue and vision problems. I love to long distance run and like yoga. If I hit my hand, cut my finger or receive a superficial injury I almost don’t notice. These injuries are like single notes against cacophony of constant discomfort.

My stomach and gall bladder ache. It turns out my back pain the last ten years was stomach inflammation. My fingers hurt, my arms ache, my neck hurts. Every so often I will “catch” a hip and it will hurt like hell for several days. I don’t know why but it always goes away. This time it happened on a business trip to Amsterdam. It hurt so badly that I was having problems walking up stairs and down the street. I am 30. I left all of my coworkers and went to dinner alone so that my “illness” doesn’t compromise my chances for a promotion. The hip hurts and I then promptly “catch” the knee and the other knee as I start to walk funny to avoid placing weight on the first hip. My shoulders ache and my wrists hurt. The plane ride to Europe and back is agonizing. Not enough to make me cry.

I have only mentioned the aching once to a dr who said “no, you don’t really want to talk about that. Just rest a little.” I never mentioned it again. I come from a long line of women-six generations-with psychosomatic illness. We have a hereditary imaginary illness that causes imaginary stomach inflammation, imaginary gall bladder pain, imaginary nonspecific upper intestinal pain, imaginary fatigue and imaginary muscle and ligament pain. I am sure a bit of therapy might help. I think it should be called WWS for whiny woman syndrome.

The Dutch are very funny. They don’t apologize. They may say “my mistake” but really they mean “deal with it”. Get the fuck over it. That is my daily motto. Get the fuck over it and get the things I need to be done finished. Some days I look at my mom on fentenyl patches and I just want to sit down and cry. But no I get the fuck over, quit feeling sorry for myself and get to work. No body will save me, nobody will help me. The things that must be done will be done by me. So fuck everyone and get out of my way with your inefficient, stressed out drama routine. I have no tolerance or sympathy anymore.

I have become caustic.