Something has really been bugging me since my five minute swim.
I know what you’re thinking… but that’s not it. I’ve actually managed not to chastise myself (too badly) about it.
The ulcerative colitis dude was swimming in the lane next to me and saw me struggling. When I stopped swimming, he stopped too. You know, to talk. It seemed nice enough. I though he was being kind, so I pandered when I really wanted to retreat into breathing techniques and transcendental meditation.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah, it’s just a bad day. A bad day.”
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“So… Do you take medication for that?” He got some kind of weird twinkle in his eye.
“Uhhm. Yuh. I have medication that I take…” I trailed off. I was dizzy, my vision starting to close in.
He didn’t seem to notice or care as he launched into a laundry list of “do you take” controversial med-x, controversial med-y, controversial med-z, controversial drug group-a, controversial drug class-n… He listed no fewer than 8 medications and groups/classes of medications.
It pissed me off. He seemed excited thinking he had tapped into some hot-button topic plaguing our modern society.
Meanwhile, I was trying not to vomit from the pain in my leg. I got out of the pool. I walked away. He was still talking.
Halfway to my deck chair, I turned back. He was still just hanging out at the end of his lane, waiting for me to indulge his curiosity. I disappointed him.
“You know, I’m not happy or proud about the medication I have to take to control my CRPS. I have very good doctors who are trying to get me to remission.” I hobbled the rest of the way to the chair.
I am actually quite proud of myself that I mustered the self-control not to snap: ‘Hey buddy, it’s none of your fucking business!’
Jesus. If someone I knew, even peripherally from the YMCA pool, was in obvious pain, I would be more concerned with their well-being than their prescriptions.
(I’m very, very sorry about the explicit song I am about to insert… but… seriously…)
Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?!