It turns out nothing is wrong with me. My bad cholesterol, uric acid, and triglycerides are back to normal from their stratospheric heights in 2021 while my blood sugar (both FBS and hba1c) remains normal. My major organs are fine (unremarkable, the interpretations said). So what’s the deal with my stomach pain that knocked the wind out of me?
It’s stomach acids, not the pancreas, my attending physician said. If I respond to the drug he gave me, then it’s acids. If I don’t, then it’s likely ulcer and I need an endoscopy to ascertain it. But my GI specialist isn’t that perturbed because there is no bleeding or signs that I am at that point. He just gave me an order for the pancreas scan if I wanted to but he says it’s not needed unless I get another similar attack. I will have that scan because stomach acids cannot explain the pain that radiated to my back.
Shit! It’s really stress. It’s eating me alive.
I am really, really done for.
And you know what’s the tragic thing here? They don’t f*cking care if you die. You’re just another tool. Another cog. You are replaceable.
Just like our in-house legal counsel. He had cancer and he worked himself to death. He loved his job because he was a journalist first and then a lawyer second. He bit the bullet for us whenever we had lawsuits. And now, he is forgotten. The new management didn’t even get to know him.
I checked my house first before going to the hospital this afternoon.
I strolled a bit to go to the jeepney stop because it’s better to take public transport than bring my car. I don’t want to fight for parking space at the hospital. The campus is teeming with students again after almost 3 years. The first semester was hybrid so it was still like a ghost town here from August to December.
I decided to go back to QC early (3 pm) since traffic was light and took the mountain bypass road that I had grown to love through the years.
Maybe moving back here is the right choice. My stress is not as pronounced compared to when I’m back at my apartment in QC. Maybe because I’m cooped up in there. Maybe because I’ve always been a provinciana that the knots in my whole body uncoil when I see trees.