I’m About 60% Sure I Have An Ulcer (Again)
Whoopsies
Maybe it’s because I’m an Irish-Catholic ass bitch or maybe it’s just because I don’t have health insurance, but I don’t go to doctors. I live in the United States, where a single trip to the doctors office costs $6 million in unmarked bills and the naming rights to your first born son. Given that the basic human right of healthcare is virtually off the table for me unless I’m pissing blood out of my spine, I’ve essentially resolved to self diagnosing what I can only assume is yet another in a string of self inflicted stomach ulcers.
So far as I can tell, my ulcerated journey began in the distant past of 2019, when I took enough Excedrin to kill a horse, or burn a hole in my insides. For those of you not in the know, Excedrin is a fast-acting, over the counter migraine pill which shuffles you off this mortal coil when you take a few dozen, shreds your stomach like a fishnet stocking when you take them consistently, and quells migraines with the precision of Barack Obama bombing a children’s hospital when used properly.
I’ve suffered through chronic migraines since I was a young child, as a genetic consequence of nearly every person on both sides of my family having the same affliction. This Voltron crew of misguided migraineurs joined forces to ensure that I would double over in brain bending agony for…
