Apparently, I don’t have enough to write about
(insert sarcastic eye roll here)
because today I was officially diagnosed with a new, fun and exciting disorder that will make me the most
in-demand guest at otherwise boring get-togethers:

Partygoer: “Hey, look, it’s Jo!  The Woman of Many Disorders!  I bet she’ll have something interesting to add to the conversation!”

Me: “Sure!  Um, where do I start….let’s see……so I went the grocery store yesterday to see if some Kiss My Ass was on sale….”

When I chose my ENT specialist last week, I did what any normal, well-educated, totally stable woman would do.  I picked the one that shared the same last name as my favorite t.v. show. 

So Dr. House it was, and I jumped on the first available appointment, which was this morning, at 10:00.  I mentioned his name to some acquaintances and was pleasantly surprised that my carefully thought-out physician-choosing-method landed me in the hands of a well-renowned ENT guru.  Those of you lucky enough to deal with me in real life gave a rather long, and might I add, dramatic, sigh of relief, and I assume it’s only because you care for me deeply and want to see me healed for my own benefit and not for other, more selfish reasons, such as maybe I’ll finally shut the @#$! up already and you can get on with your otherwise pleasant and normal life.
You are so good to me.

In any case, Dr. House turned out to be a wonderful older man who treated me with kindness and patience.  He listened to my symptoms, nodded his head in heartfelt sympathy as I recalled the last few weeks through gentle yet courageous tears, and genuinely made me feel like I wasn’t insane.

Then he told me, in so many genuine and heartfelt words, that I was screwed.

Mal de Debarquement Syndrome.
Try saying that ten times fast. 

I assume he means I’m screwed because:

A. There’s no cure.
B. It’s very rare.
C. It’s French (and we all know what that means)
D. I have a sudden zero tolerance to movement of any kind.
E. I may have to live out my days on a Carnival Cruise Ship in order to feel any relief and I don’t think  there’s  a Target or Trader Joe’s on a Carnival Cruise ship so where would I freely and irresponsibly spend all of our hard earned money? 
F.  I should probably not mention that last part to my husband.   

So, YAY!
Now what?

Planes are out.
Trains are out.
Cars are out.
Overly excitable movies are out, as is vigorous hair brushing and playing spin the bottle (dammit!)

I knew when I started eating geriatric oatmeal for breakfast every morning that things would inevitably begin to fall apart.  I should have stuck with a more youthful choice, like Bud light and tomato juice. 

I guess I’ll have to suck it up and look on the bright side.

As long as it’s not moving, shifting, bouncing, rolling, swaying, twirling, swirling, jumping, running, walking, swimming, dancing, crawling, or otherwise engaged in motion-related activities of any kind.

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2 Replies to “Try Saying That Ten Times Fast”

  1. I just found your blog. I love it. I also have a son who is autistic and more diagnoses than I care to recall.

    Sorry to hear about your diagnosis. Maybe Dr. House is wrong. It happens. I've seen the episodes.

    I don't know if I'd be able to keep a straight face during the appt. LOL.

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