MI - Medical Issue

I'm a 21-year old male. Honestly, there shouldn't be much wrong with my body. Sure, I eat pizza rolls on a regular basis, stuff fries down my gorge, and chug Gatorade like nobody's business.

But otherwise, I've always been pretty healthy. My metabolism, according to the cardiologist and dietitians, is so fast that when I sleep, my heart rate rivals that of a perambulating human being. Awesome, huh?

It doesn't end there, though, because honestly, a fast metabolism doesn't bother me too much. I mean, other than the fact that I've weighed the same since high school and my size has limited my participation in sports like football. Aside from that, I don't mind too much.

What has actually collided with my everyday life in a cataclysmal, explosive, and resonating way, is the Medical Issue I've been combating to the fullest of my ability. I don't want to disclose it to just anyone on the internet, but in my future posts, when I mention MI, just know I'm not talking about Michigan. I'm talking about this ridiculously ill-timed and inappropriate condition that has been persistently attempting to devastate the small amount of progress I've made since my epically disheartening experience at DePaul.

The pain I feel on a regular, day-to-day basis, honestly radiates throughout my entire body in a nauseating wave of discomfort and strain. And the only thing I can do is accept it.

Go to the doctor, you idiot.

I'm sure that's what you're thinking. If I'm in so much pain, wouldn't it make sense to go to this iconic and world renowned position whose specialty is alleviating pain in an almost divine manner?

Trust me, I have.

I've seen 6 different doctors for one issue. I've had CT Scans, Ultrasounds (yes, ultrasounds on a male), multiple physicals, and extensive consultation. And not a single damn one of them helped anything.

I know I'm not a doctor. I took biology classes at DePaul and was studying to be a doctor for a bit, before switching to nursing, and finally settling on Biosocial Neuropsychology (essentially using biology to diagnose the mental issues of society). I have learned every bone, every muscle group, every major artery, every vital piece that contributes to the human body - yet I know I have a lot to learn.

So, could someone please explain to me why I have to diagnose myself? These idiotic doctors can't even type a simple report without "accidentally" stating that I experience headaches in my abdomen and pelvis. Yes, cuz that's ostensible.

I can't say I feel comfortable with the possibility of surgery looming in my near future - a little over 24 hours into my future, actually. But what else can I do? I refuse to live the rest of my life in pain - especially this particular pain. I have a life to live and it quite obviously has no room in it for back-to-back appointments with dimwitted doctors who don't even know how to properly prescribe medication.

That's another thing that pisses me off.

I know I'm not in pharmacology - my chemistry is rusty at best. But I have enough chemical experience under my belt to know prescribing 2100 milligrams of ibuprofen to a patient with a history of severe heartburn and acid reflux is a BAD IDEA. Ibuprofen literally eats away at the interior gastronomic lining of the upper stomach; thus, simply 800 milligrams (the maximum limit for over-the-counter usage of ibuprofen) ignites the ventral cavity in stomach bile and causes reflux. It's not a complex scenario.

The cherry on top, though, is the EXTREME lack of cooperation Harrington displays with any sort of medical issue. Last semester, I suffered from severe pain in my right wrist. I'm right-handed. I was taking Beginning Drawing, 2D, and Design 101 and 102. All studio classes. All requiring some sort of artistic ability. Have you ever tried drawing with your non-dominant hand? It is the most degrading, insulting, and ego-shattering experience when you can't even draw a circle when you're used to drawing fully-rendered, realistic faces. Nonetheless, some of my teachers were understanding, and I was able to skate by with an A-Minus. But this semester, with the most indefatigable medical issue to which I've ever fallen victim, I have been unable to even walk without feeling like I'm going spew vomit from every facial orifice I have. It is ridiculously inconvenient. So when the doctors actually DO make an educated call and tell me not to travel unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, I'm going to listen.

But, apparently a forewarning isn't sufficient enough for Harrington's attendance policy. Even after speaking with my adviser (who will remain nameless) and revealing the bare essentials of my condition, I was contacted about a week later. Apparently, despite my ever-expanding collection of medical documentation and evidence of a temporary disability, I was required to attend my next class or risk being an "inactive student."

I'm sorry, but what exactly is inactive about writing until my fingers cramp, overextending myself in my written content, and trying my damnedest to keep myself from just dropping my classes altogether? What is inactive about continuously pushing back the agonizing discomfort that plagues my body? What the hell is inactive about taking responsibility for health?

It's not exactly like my classes are difficult. And I don't blame the professors. I blame the curriculum. As is obvious to most people, I need no further assistance in actually learning how to write. Sure, I love to read, and I'm always challenging my abilities to create something new and exhilarating to add to my syntax or my vocabulary or my grammar. My scientific knowledge, as is so adequately demonstrated above, is more than ample enough to breeze through an environmental science class that does nothing but partake in simplistic labs that consist of a DVD activity. I'm sorry, but I'm used to 3-4 page lab reports that are so tediously graded that an A is like a Godsend. And math. Really? It's not my favorite subject, but I get it. It's nothing but numbers working in a specific function to get an unwaveringly specific answer. I don't need a refresher. I'm paying thousands of dollars to get a re-education that I quite frankly do not need.

But I digress.

The real issue at hand is that even though I understand every minute detail of every single bit of rehashed information thrown my way, if my corporeal person is not present during these sickeningly repetitive and obnoxiously nostalgic 3-hour sessions of class, my knowledge means absolutely nothing. That's awesome, Harrington.

I pay over $7,000 for these classes.

I learn every senseless microcosm of the required material.

I give 150% in all of my content submitted.

Therefore, I should be able to recover from an intrusive, obtuse surgery in peace without having to worry about all of my time and money being wasted because my bullshit-ass school decides I'm not present enough.

In the end, it seems pointless to complain. But I'm the kind of person who fights for what I believe, and I believe Harrington has overstepped its boundaries. If they want to tell me I have to drop out because of a medical emergency that is beyond out of my control, we can have a nice little discussion with a lawyer present. I mean, hell, it's not like it could hurt to go a few thousand more dollars into debt than I already am - let's make it an even $60,000 in my name. Because it's not like I'm getting anywhere so far, and it's not like I can continue to fight this on my own - especially with my family 1000 miles away and no one to help me after my surgery except my roommate.

Alone or not, I refuse to back down from Harrington's professional incompetence nor from the annoying perseverance my illness seems to display.