Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


Getting better.

Well, after twelve days, one emergency room visit, a GI consult, and three days of Cipro, the mystery fever appears to have abated. I ate half a sandwich at lunch today, which is a big improvement on the popsicles and pedialyte I was living on for a few very scary days, when food of any kind was unappealing.

I have thoughts on my run-in with Western Medicine. I have thoughts on how much it fucking sucked not to be eating. I am not quite up to the energy levels I need to sustain enough rage to properly rant....so I save these topics for another time.

Suffice to say, I appear to be on the mend, even though they still don't really know yet what the hell I'm suffering from. I still have some diagnostics and stuff, to see if we can get to the bottom of it. But, for now, I will take my returned appetite (though diminutive) and lack of boiling fever, and I will be happy with it.

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