Chronically Yours: A Sick Chronicle Of Sorts


Two siblings, living on opposite ends of a great pond, catch up over the phone. Ill tidings of assorted aches and pains are exchanged. Morbid moroseness, often misspelled as ‘morosity’, ensues. Based on a true story from the Intrasomatic Conspiracy files. Written for those who enjoy listening to other people’s conversations.


Warning! Not for the hypochondria oriented! Please consult your physician or psychoanalyst before reading any further.


Gil: Hello? Are you there?

Jill: Hey!

Gil: Oh! I almost didn’t see you there. How are you? I’m crappy.

Jill: Crappy or crabby? (laughs)

Gil: No, not crabby. ‘Crappy’, with a capital ‘C’. Sorry, you just caught me at a bad time.

Jill: Sorry to hear that. What’s up?

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Red Moon Rising – A Cautionary Tail

“Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt; And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.” 
 – William Shakespeare

Some days are screwy right from the get go. The other morning was one such example; I woke up and my butt was on fire. I’m not taking about the flames and conflagration type. I’m talking about the blazing kind of burning that smolders below your skin, that even a dead man would scratch. And that’s exactly what I did.

Originally, I thought perhaps I had been bitten by some creepy crawler that had the nerve to invade the bliss of my sleep and the serenity of my bed. Still, there was no tell-tale signs of itchiness, welts, bumps, puncture marks or otherwise. There was only an inflamed hotspot raging on my left butt cheek. It felt feverish to the touch and dense to my groping. For a moment it occurred to me that the previous evening I had watched the Exorcist, but I quickly dismissed this mental digression.

Whatever it was, it had clearly manifested itself in such a way that it made its presence felt like a rabid dog in an alley. My right butt cheek, in comparison, was indifferent to its twin’s histrionics. Yes, there was certainly a great divide between the two.

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Intrasomatic Conspiracy: Part 5 – Not Born To Run

Once you’re over the hill, you begin to pick up speed.
– Charles M. SchulzI’ve mentioned before that just when I seem to be making headway in terms of achieving some semblance of physical fitness, or even a modicum thereof, my body seems to rebel. I’ve referred in the past to this as an ‘intrasomatic conspiracy‘. Well, it seems that having gotten off on the right foot by going to the gym and losing about 10 pounds, insurrection is afoot; my hip is definitely not hopping.It started the other morning. I woke up, went into the kitchen, made some coffee, and stared into silence waiting for the first few dregs of java hued droplets to drip … and then it happened. Pop went the ‘crunch’. It’s kind of hard to explain, but my left leg sort of felt like it had attempted to migrate to a no-loitering zone. There was a mild pain, nothing to shout about, but something was definitely off. The coffee began to percolate and off I hobbled to a nook in the wall to brace myself for … well, dislocation I had imagined. So for the last week or so, I’ve felt like an old dog with rickety hips. You know, the ones they usually hook up to wheels before they put them down.

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Intrasomatic Conspiracy: Part 1 – An Ill Wind Blows

The last month or so, I’ve felt a bit like some of the characters Woody Allen has played in his films. You know the characters: the worried ones that are priming themselves for a shot at being ordained a Patron Saint of Hypochondriacs.

Yes, I can relate, except I’m no hypochondriac. As such, I’ve been on a pilgrimage to find out what’s wrong with me. I need a handle on the situation. I need clarity. I need to make some sense of the random and collective aches and pains I have … and also a few chronic conditions, to boot. Not to mention the other few medical concerns, I might be plagued with, that I read about on the Internet and that are awaiting some medical confirmation.

There are days when I feel better, and then there are days when I feel worse. My body seems to have a rhythm all it’s own and resists any attempt to improve the status quo. Really, I’m not kidding. I think there is some intrasomatic conspiracy going on somewhere in my central nervous system. Consider the following evidence:

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