Brando meets Quasimodo

I have a strange and rare condition.

Yeah, ok, I’m hearing the chuckles, but this is serious. It comes around maybe once a year, it’s called deQuervain’s Disease, and it cannot be cured.

It isn’t dangerous or contagious, and certainly can’t be caught by reading this column, so please continue.  

Since it is rare, however, not all doctors know about the condition.

Those that do have patiently tried to explain it, but I could never really follow what they were trying to say.

Apparently, when my immune system is down a bit, viruses think they can just attack me at random. My little immune system let’s them in, and then suddenly and without warning, strikes back so severely that it kills off those nasty intruders – and quite a few of my very own healthy cells with them.

Sort of like civilian casualties in a bombing raid.  

Bummer!

This results in heavy swelling of body parts. Once, my left hand took on the proportions of the Incredible Hulk’s.  On another occasion, my neck grew as thick as an elephant’s . . . err . . . well, you know, private parts!

One evening last week, I wasn’t feeling well and realized that my jaw wasn’t in very good shape.

I downed a couple of pain killers and jumped into bed without much notice. However, after waking up in pain a few times during the night, I thought: this might just be a bit more serious.

By morning the pain was killing me. My youngest looked at me in a major scare and softly whispered:  “Mommy, does that hurt?”

When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I even scared the shit out of myself. My face didn’t even fit in one mirror. The size of my left cheek was humongous. With a bit of luck I could park the whole bloody Titanic in there with space left for the life boats. No wonder I was hurting.

Anyway, this latest episode resulted in me taking up residence on the couch with bags of antibiotics and painkillers galore.

The only thing I can eat is yoghurt . . . plain yoghurt and strawberry yoghurt and cherry yoghurt, and even that nasty peach yoghurt. I’ve got yoghurt coming out of my ears and do not wish to see another bowl of the stuff again in my life!

I’m still on antibiotics, but with only half the painkillers, so the fog is clearing up.

The swelling is now dangling somewhere underneath my chin, which feels really weird and looks even worse.

And the pain . . . well it’s just bad enough to realize I am in a really bad mood. So, my friends, if you value your lives at all, then please, I beg you, no more of the following remarks:

1)     “Hello there, have you turned Muslim?” (That’s not a burka, Mr. Wiseass, just trying to cover up this hideous slab of skin)

2)     “Hey, are you related to Marlon Brando?” (Sure, smarty pants, but since it’s only one cheek, I would only be half related)

3)     “Saving something for a rainy day?” (Like I would already start collecting food in case winter comes early . . . ha, ha,   not!)

4)     “So, the Elephant Man does exist?” (No you stupid piece of sh . . . err  . . .  turd.  

5)     “Hi, is Quasimodo coming as well?” (Speechless . . . how cruel!)

Revenge may take a while. But when that pimple reappears on the tip of your nose . . . or when you get a real bad sun burn . . . or when you need to go on a diet again . . . Yes, it may take long, but it shall be sweet!