Once again, I’ve managed to land myself in the hospital today. The condition, however, is unrelated to my two previous visits. Supposedly, I may have visceral hemorrhages, or in layman’s terms, I’m bleeding internally. I think I pretty much qualify for the next episode of Mystery Diagnosis, except the doctors haven’t quite identified the raison d’etre behind these sudden and unexpected… minor disturbances. I’m confined to a strict diet by my doctor until my follow-up visit on Friday, and Wendy enforces I thoroughly masticate my food at the speed of a toothless, 99-year-old. Teeth are for weaklings, anyway.

The doctor also ran some tests, including blood-work. Why am I not surprised that, once again, multiple doctors and nurses had to spend half an hour trying to find my veins? I have multiple scars on my arms from blood donations and physicians missing my veins the first (and sometimes second) attempt at finding them. They tell me I have “tiny veins.” I’ve heard that the first 20 times, thanks. Ah well, I suppose a couple of extra cicatrices and discolored bruises wouldn’t hurt. No one would even notice unless I blatantly yelled out, “Hey, look at the cool holes in my arm!” I just can’t quite figure out how I’ve become unwell, since I’ve been perfectly healthy ere I first learned 2 + 2 = 4.

The last fever I’ve ever had was back in 1st grade. I remember it well because I had been anticipating the field trip to the dinosaur museum that entire week, even packed my own lunchbox – 1 peanut butter sandwich, 1 stick of string cheese, and 1 carton of apple juice. I woke up the next morning at 4 screaming and hallucinating with a 104 degree fever. My mother tried to wake me but I didn’t recognize her; instead, I saw a green monster with a face infested with yellow ulcers, feral cuspids, and incrusted horns — One of those images I still can’t purge out of my memory. I punched her with my fists because I thought the monster was trying to kidnap me. When I finally came to my senses, I made my mother promise that she’d let me go to the museum if I felt better within an hour. Alas, the toilet became my best friend the remainder of the day until I had nothing left to regurgitate, and I spent the subsequent 10 days with the flu. Come to think of it, I still haven’t visited a dinosaur museum, yet.

Perhaps I’ve since taken my health for granted, but enough of that: Onwards to a more light-hearted topic.

I’m a die-hard fan of cheesecake. Though I concede The Cheesecake Factory’s cheesecake is heavenly, buying it is still overrated. So, I went and bought the ingredients yesterday for white chocolate raspberry cheesecake (Excursus: I never knew it cost so much to make a 9″ cheesecake!) and here is the result:

White Chocolate Raspberry Cheesecake

Albeit absolutely scrumptious, I’m not sure if it was worth the 10-hour preparatory and cooking time. Unfortunately, though, the diet I’ve been placed on restricts dairy products. Wendy will have to enjoy it herself. (If anyone wants the recipe, don’t hesitate to ask.)

Recently upon chance, I’ve come across a song titled “One Night in Bangkok” by Murray Head. The music is divine! The song somehow leaves me feeling infinitely happy, as if every negative element in the world is swept away by a surge of magical, ambrosial flowers. That analogy, however, pales in comparison to the song’s actual effects. When listening to it, I feel like skipping and dancing rather than lifelessly walking to class, like spending an entire day lying in a field of emerald green, like… the universe stands peacefully motionless.

** Thanks, for the third time, for driving me to the hospital, Wendy. Your service is grately appreciated, and I shall pay you by bestowing to you the remainder of the cheesecake.

Advertisements