I just woke up in the middle of the night, vomiting violently. I spent about 15 minutes losing my dinner, along with whatever was still in me of lunch and breakfast. Then I brushed my teeth, and I’ve now returned to bed. I’m guessing this is Clonidine’s fault. Not cool, Clonidine.
You’re currently reading “Clonidine makes me hurl,” an entry on Seeking Diagnosis
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Who am I? For a reason that should be obvious, I’m not going to put my name here. If the reason isn’t obvious to you, it’s because I also try to have a life, and when people on the margins of my life find out too early about my medical problems, they get turned off and shut me out. Prospective employers who’d google me and find this site wouldn’t offer me a job; girls who’d been out on two or three dates with me wouldn’t want to go on a third or fourth. Most everyone finds out eventually, of course, but I wait to tell them until they’re ready and until it’s relevant.
Suffice it to say that I was born in 1981 and grew up in the United States. I am a boy. I live in a certain eastern Mediterranean country with a socialist history and government control of the health system. And I’ve not been feeling well for a long, long time.
Want to know more? Please read through the blog. I’m writing about my symptoms, doctors visits, memories, analyses and complaints, as they occur. And I’m also going to add occasional critiques of the medical system and profession, as well as an ongoing conversation about House MD and the New York Times Diagnosis column.
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