By going to the hospital, thanks to a very upset stomach caused by a Jollibee breakfast meal and two cups of their irresistible iced tea one very early morning. After a series of tests, my doctor, who resembled a thinner and more attractive (and gay-er) version of Rob from Survivor Philippines, gave me his diagnosis: gastritis. I wasn’t exactly bringing out party hats when he made the announcement, but I was at least thankful that it wasn’t something worse – something like appendicitis, which would have required an expensive and embarrassing operation. I was just relieved I had a name to what was giving me lots of tummy pain, making me miss work and depriving me from great food, and that I was given medicine to help me get well as soon as possible.

A couple of days after, however, the abdominal pain didn’t disappear despite the medication so I consulted with a specialist. The specialist turned out to be quite a chatty one. She went on and on and on, making me feel guilty about my sedentary lifestyle and leaving me no second for some of my very important questions. All I know is that after a while, I was suddenly out of the room. Her diagnosis was different: the medicines my first doctor gave me (antacids) weren’t working so I must have been suffering from something else. Her best guess, after discovering I am addicted to Starbucks, have weird hours and sit all day, was gas. Which explains why I look 4 months pregnant. Scratch that. Add ed to look. Because after all the pain and food deprivation, I now look 2 months pregnant. Finally something good about getting sick!

Thing is, I think I still am a little sick. The sudden bursts of abdominal pain are not as frequent as before (from every 10 minutes to thrice a day), but there’s suddenly this new pain under my right rib. Chatty specialist asked me to undergo a urinalysis and an ultrasound because the pain under the right rib signals something wrong with my colon, gall bladder or kidney. I don’t drink so it can’t be my kidney. I hope it’s not my colon. I hope it’s not my gall bladder too. I don’t want an operation. I hope that it’s just, as my suddenly hopeful specialist said, a muscle.

Boo to being sick. It makes me feel worthless and useless and unproductive. I vow to never get sick again.