Pernicious Anemia and Me.

I confess to you, brothers and sisters, before God and the entire company of heaven, that I haven’t been taking care of myself.

So my body said, “You think you can get away with not eating right, not sleeping, and not taking your vitamins? HA! WATCH THIS!” and smacked me with an anemia crisis.

 Don’t worry, I get these about once or twice a year. They call it pernicious anemia. I call it many, many things that are neither proper nor polite.

That’s not the funny part, though. The funny part is that pernicious anemia causes, among other things, shortness of breath.

 Why’s that funny? ‘Cause I got called up to read the first lesson last night. It went something like:

“Blow the trumpet *gasp* in Zion;
sound the alarm *gulp* on my holy mountain!
Let all the *wheeze* inhabitants of the land *exhale* tremble,
for the day of *gasp* the LORD *sniffle* is coming, *gasp* it is near–

 Best Friend in the Whole Wide World said it didn’t sound that bad. But later on, when I was recounting my demand of the PB (i.e. “Damnit, Katharine, *gasp* gay and lesbian people have *gasp* been barred from *gasp* having same-sex unions for*gasp*ever now, we’ve been *gasp* fasting, *gasp, rushed* WHENTHEHELLISEASTER!?”) he told me to shut up before I keeled over and died.

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