Mishap

About a week ago, my website and email vanished off the face of the internet. I think this deserves a certain amount of explanation, lest someone think I’m incompetent in my own field. Not too long ago, I switched off my colocated server because I don’t need my own personal machine for two websites, a couple very small databases, and a low-volume email server. I didn’t downgrade fully to a shared host because I run a Django app, Wordpress, PostgreSQL, MySQL for the afore mentioned Wordpress content, Postfix to better control my blacklists, with Postgrey because greylisting kills an assload of spam blacklists would miss, etc. I’m sure there’s a regular webhost that has all that, but I haven’t found them yet.

Wednesday would have been a normal day, and for the most part it was, until I noticed my chest getting more and more uncomfortable through the day. Well, to the doctor I went, and after some stuff was ruled out, it turns out I have both costochondritis and an ulcer. Now, I’ve had inflamed cartilage in my chest before, and normally it’s very easy to control with Advil or Aleve, and time. But there’s a problem here… NSAIDs, which can control inflammation and pain, also aggravate ulcers.

At great risk to myself and the poor SOB who offered to transport my disease-riddled carcass along Illinois highways, I’ve seen the nerve specialist, and am now the proud owner of something called a Type 1 RSD.

According to the doctor–a wizened Chinese man, likely a sage of unknowable renown–this effectively means that my ankle injury confused a nerve in my leg. My brain, like a sugar-infused five-year-old overreacted and went on a killing-spree. Effectively it thinks I’ve catastrophically savaged my foot, and the only way to save the rest of my body is to remove my leg at the knee. The signal from the nerve is so intense, that my brain has reacted by reducing blood flow to my leg in an attempt to starve it. Of course, the human body is incapable of carrying out this cunning plan, so instead of a clean amputation, my leg has simply transformed into a nexus of discomfort.

I believe it’s time to return my body for a refund. I got my cast off yesterday, and my ankle still hurts. In fact, I think it’s worse than before the cast. So, what exactly is going on? Well, the orthopedist hypothesizes that I have nerve involvement. This means either my nerve is caught in a pain feedback loop, or is entrapped, possibly by my continuing aggravated ankle sprain.

Well, after my MRI on Monday, I resigned myself to a waiting game while the radiologist perused the incomprehensible slices of my foot before distilling them into a written report for my esteemed podiatrist. Today, I ventured once more to my Podiatrist’s office to receive, hopefully, good news. Sadly I, like a horny teenager trapped in an nudist colony composed entirely of ponderously obese men, was destined for frustration and disappointment. I’d gone prepared to hear two kinds of diagnosis: that I mysteriously acquired a bad sprain, or that I’d horribly disfigured the contents of the fleshy attachment at the end of my leg and needed surgery.