Warning: Poop

A warning: if you don't like reading about poop, please skip the following few paragraphs. I'll alert you to when it's over.

So starting this past week, I slowly came to the conclusion that my assorted symptoms were not likely due to after-effects of my previous antibiotics. Rather, I had either a) a new illness or b) a continuation of my previous illness. To this day, I am not sure which one is the right choice. However, I am absolutely certain of several things.

a) I do indeed have an illness and
b) it has been clinically shown to be amoebeosis.

Yes, this time I bypassed the know-it-all doctor and his condescending (and rather innovative) system for dianosis and treatment. This seems to be endemic in Indian doctors: they are completely and unshakably confident in their diagnoses (for instance, "viral fever") which they have come to after a cursory examination of the patient (this always includes poking the stomach and examining the tongue, and usually includes taking the blood pressure). This last doctor in Lucknow had the gall to tell me that I was not all that sick in the first place (of course, after I had gotten mostly better) and reminded me that most Indians knew how to live with daily diarrhea. He also mocked me for even insinuating that I might have diagnostic tests run.

For all of the reasons above, I decided to go straight to the pathologist. What sweet relief! After the minor indignity of having to poop into a ridiculously tiny cup, I was rewarded with a distinctly modern printout detailing its color and other specifics, most preciously, the part where it announced "Positive -- Amoebic cysts." I was almost joyful to find this out. Scientific diagnosis, specific treatment. I felt good enough to go to dance class that night simply on this knowledge alone. I didn't even have to show anyone my tongue.

Perhaps I should be more understanding about cultural variations in medical practices. However, I really, really like my printout.