Life sucks and then you die

Today I had the pleasure of once again feeling my body dragged into Pioneer Comprehensive Medical for a series of tests and analizations that will further determine the fact that all my hormones are severely screwed up.
I sit in the dim little patient's room. It is supposively pleasant because it is painted royal purple using the statistics of Color Therapy; personally I think it a product of bad taste or even colorblindness. Dr. Terina comes in wearing a white suit with a slit much too high for a woman her age, sits down, crosses her legs, consults her clipboard, and asks me several extremely personal questions which I can't answer. Her watery blue eyes bore into my head and I stare at the floor.
"Your testosterone is a little low. Your thyroid is a little low. Your estrogen is a little low."
As Terina continues to explain all the deficiencies in me, my mother will casually cut in with:
"Yes. I would definitely say that Joslynn has mood swings. Actually, she's like that all the time. No, I'm pretty sure she's depressed. Now, will that cream make acne better or worse?"

I hate having my blood drawn. Certainly, I am diabetic, and I do poke my fingers four times a day with a lancett, but there is something terrible about the flobotamist inserting a long needle into your arm. The nausea, the poke, the thought that there is a foreign object under my skin and in my vein, and that it is taking something out. I faint every time.
I have to go back to that wretched clinic next month, two days before my birthday. Supposively I have a wheat sensitivity. What? No bread, no crackers, no high carb foods. Now I will starve to death but I will still gain weight because of the medication that my mother sneakily slips into my water.
Humans get viruses. They grow old, they wither, they get cancer, they have heart attacks, they die.
There certainly is a great deal to live for in the future.