The world is going crazy, so hopefully reading about my radon problems will cheer you up.
If you search my blog for hypochondria, you will get a plethora of entries where I think I have a brain tumor, neck problems, heat stroke, or the common cold. And these are just the ones I blog about. (Blogging with integrity.)
So, I was delighted to find out that there was an actual explanation for my left arm being sore and twitchy: Radon!
Let me back up.
Remember how we’re buying a house? Well, part of the process of buying a home in the U.S. is a home inspection where they check if there is any part of the house built incorrectly or designed to make you fall to a swift death. Fortunately, our house passed that part with flying colors. However, there is a second inspection that is optional for newer homes, and this involves testing for radon, which is odorless, colorless, comes from the ground, and has the potential to give you lung cancer. Asshole.
Because our house is a newer house the radon inspection was more optional. But, you know me, and I know me, and we all know that there is no way I would NOT get my house tested for something that could kill me slowly and quietly.
So, the test came back yesterday, and it turns out our house has house cancer, aka, unacceptable levels of radon. Just as I suspected, at least SOMETHING related to me is really sick. This is where my left arm comes in. You see, we had been in the house on several occasions for viewings, inspections, etc, and I had been in the basement for at least FIVE MINUTES at a time, maybe even six and a half. So obviously, the radon is ALREADY starting to affect me, even though we don’t even own the house yet. Asshole.
This bummed me out a lot since it’s something we didn’t expect with a newer house. The next step is remediation, aka house chemotherapy. Remediation claims to get the radon down to manageable levels, but obviously I’m convinced it won’t work or will stop working at some point and we won’t be able to tell and Mr. B and I will end up ends up in the house the first night.
When I relayed my fears to Mr. B, he told me I was “stupid” and “flying in the face of science.” Which is when I tried to reenact what radon would do to him by waving my fingers in his face and yelling, “I’m radon, and I’m going to mess you up.” Which is when he said, “I wish you were radon, because then at least I could get rid of you.”