I was talking to my friend Chad, and he said that he was getting hyperbaric therapy for his sports injury, and I had no idea what that was so I looked it up, and, like…I think I need that. That is totally me, all over. Looks to me like a magic glass box where you can climb in and it makes you feel good, which is a bit like how drugs work, except drugs are definitely bad overall and there’s no glass box, and maybe hyperbaric therapy is nothing to do with drugs at all.
Sometimes analogies confuse me, but I think I get this hyperbaric thing. Chad said that his friend Chad tore his hamstring, and the doctor said he had to find portable oxygen therapy in Melbourne somewhere because when he went to the doctor he found out that he had serious asthma, which makes loads of sense. Every time I’ve seen Chad play football he ends up running out of breath, and we’re all giving him grief for being unfit, but actually…he has a life-threatening condition. Yeah, it’s bad. The doctor said that if he’d played one more game he could’ve died, and he couldn’t believe how long it took him to finally just get the problem sorted. The more you know, huh?
Now he gets a sweet as oxygen chamber in his house, and I’ve seen it. Looks rad, and I guess it’s nice to get some alone time. My GF wants to be with me all the time, all day, so maybe I should go to the doctor and say that I have severe asthma, and he’ll prescribe an oxygen chamber, and I can be all like “sorry babe, gotta get inside my chamber and drink some oxygen.”
My GF would probably try to climb in there with me, though. She’s like velcro. Even with me pretending to have a serious illness, she’d find a way to invade my personal guy time.
-Chad