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by goodgirldown, on May 21st, 2008 under Status Quo with No Comments
I go give my last (hopefully my last) sacrifice of blood and urine tomorrow (I swear they must have a whole shelf with my name on it by now). And then an Ultrasound on Friday. A woman’s exam next Friday. And then we’re pretty much done. I’m going to do the sleep study, but it’s not really a necessity, more icing on the cake of disaster. We’re all pretty confident that the diagnosis we have is correct. I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the subject and while I know I’ll be in treatment the rest of my life and I’ll actually have to do things like eat vegetables and cut out evening caffeine (which still sends chills down my spine)…I’m almost done with the self pitying thing and ready to move on to the let’s just get this rolling thing. Which is not to say that I don’t flip back and forth on a semi-frequent basis. But I think that’s only human. And I’ve learned that if I try to be superwoman and pretend this doesn’t bother me and that just because some people have it worse, I don’t even deserve to be bothered by this at all, well…that has not worked out well for me in the past. I know that sometimes I’m going to feel really bad; emotionally , physically or both, and I’m just going to have to let myself feel it, maybe wallow in it a bit. “This too shall pass” and things will get better again. It’s just the way things go.
I’ve been slowly but surely rising to the level of a (semi) grown up lately. Mildly frightening, it is. The whole paying bills a month in advance, contributing to my 401K, direct depositing into my savings account before I find a perfectly good pair of shoes to blow that 3% of my income on…..now I just have to master the Martha Stewartness I know is hiding somewhere deep (deep, deep) down inside of me. The first task is mastering the bedroom; that ever growing mountain of laundry on the floor, along with the tubs of laundry and shoes in the closet, the tubs of shoes and clothes that need to be fixed…oh yes…it is a mighty task indeed. Then we move to the craft room of doom which is honestly nothing more than a shamble of this and thats strewn about with no semblance of order and no view of the actual floor (there is a floor in there, I’m sure of it…at least I know I saw it when I moved in….) One day at a time, I suppose.
I recently set up something akin to a home studio in my apartment. It’s a really nice distraction and something I’ve been wanting to, but never knew how, for so very long. I have a somewhat complex music program (although software is no match for me, it will eventually bow to my will!), along with a sweet microphone and stand, headphones, and the most beautiful and amazing brand spanking new Casio keyboard. It has, I am convinced, every sound in the world in it. Even better (this is my favorite part) it has chords already built in to the left side. AMAZING! I can play a major chord with one finger. It’s so very cheating, but I never claimed to be a musician. I just want to learn some songs, get a feeling for it, and eventually learn enough to write my own music. And then sing it. And then layer in a harmony. And then a drum beat…and on and on we go. It’s a nice, productive, creative outlet for me and I’m enjoying it. I can almost play “Yesterday” without sounding like a five year old throwing eggs at the keys and just hoping it comes out right. That is success right there.
And now…to tackle the kitchen. My “healthy living” kick of actually doing that thing called “cooking” is pretty cool. But I have not yet worked out the cleaning thereafter…and I think something might be growing in my sink. I just hope it doesn’t bite me. That means shots, and I’ve been poked enough this week, thank you very much.
It’s good to be back.
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by goodgirldown, on May 18th, 2008 under Status Quo with No Comments
It started with a kidney infection, which, let me tell you, is very unpleasant; especially when one has to board a plane to Colorado and drive around for days pretending to be nice to brokers and talking about insurance when really all one wants to do is lay down and quietly whimper oneself to death. But, after a round of antibiotics, a beautifully large bottle of Vicodin, and a mass quantity of organ-numbing pills (that, consequently, make your urine neon orange), I felt…better. But still not right.
I started getting heartburn more frequently, and not the fiery burping kind that go away with a swig of Pepto, either; more the kind that wraps itself around your heart and squeezes until you feel like one more breath, just one more, and your entire body might implode. Then my chest started aching, I had constant trouble sleeping, and I was always tired. None of these things are new to me, but they were happening with alarming frequency. Back to the doctor. “Eat better, sleep more, exercise, blah blah blah” and of course “stop smoking”. Okay, yeah. Sure. So I started taking Chantix; this miracle little pill that everyone and their dog is on to stop smoking.
Day three into the medication I wake up at 3am with a migraine. I’d never had a migraine before so I didn’t really know what was happening. I was so vomitous, it wouldn’t have mattered if I did know, I couldn’t move, or lie down, or think, or do anything aside from whimper and drool. Then it happened again. Back to the doctor for a shot of demerol (sweet, sweet demerol) and a blood test and subsequently a CT scan of my pretty little head, which I thought at the time was a bit much for a migraine, but I wasn’t in any place to complain so I complied. The doctor’s office called me on my cell, at 7pm at night. This cannot be good, right? CT scan is fine, they say, but your white blood cell count is twice what it should be and come in tomorrow for another round of high flying fun. They prescribed me antibiotics, although were not able to tell me why my count was high or what part of me was infected, rotting, and/or about to fall right off from my body.
Migraine number three. And, per the scale, I’ve put on 16 pounds in 2.5 weeks. I mention that this is a little weird. They blow me off. Then the pain…the neck, shoulder, and back pain that I’ve always dealt with increases, it spreads to my lower back and knees, upper chest, and arms. I put on 4 more pounds in just a couple of days. The evening nausea becomes a normality. My abdomen is distended; which is not a good look for me. The headache decides not to leave my head. Ever. I’m running to the bathroom every five minutes and with great urgency. Cramps and a variety of pains; shooting, aching, sparking, dull, fiery, and fucking persistent. I can’t focus at work, I can’t sleep at night, I want to stick something sharp and hot in my eye.
Four more blood and urine tests. Abdomen CT scan. Kidney and gallbladder ultrasounds. I can’t sit or stand for long periods of time. I walk like my grandmother. I’m grinding my teeth at night, more and more, my jaw is in constant pain and I suddenly like soup a whole lot more. Someone shoves a cheese grater over my vocal chords while I nap.
Everything is going to hell and I didn’t even buy a ticket. Or a basket.
I’m tired of talking, so I write everything down for the nice doctor who will see me next. She orders one more blood and urine test; if they can squeeze any more out of me, an ultrasound on my womanly parts, a woman’s exam (oh the joy!), and a sleep study.
She tells me that, any rare and shocking surprises aside, it’s Fibromylagia.
Okay.
So now I wait, hoping they find another something or other to blame all this on, preferably one that is fixable, but I don’t think on it too much as the pain behind my eyes forbids any deep or particularly useful ruminations. I sit around watching CSI and feeling sorry for myself, then angry at myself because really it could be so much worse and what right do I have to complain? But then again, why can’t I? Haven’t I been through enough already? 30 is the new 20 and I’ve been sad and lonely for so long, it was supposed to be better now, here, home; it was supposed to be good.
Such is life.
