It used to be that Halloween was my favorite holiday for its superior candy selection (Easter is a close second, but peeps are disgusting and candy corn rocks). Plus my parents would always dress us up in fancy dresses and take us to a fancy dinner and we could all Act Fancy for a night, and that was cool.

This year, though, I’ve got a costume for the first time since third grade (when I was an adorably cute and award-winning devil, though I was too afraid to say the name). Nate and I are getting a hotel room in Portland so we can go out and have fun and then have hotel sex … erh, so at least we can not crash on his friends’ couches.

Also, this will be our first trip to Portland (unless there’s another one beforehand) since my discovery of delicious beer.

I love this man.

Nate and I went to Portland to hang out with his friends this weekend. It was awesome, as usual. Friday was drinks at Novare Res (for everyone else, of course. I might have tried the raspberry mead I hear was on tap a week earlier, but otherwise I don’t care for beer).

Saturday was breakfast at BreaLu, then loaf around the house until it was time to go back to Novare Res. I got myself a black cherry soda, and we played Lunch Money. Right as it was time to leave, there was a torrential downpour, and we got back to Rory’s totally soaked. I’m glad we had more clothes to wear, but I wish that either I hadn’t been wearing my converses or I’d grabbed my sandals out of my backseat when I realized we were taking Nate’s car down to Portland. I had wet shoes for the rest of the day :(

For dinner last night we went to Gauchos, which was incredible. I might be a vegetarian now, though. I seriously was doing okay until the sword-o-chicken-hearts came by, and I realized that one chicken had to die for each of those bite-sized morsels and then I remembered the piles of meat I had just eaten and I lost my appetite. I didn’t want to even see meat anymore, but we had to wait until everyone was done to leave and ughhhh. A combination of feeling sick and overstuffing my gullet led to my going to bed early (or rather, passing out on Rory’s couch while everyone played Wii next door), but at least I felt better afterwards.

This morning we had breakfast at Bayou, then headed back up to Bangor, but not without stopping at Fort Williams Park. We climbed on all the kinds of rocks I was never allowed to climb on as a kid, found pretty snails, and teased the seagulls with empty crab legs. I’m glad my shoes had dried out :P

Anyway, enjoy the pictures. I carried my camera with me all weekend, but got self-conscious about it and didn’t take any pictures until it was just me and Nate, and it was almost all over. Next time I’ll do better.

Pictures are up at flickr; let me know if things are fucked up over there. I was adjusting things with it last night when I was super jet lagged and I think I’d been up for like 27 hours or something, but my math might be wrong. Time zones confuse me.

I’ll add descriptions and stuff. So far the only real organizing I’ve done with them is added geotags.

This week was awesome. It’s nice to know that Nate and I can handle being constantly together for like 10 days or whatever it ended up being. The 16th around 5:30 after work until 10 last night. But it is also nice sitting around naked in my own apartment without him.

This place is a pit. I should have cleaned it before I left, but I ran out of time.

That’s not exactly true, but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I gave my cat to the humane society before I left, because I am always at Nate’s these days and I’m a terrible cat mommy. Even when I am home I was mean to her because she’s super affectionate and I have no patience for her. Don’t worry, I am never getting another cat again, so this is not the place to put me on a guilt trip. I am pretty sure I’m never getting another pet again, because I’ll just fuck it up.

Anyway. Hawaii was incredible. I loved every minute of it, except when I was paralyzed by anxiety over one foolish thing or another. Seriously, I am such a nutjob. But Nate was super patient with me, which gives him 50k bonus points. 1up!

Seriously, though, I am a freak. If I wasn’t intimidated by the crowds, it was the huge waves, or the sand, or eating food I didn’t know, or mispronouncing something, or getting lost, or Nate’s driving (OMG CONVERTIBLES WHAT IF THE CAR FLIPPED OVER I”D BE DEAD), or snorkeling, or missing my flight, or what if someone looks at me OR OH MY GOD I AM IN HAWAII WHAT IF HE HATES ME AFTERWARDS?

Luckily, I brought my xanax, but I am pretty sure it did absolutely nothing for my anxiety. It had a nice psychosomatic effect, though. I also put VZ Navigator (gps) on my phone, so getting lost was pretty much never a real option. And the way the Sebring is designed, you cannot see the speedometer from the passenger seat. And eventually I learned how to talk myself out of being an idiot and did fun things like snorkeling. Coping mechanisms, people. Coping mechanisms.

And the parts of the trip I was really looking forward to, we got to do with Ian and Tracy and their kids, so that was awesome. His son (like … 3 1/2?) kept calling Nate “Mr Nate”, and his daughter was just this amazing bundle of giggles and shrieks. I really can’t wait to have kids some day, even after getting a glimpse of how much work they are. Even after realizing I am no where near responsible enough for an animal. I don’t know. I’m stupid for wanting kids, I’m sure, but that doesn’t make my ovaries stop wiggling.

Let’s hope that the metformin I’m taking is doing its job and I actually can have kids someday.

Speaking of metformin, I need to do some medication reconciliation. Right now I’m taking 2000 mg metformin (which seems like it’s finally enough to keep my insulin in check — though I haven’t gotten the results back from my lab visit just before my trip) and it makes me poop SO GOD DAMN MUCH. So I hate taking it, but I do, because I feel better (less the pooping). I’m also taking prevacid, which doesn’t seem to do anything, but it doesn’t seem to have any side effects, either, so I’ll keep taking it when I take everything else. I have a PRN prescription for xanax, which I really haven’t needed until last week, and like I said, I’m not convinced it did anything. I’ve also got a prescription for wellbutrin, which I originally got to quit smoking (and now I only smoke when I hang out with Kaity — which sadly isn’t that often anymore — but I can definitely say I’m not addicted to it. I’m not even sure I could say I like it.), but I kept taking it afterwards to see if it would help with depression and anxiety. Evidently it doesn’t do much for my anxiety (at least, I hope it hasn’t, or I’m in much worse shape than I thought), but I haven’t been too depressed lately. Nate really would like to see me off of the wellbutrin, though he hasn’t given me a clear reason why yet. Then I just got prescriptions for a steroid cream and an antibiotic for my rosacea. I didn’t start them before my vacation, because they make you more prone to sun exposure, and hello, I was going to Hawaii. I got a 2nd degree sunburn as it was, I’d probably be dead of sun allergy if I’d started it before I left. The other thing is, antibiotics + birth control … scary. But everything says that Nuvaring is less affected by antibiotic use than oral contraceptives, so we’re going to go with that.

I’m sure that was incredibly boring. Sorry. I just had to write it all out so I could see it.

God damn this sunburn hurts. I should get dressed so I can get some lidocaine to put on it.

Fuck, with my mouse not working I’ve had to tab to links and I can’t see when I’ve tabbed to the save entry button.

It must be that my bowels are very proud of the fact that I’ve started pooping at Nate’s, because now I have gone three times this morning.

THREE TIMES OF POOP.

My dad said that if I slept in my own bed more, I wouldn’t have such crazy dreams. I don’t believe him. Also he’s very excited about getting to spend a week torturing Nate at Thanksgiving.

I just pooped and much to my surprise, it was solid. It’s crazy! I don’t know that I’m doing anything different. It was probably just a fluke.

All of this reminded me that I’m going to be spending like 10 nights in a row with Nate and I’m going to have to get over the phobia I have of pooping in his vicinity. Also, I’m wondering if they even make hotels with two bathrooms. No, I would have heard of such a wonderful thing by now, and would have insisted on it.

We went to the new Lowe’s today. It was awesome. It even had an awesome bathroom, except that it did not have hooks on the doors for coats/purses, or paper towels in the paper towel holder. On the paper towel holder, but not in it. That’s just lazy. I might be the Queen of Lazy, but not at my place of work. You already went to all the trouble of getting the paper towels out of the supply closet and brought them to the rest room, why not take the ten seconds to put them in the paper towel holder?

I almost did it myself, but an old lady walked in and I didn’t want anyone to see me doing it.

So now you get to hear the truth. I am a shy pooper. I can’t poop if there’s someone nearby. I think it’s like how Kaity can’t poop while she’s up to camp. I am also a shy pee-er, but that’s a different show. Anyway, when I went to the bathroom at Lowe’s, there was no one in the bathroom. I took the first stall (I read somewhere that the first stall is the least-often used, so I always go for it; probably other people read it, too, and therefore totally negate my efforts). A moment after I sat down, a woman came in and sat in the second stall. Right next to me! In a bathroom with like ten stalls! Ugh. And then she tried to make conversation.

“Ugh! Don’t you hate when that happens? That’s disgusting!”

I think she wanted me to ask what was disgusting, but I was trying too hard to not say, “What, WHEN SOMEONE TAKES THE STALL RIGHT NEXT TO YOURS?”

Anyway, then I couldn’t poop or pee until after she left. Stupid lady.

Also, congratulations Tales From The Pooper, you are the first entry written at Nate’s.

I think my body is rejecting Burger King. See, I haven’t eaten fast food in so long, but there was a coupon for a free whopper staring at me all morning at work. Then when I left, I realized the coupon expired on the 29th, but it was too late. I had to satisfy the craving. Now I’m so sick and I don’t think I ever want to eat again. Seriously can’t figure out how I used to eat there all the time.

I knew that if I ate the whole carton of strawberries, I would regret it, so I didn’t. I ate three strawberries, and not even very big ones at that.

Now my stomach hurts and I am angry.

What is it with today? I just want to go to bed and not be around anyone for a week. I don’t think I can process everything and not scream, let alone work, tomorrow.

It started out with dropping Marcus off at the airport this morning. After getting all his stuff out of the car (except the trombone I am to mail to him when he gets an address, and the air mattress I forgot that I even lent to him), I wished him luck and watched him walk away. Just as I put the car in reverse to pull out of the spot, I saw him walking back. He wanted to … give me his blessing, I suppose is the term for it. He expressed that he actually is happy for me, despite what he might have said the other day.

I didn’t really know what to say, and honestly can’t remember what I ended up saying. Probably something retarded, because that’s my general M.O.

Okay, drama part one is over. I then went to the gas station to get more gas and also buy myself some Verizon GPS to get me directions home. I am the worst person I know about getting lost. The last time I tried to leave Manchester unassisted, I ended up in Massachusetts. Granted, it’s not very difficult to do, but it’s rather unsettling to be in the completely wrong state, even if you can figure out how to get back to the right state.

I got directions to go to my grandfather’s nursing home assisted living facility. When I got there, I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and wished I’d brought my xanax along. I left and drove down the street and sat in a different parking lot for a few minutes, still freaking out internally, but somehow the block between me and whatever lay inside made it easier. Then I said, “Fuck it. What’s he going to do? Kick me out? Call Alan?”

“Oh, God, what if Alan is there?”

“Then you can turn around and leave again. You don’t have to stay, you have to show up.”

I worry that I talk to myself argue with myself so much.

I drove over, went in, and was pleasantly surprised to not smell old people overpowering me as I came in. All I can remember from when my grandmother was sick was that awful smell. Like bleach and death and stale circus peanuts.

I looked around for someone who worked there. That was harder than it should have been, I think, but I did eventually find a woman carrying a hundred boxes and of course I interrupted her because I was nervous and I have no sense of social etiquette when I can barely keep my stomach out of my thoracic cavity.

She took me upstairs. There was someone in his room, and when she knocked on the door and said that he had a visitor, they asked for my name. I heard a woman inside say, “Diana?”, hesitate, and then tell me I could come in. Before the door opened the rest of the way, I thought I was going to be standing face-to-face with Darlene (Alan’s wife), but it was too late. The door was opening. Then there I was, standing there like a dope while my aunt rushed around the bed to hug me and my grandfather lay there getting his foot ulcers taken care of. And then, to make things worse, I started to cry. I don’t know why. It’s just what I do. I don’t know why it surprises me every time. I’ve cried during baby shampoo commercials, for pete’s sake.

Anyway. I stayed there for about an hour. Between Marcus and my aunt and my grandfather, I do not think there could be any more small talk ever uttered. Ever. We have said it all. ALL.

My grandfather has always seemed to me to be a man of few words, so I take what he does say very seriously. He doesn’t like that he’s lost his independence. I can’t even imagine how that must feel. His home is for sale. I am pretty sure he helped build it, so that can’t be easy. And when I apologized for having taken so long to come see him, he didn’t ask me why or tell me how awful a person I am. He just said, “Well, next time you come it won’t be so long.” Then he told me to get on the road so I’d get home before dark.

“Don’t worry, Grampa, I drive fast.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t drive too fast. Never more than ten over.”

“Is seven and a half okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

So I left and plugged in directions for home, then spent the next 3 hours thinking about everything that had happened today, wondering if when my aunt is going to tell Alan I was there. Also pooping. God, so much pooping today. Maine really needs to work on their rest areas. Never thought I’d miss Iowa for more than their bugfree-ness. Anyway, tangent, sorry, back on track. Half an hour before I finally made it home, I called my mom. It was nice to hear congratulations from her, for “getting rid of” Marcus. Eh. Not really something that needed congratulating, but anything that even remotely sounded like well wishes was well-received by me. Also at that point, driving was becoming difficult. No stations were coming in besides NPR, and even Marketplace was putting me to sleep.

So I got home, pooped some more (it’s either increasing my glucophage or nerves that made me poop so much today. Either way, I feel much better to be home), and then I wondered if I should even turn on my computer. I shouldn’t have. I’ve been staring at an unread email from Marcus that says, “A letter for you, to do with as you wish” as the subject line and the first few words in the body are, “I want to again a…” Written, presumably, after he read that little rant a few entries back.

Every time I think today is over, something else comes up. It does explain why he came back to the car at the airport.

But anyway. Now I’m sitting here, trying to figure out which pharmaceutical in my cabinet is best suited for getting rid of my awful headache, yet won’t give me an incurable hangover in the morning. Ugh. Can we just forget today ever happened?

I have been spoiled by Paulie not waking me up. I slept until 1030 this morning. Oh well. It was too good a dream to interrupt with silly things like productivity or initiative. Psh.

I had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Everything is awesome, except my insulin levels are still a little high, so we’re increasing my metformin again. My cholesterol is good again, so we won’t need to check that in three months. My LFTs are good, and he explained why the metformin is affecting them in a much better theory than my own. See, with lower triglycerides, my liver is less irritated. Also, he does not care if I drink. Excellent. And what else? Oh, and also I’m back on birth control.

I want to write about what I did not talk to him about, but I’m blushing halfway through the sentence, so I’m not going to. But all I was going to tell him — that I ended up not telling him — was that the Problem seems to be over. He probably doesn’t even remember that I had a problem! Which is good, because for several weeks after telling him about it (back in August, I think), I was afraid of going in public for fear that he’d see me and be reminded of what a freak I am. Oh, the drama of living in a small town. And the dumb thing is, I have never seen him anywhere but in his office. And maybe in the cafeteria at work. But anyway, That Problem is over, hopefully for good, and I hopefully don’t have to tell anyone ever again.

I like that he’s got EMR now. Now he’s hot, got a great voice, and he’s got an extra geek point.

mallory noted today, February 10th, 2008 8:15pm

Why can’t you get pregnant?

dianarchy noted today, February 10th, 2008 8:17pm

PCOD. It’s not failsafe, but like I told him this morning, that combined with the fact that it’s the wrong time of the month for me to be in a pregnant way, there’s like a one in a zillion chance that I’d get pregnant.

mallory noted today, February 10th, 2008 8:21pm

Wow. Alix is so fucking sweet. (I read her note on that entry.)

That sucks, D.

dianarchy noted today, February 10th, 2008 8:27pm

Yeah, I just re-read that note for the first time in months and I got all teary eyed. I’m actually in a better place about it now. That was written a few hours after I was diagnosed, and I’m more … resigned to it, I guess.

I’m at an increased risk for uterine cancer, even in my 30s or 40s.

I won’t have children without help.

This explains why I have dark skin on my inner thighs.  I’m not part black, Jimmy.

This explains my skin tags.

This explains my fat tummy (even when nothing else is, which admittedly isn’t the case right now).

This explains my facial hair and my acne, neither of which I had in high school.  Who doesn’t have acne in high school?  Me.

This explains why I haven’t gotten my period in over a year without Provera.

This explains why the sonographers always say, “Wow, your ovaries are really long!”

This explains why my hair has been falling out and clogging my shower drains for four years now.

If I’m understanding the connections between PCOD and insulin-resistance, and if I’m understanding what insulin-resistance is, it explains why I absolutely cannot skip a meal without crashing.

http://www.healthology.com/menopause/video3097.htm

What pisses me off is that I have always said, “There are too many children in the world without homes or families.  If I ever have fertility problems, I’m not going to try anything extra.  I will just adopt.”  And I’ve always kind of snickered to myself and laughed at the impossibility of that happening; my mother had six kids, after all.

My sister has always said (like since she was old enough to get her period, and even before then), “If you ever need my eggs or my uterus, you can borrow it.”  I laughed at that, too.

I wanted to be the one of my mom’s kids to give her lots of grandbabies.  I kind of figured she’d get one or two from Mike, two or three from Andy, none from Alix … who knows about Ben or Beth.  But me … I was going to carry on the legacy of trying to populate the planet and give her six or seven.  And I realize that this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense given that I just said there are too many kids in the world.  But I think (however erroneously) that there’s a difference between saying, “We are intelligent, healthy, wealthy-enough adults who want to raise a child” and saying, “We’re having septuplets because it was God’s WILL.”  No it wasn’t.  God’s will was that you have NO KIDS.  Is there a genetic cause for infertility?  By circumventing nature’s lockdown on your ovaries with expensive treatments, are you condemning your children to the same (or worse?) fates?
  Does this make any sense?

If I’m not supposed to bear children, then I’m not going to press the issue.  I just wish I was.

The other morning, the phone rang at some ungodly hour of the morning … I think like 10. Marcus, having just come home a couple hours earlier after an overnight shift didn’t even stir.

“Sweetie, hand me the phone, it’s on your side of the bed.”

*snore*

*push push* “Marcus, I can’t sit up with these damn stitches. Hand me the phone.”

“Huhhhh?” *rolls over*

“MARCUS. THE PHONE. ANSWER THE PHONE.”

This gets him to sit straight up in bed, reach over, grab my Tarot book off the nightstand, and start reading it to me. Out loud.

At this point the phone had stopped ringing, and eventually I stopped laughing enough to kind of swing my legs off the side of the bed and use them to kind of counterbalance the rest of me into a standingish position so I could walk around the bed and find out who called.

He remembers none of it.

First of all, I want to apologize for any notes I left yesterday. I write on two websites, and the people who are associated with the other one (it’s a communal diary site along the lines of OpenDiary or livejournal) have been apologized to, but the people who have individual websites get notes that link them to here, and here is yours.

Marcus and I both thought that the computer would be a good babysitter for someone who just had surgery and is looped out of her mind. Evidently not. I sounded like an idiot (which I was being), and I am pretty sure I started flamewars (which I never do).

I looked back on the last update, which told you folks that I had a consultation with a surgeon. He decided to go ahead and give me the surgery, which was yesterday. The last week I’ve been so fucking nervous that I haven’t really done anything but work and play the Sims, which I plan on going back to doing when I’m finished with this entry. I can do much less harm there. I don’t quite feel better yet, but for the most part, as long as I don’t move, I’m doing all right. I had no idea that laparoscopic surgery would hurt so much.

I want to write in detail about the surgery, because I’ve never had anything like it before. The thing is, though, I don’t remember much, and what I do remember doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I remember the nurse missing the vein on my IV, I remember crocheting a blanket for my friend, I remember the versed going in, and I remember being on the operating table. I remember offering to move over onto it, but I don’t remember if they let me or if they moved me myself. I remember straps going on my arms, and a mask going on my face. I remember a lady telling me that I was going to be breathing oxygen, and I remember wanting to ask if I was supposed to count backwards or something, but falling asleep before I could get the question out. When I woke up, I couldn’t breathe or move, and I was in a different room, all alone. I tried to yell for help, but all I could do was whimper. Someone came by and asked how I was doing. I told her that it hurt so bad, and she got me some fentanyl. Then she said she’d go get Marcus. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but I didn’t tell her that. Then I got a new nurse, Paul. He’s great. He was my nurse for my colonoscopy, too. My surgeon came by and said I could spend the night if I wanted, but I might be completely making that part up, because Paul kept acting like I needed to get going right away. The whole recovery felt like, “You don’t need that nonrebreather! Have some ginger ale! You don’t need the stretcher! Upupup! In the recliner! In the car! Gogogo!”

Anyway, I’m home and I’m doing lots of sleeping and whining. Marcus goes to work tonight, and he’s probably glad to be getting out of the house and away from my incessant neediness. I can’t believe I asked for a bologna and cheese sandwich today for breakfast and he went out to the store to get it for me . I am pretty sure the only ingredient we had was the bread. I’ve been eating a lot, too. After the sandwich was oatmeal and a donut. Then lunch was Ben and Jerry’s. And 2/3 of a small pizza for dinner. Even yesterday I had quite a bit more than I was expecting to eat, but I don’t remember what it was.

Anyway, I have five holes in me, and I took pictures. As soon as I either plug in the xD card reader to the computer (something that’s been unplugged since the A/C was put in, and thus the computer moved upstairs), or find the CD and USB cord that came with the camera, they will be posted. I’m just gross like that.

My throat is not quite so sore (my boss called today to check on me, and she said they must have intubated me; I can’t believe I couldn’t figure that out on my own), and I’m starting to not feel nauseated anymore, and my shortness of breath is kind of going away. I’m a little nervous I haven’t pooed yet, though I haven’t actually read my discharge instructions (I left that to Marcus), so I don’t know if that is something I should be worried about or not.

Anyway, I’m officially allowed to take a shower now, so I am going to get on that! The surgistitch or stichitape or whatever it’s called has to stay on for over a week, but this gauze stuff can come off and it’s kind of itchy. Unfortunately, I’m a big wuss when it comes to taking tape off, so I’ve been waiting for the shower to help!

So far this summer has been warm but not hot and I keep thinking, “Dude, what were we complaining about last year? This isn’t so bad! Boy am I glad we didn’t waste my tax return on an air conditioner!”

Holy fuck. That all changed yesterday when the weather gods decided they hate me.

In looking back through my entries, it appears I’ve left out some important details.

I mentioned that my doctor did a urine culture, which came back negative. Whatever it is that’s making me feel like I’m prolapsing a kidney probably isn’t an infection. But that made me think about the last time they thought I had a kidney infection. I had stabbing pains in my back, and front RLQ pain, so I got a CT that showed no stones except in my appendix. This time it’s LLQ pain, and it’s disappearing similarly. I occasionlly still get the dull aches wherever there have been stabbing pains before. I think it’s almost like I have to suffer with a few weeks of stabbing, and then whatever it is never fully heals. I have another spot on my LUQ, more centered.

I also had a HIDA scan, and that was a little surreal, since that’s what I do for a living. I made them put a 20g in my arm, since that’s my gauge-of-choice when starting IVs, and they seem to think it’s cruel and unusual. I gotta say, though, when the difference is 20 to 22, I couldn’t tell. It’s just that he hit a valve and then proceeded to infiltrate, that’s when it started to hurt. Anyway, I will continue putting 20g IVs in the patients whose veins will support them, because I feel like I have better control. I won’t let their taunts stop me. The scan itself was rather uneventful. I turned on my iPod, tried to zone out, but couldn’t keep my eyes off the screen. Okay, there’s my bowels, there’s some reflux back into my stomach, there’s my CBD … where’s that gallbladder? Is that it? It’s so tiny! Well, let’s give it more time. It never did end up getting bigger. It just kinda laid there like a tiny lump.

It kind of looked like this one, only with the straight line at the bottom of the graph instead of the top.

Anyway, that’s called gallbladder dyskinesia, and that’s why taking it out is elective. If I had stones, it would be more along the lines of emergent.

I’ve got an appointment for a consultation with a surgeon on the 26th.

My doctor has given me a refillable prescription of the pain medication I got in the ER. What a relief that stuff is. It makes me pretty sleepy/loopy, so I only take it in the evenings, after work, though. Between the number of pills in the bottle and the number of refills I’m allowed to get in the next 15 months, I have approximately 238534257823902309834 more than I need.

Anyway, it’s so hot that my fingers and ankles are swollen and making me miserable. Maybe things will be better tomorrow.

P7080012

Originally uploaded by dianarchy.

So here’s what I don’t like about skating. You know how when you stand on one foot, you’ve got all those tiny muscles around your ankle that keep you balanced? Well, when I wear the skates, they are on FIRE.

That should go away after I get better at it. I just hope it doesn’t make my little ankle muscles into BIG ankle muscles and then I can’t even put the skates on anymore! :P

I got a letter from my doctor today. It said what he told me on the phone the other day, that taking my gallbladder out is elective surgery at this point, it might fix some of the pain, but it won’t fix everything. I’m kind of leaning toward getting it taken out, but I’m not sure at this point. I want to talk to the surgeon before I decide anything. Anyway, at the bottom of his letter, I saw that he has a website. It’s very poorly done, but cute. I love it like I love his fake burkenstocks.

I’m watching a show on the History Channel about superheroes. I did not know that Wonder Woman was invented by a psychologist who helped invent the lie detector. He also lived with his wife and children and a former student and the children he had with her. Scandal!

Those were what the last culture was testing for. They came back negative (obviously). I went to my doctor in follow up, and he did another urine dip and sent the rest off for culture. Another negative dip, the culture hasn’t come back yet.

I broke down and actually cried when I asked him if he thought it would be okay to stop all the other tests for a while. I’m tired of everything coming back negative and feeling like it’s all in my head. We agreed that the only thing I haven’t had yet is a HIDA scan, and I don’t know why my gastroenterologist refused to do it. He ordered one for me, and after that, I’m done. Fuck. I’m always and forever going to feel like shit. I don’t know why I’m wasting my money and their time on this.

…

Last night my stomach hurt, and I tried to make it to sleep before it got any worse. It didn’t work so well. I couldn’t lay down, I couldn’t stand up, I couldn’t sit still. It hurt to do anything. I took another one of my pain pills I got in the ER. It still hurt, but at least I went to sleep (about half an hour, maybe 45 minutes later). I was trying to avoid taking one, because Monday I felt kinda hungover/still intoxicated. So much for that plan.

I’m a fucking train wreck. I’m just so tired of feeling sick all the time. I just want to do my job.

Right now, I’m an hour and a half into a dose of Ultram, wondering where the remote is so I can turn the tv off (or at least off Tommy Boy), but finding it increasingly easy to tune it out.

I wasn’t going to go to the ER today. After all, it only hurts when I pee, when I cough, when I laugh, when I turn on my side … and just because I pee when I get into the shower without meaning to, that doesn’t mean anything. PIFFLE

Damn, this pill isn’t making the pain go away, and I do kind of feel like barfing, but I’m thinking I probably shouldn’t have driven home because I’m kinda thinking I’m a little … drunK? High? What is the right term? Doesn’t matter.

Sooo … anyway. I didn’t want to go. Marcus made me. I don’t know how I’ll pay for it. Hopefully they don’t charge by the hour since I checked in at 11:30, got a room at about 2:00, and didn’t leave until about 4. And they gave me a serum pregnancy test even though I told three different people that there was ZERO chance of pregnancy. Um, hello? Certain things need to happen for a baby to be made, and they ain’t happening. So I got a pelvic exam, a UA, blood tests (serum preg, sed rate, CBC) … all normal, except for one of the pelvic swabs which we won’t know about for a day or two.

Bleh. I’m going to go take a nap.

I have taken to quite a few new bloggers lately, including Random Acts of Reality. His most recent post really hit home, considering how guilty I’ve been feeling about not writing.

Let’s see if I can catch you up.

First off, I went to the doctor (gastroenterologist) on Tuesday. It went sort of like this.

“What’s bringing you in today?”

“Well, I’ve got three things that are bothering me, and I’m not sure if they’re related or not, but here they are. The one I’m worried about least because it’s been going on for at least a year is the fact that after I eat, I get this pain right up here under my ribs on my right side. Then for the last five or so months, I’ve been getting these completely random pains. There’s no pattern as far as it’s not after I eat or anything, but it’s always in the same two spots. I am completely incapacitated for five or ten minutes and it’s all I can do to just breathe and stay still. I’m mostly worried that this is going to happen while I’m doing something that I can’t stop, like while I’m helping a patient to the toilet. And finally, for the last week and a half or two weeks, I’ve been able to keep nothing down except chocolate milk. I vomit. A lot.”

“Okay, well, let’s get you up on the examining table and see what we have going on.”

And he poked and prodded and generally hurt me in the way that doctors do. Then he sat me up and said, basically, “Well, what I’m mostly worried about is your vomiting. I’m going to start you on a medicine [Reglan] for a few weeks. It’s not anything we want to be doing forever if we don’t have to, but if it helps, maybe it’ll tell us why. And who knows, you might just have a bug. Also, I want to do an endoscopy, see if we see any ulcers or obstructions. I don’t think we will, you’re still way too young to be having anything like that going on.”

“What about my other thing? I mean, my mother had gallbladder problems, and I work in nuclear medicine. I see your patients all the time with orders for HIDA scans saying, ‘Post prandial RUQ pain, rule out cholecystitis’. Do you think it could be my gallbladder?”

“No, I don’t think it’s your gallbladder, because your CT scans looked normal in that area. Now, granted, they were mostly looking at your appendix and kidneys, not your liver. Let’s order an ultrasound just to be sure.”

So he ordered some bloodwork (CBC’s and LFT’s, with the former being normal and the latter being normal-for-me-which-means-through-the-roof), the ultrasound (which was painful again, but normal excepting my extremely fatty liver), and the endoscopy is next Tuesday. The day before I fly out to my mother’s place.

And what else? The day after I get back from Minnesota, I have a dentist appointment and a pap smear. Goody. I’m actually looking forward to the pap. I’ve got a skin tab down there and while I’m nowhere near a vain person, but this one has … changed. I just want to know if it’s something I should worry about. And I promise that if he says it isn’t, I won’t. Of course, if he does say it’s something I should worry about, by God, I am the best worrier out there.

That’s about all that’s happening to me. I just found out today that Ian is going to war in four months, and I’m terrified for him and for his family.

From about the level of the tips of my shoulder blades down to my iliac crests. Also in the front from my diaphragm to the crease my belly makes with my lap. I can’t tell if they’re related, though.

I talked to my mom on the phone tonight. I’m very excited for my trip. My time off got approved and everything. It is going to be an awesome 5 days.