March Madness
This week I was booked. I felt as busy as Rachel Zoe, but without the faux fashion line, loveless marriage, and rausin face, chest and feet
Monday 3/16 - Whether you're 4 or 64, if I catch you with a staring problem, I will not hesitate to growl at you. Look at me as if I'm a monster and I will treat you as one. Unfortunately, I lack the 10-eyes- 4-hairy-arm anatomy and the large set of chompers to bite off and chew your head -- this time. Rawr.
Telischi ordered that I have two balance test performed for whatever reasons. I had a posturography test and a electronsystagmography test and both procedures had to be the two weirdest experiences in my life. One had me in a harness standing on moving ground and the other had me getting hot and cold water injected into my ears, keeping my eyes open while wearing blackening goggles then having to count by 2's outloud in the dark after the water had been released.
I have to admit, it was a bit scary at times, especially the posturography where it felt I was going to fall to my death on multiple occasions. But I had the most prettiest and nicest doctor with the biggest smile to help put me at ease. Dr. Snapp was young and since her job requires her to work with people who have inner ear problems she signed, wrote things down and talked with emphasis- everything to make sure I understood what was going on. She never once looked at me with a drop of pity in her eyes and I appreciated that most of all. Obviously she made a lasting impression on me and it makes me a little sad to know I would only be seeing her this once and not a frequent visitation. I just wish I had someone like her always in my life.
The night before I had a dream that Jamie had come home to surprise me before I headed off to surgery. I was SO HAPPY to see him. Then I woke up.
Tuesday 3/17 - This St. Patrick's Day I unintentionally wore green -and subconsciously saved myself from countless pinches, disses and a punch in the face.
Ready for my lab work, I woke up early in the morning and headed off to QuestDiagnostics on an empty stomach and full bladder. The nurse who drew blood seemed to have no problem finding a vein but as always trouble arose when I was handed over a plastic cup for a urine sample. My chronic pee shyness, severe imbalance and the extreme unsanitary conditions were all active variables in an ultimate FAIL.
With a 99% chance of slipping and falling,there was no way that dirty bar attached to the bathroom wall was going to help keep me stable. Plus the prepping the seat with toilet paper and the squatting; whew, I dont have the energy or the strength. But there's no way my ass cheeks are getting anywhere near that hepatitis A,B and C infected seat. After approaching the toilet for a better look to try and contemplate a game plan, I noticed it was clogged with paper and God knows what else. Thats when I told the nurse, "Sorry, no can do"
Uncaringly, she let me take the cup home for a DIY and my dad agreed to return the sample to the offices later that day. Of course at home the pipes went off without a hitch and I was able to get the job done as soon as I had walked into the house. Afterwards I placed my Cup O'Pee on the hallway table. And there it stayed on display for hours next to a framed picture of my beloved Nanny. I chuckled everytime I walked passed it. It looked lonely. Naturally, I found this to be a great photo opprotunity (because I have a real sick and twisted sense of humor)
My St. Patrick's Day Gold
That afternoon I had a chest X-ray and the wait was short but still unbearable. Yet X-rays are very easy and the technicians were very nice, more than happy to help communicate by writing things down for me. As I was leaving I was surprised when one of the techs handed me 3 lollipops with a big smile. To what do I owe these tasty treats? Score.
While watching The Biggest Loser I discovered I can't cross my fingers on my right hand. The entire hand has become pretty weak and its impossible to sign and difficult to write. (I use to love my handwriting, now it looks like Kindergarden chicken scratch) Fingers on both hands become stiff and cramp up, so lets add that onto the list. Through ASL and typing on the computer, I use these babies as my source of communication. My lips are numb which makes speaking physically hard for me; they are the substitute for my voice. If my hands are taken away and paralysis occurs, I'm going to need someone to play Dr, Kevorkian. Are YOU a true friend?
Wednesday 3/18 - This afternoon I made a second attempt at counseling and saw another therapist whose office was all the way up in Boca -but Dr. V proved to be worth the agonizing 60+ minute drive. Learning from the disaster I had with Ricardo last week, I walked into this appointment with my mind set on making a conscious effort and holding up my end of the bargain AKA talking.
His waiting room was covered in owl decor; owl paintings, owl photos, owl figurines and statues sculpted out of ceramic or wood. 23 different owl replicas to be exact. I counted. When I entered his office a few minutes later I was bombarded by an even larger collection most likely reaching the hundreds. Stuffed in the bookcases, sitting on his desk, and plastered on the walls; owls were crowded everywhere.
As soon as I met him I was automatically put at ease. I wasn't nervous and never once held up a barricade. The conversation flowed naturally and I was comfortable enough to be funny and sweet; I was myself through and through. And it felt good -- to talk and to let someone in, for them to know and to have a good understanding of who I am. Plus, the fact that he knows and uses sign language makes the world of difference. (He's actually a CODA)
To help from becoming overly upset and overwhelmed, I was prepared with a list of all my troubles and anxieties. As I was going through them, he told me I seemed to still be in good spirits and that teared me up a bit because even though I still smile when I talk and throw the occasional joke around, I'm nowhere near as spunky as I use to be.
Like taking in and releasing a big breath of fresh air, I left feeling relieved and SO PROUD of myself. This is truly an accomplishment for me. (Ooh, look, I'm an adult.) My guard was down, stubborness out the window and I was 100% me. I love Dr. V and I'm actually excited about getting to work at our next appointment on Monday. Its such a comforting and warm environment (maybe it was the owls)
Thursday 3/19 - Day off. Nobody would respond to my IMs on AIM. FF: Friends are Fuckers. Lonely day. Ate a Pop Tart.
Friday 3/20 - No one was as shocked as I was after stepping onto the scale at Dr. Alam's office and to have it read 112 lbs. With my new depression-indifference, I've put my precious fruits and veggies aside and been eating nothing but junk everyday. My clothes fit funny and I can see and feel my body inflate in my thighs and belly - nowhere near my ass, of course, which has gone from flat to nonexistant. I was certain I had gained at least two or three pounds, but as it turned out I've actually lost weight!
I'm dumbfounded. How is that even possible? I'm not exactly happy about this. The night before I had even placed a bet with my mom. I predicted 115+ ; she 115-. I so lost. It must be a result from last month, where I was living off a diet of Ensure and dinner rolls the weeks after my last surgery. You could see the flab hanging off my bones; it was disgusting. I was sick and suoer nauseated then but I really need to get healthy as possible now. This weight loss scares me.
Dr. Alam is an idiot. I don't really care though because she is no one of importance. Most primary doctors are anyway. Those simple mined MDs get overwhelmed with a case like mine and I'm usually the one having to explain things to them.The only reason I see her in the first is because the hospital always orders a medical clearance, otherwise I wouldnt waste my time - or $15 co pay.
Before stepping out of the room to leave she wrote in my notebook, "Relax. Be happy. You're getting better." And just the thought of it makes me slam my fits at my sides. WHAT THE FUCK? Does she have any idea what the hell is going on or why I'm there in the first place?! You'd think graduating from med school and you'd know how to read a file or listen to what your patient tells you. I'm having life-changing brain surgery in 11 days. It's there in black and white: I'm falling apart physically,mentally, and emotionally. It's the exact opposit you stupid fuck, I'm getting worse not better in this neverending fight that has taken over 2 years of my life. So please, please tell me what there's to be happy about.
I know she was trying to comfort me but -obvious- lies dont help but turn me into an angry fuming bull. Don't BS me especially if youre trying to be nice. I can't take it anymore. This is in regards to everyone: IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TRUE TO SAY, DON'T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL.
Saturday 3/21 - About 2 months ago I read a book called Plain Truth and fairly enjoyed it. I was flipping through the television this morning and to my surprise discovered Lifetime was playing their own movie adaptation! Oh man, it was so cheesy and corny and clam chowdery. It was great. Gotta love those Amish teen sluts convicted of murder. Priceless.
Monday 3/16 - Whether you're 4 or 64, if I catch you with a staring problem, I will not hesitate to growl at you. Look at me as if I'm a monster and I will treat you as one. Unfortunately, I lack the 10-eyes- 4-hairy-arm anatomy and the large set of chompers to bite off and chew your head -- this time. Rawr.
Telischi ordered that I have two balance test performed for whatever reasons. I had a posturography test and a electronsystagmography test and both procedures had to be the two weirdest experiences in my life. One had me in a harness standing on moving ground and the other had me getting hot and cold water injected into my ears, keeping my eyes open while wearing blackening goggles then having to count by 2's outloud in the dark after the water had been released.
I have to admit, it was a bit scary at times, especially the posturography where it felt I was going to fall to my death on multiple occasions. But I had the most prettiest and nicest doctor with the biggest smile to help put me at ease. Dr. Snapp was young and since her job requires her to work with people who have inner ear problems she signed, wrote things down and talked with emphasis- everything to make sure I understood what was going on. She never once looked at me with a drop of pity in her eyes and I appreciated that most of all. Obviously she made a lasting impression on me and it makes me a little sad to know I would only be seeing her this once and not a frequent visitation. I just wish I had someone like her always in my life.
The night before I had a dream that Jamie had come home to surprise me before I headed off to surgery. I was SO HAPPY to see him. Then I woke up.
Tuesday 3/17 - This St. Patrick's Day I unintentionally wore green -and subconsciously saved myself from countless pinches, disses and a punch in the face.
Ready for my lab work, I woke up early in the morning and headed off to QuestDiagnostics on an empty stomach and full bladder. The nurse who drew blood seemed to have no problem finding a vein but as always trouble arose when I was handed over a plastic cup for a urine sample. My chronic pee shyness, severe imbalance and the extreme unsanitary conditions were all active variables in an ultimate FAIL.
With a 99% chance of slipping and falling,there was no way that dirty bar attached to the bathroom wall was going to help keep me stable. Plus the prepping the seat with toilet paper and the squatting; whew, I dont have the energy or the strength. But there's no way my ass cheeks are getting anywhere near that hepatitis A,B and C infected seat. After approaching the toilet for a better look to try and contemplate a game plan, I noticed it was clogged with paper and God knows what else. Thats when I told the nurse, "Sorry, no can do"
Uncaringly, she let me take the cup home for a DIY and my dad agreed to return the sample to the offices later that day. Of course at home the pipes went off without a hitch and I was able to get the job done as soon as I had walked into the house. Afterwards I placed my Cup O'Pee on the hallway table. And there it stayed on display for hours next to a framed picture of my beloved Nanny. I chuckled everytime I walked passed it. It looked lonely. Naturally, I found this to be a great photo opprotunity (because I have a real sick and twisted sense of humor)
My St. Patrick's Day Gold
That afternoon I had a chest X-ray and the wait was short but still unbearable. Yet X-rays are very easy and the technicians were very nice, more than happy to help communicate by writing things down for me. As I was leaving I was surprised when one of the techs handed me 3 lollipops with a big smile. To what do I owe these tasty treats? Score.
While watching The Biggest Loser I discovered I can't cross my fingers on my right hand. The entire hand has become pretty weak and its impossible to sign and difficult to write. (I use to love my handwriting, now it looks like Kindergarden chicken scratch) Fingers on both hands become stiff and cramp up, so lets add that onto the list. Through ASL and typing on the computer, I use these babies as my source of communication. My lips are numb which makes speaking physically hard for me; they are the substitute for my voice. If my hands are taken away and paralysis occurs, I'm going to need someone to play Dr, Kevorkian. Are YOU a true friend?
Wednesday 3/18 - This afternoon I made a second attempt at counseling and saw another therapist whose office was all the way up in Boca -but Dr. V proved to be worth the agonizing 60+ minute drive. Learning from the disaster I had with Ricardo last week, I walked into this appointment with my mind set on making a conscious effort and holding up my end of the bargain AKA talking.
His waiting room was covered in owl decor; owl paintings, owl photos, owl figurines and statues sculpted out of ceramic or wood. 23 different owl replicas to be exact. I counted. When I entered his office a few minutes later I was bombarded by an even larger collection most likely reaching the hundreds. Stuffed in the bookcases, sitting on his desk, and plastered on the walls; owls were crowded everywhere.
As soon as I met him I was automatically put at ease. I wasn't nervous and never once held up a barricade. The conversation flowed naturally and I was comfortable enough to be funny and sweet; I was myself through and through. And it felt good -- to talk and to let someone in, for them to know and to have a good understanding of who I am. Plus, the fact that he knows and uses sign language makes the world of difference. (He's actually a CODA)
To help from becoming overly upset and overwhelmed, I was prepared with a list of all my troubles and anxieties. As I was going through them, he told me I seemed to still be in good spirits and that teared me up a bit because even though I still smile when I talk and throw the occasional joke around, I'm nowhere near as spunky as I use to be.
Like taking in and releasing a big breath of fresh air, I left feeling relieved and SO PROUD of myself. This is truly an accomplishment for me. (Ooh, look, I'm an adult.) My guard was down, stubborness out the window and I was 100% me. I love Dr. V and I'm actually excited about getting to work at our next appointment on Monday. Its such a comforting and warm environment (maybe it was the owls)
Thursday 3/19 - Day off. Nobody would respond to my IMs on AIM. FF: Friends are Fuckers. Lonely day. Ate a Pop Tart.
Friday 3/20 - No one was as shocked as I was after stepping onto the scale at Dr. Alam's office and to have it read 112 lbs. With my new depression-indifference, I've put my precious fruits and veggies aside and been eating nothing but junk everyday. My clothes fit funny and I can see and feel my body inflate in my thighs and belly - nowhere near my ass, of course, which has gone from flat to nonexistant. I was certain I had gained at least two or three pounds, but as it turned out I've actually lost weight!
I'm dumbfounded. How is that even possible? I'm not exactly happy about this. The night before I had even placed a bet with my mom. I predicted 115+ ; she 115-. I so lost. It must be a result from last month, where I was living off a diet of Ensure and dinner rolls the weeks after my last surgery. You could see the flab hanging off my bones; it was disgusting. I was sick and suoer nauseated then but I really need to get healthy as possible now. This weight loss scares me.
Dr. Alam is an idiot. I don't really care though because she is no one of importance. Most primary doctors are anyway. Those simple mined MDs get overwhelmed with a case like mine and I'm usually the one having to explain things to them.The only reason I see her in the first is because the hospital always orders a medical clearance, otherwise I wouldnt waste my time - or $15 co pay.
Before stepping out of the room to leave she wrote in my notebook, "Relax. Be happy. You're getting better." And just the thought of it makes me slam my fits at my sides. WHAT THE FUCK? Does she have any idea what the hell is going on or why I'm there in the first place?! You'd think graduating from med school and you'd know how to read a file or listen to what your patient tells you. I'm having life-changing brain surgery in 11 days. It's there in black and white: I'm falling apart physically,mentally, and emotionally. It's the exact opposit you stupid fuck, I'm getting worse not better in this neverending fight that has taken over 2 years of my life. So please, please tell me what there's to be happy about.
I know she was trying to comfort me but -obvious- lies dont help but turn me into an angry fuming bull. Don't BS me especially if youre trying to be nice. I can't take it anymore. This is in regards to everyone: IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TRUE TO SAY, DON'T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL.
Saturday 3/21 - About 2 months ago I read a book called Plain Truth and fairly enjoyed it. I was flipping through the television this morning and to my surprise discovered Lifetime was playing their own movie adaptation! Oh man, it was so cheesy and corny and clam chowdery. It was great. Gotta love those Amish teen sluts convicted of murder. Priceless.
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