tinhuviel: (Sick Ren)

Thanks to my wacked-out health, there was an incident last Sunday that landed me in an extended stay hotel until yesterday morning. As documented on my Facebook, I ended up with Blake's cold a couple of weeks ago. Since 2015, I don't just get to have a simple cold and be done with it, no. I end up with secondary infections and my sleep patterns and behaviour are almost always affected. That means I sleepwalk. After the cold began to wane, I developed some sort of viral infection under my tongue. I caved and went to the doctor about that last Friday. He gave me some lidocaine for the pain and told me to ride it out for about a week, at which time, it should be getting better. But it wasn't just that. A knot - infection? lymph gland? who knows? - began growing behind my left ear. I felt generally unwell. The next thing I remember, Janice is driving me to Crossland Suites. She thought I had over-taken some of my medication and, when she couldn't find it in my stuff, was not going to be convinced otherwise. I was so sick and out of it, I was incapable of explaining what I had done with my meds, and had no way to show her that all was in order, because I'd repacked everything a couple of days prior, along with the meds I'd had moved from San Diego to here. It was an effort in poor organisation. The next day, I Uber'd to the closest CVS and had them check my temp at the minute clinic. My throat was on fire, and I felt delusional, and couldn't think straight. I had a fever of 103. I got some aspirin and juice, and went back to the hotel to die. Then I lost my voice for three days.

Fortunately, I began to recover from this nightmare on Thursday.  Friday was the big day of the move, so I had to be at least marginally functional!  When Friday came, my voice was back, my mouth had recovered almost completely, and my throat was only a little scratchy.  I was still weak and underwhelmed, but I was present and accounted for.

It's been slow going like you wouldn't believe with the unpacking process.  I don't have furniture to put things on, and I don't want to put stuff on the floor, in the event Toby decides he wants to mark something, like an asshole, so I'm having to pick and choose what I pull out for right now.  Today, I wanted to smudge the apartment, and set up a little bit of sacred space in the bedroom, but I can't find my supplies and incense.  I've gone through everything and can't find an inkling of Witchery anywhere.  But I did find the prescriptions I'd consolidated!  I called Janice to let her know and, when I see her, I'm gonna show her what I'd done and why it looked so bad, when she went to check on my medicinal intake.  I also apologised for acting so wonky.  I really could not help it, though!

Yesterday, I got a delivery of cheese garlic bread and a Pepsi, which I have been subsisting on for almost 24 hours. About an hour ago, I did something I had not done since 2013: I used a pot and cooked soup on a real stove. To most, I guess this is no big deal but, for me, it's truly a momentous occasion that means several things.  It means that I'm more self-sufficient now that I have been in years.  It means I can begin to eat properly and have more variety in my life as a crap foodie.  It means that I am going to save a huge amount of money on food, because I have so much storage space, a whole damned fridge, and the ability to prepare food rather than depending on prepackaged junk food.  Cooking that soup on a stove top, in my own pot, with my own spoon, means that I am free.  It also means that Gordon Ramsay will have one more vegetarian pseudo-cook to rail at for existing, and daring to darken the sacred doors of a kitchen!

Of course, I could not have gotten to this mini-milestone, had it not been for the kind souls of my Tribe and our extended clan.  Were I able, I would cook up a flipping cauldron of soup and share it with you all, as we party as hard as a pack of introverts could!



tinhuviel: (Pensive)
Some kind soul located my psychiatrist and now he's sentme to the ER for observation. Who knows how lonh they'll keep me, but I am pissed to the hilt.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
Sorry for the misspellings, but when you're out of your head with pain, that's kinda what happens.

Your Review View business Between Scripps H. and Tracy E. Back to your inbox Tracy E. Tracy E. San Diego, CA 27 4 Your review of Scripps Mercy Hospital San Diego 1.0 star rating 6/16/2016 I've had a migraine for 5 days. The third night, after two visits to this hellhole, I tried to hangng myself because the pain was so bad and I just wanted it to end. Almost succeeded. These people are a joke. If you are in pain, even severe, they treat you like a criminal junkie. The only thing that helps my migraine is 2 mg of injected dilaudid (pill form come back i\up because of nausea and vomiting). All they gave me was toradol (when I told them it doesn't work, phernergan (which gives me severe restless legs, and reglan to counteract the phengern. I did get some sleep for the first time in days, but I woke up myself up pooping on myelf. excessively, and still had the migraine. Turns out reglan causes massive diahrrea. So I had to clean myself up, after no food for days, still with the worst migraine ever. Decided to go to out of network and went to Sharp. They gave me my shot, and after 2 hours, no pain. Screw Scripps. Their title "MERCY' is in oxymoron. They'd rather have people suffer and even commit suicide than risk an addition. DON'T GO HERE. If you have a network that accepts only this, go out of network until you can find a decent medical network that doesn't treat you like a lying piece of trash.

"Scripps H. Scripps H. Manager Block & Report Owner Scripps H.'s comment on your review: Hello, Tracy, Thank you for taking the time to review your experience. We are happy to hear you are no longer in pain. It is our mission to provide the highest quality service and medical care to our patients and we are sorry your experience at Mercy San Diego did not meet these standards. We value your feedback and would like to learn more. If you are interested in speaking to a patient advocate, please respond to our private message. We appreciate your time and look forward to speaking with you directly. Sincerely, Your friends at Scripps Scripps H. Scripps H. Manager One hour ago Block & Report Owner Hi, Tracy, Thank you again for reviewing your recent experience at Scripps Mercy Hospital San Diego. We understand your concerns and would appreciate the opportunity to learn more and help, if possible. To speak with a patient advocate, please reply to this message with your full name and phone number; an advocate will reach out directly. Of course we understand not everybody wishes to have further communication, and if that's the case, we respect your decision. Whatever your choice, please know we value your feedback and have already shared your review with management. We wish you good health and a great weekend. - Your friends at Scripps

Tracy E. Tracy E. San Diego, CA 27 4 52 minutes ago What do you mean I am no longer in pain? I had to go back to my PCP who did did little to help me until I can get into pain management. I'll most likely have to visit SHARP again before I get to see the doctor on Friday, at $75 a pop, which I DON'T have. You wasted me five pairs of panties from explosive diarrhea, did NOTHING for my pain, gave me medication I said did not work and will probably charge my insurance for it, probably "prayed" for me, like so-called mercy-givers do, gave me not only restless legs but restless body from from the phenergen. Do you know what it's not like to not be able to stop moving when you have a severe migraine? My doctor couldn't even get blood from me today because I am so dehyadrated from not being able to hold anything down. I TRIED TO HANG MYSELF THREE DAYS AGO BECAUSE I COULDN'T TAKE THE PAIN ANYMORE. Unfornunately, I did not succeed. When my enrollment period comes up, I'm going to try to get as a far away from SCRIPPS "MERCY" as possible. I don't know why you're congratulating yourself for helping me with my migraine, but it was SHARP who did it, NOT YOU. And I'll probably have to go back to them before Friday, so thanks for exacerbating my poverty. Right now, I would LITERALLY DIE than darken your medaeival doors again. If your definition of mercy comes out of the middle ages, perhaps you should rethink your line of work because, right now, you're costing people sanity, sleep, relief, and EVEN LIFE. You're not my friend. If my head begins to feel it explodes, I'm coming to you, just so you get to feel the nice warm goodness of my untreated headache. I hate you.

Doctor Day

Mar. 30th, 2016 05:10 pm
tinhuviel: (Darth Geek)

Today was doctor day.  I went to see Dr. Harrington at 11 and my new primary care physician at 2:30.  In between appointments, I slummed at Starbucks and surfed the Internet, but only after I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell, seemingly to my death, only for the sidewalk to catch me - and my computer!  Thankfully, the comp wasn’t damaged.  

 

Anyone who tends to be mega-clumsy, has seizures, or is prone to passing out, needs to switch to the Mac because their computers are tough as fucking nails.

 

Anyway, I hadn’t seen Dr. Harrington since September.  It was my intention not to really get into anything, just get my prescriptions refilled, and be on my way.  Considering I’d just gone through another horribleday without Aunt Tudi, I wasn’t in the mood to rehash crap.  Somehow, though, he got me to talking about when the Parental Units broke up and what happened with me in the immediate aftermath.  I’m tired of talking about that.  When I go back to him, in July, I’m not walking down that road again.  There’s no reason to go there.

 

The new doctor was very thorough and took his time.  He concluded what I already had, that I had acute bronchitis.  I’m on a 5-day regimen of prednisone, and he wants to see me again on Monday, if the cough is no better.  I like him.  He does have funny hands, though.  They’re shiny and hairless.  He’s not particularly shiny anywhere else, but those hands would gleam in the sunlight.  I have already dubbed them Mannequin Hands.

 

I’m back at the house now, and thoroughly exhausted.  I have not been out for so long since in the first of the year.  Did I like it?  Can’t say as I did, being a hermit and all.

tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)

Just when I was getting back into the swing of things here, I was “fortunate” enough to contract influenza.  I actually started coming down with it in late February, but it didn’t get really bad until after the first of March.  Just to give you an idea of how sick I really was, here’s a list of what plagued me throughout my time with Captain Trips.


  • Got flu from people I live with on 23rd February.
  • Body ache
  • Headache
  • Runny nose
  • Fatigue
  • Swollen glands at base of ears
  • Constant cough
  • Foul taste in mouth and inner odour
  • Laryngitis
  • Eye pain with green discharge
  • Nausea and vomiting
  • Diarrhea 
  • No appetite
  • Difficulty keeping down fluids - probably very dehydrated now, because heart is pounding with minimal activity
  • Dizziness and weakness
  • High fever at first (103.2 on 2/25) and sporadic low-grade fever since, the latest being two nights ago, when the eye thing started)

I vaguely remember going to one of my doctors on March 3rd.  Apparently, I was so bad off, she prescribed me meds, put me in her car, took me to the drugstore, went in and bought my meds, plus a load of OTC stuff to help me, then brought me home.  I need to check and see if she paid for all of it with my card or if she used her own money.  I hope she didn’t get sick as well.

 

My final symptom was getting an eye infection in both eyes, accompanied with another fever.  There was one day when I actually had to fumble blindly to get a hot wash cloth in order to melt away the glue from my eyes after a couple hours of sleep.  Even then, I couldn’t get my eyes entirely open.  I looked like the banjo player from Deliverance.  There’s no doubt it was conjunctivitis, and the Mother Unit took me and dropped me off at the ER so I could get some meds for it, because she didn’t want to end up getting sick again.  But the wait was so long, and I was so weak from being sick for suck an extended period of time, I had to get a taxi back to the house.  (The Unit was with Matt who had cut himself badly enough to need stitches.  His left arm is still wrapped up.)  I barely remember getting back to the house, and I found out a few days later that I lost my debit card.  I’m waiting for a new one.

 

When I finally started coming out of my haze, I still didn’t feel like doing anything but staring at things, so I decided to re-binge watch Breaking Bad.  I spent a few days doing that and just staring into nothingness, coughing and wheezing.  Four days ago, I finished Breaking Bad and, even though I had watched the series once before, this time I’m grieving that it’s over.  I’m just fucking bereft.  I don’t know what to do with myself.  I have some Walking Dead I could watch, but it’s like being offered a puppy after your dog of 15 years has died.  No thanks, mate.  I will never have another dog.  Like that.  It’s gonna take me some time.

 

My greatest regret about being so sick is that I promised Barry I would promote the latest Shriekback release.  He sent me the information and whatnot to download, and I failed to do so because I was so out of my head with the Superflu.  Now, I’m not sure where we stand on it and if it’s too late for me to proceed.  I need to ask, but I’m ashamed.  I’ve tried my best never to let the Shrieks down, and I’ve done so in spades this time around.  I kind of suck.

 

I still have the cough, and I have no doubt I’ll develop bronchitis, because I always do.  Hopefully, I can hold out on seeing a doctor until my appointment on 4/18 with my new primary care physician.  I had to chance doctors because the one I had behaved extremely unprofessionally with me a couple of times, and actually failed to treat me for a UTI I had, telling me I had one, but not prescribing anything for it.  The cardiologist she needlessly sent me to was the one who prescribed the antibiotics I needed.  So I had to say buh-bye to that doctor.  My insurance told me that the change in doctors was effective immediately so, if the cough gets progressively worse, I may call to see if I can be seen earlier.  They have long hours six days a week, as well as a good walk-in policy, so hopefully it won’t be a problem.  

 

So that’s what’s been going on with me.  This year has so far been chock full of uber-suck when it comes to health.  I just hope I can get my shit together by September.

tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)

Things have been going on, so this may be a bit of an update from Hell, compared to my usually non-updates.

 

First off, my phone has been on the fritz for who knows how long.  It’s not actually the phone, but the Cricket network.  I went yesterday to try to sort it, but the folks at the store couldn’t even troubleshoot it, so they had to put in a service order, which means up to 72 more hours of no service.

 

Since the first of the year, my health has been shite.  Recurring migraines with the most vicious nausea I think I’ve ever had, has beaten down my body more than I could have ever imagined.  In the past month, I have lost 10 pounds, and spent three days in the hospital, thanks to these fucking headaches.  I’m thinner now than I have been since I was 12 years old.  It has gotten to the point where I can’t even walk to the bathroom, which is right beside my room, without my having breathing difficulties and a pounding heart.  I feel like I am dying.

 

But, I might get to tick one thing off my bucket list before heading into the Void, if I’m lucky.  Jeff Lynne is bringing ELO back to the American stage on September 9th, 10th, and 11th of this year, at the Hollywood Bowl. When it was announced, I emailed a bunch of people with a proposition that, if they could get the tickets, I’d try to arrange us a place to stay.  My old high school friend, Andy, has always dreamt of attending a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and he bit.  We’re just waiting for the tickets to go on sale, if I can’t finagle them earlier than 1 May.  The target day is September 10th, as that’s the best day for Andy.  It’s also my birthday, which would be perfect.

 

Speaking of Jeff Lynne, David Bowie’s unexpected and untimely death made me come to grips with a truth I’ve known for a long time, but never truly verbalised, even to myself.  I decided to accept it and to come out, to use the term in a wholly different manner.  I wrote Barry Andrews and told him that he was the single most influential individual in my life, more so even than even the godlike Jeff Lynne and JRR Tolkien.  I wanted him to know it, in the event either of us kicks the bucket.  You should tell people how they affect you before it’s too late.  It could be too late in the next five minutes.  No one knows what each second will bring.  No one.

 

A few weeks ago, there was a huge shake-up in the format of the Work in Progress that officially made it into a full-fledged novel in the works instead of a collection of short stories.  I don’t even know what brought it to mind, guessing it had to be some kind of divine inspiration.  The long and short of it, though, is that Flint steals the New Hive’s first - and currently only - relic, Cadmus Pariah’s Harming Tree.  The story will revolve around Cadmus hunting down Flint, with possible help from Orphaeus Cygnus, and will include the stories and vignettes I have already written about the Harming Tree.  As The Blood Crown was essentially a Vampiric Hope & Crosby Road movie in book form, The Harming Tree will be a bit of a book version of a hunt and chase movie, kind of in the vein of Mad Max: Fury Road and the like.  I have asked Barry if he could drum up a photo of his harming tree, which is seen only briefly in the ‘Captain Cook’ video, and is obviously the benign inspiration, despite its name, for Cadmus’ dreadful tool of agony.  It would be good to have a very clear image reference as I continue this mad journey into the Darkness.  I need to jog his memory, though, as it’s been two or three months since I asked him.  I’m sure he’s forgotten, and I keep forgetting to remind him.  We are old as fuck.

 

The end.

The End

Dec. 31st, 2015 08:44 pm
tinhuviel: (Darth Geek)

And so we have arrived at the threshold of yet another year, four cycles after the long hoped for Alpaca Lips.  In some ways, it has been an eventful year and, in others, things have barely changed.  I figured I'd touch on the highlights of 2015, then throw some hopes (gasp, hope?  Tin?  NOOOOOO!) out for 2016.  So, let's begin.

no title

The first major thing that happened in 2015 came in February, when I was allowed unprecedented liberties to continue and expand my campaign to disseminate All Things Shriekback.  I was elated, for I had watched for too long their greatness be swallowed up by the ever-expanding Internet, without the proper tools in my box of toys to make enough digital noise to be noticed.  That changed prior to the release of one of their best albums to date, Without Real String or Fish.  To my immense joy, this was only one of many releases by the band that I got to relentlessly plug throughout the year.  It's been an honour to do what I could for the guys, and I will continue to do what I do until they tell me to stop!

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In April, another wonderful thing occurred:  I got to go up to Los Angeles to attend Jeff Lynne's Hollywood Walk of Fame star ceremony.  Even though I didn't get to meet him - again! - I was still thrilled to be in the general vicinity of my spiritual and musical godfather, and listen to him talk a little about his career and how honoured he felt to be getting the praise and attention that has long been due the man.  He's a genius, and I am overjoyed that people are finally catching on to this fact.  It also heartens me that so many Millennials, particularly in the music world, are embracing Mr. Lynne and his music.  That means that his legacy will live on through the generations, as long as humanity plagues this world.  It almost makes me glad we're all still around.  Anyway, also in attendance to the star ceremony, making speeches of their own about how groovy Jeff Lynne is, were Tom Petty and Joe Walsh.  I caught this epic photo before the brouhaha began.   

LynnePettyWalsh4.jpg

And it got even better later in the year, in November, when Jeff Lynne released Alone in the Universe, the first official ELO album since the release of Zoom in 2001.  I'm currently listening to it for the first time but, hey! better late than never, right?  2015 was the year both Shriekback and the Electric Light Orchestra gave the world new music.  If for no other reason, this year should be marked as a complete success because of this.

triskeleline.gif

Shortly before I moved out to San Diego, my TV died.  For a while, I was pretty miserable, until I got used to watching streaming formats online, like Netflix.  It cut down on my viewing habits considerably, and I found myself focusing on just the movies and shows I personally found important and worthy enough to spend my time watching.  Beginning in late 2014, though, my number one go-to place for instant entertainment gratification became You Tube.  I discovered Alonzo LeroneGarret John, and a host of other talents, visionaries, and creatives.  In June of 2015, though, I stumbled upon a short film that completely blew my mind. It's what made me realise how grateful I am to no longer have a television. I probably would have never discovered such brilliance had I still been enslaved to the mediocrity that spews out of the boob tube.

When I first saw The Horribly Slow Murderer with the Extremely Inefficient Weapon, I had a reaction eerily similar to what I had upon seeing The Joker Blogs' Therapy Begins.  I couldn't get enough!  Impressed didn't even begin to cover it.  The more I watched it and the related films on Richard Gale's You Tube channel, the more I laughed.  As anyone who has known me since losing Aunt Tudi in 2011 knows, laughter is something I treasure above all other things.  I credit anything that could cut through the grief and trigger laughter as holding a seed of the miraculous within its heart.  The Impractical Jokers were the first to make what I thought was impossible happen.  The Horrible Slow Murderer carried on that life-saving tradition.  

I was so impressed with the undeniable talent in this short film and others on the channel, like the wholly unfunny and horrifying Criticized, I was compelled to learn more about the film maker and his posse.  Employing the web search skills I learned in the Pit oh so very long ago, it didn't take me long to learn a good bit about the director and actors Paul Clemens and Brian Rohan.  

Well, one thing led to another, and I ended up helping them with their Kickstarter campaign, after having the pleasure of discussing a few promo ideas with Richard one Sunday a few months ago.  During this time, I've come to see that not only are these guys uber-talented, but they are also genuine, groovy, insightful, kind individuals.  How could anyone not want to help people like this in any way they can?

triskeleline.gif

While all this was happening, I was going to the doctor about my back pain, which seemed to be getting worse despite all attempts to reverse the issues causing it.  The doc finally suggested that I look into getting an panniculectomy.  Now, in South Carolina, no insurance, private or public, would cover anything considered cosmetic.  When I got the gastric bypass surgery, I went into it with no pipe dreams of getting any excess skin removed.  It was never an option, so I never entertained the idea.

When the doctor brought up the panniculectomy, I silently scoffed, but decided "what the hell?  It doesn't hurt to ask."  So, a couple of days later, I called Aetna and asked them if such a surgery were covered.  They informed me that, if it were considered medically necessary, they would cover it, and all I would have to pay would be $264.00.  I called the doctor, who referred me to Dr. Jason Hess.  He took pictures, informed me that he'd gotten approval for surgeries with less severe pannus issues, and said he'd be asking approval for not just a panniculectomy, but also an abdominoplasty which, combined, are basically the human equivalent to being cleaned like a fish.

In two weeks time, Aetna gave the go ahead, and I had a tummy tuck and panniculectomy in September.  I'm still recovering from it, but my back does feel better after no longer having to deal with 17 pounds of dead weight constantly pulling on my lower lumbar region.  Also, for the first time in my life, I actually have a figure.  I'm still not used to the new body.  It's like living in an alien biological construct.

So, 2015 saw me become a bit of a California stereotype in that I got plastic surgery and began "hobnobbing" with Hollywood directors and actors.  Folks, don't expect that, if you're thinking of planning on moving to California.  Bear in mind that I live in the Twilight Zone and have no idea how shit like this happens to me.

triskeleline.gif

One more cool thing that happened this year actually happened this month.  After over a year of struggling with it, I finally had a breakthrough in my arduous Wacom education.  I still have a very long way to go before I consider anything I do with the tablet worthy of pride, but at least I'm finally seeing results from what I have so far learned.  This is the result - the best representation of how I see Cadmus Pariah in my mind's eye.  I plan on making this a full body picture, not just a floating head of death, but I thought I should make note that my obvious learning disability when it comes to digital art has at long last had a wee chink taken out of its seemingly impenetrable wall.

There have been some unhappy things to happen this year - conflicts with Matt, friends falling prey to illness, seriously fucked up news on the family front, among other things - but I am choosing not to focus on that in this year-end post.  There is nothing I could write here that would change any of these things, and I frankly don't want to give the bad areas of 2015 any more power than they already have.  I would prefer to give energy to more positive outcomes in those categories in the coming year. 

That being said, here are some things I'm hoping to see happen and/or make happen in 2016.

  • Friends and family beat the odds and kick all manner of ass with some insane Health Fu.
  • The Presidential election does not turn out to be a disaster of mega-Fascist proportions.
  • People collectively reject the status quo and embrace a higher vibrational state of being.
  • There is full disclosure on extraterrestrial life and activities, as well as extra-dimensional life and activities.
  • Jeff Lynne plays a concert in San Diego and I get to attend.
  • I can eventually feel as comfortable riding the buses in San Diego as I was riding the ones in Los Angeles. LA makes a lot more sense as far as layout is concerned.  Or maybe that's just me.
  • Yoga becomes a part of my everyday life.
  • Barry Andrews has more delightful written and musical works of art in store for the world.
  • I complete my latest book and maybe even publish it.
  • The filming of Ginosaji goes smoothly and is a low-stress joy for all involved.
  • I get to go to the desert to gaze at the Milky Way at least once in 2016.
  • I and those I love are surrounded by non-toxic individuals and that we can continue to expand the influence of beauty, creativity, common sense, and divine madness.
  • The Alpaca Lips finally happens.

Here's hoping everyone has a fantastic new year.  May it be visionary in every way.

tinhuviel: (Bellatrix)

I am kind of freaking out right now.  At the age 5, I was enrolled in 1st grade, at which time I was swiftly and truly schooled by my classmates.  I was not normal.  Period.  I wasn't allowed to dance to music like I'd always done before, without getting called names and being laughed at.  My teacher gave me a time out for not being able to recite the Lord's Prayer, and when we were supposed to play games that called for teams, there was team A and team "Shit, she's the only one left."  It was apparent, in no uncertan terms, that nothing about me was normal.  And since my family moved around a lot, I wasn't normal at any school, so it had to be me, not them.  I was given the advice to ignore it and they'd eventually go away, but they didn't. This ended, for the most part, while I was working at BMG, when I finally lost it on some asshole at J Records I was forced to work with.  I had one more incident of bullying behaviour just yesterday, and I reacted viciously. To be honest, I can't remember everything that happened there, but I think I just on that thin line that separates verbal confrontation from physical altercation.  Thirty-two (non-consecutive) years of bullying boiled up in my body, and I just fucking exploded.  But I'm not here to talk about bullying.  It seems I've done a lot of that since I've been on the Internet, and finding others like myself.  The Island of Misfit Toys is a real place on Teh Intarwebz, located a little further north-west of Dr. Moreau's Island, and separated from Fantasy Island by the Sea of Dreams (yes, we can see y'all from from our winders).  Enough of that, though.  Let's get down to bidness.

I'm here to talk about feeling paranormally different since waking up on the 14th.  The doctor said he removed 17 pounds of excess skin, fat, and other crap that wouldn't have ever otherwise gone away.  I'm talking about hearing the nurse softly say in my ear, "breathe deeply", and then I woke up with parts of my body that have always been part of me since I began to gain more weight than other kids my age, at four years.  The midsection of my stomach is mostly flat, but the lower part, the part that hangs down to your thighs when you stand, and makes you think that you have no lap whatsoever when you sit down - - well, it is gone.  Totally fucking gone.  Working on my computer has even changed, because my stomach was my prop, so I could work on my writing, promotions, and blogging while Smidgen curled up on my chest or upper abdomen.  Now, I'm having dificulty trying to find a decent computer spot, so I can write this.  I feel as though, if I were back east with the friends I have, I would hear them whisper about me not being me, reinacting one of the earlier scenes of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.

On 14 September whilst waiting to be rolled back to the operating room, I was lying on my back with my elbow and hands touching the mattress, or I had my fingers interlocked on my midsection, and my elbows just dangled at each side.  If I wanted to put my arms at my side, then my elbows could touch the mattress, but my fingers wouldn't meet.  I couldn't do both and I never could.  It was just a fact of life for me, even after the gastric bypass surgery in 2004. Now, my elbows can rest on the bed and my fingers can interlock at the same time.  The Mother Unit was amused that my discovery of this amazed me so much.  I know that doesn't sound like much, but when you've never been able to do it before, it's kind of a thing.  The effect on my lower back was nearly instantaneous.  A lot of that pull is gone, which was the main purpose for asking to get the procedures in the first place.  Total success, right there.  Despite currently feeling as though I have been thrown into the Iron Maiden at an Iron Maiden concert, my back already doesn't hurt as much, and I'm hoping the pain will continue to wane as I heal.  I can feel the difference in my knees as well.

Psychologically, the immediate effect has not been as positive as I would have liked, but that's not the doctor's fault. Everything he did was exactly the procedures he signed on to do, and he did them expertise.  The thing for me, though, was that I went to sleep in the body I'd had for around 32 years, and I woke up a stranger to myself.  I'm not doing as well as perhaps I should in respect to mentally catching up to the physical tranformation.  There are differences you would never think of, such as, seeing my own "cho-cha" (thank you, Missy Elliott) for the very first time in my entire life.  Only a few hours after the surgery has over, I learned the women's cho-chas were supposed to look like this.  It is still quite a surprise, because most laypeople or medical personnel would never think that such a change would be shockingly phantasmagoric.  It's as though the doctor pulled everything up.  From now on, whenever I see some crazy person in the park talking down her/his pants, I'm going to wonder if they had a panniculectomy and abdominoplasty.  Such a shock to the visual senses is bizarre and unsettling.  On the other hand, I might be that homeless crazy person taking to her own privates sooner than later.

I was told that the surgery took hours because the doctor wanted to be as thorough as possible while he was working. Based on some of the surgery pictures he'd shown me during our consultation, I have no doubt he was thorough.  In fact, I think he did more than was authorised, probably because he knew I might need it down the road. I was already dead to the world, so why not? After a little bit of online research, what little time I've been online, I'm thinking that that extra something was some liposuction, considering I have two balls that catch the bloody water draining out of me, and bruises that just won't quit on my lower stomach, thighs, and cho-cha. Everything is relatively level now.  I had fatty bits on my back that are gone now, too. After all this heals I will appear to be, more or less, like someone carrying a few extra pounds, but nothing people would gawk or throw vomit fat jokes in her direction.

My entire dieting life, I was told to chant the mantra "there's a thin person inside me that yearns to get out!"  I was conditioned to dislike everything about me that anyone could see, while striving to look like the ones who are always at the front of the line to get their kick in before the day over. I was filled with a hell of a lot of animosity by the time I was approved for gastric bypass surgery, so much so that I had before and after pictures taken in the event someone told me I looked good.  My plan was to whip those pictures out and ask them what they thought now!  Over a time, especially when Aunt Tudi's health started to decline, I just grew weary of my verbal fight with society, and just gave up on avenging the evil so quantumly ingrained in us all by this mockery of our exsistence.

But, the other day, I was told it was good to see me, a "much thinner" me.  I didn't say anything then, because I've been feeling like every hell imagined in every dimension that could currently be calculated by any Physics Academic, and to be perfectly frank, I did not want to be in a tiff, or what have you.  Now, I'm a tad concerned that, in my heart, I know I may throat punch anyone who has ever known or seen me prior to the surgeries, but still comes out with that programmed bullshit, especially if they refer to having surgies to assist me lose the weight that was killing me as "taking the easy way out."  I am not above going all Jack Torrance with an ax on any motherfucker who crosses that line, and thanks to those oh so very easy surgeries and recoveries that were alllll done for cosmetic reasons and nothing else, I'm lighter, limberer, and enthusiastically motivated to shut you up by ripping your jaw bone off your stupid brainless head and feeding it to Toby. Strangers who do not know me will get you one free pass but, if a stranger proving how much of a douche nozzle they are by judging another within my earshot may very well end up in an intimate relationship with my shoes and elbows.  I haven't forgotten all the Kung Fu I was taught, and I'll probably be able to do them better now.  You can be my practice.

The flesh a person is in, is not that person, but it can affect them in unimaginable ways.  I feel like a stranger in a strange land now.  I can't quite grasp the extent of my aura.  Toby caught a glimpse of mm the other day, and barked at me as though I were a stranger.  I'm wondering how Smidge will handle seeing her new old bed, unimpressed that it no longer has the cushioning she requires.  I can get around things a bit easier, but still move like I need to squeeze, and that makes me look like I'm up to no good.  I had some of these issues with the first surgery, but the effects came much more slowly, so my adjustments were more easily accepted.  This time, not so much.  Not even after the gastric bypass did I have a figure.  Now that I do, I don't look right.

But just because I'm struggling doesn't mean I've lost one iota of my venom for humanity as a whole.  Once built, or stolen, I can just shoot my lethal laser gun at the global urban centers while wearing some dumbass latex cat suit.

FUCK THE WORLD


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Love, Tin

PS: If you find any spelling or grammatical mistakes in this, chalk it up to unbridled anger combined with full body pain. Thank you.

tinhuviel: (Hot Damn!)

Making a List and Checking It Twice

Then I check it again.  And again.  And again and again and again.  No, I am not the Ginosaji, but I think I may have discovered why my memory has become a cess pool of forgetfulness over the past few years.

Earlier today, I went to the Imaging Healthcare site to confirm my EEG w/Sleep Deprivation test for Tuesday morning.  My neurologist wanted me to have the test before my surgery date.  While I was on my portal at Imaging Healthcare, I found the test results for my many procedures, dating as far back as October, 2013.  I clicked the report generated from my MRI of last year.  According to the physician who examined the imagery, there is nothing that would indicate why I have seizures and migraines; however, he made note that I have "Mild Diffuse Cortical Atrophy."  What exactly is that?

It means that a portion of my brain cells have dropped dead.  It seems to be relatively common in people who suffer from migraines, which I have all my life, except for that nice extended break in my late 20s.  The primary symptom of this condition is forgetfulness, because it is a form of dementia.  To experts' knowledge, the condition does not cause seizures, but it can cause you to stand at the fridge with the door open, wondering why they hell you'd come into the kitchen in the first place.  The thing is, though, is that cortical atrophy is mainly associated with elderly people.  

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It's a natural part of growing old; however, it can also indicate dementia and the beginnings of Alzheimers Disease.  I just approached an online doctor about it.  Hopefully, my questions will be answered, despite my not subscribing to the 'Ask a Doctor' website.  If I had the money, I might, but people who are running GoFundMe campaigns because their medical situation is guaranteeing they won't make ends meet in any conceivable way tend not to shove their debit card in a virtual doctor's face and shriek TAKE MY MONEY!, especially when said persons are going back to their neurologist for the EEG results sooner rather than later.  It would be frivolous and unresponsible to pay to have my question answered, when I can barely pay attention for being so broke.  Then again, maybe I can't pay attention because my brain is dying in increments.  Whatever.  At any rate, here's what I wrote to the "Emergency Medical Hologram" (Geek points to those who get that):

Since 2008, I've been having grand mal seizures.  I was 41 at the time.  They're well under control with the dosage of Keppra I'm on, and my neurologist keeps a close eye on me, doing annual tests and having me keep a diary of my migraine headaches.  I'm due to go for another EEG with sleep deprivation next week.  As I was setting up my appointment for a bone density scan ordered by my OB/GYN, I noticed that I could access the results of my previous tests, one of which was the MRI my neurologist ordered last year.  Everything appeared normal except that I exhibited "Mild Diffuse Cortical Atrophy."  Is this normal for a 47-year-old?  From what I have read, it's an age-related issue that could be nothing, especially if you are a senior citizen, although it could mean you might have the beginnings of Alzheimers.  For the past four years, I have struggled with memory issues.  It often takes me three times longer to do things because I keep forgetting what it is I need to do next to complete whatever project I'm working on.  My longterm memory seems relatively okay, but I'm constantly having to retrace my steps to make certain I'm doing or have done what I need to at any given moment.  Should I be especially concerned about this, or am I just well on my way to joining AARP?

For now, I'm going to try to not let that report worry me, since I need to focus what rudimentary mental ability I still have to the task of preparing for this surgery and the subsequent week or so of recovery.  This next week is going to be busy, what with my pre-op visit and EEG, both of which are on Tuesday, then a surgery consult with my pain doctor, since she's the one who has to oversee the pain management after the procedure.  Those are the only two days I need to leave the house, which is great, because I need to begin sorting what clothing I need to take to Angie and Cierra's, gather up any connectivity cords and my extra surge protector, and prepare my room for Matt and the Mother Unit.  While I'm gone, they're going to clean up Syd & Nancy's cage and paint, among other things.  I also need to write out instructions on what Smidgen and Toby need and are used to getting, as well as draw a diagram of puppy pad placement.  Since Toby has been on Prednisone, he's become a peeing machine.  Most of the time, I get him out in time enough, but there will always be incidents, so I keep the carpet covered with the protection, but there's a certain way it needs to be done to reduce the amount of pads used while still being a flawless barrier between the carpet and Toby's cho-cha.  Thanks to the help I have so far received, I've been able to get another box of puppy pads, to ensure the Mother Unit does not run out of them.

After I have the instructions written out to my satisfaction, I need to write out some semblance of a will.  I want to make certain that I am not intubated or put on life support of any kind, should something go wrong during the surgery.  Also, I'm keen on bequeathing certain things to certain people.  Nothing I have is of any monetary worth, but there are some things that mean more than mere money.  I also want to have some sort of arrangements made for Toby and Smidgen, should I die, and I'm going to request that my ashes be taken to Craggy Dome on the Blue Ridge Parkway in Asheville.  I doubt my wishes will be adhered to, but I have to state it, just in case.  Getting my document witnessed and notarised has already been made possible, thanks to your generosity.

Later on in the week, I plan on zipping up to Oceanside to spend the day with Angie and Cierra.  San Diego transit isn't just for the city proper, but for the entire county, so I can take various buses and trolleys to make it up there to them.  I'm looking forward to the journey and to seeing those crazy Oceanside chicks.  What I'm planning is to go up and go shopping for some of the heavier items, that Angie and Cierra can store for when I arrive from the hospital.  It will cut down on having to haul the stuff from the store to the house, then from the house to the car, then from the car to the apartment, and so on.  Right now, I can carry bottled water and large bottles of juice, both of which I'll need post-op.  After the surgery, lifting things like that won't be an option.  Wiser to get anything I can do beforehand done, so things will be easier post-op, right?  Again, thanks to your kindness, I'll be able to buy these supplies this next week, and have one less worry clinging like a funky monkey on my back.

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So that's where we are for now.  I want you all to know how humbled and amazed I am by your outpouring of fundages I know you can ill afford.  Despite my misanthropy, I am always awestricken by how people can pull together when any sort of shit hits the fan.  Religious, racial, and cultural differences are swiftly ignored and reviled by folks as each person does what s/he can with the seemingly impenetrable hope that things can and will get better.  That's a testament to the goodness within us, despite our fatal flaws.  If I had not known this before I launched my GoFundMe campaign, I would have been smacked by the Clue-by-Four of Kindness within just a few hours afterward.  Thankfully, I didn't need the Clue-by-Four, because I have always had faith in my friends...my tribe.

Again, thank you from the bottom of my shriveled little heart.

I'll be back with more updates as they come.

tinhuviel: (Doomsday Clock)

TGIF!


Does anyone else remember that movie from the 70s, Thank God It's Friday!? It featured Donna Summer singing her absolute best song, in my opinion, 'Last Dance' and co-starred a very young, very Elfin Jeff Goldblum.


What does this have to do with my fundraiser? Nothing, really. I do know, though, if I evergot to compete on Jeopardy, I wouldn't have to have a fundraiser, because I have so much useless information in my head, I would rival Ken Jennings *and* Watson. My mad useless trivia skillz would send me home with all kinds fundage, I promise you that.

We're a little over 1/5 of the way to my goal, which not only gives me a 1/5th more peace of mind than I had starting this up, but also confirms for me that, even though our species collectively sucks, we do have the potential to incline toward helping one another and our fellow Earthlings, if we are capable of doing so. The world needs more people like you guys and fewer like Pat Robertson. I went yesterday to get my prescription refills, supplies for Smidgen and Toby, yoghurt for the antibiotic I'm currently taking,enough food and beverage (juice and water) to hopefully do me 'til the 14th, and some cleaning supplies. I paid the mother unit the money I owed her and also paid my rent. All of it came to more than I'd hoped, so what you guys have sent me so far is already a couple of deep breaths of relief.


As it stands right now, I have three appointments next week. One is for an EEG with sleep deprivation on Tuesday morning. Later that afternoon, I have my pre-op appointment with Dr. Hess, at which time I will learn more about any supplies I need to have to help with a swift recovery. I then have an appointment with my pain management doctor, who has to be the one to handle my after-care pain program. You can't have two doctors throwing such meds at you. You could end up in a jail cell with your doctors for committing such a heinous crime.


My bus pass is good until the 24th of the month, so that's one less worry, since I don't think I'll be physically able to deal with transit until at least a month after the surgery. The friend I'm staying with is gonna take me to post-op doc visits, then the mother unit will take over that task when I return to the house. I have no other health-related activities in which I must participate for the rest of the month. So, I guess that's it for now. Again, thank you generous souls who have contributed so far. I don't deserve the friends I have and I hope to someday return your kindness in the best way I can, to help make your lives better in some important way. Please pass my fundraiser on to all your pals. Once you have to resort to setting up a GoFundMe in order to scrape by, pride goes out the window, so it will not bother me at all if you spread the news around like butter on bread. As I said, the $500 is the bare minimum I need to just get by without being a further burden to the mother unit or placing Smidgen and Toby in a situation where they don't have the food or medications they need. It's not a financial cushion, but I don't think you should use a site like this as a cushion. It should be a legitimate barebones need. With just this, I expect to be in another deficit long before September ends, but it will be a deficit that I can feasibly claw myself out of. Without the help, the hole will just get bigger and deeper which, in turn, will put me in the position of feeling more like a leech and useless person than I already do, by individuals who have no right or reason to impose their feelings on the matter. You're helping lift me, Smidge, and Toby up instead of watching us be torn down. I'll never forget your generosity and friendship. I'll update again soon.


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If you're wondering what the heck this is all about, click the eyeballs you see in provided widget below. Should you choose to help me out, just know I really appreciate it, as does Smidgen and Toby. Ta!


tinhuviel: (Spork)

As most of my longterm pals here on the Cliffs know, I underwent a Rouxen-Y gastric bypass operation on 22 March, 2004. For any newbies thinking of having the surgery or scoffing at me, thinking I took the easy route out, do not delude yourself that any part of it is a breeze. You have to go into it with the mindset that anything can go wrong, from your not surviving the operation, to your body developing health issues directly related to GBS. The procedure is a tool that you must be emotionally and psychologically prepared to use safely and correctly; otherwise, it would have been all for naught, and I couldn't imagine such a horrible end to what seemed like my last, best hope.

My surgeon, Dr. Paul Ross warned me that I would have excess skin and probably a lot of it. He explained that, as he understood it, no insurance company in South Carolina, be it workplace insurance, Medicare, Medicaid, or anything like that covered that surgery. In SC, the skin removal was considered cosmetic and, if I decided I wanted it or I very much needed it to avoid constant skin infections, the surgery would be self-pay.I made my peace with that information and proceeded, because my genetic history combined with eating cheap and not wasting anything (this is one of the reasons why so many people at or below the poverty level are fatter than those with extra coinage.) had me hurtling toward an early death. And it wasn't just death. It was the constant pain I was in, especially my knees, and the vitriol I had endured from 1st grade and on through college. I wasn't in it to look good, because I never thought about my appearance. I'd had family and peers to keep me abreast of how "chunky" I was. The Paternal Grandmother Unit made my clothes, because we couldn't find outfits in the girl's department that would fit me. What few clothes we could afford to buy had to be found in the "Husky Boys" department. The last reason I wanted the surgery was my appearance.  My self-worth as far as my looks were concerned had been eradicated years before I had ever heard of the surgery.

I had tried every diet then known, and nothing worked worked past the maintenance portion of whatever plan I trying. The screenings for GBS in the late 90s and early 00s were intense. I had to go through a bevy of tests and even talk to a psychiatrist, who as an utter prick. Still, I held in my knee-jerk reaction of weeping and shutting down. By the end of all poking, prodding, unprofessional antagonism, and appearing to be appropriately worshipful of the insurance company BMG offered, I was deemed a good candidate by the doctors. At the time, BMG offered Cigna Insurance, who refused to approve the surgery and told me to go to Weight Watchers for six months, then they'd revisit my claim. But, with the year change, BMG dropped Cigna and went with United Healthcare. The doctor sent UH all his paperwork, my current comorbidities - deteriorating knees, chronic pain, skin infections, clinical depression, and sciatica. Thankfully, I had not yet developed diabetes or heart issues, which were prevalent on both sides of my family. Within a week I was approved.

I made one promise to myself as I was wheeled into the O/R:  No matter what happens, I will never regret getting this surgery.  There have been moments of difficulty, over the decade since the operation, but I've never broken my vow.  In early 2011, I was prescribed a medication the doctors said would help with my depression and insomnia.  I can't remember the name.  It worked for the insomnia for the first week, then I was back to square one.  It didn't do a thing for my depression. They kept me on it for three months and in that time, I gained 60 pounds, despite my increasing my exercise and adding even more protein to my diet.  I stopped the meds and was beginning to lose the weight I'd regained when Aunt Tudi died.

Since August 2011, I have not paid much attention to what I eat or if I eat.  I lost the rest of the side effect's weight plus 20 more by doing nothing but lying in a foetal position on the love seat and watching reruns of Law & Order: SVU.  And I did not stop losing weight.  I ate whatever was available when I had any appetite at all.  A lot of what I did eat just came right back up.  There were days I just didn't even try.  The only time I felt enthusiastic about anything was when I'd look at myself in the mirror and see how truly gaunt I was getting, because I wanted to disappear.  I began to fall down a lot.  There were times I couldn't even stand up.  My blood pressure kept tanking out on me, and my anemia got worse, because I stopped taking any of my vitamins.  I had 0 fucks to give, so why bother with any of it?  In mid-August, 2012, I began vomiting copious amounts of blood and could barely raise my head.  Aunt Janice had me rushed to the same hospital in which Aunt Tudi died.  I couldn't even stand for an x-ray of my stomach, probably because my blood pressure was 62/35.  I had developed an ulcer because I'd been eating aspirin for my Fibromyalgia, headaches, arthritis, and injuries from falling, even though I knew GBS patients are supposed to avoid that like the plague.

A few months later, at the end of February, I attempted suicide by taking all the meds I could find in the house and washing them down with Vodka.  Obviously, I survived.  I spent some time in the hospital and one of the doctors I saw was concerned about how ill I appeared and had some labwork done.  Everything was fucked up.  He asked me about my eating habits, and I told him the truth - that I ate when I thought about it, but I rarely thought about it.  He asked if I was taking my meds properly, and I told him that I was not.  I only thought about the day Aunt Tudi died, and I had no desire to engage in Earthly matters that always end up being senseless and not worth engaging in.  He asked about my weight, since he knew I was a GBS patient.  I told him about the medicine that made me speedily gain a lot back, but I'd since lost it all and more.  When he asked how and I told him about my great invention, The Grief and Stress Diet, consisting of curling up on your love seat and watching TV without moving except to maybe go to the bathroom, he told me that what I had been doing and was still doing was attempting passive suicide.  Those who engage in such behaviour usually don't realise that's what they're doing.  They just want the world to stop, but may fear doing anything proactive to make their final dream come true, so they just stop.  It's a slow, painful way to go, which is also a motive for those who feel they've irreversibly damaged someone or something they dearly love.  It's a kind of capital punishment for the crimes they perceive they have committed.

So when I moved out here and found a physician, the first thing she did was draw blood and have me give a urine sample.  It wasn't long before I was getting an urgent call to come in and see her.  She wanted me to start taking vitamins again, and urged me to at least try some protein shakes, because I had let on that almost everything I ate, what little I ate, I usually lost shortly thereafter.  She said that I was close to entering starvation mode, like an anorexic person, and I needed to do anything I could to pull myself back from that threshold.  It mostly went in one ear and out the other.  My teeth had already begun to feel the brunt of my vitamin and mineral deficiencies, and vomiting at least once a day, without fail.  It has now gotten to the point where the doctor is demanding I come in once a month for a B12 shot and I must get labwork done every three months.  She groused that I was just a hair away from Malapsorption Syndrome.

I'm trying to remember the things she told me I must do.  I keep up with the calendar in typical OCD fashion, which is constantly.  I'm still not eating as properly as I need to, but the extenuating circumstances are the issue in that matter, so it's not of my subtle slide into anorexic thinking.  Still, though, I'm doing the best I can, and plan on getting a hotplate and pot and pan so I can properly cook vegetable dishes, now that I can actually chew.  Yeah, my passive suicidal behaviours did in my teeth, which were never good, thanks to my dad's genes.  There were complications in getting the dentures properly aligned so, after a year of eating soft food - mostly instant potatoes that I can whip up in my microwave - I can now begin to relearn how to chew with the faux fangs.

Another thing the doctor discovered after seeing I had gained over 20 pounds in two months, was that my thyroid had finally died.  Having been diagnosed with Hashimoto's Syndrome back in the 90s, I knew this was going to happen eventually.  Once I got on thyroid medicine, though, the weight has been coming off.  My only exercise resource here is walking, but much of it is very hilly.  The more I walk, the more my back feels like it's going to shatter.  About that, I was also diagnosed with spondylosis that is pinching four discs in my back.  My pain doctor mentioned month before last that she was glad to see me losing weight, as that would help take stress off the problem areas in my spine.

And I got to thinking...  The medical care and programs made available to disabled people here in California are like the polar opposite of South Carolina, so I took the chance and called my insurance to see if panniculectomies were covered in my policy and, if so, how much the copay would be.  As I mentioned here a couple of weeks ago, I was informed that the surgery has to be precertified and, if it were approved, my portion of the bill would be $264.

So, yesterday, I went to see this dude, one Dr. Jason Hess, to whom Dr. Denysiak had referred me.  After an examination, he said he wouldn't see any problem getting not only a panniculectomy approved, but also an abdominoplasty, since the insurance I have has covered the surgeries for patients who had far less skin to get rid of.  I should know in two weeks or less.

One more thing about the gastric bypass surgery and how my actions years later could have easily killed me.  On the morning of 1 July, I decided to take a walk with Toby.  Toby refused to cooperate, pulling out of his harness several times, so I brought him back to the house, then headed out again.  But I forgot my water.  Where I wanted to walk, though, a little convenience store with some Mexican name, has lots of water, and I figured that would give me incentive to reach my goal.  En route, I found a homeless elderly lady working on her cardboard sign for the day.  It wasn't even 10 and she already looked hot, miserable, and defeated.  I didn't have cash, just my debit card, so I offered to get her something to drink and bring it back to her.  She thanked me and assured me she'd be right where I initially found her.

I was gone for hours.  I missed a turn somewhere - this neighbourhood is like a maze - my voice navigator wouldn't work, and the sun prevented me from seeing the phone screen.  The only things I can recall about this adventure gone wrong is that, at one point, I collapsed in some shrubbery in front of an apartment building, and the tenants came out to see if I was okay.  I told them I was, but I wasn't.  I sat there for about 15 minutes, got up, and started calling for Toby, as I thought he'd run off.  I remember a soccer field.  I remember a dude who refused to give me any directions to a store or fastfood joint, just so I could pull myself together, and he told me I looked and acted like a drunk and to keep away from him.  I finally swallowed my pride and called the Mother Unit, who sent Matt to try to find me.  Eventually, miraculously, he did.  I had walked almost 4 miles, making a wrong turn every time.  I never saw the old lady again.

After that incident, I didn't feel right for a few days.  I kept blacking out, I had to hold on to whatever I could when I made my way through the house or to the bathroom.  I couldn't bend over without getting swimmy-headed, and then the Migraine from the Inner Ring of Hell came upon me and decided to linger for three days, leaving behind nausea and auras to keep me company for two extra days.  Once I was able to look at the computer screen, I began hunting for reasons a person would suddenly become so confused, unbalanced, and feel as though a seizure was about to come on, and I found something very interesting.  Apparently some people who have had gastric bypass surgery develop seizures a few short years afterward.  Most of the time they are associated with hypoglycemia, which also causes a person to fall down more than stand up, and behave like an erratic asshole.  Confusion is also a player in this Olympic team of NOPE.  This could be why my neurologist has not found the cause of the seizures I started having 4 years and 4 months since my GBS.

Finding all this out, you'd think I'd give in and say I regret having the surgery.  You would be wrong.  The surgery allowed me to help Aunt Tudi more.  I recovered swiftly from my knee replacement because I was half the woman I used to be.  I'm no longer gawked at wherever I go (unless, of course, I'm acting like an escaped mental patient).  I've gotten to travel, and hope to travel more.  It has made it easier to go vegetarian and is the reason why I haven't had to get my right knee replaced before the preferred age of 50. Everything I do is much easier than it was before the surgery.  I wouldn't be able to sleep on this wee bed with a cat and dog if I hadn't had the surgery.  And if the surgery ends up having a hand in my death, I want the record to show that the malapsorption and defenciencies that may have led to my death were the result of my actions, or lack thereof.  The gastric bypass surgery did not kill me; rather, the tool I chose to accept, I later used against myself, even though I didn't realise what I was doing at the time.

If I die, I die.  There will be less of me to cremate after Dr. Hess has his way with me with Aetna's blessing.  I hope I don't die any time too soon.  Whenever and however I die, I shall do so with no regrets about the gastric bypass surgery.

tinhuviel: (Here is the news!)

Today I went to see Dr. Denysiak about my lab results and any health concerns I may have. I was a bit nervous to go, because I was going to be asking her to do things for me, one of which is something I'm sure doctors are burnt out on doing, the other of which regarded a thing I could never broach to my docs in South Carolina, because I already knew it was a futile attempt on all our parts.




  1. I need certification from my PCP to send with my discharge request to Nelnet, so my paltry monthly sum will stop being garnished over $200 a month.  I need Dr. Denysiak to confirm that I am indeed permanently disabled.

  2. I want to get the ball rolling on the skin removal surgery I need, and I had to ask her what she and I needed to do to make that happen.



Because I was antsy about all that, my blood pressure was elevated at one point.  I say "at one point" because the nurse took it five times, one of which was lying down, and another standing up.  Lowest reading was 98 - 50, highest 150-100, all within the course of about 10 minutes.

When Dr. Denysiak came in, she told me that she was referring me to a cardiologist to dig deeper into my blood-pressure conundrum.  She went over my labs and I'm still extremely deficient in some vitamins and minerals, the worst levels of which were B12 and Iron.  I got a B12 shot today, and I have to go every month for one, until my body gets straightened out.

Blind as a damned bat!

She asked me when was the last time I had my eyes checked.  I told her it had been years ago.  I was nearsighted then, and my vision has really only gotten worse, probably because I lost my glasses in that car accident my seizure caused in 2012, and I couldn't afford to pay for another check-up and get the glasses replaced.  As I mentioned earlier, the palm trees out here look like giant umbrellas to me, just as the deciduous trees in SC all looked like giant broccoli.  She pushed the referral through and said I could go upstairs as soon as I left to set up an appointment with one Dr. Couris.  I go see him in August.

She said the referral for the cardiologist should be sent by tomorrow, at which time I can call for an appointment to have the blood pressure issue addressed.  In 2013, the Mother Unit strongly suggested that I get my heart checked, since she had to have heart surgery due to a possible genetic issue that affected the heart.  I never did.  Given my default frame of mind since 2011, I didn't care if I had the same condition or not.  In fact, I hoped I did and that it would kill me ASAFP.  But, I'm going to follow the doc's orders and give this heart doctor a call to set up an appointment.

I then asked her if she would fill out the necessary paperwork for me to send to Nelnet, so I can stop having what little money I get garnished by institutions who haven't a monetary care in the world.  She didn't hesitate with her resounding yes.  I think I melted a little from relief.  In the meantime, though, those who know me should consider me indefinitely too broke to pay attention.

The other question was a seriously big deal for me, because I was told before I even got the gastric bypass surgery that I would be denied the procedure to remove my excess skin, when or if the time came.  That's how I began my request to Dr. Denysiak, that I had essentially forgotten about skin removal surgery, because it was never an option to begin with, not in South Carolina.  I told her how my back pain had gotten worse over the months and that the affected area was directly across from the dead weight of my stomach, giving me rise to believe that if that weight weren't pulling on my spine all the time, my back might get better and I would be better able to excercise and lose more weight.  I also told her about the skin infections I've had to fight over the years, the worst of which are the topical yeast infections.  She had me show her the area in question, and immediately sent an insurance request and referred me for an initial consultation with a plastic surgeon, commenting that she doubted my pre-certification would be denied.

img_1050.jpgAfter Dr. Denysiak left the room, the Mother Unit and I began to discuss the surgery as we waited for the nurse to return with the B12 shot.  Being the sick bastard Mama is, she suggested that I ask the surgeon for the skin he removes to make myself a lampshade for my strange Gothic lamp she thinks is so ugly.  We were cackling like lunatics when the nurse returned, so I told her what we were laughing about and she started cackling, too.

Secretly, though (well, not so secretly, now that I'm writing about it online), I would love to be able to do that.  Mine is the kind of lamp that screams human skin lampshade material.  And, hell, why just throw it away?

Waste not, want not, as they say...

tinhuviel: (Inconceivable)

About an hour ago, Matt reminded me of the drum circle that's happening tonight. A short while after that, the Mother Unit also reminded me, asking if I was going with them.

I am not.

When it was mentioned at the Rainbow drumming circle on Sunday, I didn't get the chance to tell the Unit and Matt that I wouldn't participate. Later, I forgot to bring it up. They just assumed I'd be up for any drum circle, and that's totally understandable. I don't think they understood why I won't be going with them, though, despite my best efforts to explain.

Honestly, I didn't try very hard to explain my reason to Matt, because his understanding others - at least me, at any rate - is as selective as his hearing and attention span, and it would have led to nothing more but another avoidable conflict.  But I did try to clarify my position to the Unit.

If there is something I despise more than anything else in the world, I would have to say it is hypocrisy, religious hypocrisy to be exact.

Since 2011, I have had issues with my spirituality that, today, sees me on the threshold of unapologetic atheism.  I have not participated in Esbats or Sabbats, nor will I until I can say without reservation that I still believe.  This is a full moon drum circle.  Engaging in connecting with Earth's heartbeat by creating rhythms beneath a full moon is too close to participating in ritual for my comfort.

The Unit's argument to mine was that she was not Pagan, nor is Matt, and they're still attending.  In fact, she said, there were probably few, if any, Witches present, that it was more about the drumming than anything.  And she's right.  I can't deny she doesn't have a point.  She also fails to understand that, because I'm an initiate, because I take spirituality extremely seriously, I don't feel comfortable going to an event that even hints at ritual.  I would feel like a hypocrite, and that's an untenable position in which to find oneself.

I would love to go drumming tonight.  Since this one is on the beach, I would particularly love going, as I have been wanting to return to the ocean for quite a few months now.  (I think I may be past the used condom incident to the point I could brave the water again.)  Immersing into the Pacific beneath a full moon as the attendees drum out our collective heartbeat sounds wonderful to me right now.  In all good conscience, however, I can't do it.  Even though the Unit and Matt don't see a problem with my participation, neither of them have undergone an initiation into a spiritual path.  They don't see the conflict because, for them, there is none.  And that's okay.  That's the way it's supposed to be.


In completely unrelated news, my back has been about to kill me today. As I went up the stairs earlier, I felt like the G-force was tripled. It then occurred to me that the excess skin I could never get removed may be a major factor in keeping my back in a fix. So I decided to see what my health insurance might cover, given it changed when I moved to California. I couldn't find anything on Aetna's secure members' page, but that didn't stop me. I wrote Aetna. About thirty minutes later, I got this back:

Your provider will need to request precertification for the procedure.
If approved you may be responsible $264 out patient procedure co-payment.

I'm flabbergasted by this. It just doesn't even seem real to me, that this procedure, considered strictly cosmetic by all insurers in South Carolina, would cost me less than $300, if I got approval. Based on the experience I've so far had with the medical maze in California, I'm pretty confident I'd get approval, especially if it means the procedure would help with my back, knees, and my skin in general.

I go see my PCP next week, and will definitely be broaching the subject to her at that time. I will also be mentioning it to the pain doctor later on this month, considering he's been treating my pain issues in regard to my spine, knees, and fibro. So, we'll see.

I'm probably screwing myself over royally for feeling this way, but I'm actually kind of hopeful about the prospects of this. Anyone who reads this needs to keep your digits crossed for me, 'cos this would be monumental.

tinhuviel: (Caveman)

The past couple of days have seen me regain my lost focus on things I needed to do. Along with it was a wonderful spurt of energy, which I have tried to utilise for best effect possible. Yesterday, in particular, resulted in a great deal of Shriek dissemination. I'm thinking knowing I'm going to be taken off life's stage for a goodly portion of the weekend that spurred the flurry of activity.

Late tomorrow morning, I'll be going back under the knife - and "sander" - at the dentist's office. "But why?" you may ask. "I thought you got a full set of dentures!" And you would be more than justified in any confusion this has imposed on you. My permanent teeth never fit me correctly, but I was waiting for the gums to heal more before I went for any adjustments. The problem only got worse over time, though. The dentures are too large for my mouth to rest with my lips closed. I have to work at keeping my mouth closed, which gives me a distinct chimpanzee appearance. If I don't close my mouth, I look like this dog.

(Click the pic to learn more about Tuna)

When I laugh or smile, Tuna is replaced by Mr. Ed. But it's not the aesthetic that distressed me as much as the health concerns. Because the teeth were so large and ill-fitting, I couldn't use them to bite food, and there wasn't enough room in my mouth to even chew properly. The act of grinding the teeth together in an effort to chew was not only unsuccessful, but excruciating. Being a GBS patient, I have to chew my food beyond thoroughly. Any small amount of unchewed food can get caught in my tiny digestive track, which means it will come back up. My inability to chew resulted in a lot of vomiting so, almost a year out, I'm still on a soft food diet. Let's just say I'm fortunate to love potatoes and cottage cheese so much.

Then, there was my speech. I've always been very self-conscious about my speech, because of the variety of accents in my family and, upon entering school, being teased for having a lisp. At the age of 6, I began speech therapy with myself. I obsessed over tongue-positioning to cloak the lisp and, a couple of years later, I was almost lispless. That didn't stop the kids from doing what kids do, though, so speech became an issue for me early on. Obviously, without fangs in my face, and because of my almost life-long practice of tongue positioning, my impediment is magnified. With the teeth in, I have a whole new set of speech problems, from sounding like Gopher in the Winnie the Pooh cartoons to slurring my words to the point of sounding like a drunk zombie politician on the campaign trail. I have to repeat everything I say, all the time. This is particularly frustrating when I go see Dr. Harrington. He's deaf as hell and my unintelligible blarghing is counter-productive to a successful talk-centric session.

The combination of pain, inability to properly eat or speak, and looking like the ugliest Osmond in all of Utah drove me back to the dentist last week to hopefully get them adjusted enough to where I could lead just a fraction of a normal life. I saw a different dentist in the office that day, one Dr. Habashi, who is hubba-hubba-level handsome. Unlike the dentist who took me on after my first dentist, Dr. Preber, moved to Northern California, Dr. Habashi listened to everything I had to say, noted by areas in my mouth that I was not exaggerating, and gave me a thorough exam, including another full digital imaging of my head. After gathering all the evidence, he gave me the bad/good news. The bad news is I'm one of those rare individuals who, instead of having the occasional, inevitable bone shard still in my gums work its way out as the gums healed, some of the shards established residence and began developing spurs. Even though I did have a couple of shards work their way out, which is quite normal, it turned out that I had a few more that remained, forming hard knots all over my gum lines, top and bottom. This was keeping my gums inflamed and made wearing the dentures pretty much impossible and agonising.

The good news is, this can be fixed! He set me up an appointment for a second oral surgery to basically "sand down" my gums and remove any bone left behind from the first surgery. I will then have to be refitted again for properly-fitting dentures. Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] b_bopper55, I will be able to pay for the second surgery, but the new teeth are obviously free, considering they were not made correctly, and did not function in any way dentures are supposed to work. So, hopefully soon, I'll stop being left-side Ren and finally transform into right-side Ren.

I'm thinking that this surgery may be worse than the initial extraction surgery. There's an image of a NYC high-rise construction worker ambling into the operation room after I'm put out, revving up his industrial electric sander and wearing a grin that can't say anything but "Serial Killer in Training." So, I'm trying to get as much writing and advertising done today as I can. I've already alerted the band that I will probably be incommunicado for most of tomorrow and all of Sunday, and I am finishing up a rudimentary outline of the five main characters of The Harming Tree. I've been writing a lot of late, but all of it is currently disjointed, as I write what is "given" me, and that process is never a consecutive narrative. So, yeah, I may be posting a good bit about Shriekback today, as well as posting my 5-character study with accompanying anchor images.

tinhuviel: (Ludicrous Speed)

So far, the week has certainly been an interesting one.

Yesterday evening, You Tube's All Seeing Eye, placed this little gem in my recommendations - Contemporary Acoustic Buddhist music, courtesy of Mantrasphere and record producer, Barry Andrews. Listen!

Today has been a little less productive because I went to get a nerve block injection for the left side of my lower back. They gave me a giant shot of dilaudid and phenergan to relax me, and they said it would last a few hours after the procedure was finished. That was this morning at 9 o'clock. I did not go to sleep, like so many other patients do, according to the staff, but I did zone out for much of the day, only recently snapping out of the catatonia. So far, I've been satisfied with the block's effects. I can stand up straight now, instead of looking like a human comma. After months of really hideous pain, any change for the better is welcome to the point of my turning into this little old lady.

Since hearing the new Shriekback album, the ebb and flow of my current Work in Progress has changed tidal behaviours and set my writer brain on fire. Big changes are in the offing, and I'm eager to get to the revisions and rewrites.

But first, I need to finish the song-by-song review of Without Real String or Fish so it will be ready to share, if approved, when the album is released. The problem I'm having with it, though, is the brainmeats begin conjuring new themes and possible directions for the book, when I'm trying to focus solely on whatever song I'm discussing at the moment. What I'm having to do is limit the work on the review to two or three songs a day, with each song on perpetual repeat until I collect my "sanity." I am halfway finished with it, and am about to work some more on it, since I haven't touched it at all today, for obvious I'm-drugged-the-fuck-out-of-my-mind reasons.

I figured I would visit the Cliffs before proceeding, because I'm committed to being more present here, my favourite and preferred dot on the Internet map. It's now time to make a concerted effort to maintain my "critical brain" as I beat back the "creative brain" for a little while.

I'm gonna be writing like a damned maniac.

can't stop writing or my muse will eat me

tinhuviel: (Pensive)

Still attempting, and subsequently failing, to hold my shit together with this flare.  It's beyond anything I've experienced since I began suffering the symptoms of fibro.  I've put a call in to the doctor to let her know I haven't felt much of an improvement from the shot yet, and it's been well over 24 hours since I got it.  Hopefully, she'll call me back before 5 to let me know if there's anything else I can do other than wait it out.  I get to start the other medicine tomorrow, so there's that.

But, to be honest, I am wishing with all my heart that there will not be a tomorrow.  The pain is that bad, and I'm that weak.

It's not like anyone really needs me around.

tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)

Matt fell ill yesterday, and he's still hacking and wheezing. And he's more subdued that I've ever before seen him! Honestly, it's rather disturbing. The Mother Unit started getting sick today. I think it's just a cold but, these days, who the fuck knows? So far, I'm okay. I went through Matt's vitamin/herb bag for him, and found his olive leaf and zinc pills. Also, I offered to go get him and Mama some food. He said they had soup for tonight, so I'll see what I can do to help tomorrow. I'm wondering if Costco carries hazmat suits...

In other news, I went back to the dentist today for another exam and to get my possibly last gum impression before I get my permanent teeth. On 11 September, I go back to get an adjustment on the final shape and placement of the actual teeth. After that, it won't be long until I get the finished product. Score! One crummy aspect about all this, though, is I seem to have extra bone protrusions that are essentially gum bunions. Until I build up some callouses in the affected parts, the dentures are gonna be painful. They aren't excruciating or anything like that; they're just really touchy, and get more so, the longer I wear them. I'm taking it in stride, thinking of it as the oral equivalent of breaking in a new pair of shoes.


Have a bubonic "totallylooksalike" piccie. [livejournal.com profile] missautopsy may get a kick out of this, since she collects these kinds of surreal comparisons.

tinhuviel: (Star of David)

Today, I went to see my pain doctor, who had the results of the MRIs of my back and right knee.  It turns out I have a severely herniated disk in (I think he said) 5th lumbar.  He’s looking into getting me an epidural, as well as some restorative injections for the right knee.  The shot for the shoulder is still waiting on approval.  He gave me meds and is having me come back next week.  Also, he’s arranged to have me do aqua therapy.


I really like him.  He comes across as just a D00D.  The only time our interaction rankled me was his mention of my weight.  I quickly informed him that I had just recently been diagnosed as hypothyroidic and that I’d gained approximately 20 pounds in two months.  But since I’d been on the synthroid meds for the past two weeks, I’d lost 5 pounds.  He sorta backed off that topic when I made it rather obvious that I knew my shit and was trying to deal with it accordingly.


I took the Mother Unit to D.Z. Akins for a late lunch.  I tried out their lox and cream cheese omelette with a side of cottage cheese.  The portions where huge and wonderful, so I’ll be enjoying the meal two or three more times before it’s all gone.  The closest thing I ever got to well-made Jewish food in SC was Temple B’nai Israel’s annual bake sale, and IHOP’s cheese blintzes.  D.Z. Akins is to die for.


Screen Shot 2014-08-15 at 7.14.51 PM


Home now, and half crippled from being out for so long.  Here’s hoping sleep will be agreeable and visit me tonight.

Drifting

Aug. 2nd, 2014 12:38 pm
tinhuviel: (Default)

It is cloudy today.  I don’t know how long it will last, so I’m looking out the window occasionally to enjoy the lack of sun.  Smidgen and Toby are here with me on the bed.  I am rifling through a couple of old Shriekback articles I need to transcribe, whilst following various news sources concerning the chaos on several continents, mainly the Gaza tragedy and the Ebola outbreak. But I’m also taking mini-breaks from all that to aggressively seek out stuff that will make me laugh.  Laughter is sometimes the only thing that will convince me I’m going to make it through the day without killing myself or someone else, or both.


Some new health issues have come up, but I’m not going to delve into that until I see my doctor on the 7th of August.


As is evidenced in my post last night, I am still writing.  I don’t know when The Augury of Gideon is going to be released, but I promise it is complete and ready, for anyone who might be interested.  Also, I started a Facebook page for The Vampire Relics.  Please click the title to go see and join up.  I’d love to have you.


For the past few days, I’ve been missing Todd a great deal.  I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing him, and I do worry about him a lot, given what I assume to be some serious emotional upheaval in his life this past year.  One of the things I liked about coming out to California was to have a better chance of seeing him again, since he’s also on the West Coast.  It’s safe to say that won’t be happening.


Also, I’m deeply frustrated in regard to helping people effectively use the power of the Internet that is right at their finger-tips.  I am by, by no means, a computer or network expert, but I’ve dabbled, explored, and worked damned hard to learn what I have over the past 15 years, and I would like to think that my efforts will not be vain, but I’m beginning to think I’ll always be the one to “set the time on the VCR”, so to speak.


Janice is finally getting her knee replacement, I think next week.  She was wonderful at taking care of me after mine, so I feel a bit guilty not being there for her.  She said she’d be okay, and she does have Johnna, Michael, and the kids.  Blake is going to be staying with Uncle Michael during her recovery.  I hope everything goes as smoothly for her as it did for me.  I know her doctor.  He was Aunt Tudi’s orthopedic doctor, so I have no doubt she is in very good hands.


I am thinking about committing to “paper” some accounts from my childhood that haunt me to this day.  There are four, three of which have to do the paranormal or alien engagement, and one that I think was the Mother and Father Units fucking with me when I was in my crib.  When I sufficiently gathered my thoughts about that, I’ll begin posting about them.  I need to see if anyone else has ever experienced anything similar.


The Mother Unit is going to Costco later on, and I need to go with her.  It’s time to restock cat litter and the fur-kids’ vittles.  I don’t know what she and Matt have planned for tomorrow.  Maybe we’ll go drumming, if the timing is right and we all feel like it.  It would probably do me a little bit of good to get out of the house, at least as long as the sun isn’t trying to incinerate me.  It’s not that it is hot, but that is almost always present.  I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass.



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tinhuviel: (Default)
I went to my new orthopaedic doctor today. Before he even took x-rays, he surmised by just examining my right knee, that I had some serious arthritis problems. Then he took x-rays and showed me how I had zero cartilage left, and that I was probably a good candidate for at least a partial knee replacement right now.

This is after the doctor in SC told me that he didn't think I was in much pain, and that I could probably wait for a knee replacement until I was 50, if I even needed it then.

Dafuq?!

I was just recently diagnosed with spondylosis, which is affecting four discs in my back. Since the doc in SC proceeded with my left knee replacement because the severity of the degeneration was "beginning to affect my body alignment," I'm pretty much of a mind that I wouldn't have spondylosis now, if the SC doc had done his fucking job sooner than he did.

So yeah, I'm in a bit of a foul humour.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
I've been back home from the doctor for about an hour. I had to go get the results of my liver scan and blood work.

The good news is, my liver is fine. It just has some wonky levels, but that's not a result of anything malignant.

The freaky-ass news is, the rest of my is fucked up. Apparently, I have a kidney stone in my right kidney. My anaemia is worse, and my calcium levels have not risen. She wants me to have a colonoscopy and upper G.I. to see if I might be bleeding anywhere. She also wants me to have a gynecological exam, since my menstrual cycle is, at best, inconsistent.

Aaaaaand, I have spondylosis, with disc narrowing in the L1-L2 and L5-S1. This would explain the general crap feeling I get when I move…like, around. Also, she said it would explain the incontinence I've been experiencing for the past couple of months.

She is referring me to a gastroenterologist, a gynecologist, and a urologist, for all the tests she wants me to have, and she wants to see me again in six weeks.

Looks like I continue to follow in the mighty footsteps of my family, what with our glorious genetic wellspring of good health. ::makes with the oogly-boogly face - this one: o_0::

New Doctor

Sep. 9th, 2013 12:52 pm
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
I went to my new doctor today, one Dr. Denysiak. She is not a right wing wacko like the first doctor I was assigned.

She actually addressed all my issues, ordered labs, which I went ahead and got done since I have yet to eat today, and got me referrals to the other doctors I needed.

Thank the mighties.

I'm here at Starbucks waiting on CVS to fill the prescriptions I ran out of, then I'm headed home to try to eat something phenomenally bland.
tinhuviel: (Dave)
Something truly odd happened to me a couple of days ago. The day before, I suffered a wee tad of vertigo and crashed into a door facing, injuring my right shoulder and, I'm discovering today, blacking my right eye. I figured the vertigo was the result of my not eating for three days because of this godawful toothache, which was beginning to radiate up through the left side of my face and behind my eyeball.

So I figured a trip to urgent care may be in order to make sure I hadn't broken anything and maybe I could get an antibiotic for the tooth so the dentist could pull it immediately when I get to see him after September 1, instead of making me wait and take antibiotics then.

But because I had suffered vertigo, urgent care sent me to Mercy Scripps emergency room. They x-rayed me there and everything was in order; however, they did give me some tramadol for the pain and giant penicillin horse pills to take three times a day for the next week to get my tooth ready for extraction. I already feel better there.

Anyway, whilst I was outside the E/R waiting for my cab to the drug store, this dude came up to me and assured me that everything was going to be okay. I wanted to believe him, because he looked like Montel Williams. He asked if they were able to help me, and I told him yes. He said he was waiting for them to take his vitals, but wanted to come out and smoke real quick like, and thought I was pretty, so he figured he'd take his chances and talk to me. I thanked him, and smiled the best I could, with my swollen face. Then he asked if I was waiting for my husband to pick me up, and I thought oh here we go…. I told him I wasn't married. Lawd, you would have thought he'd won on Jeopardy. He put his arm around me and started yip-yapping about everything, and informed me that he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but was taking his medications, so he was okay. He introduced himself as Geno. I immediately thought of Geno Vanelli. He then gave me his phone number and practically begged me to call him. Then, as my cab pulled up, he asked me for a quick kiss. WTF? He gave a light peck on the lips and dashed back into the hospital.

After all that, my emoticon face was set on o_0.

So, today, I went to the grocery store with the Mother Unit, and as I rounded the corner of an aisle, this short, chubby guy stopped me. He held up a huge bottle of Jim Beam in one hand, and a family-size box of Fruit Loops in the other. In a lovely Middle Eastern accent, he asked "This is a great combination, eh?" I laughed and agreed with him. He practically skipped away with glee.

WTF?

I think I'm really starting to like San Diego.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
Usually, when I get a cold, I'm mildly sick for a day or so, and I spread the wealth to anyone I know. This time was different.

I got a cold and was miserable for a couple of days. I gave it to the Mother Unit, who ended up having to to urgent care, where they diagnosed her bronchitis. I laid low so I wouldn't give this to anyone else, and actually felt okay…until yesterday and this morning. I developed this dry cough that would not stop, and my chest and back were killing me. I figured it may be wise go to to the doc and get some cough syrup or something. So I went to Dr. Krisberg and saw one of his nurse practitioners, who told me that I was still running a low-grade fever and was on the verge of bronchitis. She gave me a Z-Pack and phenergin/codeine cough syrup. I am to keep this regimen of one Z-pack pill a day, and 1 to 2 teaspoons of the syrup every four to six hours, as needed.

She advised that, as along as I'm running this fever, I should avoid others. The only person I am around is Mother Unit, who is lucky to have already fallen to my skank, so I guess all will be well. Of course, there is the chance that if you interact with me on Teh Intarwebz, you might get a computer virus. Hehehehehh
tinhuviel: (PSA)
So I went to see the incredibly handsome Dr. Pilch today. He changed my migraine medicine from Relpax to Maxalt, but wouldn't prescribe the hydrocodone that I typically take with the migraine medicine, still insisting that I need a pain management doctor for that. I've yet to be successful with that, so even though I told him I could not afford to continue going to urgent care each time I have a migraine, he said sorry, and sent me on my way.

When I have a full-blown migraine, it is crippling. I am not exaggerating. I can't get up without falling down. I can't see properly. I can't think. I am completely useless, moreso than usual. So I figure if I have a migraine that makes me feel like I'm dying, I'm not gonna take the migraine medicine, and I'm gonna see if the headache kills me. Hell, I might be having mini-strokes. Whatever it is, que sera sera, or however it's spelled.

One cool thing about the Maxalt: It's made in Swindon! I've concluded that nothing but groovy things come from Swindon. I wish I could visit there, but that's not gonna happen. I can't even visit the convenience store up the road unless I walk about two miles up there. They're open 24 hours a day, though, so I may try to make the journey in the middle of the night, and hope for the best.

I wish I could be more like [livejournal.com profile] popfiend.
tinhuviel: (Kelat)
So I'm back in the bosom of the house, even though I'm spending nights at Janice's and Michael's for the next few days. I'm still not very comfortable being by myself for any significant length of time and, considering I have no transportation for a while, that means I'll be imposing myself upon the good will of the aunt and uncle. It makes me consider even more seriously the idea of chucking it all and going to live nearer to the Mother Unit, if she'd have me. I still don't see myself doing such a thing until Chester has made the great journey beyond, though. I would feel it to be a betrayal not only to him, but to Aunt Tudi as well. So that's not gonna happen.

Toby is another matter altogether. Toby is still a youngster and would be the perfect companion to an older single person, or an elderly couple. He's definitely a one-dog canine, being quite territorial and possessive. I have constant problems with him trying to run the other beasties away from what he considers his and his alone - me.

Smidgen, of course, goes where I go. She's my baby. Period. No arguments on that point, even if it means that I remain in this house until my dying day. The only problem I think the Mother Unit would have with Smidgen is that mah Smidge still has her claws. And she always will. I don't believe in de-clawing. Even before I saw the procedure done, I was against the practice. Seeing how it was done and how the animal suffers during recovery makes it eternally verboten in Tin-land. Soft Paws might be an option, though. I deeply doubt that Smidge would want to engage in any serious discourse with the Unit's birds, seeing as how they're all almost her size and meaner than shit, but if she did become interested, Soft Paws would nip that inclination in the bud without any pain felt by anyone.

I made two Tim Roth Tutorials whilst lying in the hospital. Some of the devout followers of the series (Hooligans one and all) were shocked that I would do such a thing when I was feeling so poorly. Well, there wasn't much to do there, but watch television (not good telly either), try to write (which is hard when you're kind of drugged up), or engage in anything remotely meaningful other than trying to heal. I'm not saying the Tutorials have no meaning. Far from it! It's just that they're very easy to make once I know what the lesson is going to be. I've created a template that I use for each one, so it's really just paring down to what scene I need and changing the lesson number, along with wording the lesson just so. The most difficult bit of Tutorial creation is finding the perfect scene and thinking up an appropriate lesson for accompaniment. That's the trickiest bit. One thing that really pisses me off, though, is finding a wonderful Tutorial, but not being able to create it, because the ripped version of the movie turns out to be in French or Martian, or whatever, or it's scrambled beyond all semblance of sanity. What few Lie to Me Tutorials I've been able to make are all blocked worldwide on You Tube. Thank the Mighties for Vimeo! Despite the issues that come along with using that video sharing site, at least Vimeo is more charitable when it comes to free exchange of imagery. But I am babbling. I need to catch up the Cliffs with the current Tim Roth Tutorials before I make any more of them. So stay tuned for that.

Oh, one more thing on The Tutorials; I have announced to the Hooligans that, when I have run out of sufficient Archibald Cunningham footage to create new lessons, the Tim Roth Tutorials will come to a close. I don't think they were thrilled with the idea; however, I still have tons of good material to create more Tutorials, so it's not like the series is ending tomorrow.

Okay, enough of that.

Janice checked my mailbox yesterday and brought me a package from Barry. It contained three or four copies each of Shriekback's Having a Moment, his solo project Haunted Box of Switches, and Stic Basin's self-titled EP. There was a gentleman who expressed more than a rabid interest in Haunted Box, which Barry was all too gracious to share after I told him what the fellow had said. I am going to try to sell the other copies and send B the fundage I may get from such a venture. We shall see. One thing I do need t find out, though; the titles of the Stic Basin songs. I had them on my old iTunes before the computer was pulverised by Sprite. I was not so lucky with the retrieval of everything for iTunes, and that included the Stic Basin tracks. Soooo...I'm gonna have to ask him about that.

Now I am wondering if I should try to write anything of substance (as if that ever happens!) or just surf the web whilst listening to groove-ass songs, like the one playing on iTunes right now. What? "Party Man" by Prince, Joker's original theme song, and rightfully so, yo. "Why So Serious" is an epic theme, don't get me wrong. But "Party Man" so perfectly fits Joker, even Nolan's interpretation. Speaking of Nolan and Batman, it had been the plan to drive up to Concord and have a date with [livejournal.com profile] janalyson to see The Dark Knight Rises. That was pretty much tanked when I had the seizure in particular, but was indefinitely round-filed when the advent of my unexpected hospitalisation. I just hope my unfortunate travel-destroying misfortunes have not ruined [livejournal.com profile] janalyson's chances of seeing the flick on the silver screen. I've heard that's the only effective way of TDKR, preferably in an IMAX theatre. Here's hoping she and Jennifer are able to make it. As for me, I'll hopefully be able to see it when it comes out on video. If we all haven't been eradicated by the Alpaca Lips, I shall check it out then. If we are rendered extinct, it really won't matter in the end, anyway. Win-Win, as I see it.

Okie-Day, I think that's all I have for now. I'm off to either try to write, or make merry on The Intarwebz. Or I may snag a flick off Netflix, god bless 'em for their mere existence... 'Night 'Night.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
This week has not been the absolute tops, health-speaking. Besides the aggressive insomnia, the seizures and threat thereof, and another round of depression, I bit the bullet and finally took Janice up on her offer to stay with her and Uncle Michael whilst I recovered from the sinus infection and UTI.

Saturday morning came and I went home early to start cleaning house and spend some quality time with the beasties. The first thing I did was bend over to pick up some trash I'd knocked out earlier, and I lost my balance and fell on my head. This continued to happen until I truly fell out and couldn't get off the floor. But I started feeling really nauseous, so I grabbed one of the styrofoam cups I had just thrown in the bin. I proceeded to get rid of about a cup of pure blood. I went again, getting rid of about half that the second go around.

I called Janice and asked if I could come back to the house. She said yes. I got as far as the front porch and collapsed again. She had to help me to the truck. From there, I rushed into the house before I fell down, and collapsed on her couch. I slept for about four hours. When I woke up, I had a half cup of potato soup and tried to go to the bathroom. A few moments later, I open my eyes and see nothing but floor. Janice was calling 911.

The paramedics go there and assessed my situation, deciding quickly that I needed to go to the hospital. By the time I got to the E/R, my blood pressure was 62/35. The nurses kept saying "no wonder you kept falling out!"

At least it was not a seizure this time. They have me on transfusions and meds to coat the stomach. They also have me on anti-anxiety meds since I'm just a few feet down the hall from where Aunt Tudi passed away. That said, I'm sleeping alot, which is not something to which I was ever object.

I don't have the faculties to write properly right now; maybe later tonight or tomorrow. I will definitely get back into it as soon as I can. That and my beloved Tim Roth Tutorials. I wonder how hard TR would laugh if he knew his acting and breathaking looks were two huge factors in my surviving 2012 with a shred of sanity so far? He'd probably laugh, call me a nutter, and block me from his Twitter. haha

Okay, I'm outties for now. Gotta catch up on the evil facebook, then try to find something not stupid/unstupid/marginally less knuckle-dragging on telly.

Ta

w00000t!

Aug. 9th, 2012 03:49 pm
tinhuviel: (Darth Geek)
The doctor had give me a shot for the migraine I've been battling for the past coupla days. She also gave me a phenergan shot, since I've pretty much not eaten since Monday night, and advised me to go see Dr. Pilch ASAP, since I've had a second grand mal seizure in as many weeks. WTF?

The doc prescribed me suppositories, considering I can't hold anything on my stomach. I've already had two episodes of nausea since I got the shots, so this has led me the following conclusion: Phenergan doesn't take care of your nausea; rather, it makes you drunk as fuck, and you don't really care about drive heaving since you haven't eaten anything in two days.

Yep.
Drunk as all fuck.

Anyway, I've had the migraine and nausea problem because I have a sinus infection. The throat and cough compound the problem which in turn, makes the head pop and your guts to shudder. When you're sick and avoiding food or drink for a very short time, you end up losing three pounds in two days. If I lost 36 more pounds, I would be at my ideal healthy weight.

Honestly, though, at the mo I could really give a lot less than one single fuck.

Yep, don't care if I toss my toenails. Don't care if I'm 36 pounds overweight (better than 170 something over what I used to be). Don't really care about something else, but I forgot LMAO!

I'm drunk as fuck, but at least I'm unconcerned with pretty much everything.

If there are any misspellings or grammatical mistakes, please pointed them out to me, so I can give less than a half a single fuck.

Oh, and fuck you!
tinhuviel: (Andy Partridge)
I ran an experiment. I included Partridge in four tweets. He answered all four.


  1. First tweet was about my belief that radiation, even from human-created nuclear incidences, will affect the next step in evolution. Mutation is just another word for evolution. He tweeted back: Interesting theory!

  2. Second tweet was to a couple of Hooligans about the horribledays, saying I was going to drive about carolling Pagan songs by XTC He tweeted all three of us, saying: Taxis work out cheaper I find.

  3. Third tweet was my sending him the link this angry cat picture that I made. He responded with: VERY evil cat, in a planet full of evil cats.

  4. Fourth tweet was about how humanity's knowledge outshines our barely-present wisdom, and how it will result in our extinction. He tweeted back almost immediately: Knowledge without wisdom is useless



Why he's suddenly all chatty with me when he never answered the first couple of tweets I made to him when I first started following him, is beyond me. I'm not complaining, I love Andy Partridge! I'm sure anyone who reads the Cliffs already knows that. I am making a concentrated effort not to gush all over him over there. I think that, if I can refrain from doing that with B, I can certain do it with Andy Partridge. But it's thrilling to see that it seems we are of a same mind about certain things, so that makes me want to go "ohhhmygodandypartridgeiloveyousomuchweneedtodiscussphilosphyreligionandmusiccccc!" So yeah. I'm struggling. I can't help but think about what Aunt Tudi would do if she were here to see me finally make contact with Andy Partridge. She would flail right along with me, 'cos she knew how important Partridge's music has been to me since 1988.

This morning, I got up, fed the beasties, threw some clothes on and dashed out to get milk. I like to get the milk as early in the morning as possible. It's fresher and you have more of a choice as to which gallon you want. After I got the milk and gave George (the resident dog at the dairy) a treat, I went on to Ingles to get some cat food and people food.

When I passed the fish section, I spied something I had not had since 1998, when I had breakfast in a hotel in New York while I was on a business trip; LOX! Remembering the admonitions I got from [livejournal.com profile] paisley_daze and [livejournal.com profile] janalyson, I decided to get me a wee pack of it. It's not cheap; then again, no fish these days is cheap, so I may as well get something that I love. I toodled on to the dairy aisle and got me a dozen eggs. Eating that many eggs before they go out of date is going to be a challenge, but I'm going to try. If I have any left once they're not safe enough for me, I'll scramble them up and mix them with the dog's food. They're cage free organic eggs, so they last longer than the others. Thicker shells, more healthy insides. Seriously, very good and good for you. I think I got a couple other protein-y things that will last me for more than a week.

Right now, I'm eating bagels with lox and cream cheese. Delicious doesn't even begin to cover it. Here's hoping it gives me a couple of red blood cells.

Vampire

May. 9th, 2012 11:22 am
tinhuviel: (Kelat)
I got a call from my neurologist last week wanting me to come in ASAP about my blood work from a few weeks ago. The office made me an appointment for today, and I just got back from seeing him.

It turns out that I'm severely anaemic (again), so much so that he wanted me to go see my PCP as soon as she could get me in. He was giving me a hairy eyeball when he was telling me about my lack of hemoglobin. I could tell that he was fairly alarmed by it all. His exact words were: "It looks more like a major blood loss more that just low hemoglobin. Have you had heavy menses or any major wounds lately?" What the hell?

I did tell him that the time before last I was in the hospital, it was partly because of anaemia, and that they actually had to give me a transfusion. His hairy eyeball got more intense and he made some extensive notes.

Now, I don't mind Dr. Pilch looking at me because he's damned gorgeous; however, when he looks at me like I'm about to die, it's entirely a different matter. It was as though he suspects me of being a Vampire.

Grant Morrison is a big proponent of reality being changed by what you write. The character based on himself, King Mob, went through some pretty trying times in The Invisibles, and everything he went through, Grant experienced in some form or fashion, up to and including getting a kind of staph infection on his face after he wrote about King Mob having part of his face eaten off in a parallel reality. He still bears those scars. After that happened, he wrote about King Mob making all sorts of merry (sex drugs, rock-n-roll - the whole megillah) and, lo and behold, Grant began having the time of his life.

All that said, perhaps my writing my Vampires has intruded upon my health, particularly Cadmus' insatiable thirst for blood. He is, after all, my Demon Child, so I figure his literary influence may well have altered my own reality. Who the hell knows?

Anyway, Dr. Pilch got me an appointment with Dr. Adams for next week, telling me that he was going to have her do some extensive blood work on me, as well as possibly put me on iron injections. He said that iron supplements may not be enough. Hell, she may just put me on a slow blood drip and check to see if I have an aversion to crucifixes.
tinhuviel: (Crone)
After a night of unprecedented agony, I waited until it was time for Mary Black Urgent Care, and then I went to them with my noodly arm to see if I had broken anything. They took 859 X-Rays and I was horrified by the pain this caused me, having to position the arm in forms that any Yoga practitioner would drool over with envy. Doctor came in and told me the shoulder looked fine, that is was obviously just a very bad sprain. He gave me some sort of steroid medicine and some pain pills. I asked him if this steroid medicine would make me all muscle-y and aggressive. He told me only on the full moon. I almost chuckled at this, but couldn't gather enough gumption to do so.

Speaking of aggression, I love this Jeep that the rental company gave me. It's Vast and Vivid. I feel like I should star in the next Monster Truck show that occurs on SundaySundaySUNDAY!! Truth be told, I'm inclined to be unnecessarily violent to the drivers around me, pedestrians, and Wal-Mart. I love this Jeep ~ madly, truly, deeply. I'm gonna have to take a picture of this monolithic weapon on four wheels. I postponed coming back home for as long as I could, but my fear of having to put gas in mah sweet ride compelled me to get my arse thence. Mainly because I have a negative balance in my bank account. :/

Oh, and I went by Bradshaw to pick up the bag of dog food in the trunk. While I was at it, I also got my round blue hippie glasses, 'cos you can't find them anywhere anymore. When I found these in a wee rinky-dink shop up the road (it has since closed), I was seriously gleeful, especially since they only cost a dollar a pair. I got four pairs, two of which went to Barry, given his affection for this type of sunglasses. I kept the other two, one of which got smooshed when I plummeted to the ground at Craggy Gardens. So this is the only pair I have and I do not want to lose them. Anyway, the peeps at Bradshaw did not have any information about whether the car was reparable or needed to be written off as total loss. They told me that, as soon as one of guys went out and looked it over, he would contact Nationwide with an either an estimate or the news that the car is totalled. They would also call me about the $500 deductible and how we can go about my paying them without having a stroke and heart attack. If that's even possible.

Truth be told, a part of me hopes the ION can't be repaired and I have to get another car, even if it is used. My car is as haunted as my house. I'm not sure if I mentioned this in another post, but I'm talking about it now. I keep seeing Aunt Tudi in the car beside me. The box that contained her ashes is still in the trunk because I can't...I just can't. Something different would be very welcome. By the same token, I'm not thrilled about the possibility of taking on a car payment. I'm barely surviving right now, so how could I safely take on another monetary obligation? Another part of me is hoping the collision center will inflate the estimate so that it'll cover the deductible. That would be brilliant, but I'm not sure they could even do that, or would.

In the meantime, I'm thinking of going to sell at the flea-market next weekend. I'm pretty sure that there is a lot of Aunt Tudi's hoard that may bring me some much-needed fundage. I've just been putting off going through things because I find it literally unbearable. I am immobilised by a grief that just won't go away. But I have to now. Aunt Tudi would be pissed at me if I didn't do what was necessary for my survival. Yet another reason why I'd be better off not to survive. But what-the-fuck-ever.

If something doesn't start going my way for once, I may be forced to take my Jeep and flatten the entire upstate. Road Rage is one of my hobbies but, now that I have a vehicle that could actually make my dreams of madness and mayhem come true. So you in jail (gaol) my friends!

One more thing; if you have the moolah and are inclined to share some with this sad-ass, just clickie on this button. It would be deeply appreciated.






Break Out

Mar. 4th, 2012 10:05 am
tinhuviel: (Dr. Who Boogie)
I get to leave Restorative Care today. It'll be sometime after lunch, as I promised all my blue-haired homies that I'd try to stay long enough to have one last dinner with them before I have to go. My nurse Quinten (Quentin?) told me I could leave whenever I wanted, so I called Janice and let her know that I'd just call after lunch and she could come down to get me. She was cool with that.

Right now, I'm surfing the 'net and watching one of my favourite movies, Big Momma's House. Last night, The Dark Knight was on TV, so I got me a wonderfully unexpected Joker fix.

I'm also high as hell. They increased my pain meds a couple of days ago because I wasn't responding to the low dosage I was getting. Now, I'm feeling no pain whatsoever. It's a beautiful thing. Everything is beautiful right now. HAHAHAHA!

Of all the people I've met here, my favourite nurse is Quentin and my favourite patient is Betty. Betty is in her 80s and recovering from a mild stroke. I've kind of adopted her. At every meal, I open up her beverages and whatever else might take a little extra dexterity to wrest open. I'm now known as her butler. I promised I'd come up and visit her before she leaves next Saturday, and I fully intend to. I'll probably come back here this coming Friday, so I can be sure to run into Quentin too. Gotta catch up with all my favourite people while I can.

Janice is taking me to hers and Uncle Michael's house probably for the first week I'm back home. During that time, I'm gonna ease the dogs back into the idea that I'm home, so they don't flip out when I suddenly appear. That could be a danger to Ye Olde Legg. Don't want that. I'm looking forward to seeing the beasties, though, especially my beloved Smidgen. :)

For now, I'm signing off. I've got me some double vision going on. W00T!
tinhuviel: (Farce)
I'm a little tiddly bit stir crazy. My scheduled "release date" is Sunday, 4 March. They say I'm doing well with the physical therapy, but my only problem is I'm not straightening my leg to the desired point, which is 2. The closest I've gotten is 3. All the therapists with whom I've worked say that the reason for this is the swelling in my knee. So, instead of keeping it as straight as possible in the bed last night, I kept the whole leg elevated and iced all night. The swelling had gone down just a tad by this morning. I decided to keep the leg elevated and iced until they come to take me to the Inquisition Dungeon for rehab. Hopefully, I'll reach the desired goal and cement the physician's decision to let me leave on Sunday.

When I leave here, I'm going to Uncle Michael's and Janice's for at least a week. Janice has prepared the extra bedroom for me and has planned a nice meal revolving around potatoes for when I come home. As soon as I feel confident enough to walk down to the house, I'm going to visit the beasties and get them used to the idea that I'm back. I think easing them back into the idea that I'm home will prevent them from acting like idiots (Toby) and trying to climb my frame (Toby), potentially hurting my incision area.

For now, here I sit with my new roommate of three days, who talks constantly if not to me, to someone on the phone or to her bevy of visitors. And she keeps her TV loud enough to drown my TV out. And she's racist...and probably sexist and religiously judgemental. Y'know...a Repugnican. Honestly, that's the only problem I've had other than the pain. It takes an act of god for any medicine to work for me, not just pain medicine, and they've had me on the lowest dose possible for pain. Needless to say, it has had less than stellar effect on my pain issues. I'm hoping they send me home with something a tad stronger than what I'm getting here; otherwise, I am essentially fucked and will be calling the doc incessantly until I get some results 'cos, right now, it sucks like a Dyson.

That's some serious suckage.

Today, I think I'm going to keep my headphones on as much as possible and just listen to music all day long. There's really nothing of interest on the telly, especially since there are no movie channels available on the Spartanburg Regional satellite. I may even try to work on The Harming Tree some. My block is still very much present, but at least I'm able to write a little at times. A little is better than nothing.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
So far, I'm doing well with most everything they want me to do. The only thing that stops me dead in my tracks is trying to lift my leg with it straight out in front of me. I feel like every muscle, which already feels pulled beyond comprehension, is going to burst through my leg screaming and begging for mercy. I'm still doing this exercise up to a point but, with each lift, the leg gets weaker and weaker until I can barely lift it at all. I'm worried that this isn't normal, even though the therapist says that some people have difficulty with this particular exercise. I don't want to have difficulties. I don't want to look like a wimp.

Apparently I am.

After yesterday's therapy session, I didn't hardly sleep at all last night, I was in so much pain. I know that, eventually, this will pass, but damn...I want to be better now. I'm not good with patience.

Today, I don't have physical therapy. They let everyone just chill on Sundays, which is good, because I don't think I'd be able to do it at all today. It's shameful to admit, but that's just how it is. I think I'd end up crying during the session, and I really don't want to show that level of weakness.

I've pretty much decided to do as little as possible in preparation for tomorrow.
tinhuviel: (Asthma Hound Chihuahua)
I have had rectal reconstruction surgery. I have had multiple knee surgeries. I have had lumpectomies. I have had gastric bypass surgery. And none of them hurt post-op like this damned knee replacement surgery does. I know it'll get better, but omigawd.

I chatted with Barry on Facebook earlier and he wished me a quick recovery and good drugs. I'm getting good drugs, but not enough of them, so I am constantly in excruciating pain. I asked Barry to bring me a hookah full of opiumm. Maybe Scottles has one. He's just a teeny bit closer and wouldn't have to have a passport to come here.

Neither of them will, though. I'm just wishing for some serious relief, no matter what the cost.

As for physical therapy, I'm doing exceptionally well. Altogether, I walked 220 feet today, not counting the leg exercises they had me do. The therapist had me sit in the recliner and told me call the nurse when I felt I needed to get back in bed. I called her after over an hour of sitting up, but she would not help me back to bed, saying I had to stay in the chair for two hours. This has been typical behaviour of this particular nurse all day long. So I sat there for going on three hours before I got up by myself and made my way back to the bed. Fuck her. When the therapist returned for my second session, I told her what had happened and she was slightly ticked off by it, but pretty impressed that I am as mobile as I am.

The pain from it all is pretty much driving me mad, though. I want to run screaming down the hospital corridors, but there's no way I can run in my current state. Hell, I can barely walk.

I just keep telling myself that this, too, shall pass. Once the pain begins to fade and I advance in my physical therapy, my new knee is going to be more than a blessing. And, once I get the right knee replaced later on this year, I'm going to be Shufflin' every-damned-where just like LMFAO.
tinhuviel: (Pensive)
Hey, I'm in a lot of pain, so I figured I'd make sure you were too, by having to look at my ugly mug.

tinhuviel: (Gothtin)
Okay...so, back in September, I fell really hard and busted my face on a the night table on my down. I ended up with a horrible black eye with burst blood vessels on the eyeball itself. It took me forever to get rid of the discolouration and whatnot, and I figured that was that. But I ended up with a serious knot on my cheekbone along with a big numb spot. The knot is now gone, but the numb spot is still there. It sometimes itches and, when I try to scratch it, it hurts like hell. Should I be worried?
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
just got a call from the case manager at Village setting up an appointment for in the morning to discuss life support options for Aunt Tudi, what her wishes are and where we need to go from here, especially if the tests that are still out come back negatively. Things are not looking good at all.

Aunt Janice is going with me in the event I lose it during the meeting, which is wholly likely.

Sepsis

Aug. 16th, 2011 06:20 pm
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
Aunt Tudi has been diagnosed with sepsis and is back in the hospital in ICU. Does anyone one know anything about this infection and what her chances of overcoming it are? Please please help me.
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)

**PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT**



If you ever find yourself in the situation of needing to get a bone marrow biopsy to try to find out what's going on with your blood, demand that you be anesthestised prior to the procedure. Aunt Tudi has withstood more pain than I can possibly imagine in a lifetime, but what the doctor did to her yesterday left her crying like a baby. Only afterward did we learn she had the option of anesthetic. Why doctors don't offer that up front is beyond me, but I'm telling you now, don't let your doctor perform this procedure without being knocked out.

I'm a total ninny when it comes to pain, so I already know what my choice would be, should I ever face the health complications Aunt Tudi has been facing these past few weeks. Keep your damn 20-foot-long needle to yourself unless it's full of drugs that will put me to sleep.

I'm only now getting over the experience so that I can write about it...and I wasn't the one the doctor tortured!

That is all.
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
Aunt Tudi and I both have anemia, which we already knew that, but we didn't know it was as bad as it was. While I was in the hospital, I was given iron via IV and told that I may have to have a transfusion if my red blood cell count didn't improve some after the iron transfusion. Thankfully, the iron helped me, and I was instructed to get on a strong iron supplement immediately. I haven't yet, but will as soon as I'm able to get the non-constipating iron that The Mother Unit suggested.

The last time Aunt Tudi was in the hospital, she wasn't even given the option of an iron transfusion. They just started pumping her full of blood while they set her up an appointment with a hematologist. Today, she went to see her new blood doctor, one Dr. Eric Nelson. He reminded me of a honey dew melon with arms and legs. Just a very cute little man, Dr. Nelson is. And the man knows his stuff. Only Vampires know as much about blood as this man. I was mightily impressed.

Of course, they drew blood and did labs on Aunt Tudi before she saw the doc, so he could get an idea of what he was dealing with before he talked to Aunt Tudi. He came in and told her, after looking at her blood under a microscope. He told us that Aunt Tudi's blood was not only low in red blood cell count, but also in white blood cells, which may explain how she can catch a minor head cold and almost die from it. She asked him about her platelet count because they'd mentioned in the hospital that her platelet count was low. He kind of smiled sidewise and said, "Well, Ms. Evans, normal platelet count is usually 180,000 to 250,000. From what I saw, your count is running about 19,000."

Double Yew
Tee
Eff


Dr. Nelson believes that it's the methotrexate that has messed Aunt Tudi's blood so badly. He saw no signs that would point to any kind of leukemia, so he doesn't think we need to worry about anything quite so serious, but he has taken Aunt Tudi off the methotrexate permanently, and he hasn't out-ruled a bone marrow test just to be on the safe side of things. In the meantime, he wrote up an order to schedule her for a couple of transfusions of iron, and he wants to see her in two weeks for more blood work to see if her blood levels have gotten any better since she's been off the methotrexate. If he sees no improvement, a bloo,aod marrow test is definitely going to happen. Whatever else the doctor has up his sleeve, I guess we'll find out if we have to cross that bridge.

So, on the way home, I spied a mosquito floating about in the car and told Aunt Tudi about it, although she usually doesn't have to worry about such things. Blood-sucking creatures like mosquitoes always go after me over anyone or anything else. Surprisingly, a few minutes later, Aunt Tudi piped up and said "Well, that mosquito just bit me on the back of the neck."

"What? You're kidding me! Mosquitoes always bite me first."

"Well, not this time," Aunt Tudi groused.

"Hm. With your blood, the mosquito must be on a diet."

Aunt Tudi laughed. It was then we equated our blood to milk that people drink depending on their diet. Since we're both anemic, neither one of us have the equivalent of whole milk. We decided that I have 2% blood and Aunt Tudi has skim blood.

And who knew mosquitoes needed to watch their weight?
tinhuviel: (Bellatrix)
I went to the orthopaedist today, the same one I went to over a year ago who wouldn't do anything for my knees. He looked at my ankle and echoed what the E/R docs said in that this was one of the worst sprains he'd seen. He put me in a boot and prescribed me some Ultram, which is like sugar pills for me, and said he wanted to see me in six weeks. I'll go back for the follow-up because I'm sure it's required to get my bills covered by BP, but then I'm never going back to that buttmunch again. I said as much when I first saw him for my knees and I would never have gone back to him if I hadn't been pressed into seeing him. They wouldn't let me see any of the other docs in that group because my chart was already set up with him. Once my Medicare goes into effect in October, I'm finding myself a decent orthopaedic doctor and telling this to eat dirt.

And this boot they put me in? I remember Michael Jackson wearing a pair in one of his epic 80s videos. Here's hoping this boot gives me MJ's mad dancing skills yo.

Oh, and here's a picture of those bruises. Dr. Asshat said the bruises would probably continue to extend out to the toes and the top of my foot. Good times! >:[

Photobucket
tinhuviel: (Angry Writer)
After the nurses at the original orthopaedic office to which I was referred checked my x-rays, I was informed I couldn't wait that long to see a doctor, so I referred to a Dr. Gill, who will be seeing me on 5 July. It'll probably be then when I find out if I actually have a hairline fracture instead of the sprain from hell. I'm pretty pleased with the change in doctors anyway because Dr. Gill is in with the Village at Pelham group and his office is actually closer to my home than Dr. Grady's office is. So I think it's gonna work out better this way.

I'm hurting like a sonnamabeetch, though. Crutches and I do not get along very well at all, and Toby has decided that my elevated left leg is a launch pad to Oahu, Hawaii. Every time he flings himself off my leg, I want to kick his ratty ass, but I am unable to kick wind out of a balloon right now...not that I'd ever kick any critter, except maybe a millipede, if I could bring myself to get close enough to kick the creepy ass thing.

But I'm rambling, 'cos I'm getting drunk, thanks to being in paaaaaiiiiinnnnn. I just don't want to do anything but shuffle aimlessly through Teh Intarwebs like a crabby old half-demented hag in curlers, pink fuzzy house slippers, and a night gown with the hem half out. I currently have no purpose except to finish watching the last season of Battlestar Galactica and beginning the five epic seasons of Babylon 5. That'll keep my mind off nearly snapping my left foot off at the ankle in the parking lot of the BP.
tinhuviel: (Barry Exact Science)
This is a post to see if my formatting issues from yesterday have been solved. Since I had to change browsers, everything has been a bit wacky. I made a post from Semagic yesterday that consisted of a considerable number of paragraphs and photies. It appeared to be formatted fine in the Semagic window, but it resulted in a blobular mess when posted to LJ. So I decided to uninstall Semagic altogether, since I'd originally installed it via IE, and reinstall in Safari. We'll see how this goes.

That was paragraph number one. This is number two.

Paragraph three has to do with my frakking ankle, which hurts like a toothache from hell. The doctor to whom I was referred may not be able to see me until after the stupid 4 July joke of a horribleday. I had to cancel the dogs' grooming appointment and my eye exam appointment for today, considering that I can't get around very well.

Paragraph four reminds me of that song, "Don't Get Around Much Anymore." hahahaha.

Five ~ Let's see how this works.
tinhuviel: (Ren Hoek Humanity)
Aunt Tudi and I ventured out into the great big world to go to the bank for Aunt Tudi to get some things straightened out, hit the pharm for that good shit called insulin, and get a bag of ice for Aunt Tudi's ice water and for when Diane and Bobby come back to do more yard work. Everything was going along smoothly until we got to the BP up the road from our house. Aunt Tudi went in to pay for the ice and I opened the ice container to pull out a bag. Here's where it got interesting. The bags of ice were stuck, so I had to yank a tad to get one loose. When I did, I stepped off the curb with my left foot and straight into a hole that reached at least the first ring of Hell and was filled with water. My ankle popped one way, then the other, and down I went, straight into the hole. I couldn't help it. I screamed out. Fortunately, the manager of the truck stop behind the BP, helped pick me up out of the hole and to the curb. I sat their crying my eyes out while Aunt Tudi went in and raised a massive patch of hell whilst reporting the injury. The truck stop manager and a couple of his guys hung around until Aunt Tudi was finished then, when I was ready to try it, they helped me to the car. I drove home and Aunt Tudi went into the house and called Janice, who took me to the E/R.

When I got there, they recognised me from when I was in there with Aunt Tudi not quite a week ago. They rushed me through, because I could not stop crying. This is not like me. I just...don't...cry. Especially in public. So, when they asked me what my pain level was from a 1 to a 10, I told them 10 because I don't cry in front of people and I couldn't help myself doing what I was doing. The doctor came in (and he was a delicious Italian man I wanted to take home), and he noted how huge my foot and ankle were, especially compared to my other ankle. He said I would definitely need a splint and some pain medicine, and that I would have to see an orthopaedic doctor. But he wanted to get x-rays just to make certain nothing was broken. Nothing was. So Corinne, who had been the one to help Aunt Tudi so much in the E/R, came in and placed the splint on my leg.

Afterward, the doc came back in with my discharge instructions and my prescription for Lortab 10s. He said he was giving me the strongest and that I should take 1 or 2 every 4 to 6 hours. That's pretty much unprecedented, especially since he gave me 20 of them. He said that my pain was going to be pretty damned bad. No fucking shit, dude. Come home with me and I will molest you, pain or no pain. But I digress.

When Janice got me home, she helped me to the front porch. We got to the steps and she said, "Okay, here comes the fun part." Then she promptly stepped on my bad foot. It hurt like hell, but I had to laugh like a hyaena. It was just so apropos, you know? She apologised and apologised, and I told her it was okay and that I was okay, but she had better believe that funny moment in a not-so-funny experience was going to end up in my journal. She just heaved a sigh, 'cos I knows I put everything here.

So... on to the pictures! All these are being saved on my memory card, Photobucket, and the hard drive since BP is going to have to be held accountable for this sorry situation. I need to post the pics fast, 'cos I've taken my pain meds and I think I'll be floating here shortly. Yay me.

a pictorial account of Tin vs. the BP Puddle to Hell )

I'm supposed to call the orthopaedist tomorrow, which I'll do. And I have to cancel the dogs' grooming appointment and my eye exam appointment for tomorrow, considering that I'm a cripple with no way to get around. Janice will have to take me see Dr. Grady for whenever he has the time to see me, which I hope is soon so I get get out of this splint. It's killing me already.

And now I am drunk.
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
They've concluded that Aunt Tudi's issue is Diabetic Gastroperesis. Her cardiologist still has to look over the results of her stress test, but it looks like she may get to come home tomorrow. So W00T!
tinhuviel: (Cadmus - Long Hair)
We got a bit of bad news at the hospital today; Aunt Tudi's gall bladder is just fine. This means that it's either a gastric condition caused by a long ordeal with diabetes or it's her heart. I don't know what can be done if it's the diabetes-related affliction and we may not know if it's the heart giving Aunt Tudi problems until Monday because her stress test has to be read at Regional, which may not get it read until Monday. They have an on-duty cardiologist for the weekends, but that doctor may only be available for emergencies, not to read test results. So, Aunt Tudi may be spending the weekend in the hospital until all the test results are back and they know what's going on with her. I would prefer that she remain in the hospital until we know her problem, despite missing her like crazy.

About an hour before visiting hours were over, there came a knock on Aunt Tudi's door. It turned out to be Hannah, a friend of ours we haven't seen in many years ~ too long, too long! We all hugged one another and said our happy hellos before sitting down and catching up on what the years have brought to us and what's been going on with Aunt Tudi. We stayed almost to past the end of visiting hours, so Hannah and I hugged and kissed Aunt Tudi good night and we walked each other out to our cars. Hannah promised to email her blog address and phone number. She already has mine, since The Cliffs is about as public as any one personal blog can be, and my phone number has changed in 7000 years.

I got home around 9:30, made my necessary phone calls, and am now watching The Reckoning, featuring Tom Hardy in the role that inspired Gethsymonae. So far, it's been right up my alley. I love movies set in the English Middle Ages. Seeing Willem Dafoe makes me want to see Shadow of the Vampire again. Oh gods, how I love that movie!

I've been on the phone with Todd for the past hour and a half. We had a great conversation, but it makes me miss him even more than I usually do. I hope we get to see one another soon. On that note, I'm going to bed and watching Babylon 5 until I pass out which, by the way I'm feeling, will take all of 6.582 minutes.
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
I'm here at the Village at Pelham in Aunt Tudi's room by myself. They've taken her off to do her nuclear stress test, which takes approximately three hours. While I wait, I'll be working on "The Braid," listening to music, and basically being an online nuisance. Here are some pics I've take around the hospital over the last couple of days.

hospital photies )
tinhuviel: (2D and 3C)
Aunt Tudi is so hard to diagnose. The cardiologist came in today, one Dr. Eickman. He's a really nice dude with a dandy sense of humour. The problem is that he's still not sure what's going on with Aunt Tudi. Her extreme nausea points toward gall bladder, but her heavy arms and shortness of breath point toward heart. So... Tomorrow morning, he's scheduled her for an ultrasound of her gall bladder and a nuclear stress test to see how it affects her heart. If nothing comes from either test, they'll move on to a heart cath and see what that produces. Until then, she's still on a liquid diet and close observation. The weather was getting bad, so I left the hospital a little early this evening so I could beat the storms. I needed to get in and go to bed a little earlier tonight, if at all possible, even if I don't get to sleep. All this traveling, the stress of what's going on with Aunt Tudi, and dealing with all the household stuff alone is pulling me down quickly. I've become a weenie in my old age. I'm so ashamed.
tinhuviel: (Devil Smidge)
Aunt Tudi is staying in the hospital at least over night for observation. They think her problem might be a wacky gall bladder, which would be pretty cool because having a gall bladder removed is absolutely no big deal. And she'll feel better almost instantly. I left her at the hospital to come home and take care of the dogs and pick up some supplies Aunt Tudi would need at the hospital. I had a horrible time trying to find the suit case she said she'd packed for a situation just like this. I never found it, so I gathered up a butt load of panties, one of my night shirts, which will go down far beyond her knees, and an outfit to wear for when she's released from the hospital.

I grabbed a bite to eat, 'cos I hadn't eaten all day and it was well after 4 PM, then I headed out to the Village at Pelham to reunite with Aunt Tudi. I wasn't far on I-85 when my right rear tire blew like whoa! I was instantly riding on the rim, so I pulled to the side and began to flag people, hoping someone would stop and let me use their cell phone. After about thirty minutes, a dude finally pulled over and let me use his phone. I called Janice to come and help me, thanked the dude, and went back to my car for a quick snooze whilst I waited on Janice.

It took about another half hour until Janice arrived. I transferred all my important stuff from my car to her van, and we then headed for the hospital where I was going to hunt for a wrecker service to come and change the tire or tow my car to Bobby's so he could do it tomorrow. Luckily, we spied an SCDOT Shep truck with the gentlemen helping another unlucky motorist. They were on the Northbound I-85, and we were on Southbound, so Janice turned around and we went back to the Shep guys. I went and talked to one of them and explained that I had to get to the hospital, but could be bac in about an hour if he needed me at the vehicle. He said that all he needed was the tire to be taken out of the trunk and leaned against the car, and as soon as they were finished helping these unfortunates, they'd go and change my tire for me.

Janice took me back to the car and I got out the donut, leaning it against the compromised tire. We then headed for the hospital in a vicious electric storm. The wind was atrocious. I dashed in with Aunt Tudi's things and visited with her for a while, then got Janice to take me back to my car. When we got there, the tire had been changed and the blow-out was sitting to one side. I promised Aunt Tudi that I'd get new tires first thing in the morning before I go visit her. Discount Tire is cheap and fast, so that's where I'll be headed. I'm also thinking about getting a cheap-o cell phone. I'm tired of finding myself in emergencies with no way to resolve them via wireless communication.

Aunt Tudi looked better this evening than she did this morning. She's having to go to the bathroom a lot because the med folks have her hooked up to three IV bags. It's insane. She seemed a little worried about a possible gall bladder surgery. I did my best to ease her concerns. I had my gall bladder out and it was no big deal at all. I think they just punched a wee hole in my abdomen and sucked the thing out with a swizzle stick. No biggie at all. Hopefully, she won't be too concerned about it now.

I'm home now. I've taken care of the animals' needs and have cleared out a little bit of dried washing that we were working on earlier when Aunt Tudi had to be taken to the E/R. I've had my meds and am watching Battlestar Galactica whilst I write this. I'll be going to bed pretty soon. I'm sleepy and it's been one hell of a day.

July 2017

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