I am pleased to report that the general state of health at Casa Mir appears to be on the upswing. I am not pleased to report that health = boring = dearth of interesting blogging, but really, I don’t even need to report that, because you all already noticed. Oops.
Sure, there are still plenty of things to worry about, and heaps of things making me tense or angry or stressed or sad or–OH MY GOD WHAT IS THE POINT OF GOING ON?? Ahem. Sorry. No, things are looking up! Yes! Truly. I’ve decided to focus on the good stuff for… ummm… an hour. If I do it for too long, I start to itch and break out in an ugly rash. But an hour, I think I can handle that.
Besides, I was trying to jolly someone out of a funk yesterday and found myself offering “You’re healthy!” as a reason not to be down, which caused me to conclude that either A) I’m 75 or B) I should practice a little gratitude about health, myself.
First of all, I know that each and every one of you will be delighted to hear that there isn’t a single item lodged in my vaginal canal. That’s right. Ever since my last visit to the crotch doctor I have been doing a suppository regimen designed to restore balance to my female flora. (Doesn’t that sound nice? Female flora… like I have daisies sprouting between my legs, or something.) Anyway, when you have bizarre yeast that has plagued you for a long time, you have to do a loooooong run of treatment to fix things up.
So, as much as I’ve really enjoyed the three weeks of shoving various capsules where normally you have to, say, clean my gutters to gain an access pass, this particular phase of paradise is now over. You’d think I might feel all empty inside, or something (ba dum BUM!), but no. I am looking forward to tumbling into bed at night and turning off the light and falling asleep… as opposed to tumbling into bed at night, turning off the light, being almost asleep, and then swearing a lot, turning on the light, stumbling into the bathroom, grabbing the applicator off the sink, injecting myself with a pellet of anti-yeast goodness, and then going back to bed (where all the covers are now in a tangled mess).
I won’t know for sure until my follow-up appointment next week if the yeast has truly departed, but I’m hopeful. Plus, after the last capsule I held the applicator over an open flame until it melted, so really, inserting more capsules into my vagina at this point is pretty much out. Let’s all just assume we can stop talking about my gynecological health now.
Also, I hope you all got your Mystery Nostril commemorative t-shirts already, because it appears that Monkey’s sinus infection is finally clearing up. I’m only obsessing a teeny tiny bit about how sick he must have been–my sweet, uncomplaining boy–that he managed to get through a week of one antibiotic and six days of a stronger one before we saw any change at all. But the constant flow of green goo has been staunched! No one has accused my son of jamming a foreign object up his nose for days! I see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it doesn’t require kleenex!
Furthermore, I know that every parent to a child with serious behavioral issues will be thrilled at what I am about to reveal next. It involves B12… oh, wait. Sorry. I don’t know WHERE that came from. No, it involves drastic measures, but that’s what tough love is all about, right? Yes. Okay, so you have a kid who seems to defy all conventional attempts to understand them and modify their behavior in a positive manner? Your child is unhappy, your home is tense, therapy isn’t helping, and everything seems to be in a downward spiral where you’re powerless to help?
I have the solution. And I shall share, because if even one person out there benefits from my wisdom, well then, how frightening. I mean, that would be great.
Forget therapy. Forget medication. Forget all the books you read and methods you’ve tried and ALL of that. Simply have your child go through a complete neuropsychological evaluation when you’re at your wits’ end. Following a largely inconclusive set of results, she will suddenly experience a turnaround in behavior. Gone will be your problem child, leaving in her wake a basically happy–if slightly high-strung (but HELLO, genetics much?)–small human.
Or, you know, maybe school could just let out, with the same results. But I recommend the expensive work-up route, because then every time you look in the mirror at all your grey hair, it feels justified. Either way.
So! To recap:
* No more discharge. Now let’s hope I never have to use that word here ever again.
* Decrease in snot. That’s good news for the Box of Sacred Tissues, you know.
* Far fewer tears. Probably we’re looking at a calm-before-the-storm sort of thing, but don’t go bursting my bubble just yet.
Yep, we’re the picture of health ’round here. I fully expect a piano to fall on my head later this week.