Look! Up in the sky! What is that? It's a bird! It's a plane! It's-- Oh, wait. Did I say up in the sky? I lied. Look down there on the floor. Do you see it? Do you?? Yeah. That's right! It's... my ankle! Still puffy, in fact covered with black and blue marks (apparently the next time I really want to hurt someone? I should scratch them), but fairly readily identifiable as an ankle. And there was much rejoicing! Even though the crazy prednisone caused me to wake up every hour last night. No matter. (And, side note to RC: I do know better than to call the doctor's office and complain that the...
So, the doctor told me that I could split up my daily dosages of prednisone into two or three sittings, if I liked, because it might be hard on my stomach. Naturally this caused me to pick up my prescriptions at Target and then stand there in the checkout line swallowing all five pills at once. Because, I don't know, for some crazy reason my priority is to make my leg stop swelling and itching, please, for the love of all that is holy. I came home and puttered around a bit, then fell face-first into my keyboard as a wave of exhaustion overtook me. Huh. Maybe the prednisone makes me sleepy?...
I got about three hours of sleep last night. It's very difficult to sleep while in the act of scratching or while trying not to scratch. And it turns out that if you do manage to fall asleep, you will then scratch hard enough to wake yourself up. Ow. Cheerful Voice: Good morning, Primary Care of Countryville, how may I help you? Me: Good morning, um, I'm a patient of Dr. MainDoc's and I was wondering if I could be seen today, please? CV: Certainly, I can have the triage nurse give you a call back. Name please? *sounds of phones ringing* Me: Mir-- CV: Please hold. *click* Me:...
I had a wild date last night, and I'm paying for it, this morning. We smuggled drinks into the theatre, you see. We passed the bottles back and forth while we giggled, and by the end of the movie? The popcorn was gone, the bottles were empty, and we were up way past our bedtimes. Flying high on our mischief, I guess you could say. This morning? My head is screaming in protest. Church was out of the question, in my sorry shape. (Cue the lightning bolt.) I'm dragging around and feeling my age... twice my age, that is. So, if this were a story that included another adult and maybe some groping?...
Meet my new boyfriend. Isn't he dreamy? I just love a man in tights, with a really oversized square chin, and a life-size tube of eczema ointment. Oh yeah, baby. I've just been over at the Elidel website and have learned that I am oh-so-wrong, it is not Elidel, it is ELIDEL, because ELIDEL MAN is flying in to save the day, and non-steroidal ELIDEL is so impressive, you must say ELIDEL in all caps at all times! Otherwise, ELIDEL MAN stops doing that thumbs-up thing and kills you in your sleep. Anyway, I went to the Target pharmacy today armed with two prescriptions. Then I did a quick...
Geez, a little idle chatter about your vaginal cuff and an imaginary cocaine habit, and all the commenters run away and hide. Well, except for my dad, and I guarantee you that post made him nauseous. But at least he loves me enough to comment. Or maybe it was that he needed to type something to distract himself from blacking out. As predicted, I'm not feeling particularly pretty right now. I don't know whether it was my doctor's grotesque sketch of my nose and the location of the eczema patches, or maybe it was her comment about my discharge resembling pudding ("Thanks, now I will never be...
(Or, What The Hell Is Up With My Skin?) So I mentioned my hair appointment that I had earlier. I always feel a little pretty when I leave the salon. But of course we can't have a feeling like that lasting for too long, because then I might turn into a well-adjusted human with a shred of self-esteem, and then what would I write about? Hmmmm. Now what could I do to make sure that I return to my normal, mutant-feeling self as soon as possible. Let me think. I know I know! I'll go to the doctor to address all of my various bizarre and disturbing skin issues! Yay!! I experienced the onset of...
Number of days I am supposed to wear each hormone patch: 3 Number of hormone patches I am prescribed as a monthly supply: 10 Number of hormone patches that come in a single box: 8 Number of hormone patches I should receive as a 90-day supply from the mail-in service: 30 Number of hormone patches I actually received as a 90-day supply from the mail-in service: 24 Number of boxes that was: 3 Number of people I spoke to at the mail-in service on the phone today: 4 Number of times those people told me that my insurance company will "only" authorize a maximum of 30 patches as a 90-day supply: 8...
That would be my uterus. That keeps giving me crap. From beyond the grave. Or, I guess, the Biohazard Disposal. Oh God, where is my uterus, now? Is it angry that it was dissected and disposed of? Is this why it continues to talk to me? (What, your uterus doesn't talk to you?) Today was my 6-week post-op check-up. I think those three hyphenated things in a row looks weird, but that's what it was. Anyway. I headed in feeling great, because I am a moron and am excellent at forgetting that if I feel good, it's only temporary. But first there was surgery week... and wishing for death. Then there...
