*sigh* Church People

Candyland is frozen over and I've had lots and lots of time over the past few days (four days to be exact; I've not left the house in FOUR days. It's like heaven) to ponder and, um  dwell  on a certain interaction that occurred last Sunday that has left a very bad taste in my mouth.

I love my church. No, seriously. My church is wonderful, and to be more specific, my Sunday School class is just downright amazing. When I hear people talk about how churches are so hypocritical and judgmental and only want perfect people in their buildings, I know that these poor individuals have never been to my church. My Sunday school class has seen me through the end of my miserable marriage, my divorce, a surgery and hospital stay that was beyond terrifying, and countless other crap that comes up in the course of a normal life. They have stepped up to be godly examples to my kids; taking my boys hunting, fishing, to ball games, and to Boy Scout events since their dad (who does his best - not ex bashing here) lives so far away. I've had people from my church step up to fix my plumbing, take care of my yard, drive my kids when I couldn't. Nobody has ever presumed to judge me or make me feel bad about the job I'm doing as a mom. Nobody ever acts like they are better than you. Nobody pretends that because they are on this committee of that council that they are more holy than you are. They recognize that everyone has flaws and that just because they are good at one thing, they aren't good at everything. It takes the whole Body of Christ to really make things work for a church. We all tend to be checking for the plank in our own eyes and leave it to you to find the speck in yours.  Basically, my big, wonderful church is, mostly, full of people that wouldn't fit the most definitions of "church people."

But...(you knew that was coming, right?)

As if to make a liar out of me, I had an encounter last week with a person from my church that made me feel about four inches tall. Then it just started to piss me off. This is a person I've known for a very long time. I've never been particularly close with this person, but I do appreciate what he does for the church. He and his family are some of those people who are there "every time the church doors are open." They really do fill a number of needs that our church has. He works a lot with the youth. And having two children in the youth group, I REALLY appreciate those who give their time to care for the spiritual growth of these kids. HOWEVER...

(small segue for explanation)

If you know me at all or have read much of my blog, you know that I struggle mightily with chronic migraines. A few years ago, the flight surgeon also determined that I have some sort of auto-immune disease that we never did figure out. After several blood tests and other attempts, this flight surgeon got assigned elsewhere and the remaining docs didn't have the time or inclination to play "What the hell is wrong with Buffi" any longer. Suffice to say, I do take care of my kids and try my darndest to get them to all the extra-curricular activities they participate in so that they can grow up to be healthy, well-rounded people. Some days, though, I wake up with a particularly terrible headache that keeps me from driving because I can barely open my eyes. Or when I do open my eyes, everything looks a little, um, wavy or weird and I feel like I can't trust my senses to guide me. On school days, I do my best to power through and at least get the kids to school. The cost of that is that I generally end up back in bed for the rest of the day until I have to get the boys. Although now that SP can drive, I can have her pick them up sometimes or I have had friends who do that for me once or twice.

Add to that: For the past several years, SugarPlum  played on a club soccer team that required us to travel to Metropolis to our south in order to play. So many, many weekends, we missed church because of soccer games. Now that she is a junior in high school, her club team basically disbanded because juniors & seniors would rather spend weekends with their friends and/or working than travelling two hours each way to play soccer. Yes, I'm a soccer mom without a soccer team...but that's another post for another time. The upside of this is that we have been able to go to church much more often and the boys have finally been able to be way more involved in some of the activities at church. Yay! [now that I am thinking about it, these are the same parents who made it a point to tell me that they would never put sports before church...whatever]

Now, there are still some Sundays when I wake up, open my eyes, and the pain that comes shooting from every direction causes me to lie back down and say, "NOPE. Not happening today." So, I take some migraine medicine, drink as much water as my queasy belly will allow and go back to bed, hoping that the pain will pass. Am I proud that I'm missing church and causing my kids to miss? No. I'm very sad about this. Could I get SP to take them to church. Probably. But my brain isn't exactly functioning at capacity and the ridiculous amount of nagging it takes to get those boys ready to go anywhere, much less dressed in a manner acceptable (to me anyway) for church, is usually beyond my brain's paltry abilities at that point. So we all stay home.

Last week was one of those Sundays. However, by Sunday afternoon, I was feeling much better and was able to get Bear to church for Bible Drill followed by a party that the youth group was having. When I went up there to fetch him after the party was over, this man (the one I mentioned waaaaay back there, before you stopped reading, because golly this has turned into a long post!) pulls me aside and says, "I have a bone to pick with you!" I, knowing this man as a fun-loving guy with a good sense of humor, chuckled and said, "Okay, what did they do now?" 

THEN, this man - this self-righteous man - proceeds to SCOLD me, saying that Bear told him I had slept in this morning and that I have a responsibility to get my kids to church every Sunday. He didn't think it was okay for me to just sleep in when these boys wanted to be at church. I was speechless. I smiled, nodded and told him that from now on, I'd be sure to have Bear call him when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church. Okay, maybe I left out the "when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church" part, but I was just floored. 

I carry so much guilt over what I cannot do when I'm going through a bad streak of migraines. Not to mention the guilt I feel for my kids having to grow up with divorced parents. I was awfully proud that I'd been getting us to church as often as I had. I was also feeling pretty good that I'd gotten Bear to church that night. I truly felt like somebody punched me in the gut. Now I can hardly look at him or his wife (who has also chastised me in the past for Bug missing Sunday school, but not to that extent) without feeling angry. And I don't like that. 

I wish that people could understand that many of us are doing the best we can and that what we need most is encouragement when we are getting everyone to church. I wasn't feeling God's love at all last Sunday. What I was feeling wasn't coming from God at all. Why can't people see that these kinds of interactions are what KEEP people away from church? If I hadn't been a member of this church for nearly ten years, I don't know what effect it would have had on me. I don't know that I would want take my kids back to a place where it seemed the policy was to make parents feel bad. Thank goodness I have my Sunday School class and other good, loving friends in my church who encourage and support me and never once make me feel bad for missing when I can't help it. I feel sad for those people who haven't had time to meet the friends I have and whose early encounters are with stereotypical "church people." Our church is a great place filled with the most amazing people. If you are active in your church, please consider how your words sound to others. No one person is more "holy" than another. Nobody gets to pass judgment on anyone else but God. So stop casting those stones already.

I'll get over this. But I just pray that I'm the only one that caught this man's judgment and not a new person who is struggling with their faith and feelings. It would be sad for something like this to drive someone away entirely.

(and if you made it all the way through, thanks for listening to my rant!)

All Hell Breaking Loose....

Okay I know I said "next weekend" or something like that. But I've been a little busy. You know. Life and kids and stuff. But I'll make like Paul Harvey and give you the rest of the story now....(I'm sure that this is full of all sorts of mistakes and grammatical errors that I will compulsively go back & fix later, but I'm going to bed now...) PART 1 click here

So, yes my instructions when I left the hospital after having the baby factory removed and almost bleeding to death were simply to rest and to go to the ER if I started running a fever. Well, I wasn't sure how long those instructions were for. Because, I went home on Sunday. On Tuesday or Wednesday (it's all a little fuzzy), I started running a very low grade fever. I SO did not want to go to the ER. But after some prodding and close to downright shouting from my mom & FB friends, I did phone the GYN on call and she said to take some Tylenol, that I probably had a UTI and to call my regular dr in the morning, which I did. He sent me to pee in a cup & put me on antibiotic which did NOT agree with my digestive system. I kept having the fever but just took Tylenol. The lab results came back I and I did NOT have a UTI and since the antibiotics were making me sick and unable to eat, the dr said I could stop taking them. This was Friday, I think.

The weekend was fairly uneventful. Like I said before the kids got to spend time with their dad. My uncle and cousin came by for a visit, I got out and walked a bit (per doctor's orders)....things were okay. Mom was even contemplating going home. My tummy was still a little upset, so Mom thought she'd stay at least one more night & get the kids off to school. Sunday evening, my stomach was really bothering me. ***Here's where you need to stop reading if you have a delicate constitution*** I felt really gassy & couldn't seem to go to the bathroom. I went for a walk and the stomach cramps about overtook me. I made it back into the house and to the bathroom in time to toss everything I had eaten that evening. And then everything I had eaten that week. I was doubled over and couldn't stop throwing up. Finally I was just throwing up bile. Mom called the clinic since I could barely speak and the doc on call said to take me to the ER. So, a wonderful friend came over to stay at the house with the kids since they were all asleep - and help me walk to the car (Mom seriously considered calling an ambulance, but I didn't want to freak out the kids or the rest of the neighborhood).

We got to the ER and Mom ran in and asked for a wheelchair since I couldn't walk. Evidently I was moaning pretty loudly and got triaged right back to a little ER room (there was a 3-4 hour wait otherwise). I kept calling for my "Mommy." (Amazing how we revert back when we are at our most vulnerable, isn't it?) And she just held me as best she could and yelled at those people to take care of me. Seriously, you don't want to get crosswise my mom over one of her kids. She will make you wish you were dead. They gave me lots of drugs and I finally stopped puking. Of course I also stopped being lucid at all. They took me for an x-ray. Then they wanted to do a CAT scan - can I just say that there are few things nastier than barium, especially when you've been throwing your guts up. I do remember trying to choke that crap down. I guess I didn't have any bleeds anywhere, but my fever had spiked to over 104, so they thought it might be a good idea to admit me. I have very little memory of being moved to my room. One of the nurses who was there said that they had to lift me because I was barely conscious enough to slide over. Evidently, I was in serious condition and there was talk of putting me in the ICU. Yeah. As it was I was on IV fluids, three different IV antibiotics and lots of pain and anti-nausea meds. And I was bloated up like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

EVIDENTLY, I had developed an infection at the site of the repairs made in the second surgery. One of the abscesses was big enough that it was blocking off my bowel, essentially trapping all of the gas and *ahem* everything else from coming out of my body. That was making me a little queasy...and nearly septic. Because it was cellulitis. Which is really bad from what they tell me and to have it INSIDE is extremely rare. The doctor was a little freaked out.

My mom was keeping my friends & family updated on my condition and let them all know that I had cellulitis of the vaginal cuff. One of my friends later called to tell me "Um, your mom sent me a text about your vagina." NICE.

I stayed knocked out on pain killers and nausea meds for the first few days. By Wednesday, the first offending abscess had gone down enough for my bowel to be able to, um, deflate. Yeah, that was pleasant. Especially for the housekeeping staff. There are some great stories that could go with that day, but they are better left untold. In the meantime, doc came in every day and did a pelvic - oh, yes, just as awesome as you can imagine it would be. I also got to go for another x-ray, an ultrasound - both external and internal. I was wheeled to the sonographer by a lady who was very insistent that I wear those lovely hospital socks with the grippy things on them. She told me all kinds of stories about why this was important. Evidently it is crucial. Whatever.

Every few hours, they came to take blood, take my vitals, change one thing or another on my IV, give me medicine or something or just aggravate me. The good nurses (read: the ones I liked) would turn on the least intrusive light possible. All the hullabaloo and they changes in my meds had given me one doozy of a migraine & I wanted it as dark & quiet in there as possible. There were some terribly cheerful nurses who would burst in in the mornings and turn on all the lights and open the curtains - I had a corner room so I had two windows. I hated those nurses. The nurse I had the biggest problem with was a night nurse who kept insisting that I should take a shower, it would make me feel better. I had already taken one shower and learned that those were the worst showers in the history of ever. There was barely any water pressure and you had to rotate yourself to get completely wet. I was cold the whole entire time. One of the GOOD nurses had brought me some of those cleansing cloths to use so that I didn't smell like a lumberjack and I really didn't care what my hair looked like. Nurse Ratchet tried to blackmail me and tell me that she would take my blanket away if I started to run the slightest fever. I asked for the charge nurse and never saw Miss Smarty-Pants again. I may have been known as a pain in the ass but I just really don't give a flying flip.

My friend came to visit Wednesday night and as he left he told me I was hot. I laughed and said "Oh yeah, I'm hot. I look fantastic after laying in this bed for three days." He cracked up and said, "No, you are burning up, I'm going to go tell the nurses before I leave." Yeah, my temp was back up over 102. Super.

By Thursday afternoon, I was still running a pretty good fever most of the day. (Though I was no longer bloated so that was good) All of my blood cultures had come back clean. Nobody knew exactly what was making me sick. But I still felt like shit. I had another CT & it was decided that I was going to have a drain put in me to try to remove the infection from my vaginal cuff (I know, sorry). I thought I had a vague idea how this particular procedure might go. I was very, very mistaken.

The next day, they wheeled me off to CT and had me lay on my belly and zipped me in and out of the CT scanner dealio while the radiologist, Dr DeSade, inserted a tube from my right butt cheek through my lower abdomen to my (close your eyes) vaginal cuff to drain the infection.** BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE...while he was in there he took samples of the fluid to send to the lab to see if they could identify the bacteria that was trying to kill me. For the record, they could not. The little collection bag just kind of hung out there off the skinny little tube which was about 12 inches long or so. Surprisingly, once the tube was in, it really didn't bother me at all except that it was a little awkward trying to find a place to hold it when I went to the potty. It was good for freaking out visitors, though.

**Yes, I was awake thru all of this, but I did have some pretty good drugs on board to make me relax. Plus I did that breathing that they teach you in the childbirth classes. Nice that THAT finally came in handy!

The drain seemed to do the trick. By the next day, I was off all IV antibiotics (still taking two oral antibiotics, though. One for colitis which I developed at some point in there and made things even more fun.Good exercise though!) It was good that I was off the IV since most of my veins had been blown - all of them in both lower arms - and my last IV was in my upper arm near my left shoulder. Actually that was the only one that didn't leave any lasting marks AND it was the easiest to manage. You can still feel the knots in my lower arms where the veins have scarred. It's super-creepy. One of the nurses told me that one of the reasons that I blew so many veins was because of all the Phenergan they gave me for the nausea for all those days. And you know what? TOTALLY worth it. I hate feeling nauseated. SugarPlum says I was pretty funny on phenergan, too. Mom & I evidently had whole long conversations of which I have absolutely no memory. Same goes for phone conversations & actual in-room visits with several friends. So if you called or came by & I don't remember it, sorry. And, if you DIDN'T call but want credit for calling, you can say you did and I will have no way of knowing you are lying.

Mom brought they kids up to see me nearly every single day. I did let them open the window shades because there were pigeons nesting on the window sills and occasionally they would have eggs. They named one set on the birds "Coco & Loco" and one of their eggs was "Yoko" (get it? Yolk-o....they thought it was hilarious). Sadly, we never saw an egg hatch.

By Saturday I was SO READY to bust out of there. The doctor seemed inclined to send me home, too. Except that I still had that damn drain in and he wanted to leave it for at least 24 more hours. He actually was going to send me home with the drain. I was somewhat opposed to bringing a bag of bacteria home to my three children. He let me stay another day. Sunday, he came in to remove the drain. He had the little kit and as he got started, he honest to Doogie said "I think the radiologist said to cut right here...." The nurse and I both had the same look of shock and dismay on our faces. Then, with absolutely no warning, he just pulled that sucker right out of me. HO.LY. CRAP. He asked me if I wanted any pain meds for home. Uh, yeah. So he wrote me a few scrips for that and for antibiotics and I don't know what else and shortly after I signed all those papers, my Mommy took me home.

Oh, and they never did figure out what was making me sick. Every single culture came back clear. All of them. I had some mystery bug that tried to kill me. I am either Dr House's dream patient or his biggest nightmare.

All in all, I was in the hospital the second time for eight days, not counting the night in the ER before they admitted me. I lost about 20 lbs. Nothing at all tasted good. I read about four books. Thank goodness for having Kindle on my phone. I updated my Facebook statuses in the moments that I had the energy & could see straight. And I never did wash my hair. I know. EW. Shut up. The first thing I did when I got home was take a shower and climb into MY bed. That bed never felt so good.

Little by little I have been getting my strength back. I am still amazed at how tired I am and how much I MUST nap. I mean, it's been two months. But the doc keeps telling me to give it six months before I even approach being my old self again. I have gained back all the weight - I really didn't have much that I could lose - thanks to Girl Scout cookies and Haagen-Dacz. I managed to pull an 'A' in the class I was taking last semester in spite of my prof sending me home my first week back because I "looked frail" and I was "making her nervous." I sported the whole "heroin chic" look for quite some time - skin & bones, sunken eyes, tracks & bruises all up & down my arms. I looked terrific.

Bear still tells me almost every day that he is glad I'm all better and home. I hug my babies a little tighter and try to fit in some extra snuggles every day. Bless their hearts. In one week, their Dad deployed to SW Asia and their mom was suddenly back in the hospital at death's door (although they don't really know just HOW sick I was). SugarPlum has been amazing, as always. She is an astounding caretaker, especially for a 14 year old, and she is fiercely protective of me. And I have discovered some truly wonderful people in my life. I am honestly blessed beyond measure. I have realized who and what really matters.

God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good.

And to think, this was the EASY part....

Okay, since several people have asked "Just what the hell happened to you and the whole hospital thing?" here is the saga…..it’s long, but trust me it felt longer while I was laying there. (That’s what she said) (sorry I couldn’t help myself.) Today is just the first part, because, seriously, it is a SAGA. And if you get queasy easily, you might want to skip it. It ain't pretty.

I was scheduled to have a hysterectomy. Yes, I am only 40 but I have had tons of issues that are certainly more than most of you want to know so I won’t bore you with all of them. The biggest reason was that my CA-125 blood test (which is one of the markers for ovarian cancer, you know, what my mother had me totally freaked out about) had come back as above normal more than once. My GYN (Dr L) didn’t think it was “cancer high” but enough that we should probably take a look around in there and given my other issues, if he was going to “be in there” we might as well take it all out. Honestly, I was fine with removing the baby factory. After my last pregnancy and the ridiculous crap that accompanied it, I am done. D.O.N.E. And I was tired of all the girl stuff every month. So YAY! Fire sale: everything must go!

It was supposed to be very routine: LAVH (I won’t over-explain, if you want to know, you can click the link...hope you're not eating), overnight stay, home the next day. I scheduled the surgery for just before Spring Break so that I’d have nearly two full weeks to rest and recover before I went back to class. My mom was planning on staying a week, maybe ten days. I’d be tired for a few weeks but should have been back on my feet by the time Spring Break was over. Ha. Ha.

You know that nothing is ever easy with me. I am ALWAYS the aberration.

My mom came to take care of the kids and me. A friend took me to the hospital that morning at 6:15 (thanks Courtney!) and my mom was up there as soon as she got the kids to school. I remember checking in, joking around with the anesthesiologist, getting wheeled into the OR and talking a minute. The next thing I remember is the recovery room.

Here's the thing: I don’t do well coming out of anesthesia. And I am ALWAYS overwhelmed by much it hurts. But this time, even though I knew why I was hurting, something still didn’t feel right. I kept telling them that I was hurting but I couldn’t articulate that something was wrong. Drugs will do that to you, kids. They kept saying, “Yes, you just had surgery.” One jackhole actually “asked” me “Is this your first hysterectomy?” My mom almost punched him. I started feeling really nauseated. No REALLY, seriously pukey. I told them and I think they gave me some phenergan or something. But it didn’t help much.

At a certain point, they had given me all the pain and nausea meds they could. Between all the meds and still coming out of general anesthesia, everything is very swirly in my mind. I remember them giving me a basin because I felt sick. I didn’t have anything in my stomach, but I started dry heaving. I know that they took me from recovery back to my room. I remember telling them that I was bleeding and they said it was normal to have some bleeding after a hysterectomy. But every time I heaved, I felt a LOT of blood.

Evidently I kept saying “gushing” until a CNA came to change the pad on the bed and noticed that the whole entire bed was covered in blood – like horror movie style. She screamed out in the hall for someone to "get their asses in there" (as my mom informed me) and finally they took me seriously. They laid me back down in my gross, bloody bed, tilted the bed to head down (which made all of my stitched up insides hurt like a son of a bitch - that I DO remember) and wheeled me back down to pre-op where they started a blood transfusion. I remember my mom there by my head telling me what was going on, kissing me and telling me she loved me. I remember thinking that I would really just like to close my eyes and go to sleep if everyone would just STFU. But they couldn’t let me do that…something about lapsing into a coma or something, so annoying. They kept shouting at me, “BUFFI?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON?” and I would nod. I was soooooo tired and but not scared, really. More aggravated. And very confused. I don’t remember going back into surgery. Dr L checked everywhere he had cut out anything (which was pretty much everywhere, because evidently I had an incredible amount of endometriosis all thru my lower abdomen - I am SUCH an over-achiever. There were no nicks or ruptures anywhere that he could see, except one place.

(Skip the next paragraph if certain anatomical words offend you or give you the willies)

Evidently, when I was dry heaving, a blood vessel in my vaginal cuff – where the uterus connects to the…you know – ruptured and caused the whole thing to start throwing clots & blow all the stitches. So, when I was saying "gushing" I was right. Good times. He stitched it all back up very carefully. They ended up giving me three units of blood. Which, evidently, means that I very nearly bled out. At least that's what one of the nurses told me. So much for quick and easy. I vaguely remember the recovery room again and remember my mom being there and a friend coming back to see me. I think he was a little freaked out. But, pretty much everyone was "a little freaked out." I looked fabulous, I’m sure. From what I’m told I looked slightly cadaverous.

**Also, the jackhole nurse came and apologized for his jackholery**

The doctors agreed it would be a good idea to keep me sedated for a long time to avoid the nausea and to keep my blood pressure down. I guess that every time I woke up a little, I hurt like hell and my blood pressure would spike. Also, they didn't want me dry heaving again and busting something else open.

The original plan for the boys was that SugarBug’s teacher was going to bring the boys home from school. Since the surgery was so early, I figured I’d be awake and in my room by the time they got there. And if things had gone normally, I would have. Instead, Mom kept in touch with the boys’ teachers and Mrs. Secondgrade took the boys to ToysRUs to get some Legos and bought them some pizza (she is so absolutely wonderful, I cannot even begin to describe her) and brought them up to the hospital…somewhere around suppertime maybe? I don’t know. I know that they were pretty freaked out. There I was in bed, no color at all, who knows how many tubes coming out of me and oh, so barely conscious. Bless their hearts. I remember telling them that I love them and that I was going to be okay. I remember them each giving me a kiss before my mom took them home. And then, I was out.

The next thing I remember was waking up when my friend came back. He was really nice and stayed to visit for a while. He (sarcastically) told me I looked great even though I was practically see-through. That is the first thing I remember clearly. I hurt some but not as much as earlier. My blood pressure was still wonky from all of the fluids and meds they had given me after I sprung the leak. Oddly enough, my blood pressure would go down whenever they gave me pain meds. Imagine.

After my friend left, I asked the nurses when I could get the catheter out because, golly I HATE those. They had to check with the doctor, who was thrilled that I was awake and lucid enough to ask to take it out. So they did. YAY! I went to the bathroom, I drank some water. I called the house to talk to the kids so that they could hear that I was okay. I needed to hear their voices too. The full impact of what had happened was beginning to dawn on me and OH, how it broke my heart to even consider the alternative ending. I still hate that the boys had to see me like that after I had told them the night before that everything would be just fine. Now I'm a big fat liar.

Random snippet: When I was more fully awake, I saw a small card left by one of the pastors at my church. It was funny because I remember at one point in my drug-induced haze thinking, "Wow, that doctor looks just like Danny Pastordude!" Heh.

I stayed in the hospital one extra day (yes, that’s all!) and they sent me home. My instructions were to eat, rest, and go to the ER if I started to get a fever. I got my prescription for the pain meds and my hormone patches and headed home. It felt good to be in my bed. I was happy to be with my babies. I was a little shaky, but felt like I was getting stronger & better. The kids went with their dad, who was in town for a Spring Break visit, and they had a grand time. It was good to see them happy and not hovering and worrying about me. I studied some (mid-term approaching) and tried to begin making my way back to normal. SD left, my Uncle and cousin stopped thru on their way home from a Spring Break fishing trip to check on me. Mom was in charge and taking great care of all of us. She was considering going home the next day.

And then all hell broke loose…..

(to be continued this weekend, I promise. Probably)

FINALLY, part 2

So, yeah, this happened....

So much happening lately and, yet, at the same time there is really nothing happening at all. Which is funny because I really feel like I have been going non-stop for weeks now. And it's exhausting. Which is one of the problems. I'm just wiped out tired all of the time. So, I've been seeing the flight surgeon to try and figure out what the heck is wrong with me. I know that being tired is part of being a mom, but this is crazy. I honestly feel like I could go to sleep at any point in the day - anywhere.

So, the flight surgeon - and not the idiot flight surgeon I have seen in the past, but the KING of the flight surgeons (okay, maybe not his official USAF title, but close enough) - has been kind enough to make time in his schedule to really try to help me. Unfortunatly, solving the mystery involves bloodwork. Lots and lots of bloodwork. The first time, I had to be fasting for the blood tests. This always baffles me. They tell me to not eat anything after midnight, then come in (after getting three kids ready & off to school) and they take like a liter of blood. So...I'm starving and NOW severly anemic - and then they send me home. "Good Luck!" I never remember to bring a granola bar.

Good news? My cholesterol numbers are fabulous! My thyroid test were right on the money! Blood sugar? A little low, but nothing extraordinary. The down side of this is that now I have to get more blood tests. On the up-side, these don't involve fasting. Down side? SIX VIALS of blood. Thank goodness these don't require fasting. If I wasn't anemic before, I most certainly was afterward.

Those tests....were also unremarkable. Blood counts are good. No rhumetoid issues, no auto-immune markers. This seems like it should be good news, but it just means that we still don't know what is wrong. Grrrrrrrrr. So, now, he is sending me to a rheumetologist and he's sending me for a sleep study. Seems SD has informed him that I snore. Dr. King says that if I weighed 300 lbs he would have done the sleep study from the get-go, but since he and my therapist always feel the need to ask me if I am eating, that doesn't seem to be an indicator, but I could be suffering from sleep apnea. We'll see.

UPDATE: (This should have been posted on this date, but never was. So I'm posting it three years later. Nothing ever was really discovered at the sleep study other than I have some restless leg syndrome and I snore, but don't have any apnea. So, three years later, I've had lots of other tests and surgery and different meds....and a divorce and started grad school.....I'm just a hot mess, that's all...)

Because my hypochondria wasn't heightened enough....

I've been seeing the flight surgeon quite a bit lately in the hopes of figuring out what, exactly, is wrong with me. (Physically - I gave up on my mental health years ago.) I've had quite a myriad of bizarre symptoms - joint pain, headaches, and soul-crushing fatigue. Every test that he does comes back normal. In fact, the doctor has been laughing that I am "abnormally normal." My blood counts are good, blood sugar is good, cholesterol, thyroid, iron, all normal. He had me do a sleep study - which turned out fine. (Oooooh...I need to tell you about that soon!) Even my CT scan was clear. I'm ridiculously healthy for someone who feels this crappy.

So, Monday, my mom sends me the "Ovarian Cancer" email. You know the one that goes around every few months that talks about how ovarian cancer is a "silent killer," that it can't be detected on your PAP smear, that its symptoms "whisper" and lists all the "whispering" symptoms. Really, it is one of my biggest fears.

As I said, mom sent me the email this week, and she highlighted all of the symptoms of ovarian cancer that I have. Each in a different color. SERIOUSLY. She's thoughtful that way.

Now I am obsessing over the fact that I am dying of ovarian cancer. The flight surgeon is going to love me when I call to tell him this. I always say, you can't have too many neuroses!!

Perspective

You know, no matter how many lost wallets, extracted gall bladders, screaming kids, marital issues and other crap I have endured, never in all my days have I had to deal with what Lisa has had to deal with today. Never have I had to contemplate telling my children and everyone else that I love that I, most likely, am dying. AND? That while I am getting sicker and sicker I don't know how we will afford to put food on the table or a roof over our heads. It is a nightmare that I can't even let myself imagine. And yet, Lisa is living it. Right. now.

And to make things even more unbearable, someone is trying to take advantage of her situation to make himself look good. How is it that parasites like this are allowed to continue existing on this planet? Incomprehensible. And disgusting. That's what that is.

I apologize for every single time I have complained about my life. Because my life is amazing and comfortable and healthy and carefree and wonderful. I wouldn't trade this life or these people for anything in the world. So to those who might not be sure, know this: I love you. I appreciate you. I will not take any of you or any day God has given me for granted.

If there is any way you can help Lisa and her family through this, please try. Even if all you can afford is prayers, I'm sure that they would be welcome. Isn't that what we are all here for? To support each other?

Home again, home again jiggety-OOMPH

Well, I am home and without gall bladder. I hurt like hell, but not anywhere NEAR as bad as I was afraid I'd feel, so at least there's that. I will tell you all about it later, but for now I am going to take some more drugs and lie down.

Thank you all for the prayers. I've no doubt that they helped unbelievably!

Hugs & kisses to you all!

Say a little prayer for me...

Well, it's official. I am going to the hospital at 6:30 tomorrow morning to have my gallbladder removed. I am a little anxious, but I'm so ready to have this over with that I'm just relieved. Maybe I'm just fooling myself though, because I have been queasy and irritable all day. I don't like letting myself get all spun up over things like this. I don't think I slept but maybe 2 hours last night. I'm hoping that will work in my favor tonight & I will be so exhausted that I'll just pass out. 5:45 is going to come early, no matter what.

That said, Holli's pictures today reminded me that I have wanted to share these pictures I took on Father's Day (after the water balloon fight) of this very tiny praying mantis. Seriously, he couldn't have been more than an inch long but he was just so dang cool. Getting the shots was kind of difficult because he was so tiny. My auto-focus kept focusing on the trees or the roof in the background. But if I turned off the auto-focus, I couldn't get him at all. I did manage a couple of cool shots though.

by this point the little guy had had enough & was trying to flee the paparazzi thing I had going on

So, if you don't mind, if you have minute on Thursday, take a cue from the tiny, little, green guy up there and say a quick prayer for me and my surgeon! Much appreciated!

Soon to be gall(bladder)-less

Okay, so I saw the surgeon today. I sat for over an hour in the waiting room and yes, I was a leeetle pissy about that. I may have posted a slightly nasty Twitter about that way. Yet minutes later, I was back in the exam room with the surgeon, all was forgiven.

I am officially declaring my love for Dr. Gallbladder.

She had already read my records and looked at my ultrasound (okay, this may not seem like a big deal to you, but realize that I am accustomed to the military health care system and...well, let's just say that, while there are some really great doctors, there are some truly, ridiculously clueless and horrible "physicians" who walk into the room and say "Hey how's it going?" Yes, I'm serious.) and came in prepared to to talk with me about my options. Which, pretty much "suck it up and deal with it" or "get that sucker outa there!"

She reviewed the function (and MALfuction) of the gallbladder and then went over the surgery veeerrry thoroughly. She actually answered the only question I had (after my over-researching it with Dr Google) and she left me feeling very confident and secure about this.

She asked when I was wanting to have it out. I told her the sooner the better. So? It looks like it should be Thursday. Yes, THIS Thursday. My own little Independence Day! Woo hoo!! (assuming the hospital and insurance all agree) (which is a HUGE assumption)

So, listen up you crappy malfunctioning little organ in there: Your days are numbered! Two to be exact. Say your good-byes because it's the end of the line for you, you pain causing jerk!!

(You realize I have totally jinxed myself and now this won't be out until sometime in November, right?)

I've Got a Lotta Gall (stones)

I have been bitching on Twitter about this for a while now. And now I am subjecting you to it. Because I think my Tweeps may be sick of hearing about it. Lucky you.

While I was pregnant with Bear (7 1/2 years ago!) I found out from the sonographer I had at least one BIG gallstone. (seriously, the guy was like, "WOW! wouldja look at that!) Later on, I was told that I have several. I have asked doctors about this over the years and have been told that if they aren't giving me any problems, then I should just not worry about it. So, while it has remained in the back of my mind for all this time.

Until lately.

When I was visiting the Jackalords recently, I had trouble sleeping one night. I had this weird pain in my back. And sort of in my chest. It kinda felt like when you've drank too much soda all at once and you need to burp. Only you can't. So it hurts. But, I took some Motrin (and maybe some Xanax) and all was well.

For a few days.

Then just after Fathers' Day, the pain was back. With a vengeance. That Monday, I woke up SICK. SD stayed home for part of the morning until I started feeling better. Also, because SP started this sports conditioning camp & I certainly couldn't drive her there. I felt okay by mid-morning except that the pain was back in my back & chest AND it was now wrapping around my ribcage and shooting down my spine. My mind started racing...heart attack? Not likely- it was on the right side. Reflux? Didn't really feel like that. Anxiety attack? Nope. Still there after Xanax. Hypochondriac? There you go.

First I asked my Twitter buddies, and, while concerned, they didn't really have any solid answers other than GO TO THE DOCTOR ALREADY, Sicky McWhinypants!

So, I asked Dr. Google. And realized, DUH! Gallbladder!

Then, I DID call the doctor. On Tuesday. And again on Wednesday. And I finally got in on Thursday. I was told if it was so bad I needed to get in NOW? I could go to the ER. Hmph. Though they did have me go ahead and have my blood work done so that the doc could see the results as soon as I got there. "We're so sorry you feel like total shit. HEY! I know! You can go and have a needle stuck in your arm & three vials of blood drawn! FUN!"

By Thursday, I was unable to eat much more than toast, crackers, plain pasta...pretty much the Anti-Atkins diet. Also, you could FEEL my gallbladder bulging out of my abdomen. Oh, yeah, that was pleasant. My blood work all came back good, so I didn't have a blockage or an infection. Good. The doctor told me that it was probably my gallbladder. (!) And that he would put in a surgical consult. Also, I should head over to radiology and have an ultrasound. Now.

So, I bop on over to radiology (oh, yes I was ALL ABOUT bopping) and walked up to the check in window. I handed the guy my ID (USAF hospital) and said that I was there for an ultrasound. He looked at me funny and said, "We're not doing those today."

WTF?

I told him that this was rather urgent and he said that I'd have to go to the little office next door and make an appointment because they didn't have a sonographer today. (So glad I wasn't having a heart attack, "Sorry, we're not doing CPR today.") So I signed the sheet and sat down to WAIT to make an appointment for an urgent ultrasound. Finally the appointment lady came back (smoke break?) and said that she could get me in...WEDNESDAY. Um, no. Weeelllll, she could probably squeeze me in early Monday morning but that was it because the sonographer was gone till Monday. If I needed it before then...go to the ER. *sigh*

I spent a fairly miserable weekend at home. Though Saturday, I did manage to get several loads of laundry done that had piled up during the week. Then, Sunday, I was a big crying mess because I hurt so bad. SD took me to the ER. Where they drew more blood and told me that my blood pressure was a little high. No kidding? Pain. Heard of it? The ER doc thought that maybe I had indigestion (seriously) and had me drink the nastiest concoction I have every tasted. Maalox, viscous lidocaine, and some other nasty shit that almost made me throw up just from the horribleness of it. And - no surprise - my gallbladder still hurt. (seriously, why won't these people listen to me? I am always right!) But my digestive tract was numb. Good times. Oh, and he said that he didn't want to give me any more medication than I already had. I could take Fioricet (which I already have) for the pain. Asshole. I think that gallbladder pain deserves at least a little Vicodin. Just in case. Right?

Monday, I had the ultrasound. The nurse called me that afternoon (while I was napping) to tell me that I had gallstones (!) and that some were in my bile duct, so that was why I was having pain. Also, to be sure to keep my appointment with the surgeon. (As. if.) Which I didn't have yet. So...I called the referral fairies (seriously, it's like they are magic or something) and they told me...eventually, that my referral had been sent up to the base surgeon (who is leaving soon) and that he would review it. If he couldn't do it, then he would send it back to them and they would send me off base. I should call back THE MIDDLE OF NEXT WEEK to find out.

Um, no.

I wasn't waiting to have a mole removed. I have an internal organ that is malfunctioning. I need something ASAP. I finally got through to the surgeon yesterday and my appointment is Monday. Seriously. That's the best they could do.

The irony is that right now, I am feeling pretty good, all things considered. I have eaten supper two nights in a row now. And not just toast. REAL food. I had a burger last night and we went out for Italian tonight. I have been SO HUNGRY. I figure, either I finally am not hungry & am okay, or my gallbladder starts to freak out, I have emergency surgery and finally get that fucker out! It's a WIN-WIN!

And if you have lasted through this whole long-winded post YOU deserve some Vicodin, too.

TMI doesn't even BEGIN to describe this post.

So, I had a realization the other day. A horribly embarrassing realization. About a trip to Target. And my period. (Really this is so TMI, I am truly horrified. Yet, I feel compelled to share. And it's too long to put on Twitter, dammit)

I am terrible at remembering when my period is due. SD can tell with uncanny accuracy. As can my children, most likely. I have too many other things to think about. Like ears, bathroom antics and whether or not I have a legitimate mental illness** (as opposed to an illegitimate mental illness)(you, in the back there, hush). I sometimes find myself wondering if, perhaps, I should be on the lookout for Aunt Flo.

Heh.

Looking back, I see that it couldn't have been more obvious. I was at Target walking around, seeking great deals (as you do). By the time I checked out, I placed on the conveyor belt: one bag of Jamaican Jerk potato chips, one bag of Wasabi Mustard potato chips, one bag of Salt & Vinegar potato chips (yes, really), one bag of Sweet & Salty Snack Mix, a box of Dove dark chocolate Promises, THREE tins of Wasabi & Soy roasted almonds, a Hersheys Extra-Dark chocolate bar, two 4-packs of Blood Orange Italian Soda, eight cans of Pomegranate Soda, and (wait for it) TWO BOXES of....tampons. <------all entirely true - I can provide a receipt if necessary. And I had the nerve to be SURPRISED when I got my period a few days later!

Can you imagine the poor kid checking me out?! I practically had a neon sign atop my head that flashed "PMS." I'm not sure, but looking back, I think I may have heard a security alert issued about a "possibly unstable woman entering the parking lot....stay out of her way AT ALL COSTS!!"

But I'm feeling much better now.

**I think that this post should settle that question once and for all.

No more shouting, I promise

I am actually feeling much better. Nobody is more surprised about this than I. Maybe I just needed to have a big old pity party and vent a little.. Maybe it is all of your wonderful, supportive comments, phone calls and emails. Maybe it's the vodka. Just kidding. It's definitely the vodka. Hee hee. It's probably that things are coming to a close with the terrible, awful situation that we have encountered. I wish that I could be more forthcoming about it, but I can't for many reasons.


Anyway, yesterday I started to feel the fog lifting and I am beginning to climb back out of the pit. Even with SD gone for a couple of days. It's weird. But I'm not complaining. The kids seem to sense that I am doing better too, because they don't seem to be acting as...cautious?...around me. Of course that might just be my perception. Hard to tell.

After a long day of cleaning last week (was it really last week? It seems like a million years ago)- during which I cleaned the kitchen cabinets, swept AND mopped the floor in the kitchen and breakfast room, cleaned the baseboards and walls, AND? AND? vacuumed the family room - I jokingly said to SD that maybe I'm bi-polar and was having a 'manic' day. He looked at me and told me that our therapist thinks that I am. Boy, that threw me for a loop! But then I stopped to think about it and thought, "Hey, maybe so."


Now, considering the dark period I just went through, I think I will discuss this with Dr. C at our next session. Which will be...I don't know when. I didn't go this week because I just couldn't make myself get out of the house except to get the kids where they needed to be. And next week I had to cancel because Bear is having surgery to have the tubes taken out of his ears. (That child can NEVER do things the easy way. More on that in another post.)

I really think that full-blown bi-polar disorder might be a little extreme, but in researching it (gotta love Google) I think that Cyclothymia might be a possibility. I don't know. I will have to talk to my doctor about it.


Trouble is, my doctor is an idiot. You'd think that the Air Force would make the flight surgeons the best-of-the-best to take care of their flyers. Only not so much. It's more like, "Oh, you're pretty mediocre at everything? How about aerospace medicine?" Half the time I go in there, I get a deer in the headlights look. I pretty much tell them what I think is wrong, what medicine I want to take care of it and VOILA! a prescription is handed to me! I honestly believe that if I were to make half a case for it, I could get the flight doc to prescribe me heroin. As long as I accepted the scrip for 800 mg of Motrin along with it. We call it "Vitamin M." They don't call 'em the "Candy Man" for nothin'!

Whew! Lose focus much? (Isn't that on the bi-polar checklist?)


SO. There you have it. Feeling much better. Though this might be an indication of a serious mental illness. (Thus validating the opinions of countless friends, family members and acquaintances.) Or not. We may never know. But I'm smiling right now, so that's something, right?

What's happening in Candyland? Not much, as it turns out...

Nothing eventful enough to merit a whole post, so I will bore you to death with a quick bullet list of the minutia of our lives:

• SD's new job is now requiring a lot from me. Actually, I kind of like it, but it is cutting into my internet time. Worth it, though.
• SugarPlum played her last soccer game of the season Saturday. All that's left is a tournament in a few weeks and we will be done with soccer for a while. WHEE!
• However, she is ALSO playing volleyball....which goes to the end of May.
• Junior High registration went well. SP is taking choir AND drama. Good times.
• I totally flaked on an ENT appointment for Bear last week. He still has one tube in his ear and the Dr is somewhat concerned about it. If it isn't out by now, he may have to have it removed. I'm not sure how that works...
• Bug has figured out how to read and spell. There goes the last one that we could "spell" around. "Think we should go for i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?" D-a-m-m-i-t.
• Bug also has his first big crush. On a little red headed girl in his class named Lisa. She is a sweetie. MAN he is head over heels! "Mommy, I love Lisa. I want to ma-wy her!" I guess I should start planning the rehearsal dinner!
• BIG NEWS! I have given up Diet Coke! I know, right? I was having waaaaay too many migraines and though that maybe my copious consumption of aspartame might have exacerbated the situation. It hasn't been too hard. Though now, I am addicted to AnTEAdote Organic tea. I get it from my favorite tea site, Adagio. My favorites are the white, black and oolong. Much healthier!
• SP has a mystery rash on her torso that was bothering her enough to go to the nurse and even come home. I'm taking her to the dr tomorrow. If she's willing to miss school for it, it must be something.
• I am totally procrastinating because I really need to fold my 384th load of laundry of the day AND clean the kitchen. *sigh* Some days the glamour of this whole job doesn't quite live up to the brochure.

PSSSSSST! You can wake up! It's over now!

I'm still alive - sorta

Did you miss me? Just lie and say you did. My ego is fragile, you know. I was gone all last week on the trip-I'm-not-supposed-to-blog-about and barely had a moment to breathe let alone blog. (I didn't even talk to my kids all week! Well, except for the morning SugarPlum called me before school to tell me that Gram was being mean to her. Heh.) We got back to Candyland late Friday night only to repack - this time for the boys, too - turn around and drive to Metropolis for SP's soccer games. When we finally got home yesterday afternoon? The internet was busted. *sigh*

SD got the internet back up this afternoon and I have been on here for the past several hours shoveling thru the literally HUNDREDS of emails I didn't get to read while I was in "the vacuum." So, if I owe you an email, I will get to it as soon as I can. I'm going back to the dr tomorrow because I suspect that my pneumonia is back. I have felt my fever climbing all afternoon and I sound like I smoke 3 packs a day. Nice.

So, at some point in the near future, my goal is to get a REAL post up. But for now, I am concentrating on not going to the hospital. And that is giving me a headache.

Later.

*cough* *cough* *hackhackhack* *cough* (but no whooping)

Well, the flu finally took the hint and fled Candyland (for the time being - no sense tempting fate). Bug and I were both knocked flat for the better part of last week. Fever, aches, major f_a_t_i_g_u_e, and general whiny-ness prevailed. I don't know how Bug put up with me.

At one point, as Bug and I discussed how our muscles and bones hurt, he told me, "I think my muscles are going to hohrt like this foh-ev-oh!" It was, quite possibly the saddest, sweetest thing you could have ever heard. Blessedly, he was feeling much better and back to wreaking havoc with his brother by Sunday afternoon.

So, yes, the flu fled. But not before calling his good friend Bronchitis to come and take up residence in my lungs. I sound lovely. And, if I hadn't felt so totally shitty last week, I would probably be whining about how bad I feel. But, given some perspective, I guess I feel okay. Except for the extreme tiredness. Maybe from lack of oxygen? Think?

I finally caved and went to the flight surgeon today and he sent me home with the big bag-o-drugs: Zithromax, Xoponex, Flo-Vent, and some codeine syrup (which I will probably just get rid of because that stuff is naaaaazzzzzztttty). Hopefully I will be feeling better very soon. I hope so, because SD and I are ditching the kids for a week (thanks Gram!) for a somewhat official trip (that I am not supposed to talk about here) and I don't want to be spewing phlegm all over the state of TEXAS!

IN OTHER (somewhat related) NEWS:

I can't remember (and am too lazy to look) if I have blogged about my (very strong) feelings about vaccinating our children. I won't get on my soapbox tonight about it (though I reserve the right to do so and may very soon if blog material doesnt seem to come), but Charlie just sent me some info about an organization called PKIDs:

PKIDs is a national nonprofit whose mission is to educate the public about infectious diseases and help families whose children are affected by such diseases. We're trying to raise awareness of pertussis, also known as "whooping cough," through an online resource. The site is:

www.pkids.org/pertussis

Pertussis is a potentially deadly bacterial infection that can strike at any age, but is particularly dangerous for babies. Adults are the number one transmitter of pertussis to babies. One of the best ways to protect babies from pertussis is to make sure that anyone in close contact with them is vaccinated.

At PKIDs’ web site, you can hear an audio clip of what whooping cough sounds like and get advice on how to talk to your doctor about protecting your child or children you may care for from pertussis. This is all part of a campaign to raise awareness of pertussis called "Silence the Sounds of Pertussis."

So there you go. I am just counting my lucky stars that there is no whooping around here. At least not the nasty, potentially deadly kind. With my boys, you can always count on whooping of some sort during each day. Now, where did I put that humidifier?

Conversations when you're sick

"Is it 'feed a fever and starve a cold' or the other way around?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around; 'feed a cold, starve a fever.'"

"What about the flu?"

"I think it's 'tell the flu to fuck off, take a bunch of drugs and go back to bed.' Got Motrin?"

The Bug is unwell...and I am insane

So, I have been trapped here since Saturday afternoon with a sick Bug. He started coughing Friday morning, which I chalked up to allergies. He had a friend over after school and I agreed to watch one of my friend's toddler while she got her hair cut & colored. I told her that Bug had a nasty cough, but that he hadn't run any fever and that I was pretty sure it was just allergies.

Sometimes I think the germ gods hate me.

About half an hour before baby boy's daddy picked him up, Bug said, "I feel cold, Mommy. My head hurts."

Crap. Took his temp. And? 102.6. Yeah. What a great friend. I spent the next half hour saying, "Stay away from Noah! Cough the other direction! Wash your hands! Why don't you go play Legos in your room?!" Nothing like feeling loved and cared for when you are sick!

I took Bug to the walk-in clinic next morning. Surprisingly we didn't have to wait long (considering how long it took on the phone just to get TriCare to authorize an off-base dr. visit!). The doc was very nice and explained as he examined Bug that there were several nasty viruses going around and that was probably what Bug had. He would have gladly prescribe antibiotic if he thought it would help, but obviously since it was viral, there was no use. Then he started to listen to Bug's lungs from the back and stopped short. "...oh! Well! I do hear a crackle in there. Sounds like maybe some pneumonia. So, I'll go ahead and give him some Zithromax."

I am not a mom who demands antibiotic if it isn't necessary. So I made sure that he really thought Bug needed it and he said yes. So, we stopped at the pharmacy on the way home and go the meds. Then we came home and got my Buggy down for a (much needed!) nap.

We were supposed to have some people from SD's squadron over for supper that evening and had to cancel. I was disappointed because I just found out that this particular woman is a doula and HOW COOL IS THAT since that is my dream job?! But I was fairly certain that they didn't want a side of bacterial infection with their grilled salmon, so we will have to do it another time. Bummer.

Bug looked and sounded terrible. SD went to mass Saturday night so that I could take Bear and SP to Sunday School the next morning and leave Bug home. SD had to pack to go TDY anyway (of course. the Air Force always seems to time things to coincide with family illnesses!), so that worked out. HOWEVER....Bug awoke at 3:00 that night and was awake and miserable until after 5:00. When SD got up in the morning, I told him "Don't wake me up." He totally respected my request. He's a good man, that husband of mine.

(Except that then he abandoned me to go to his course for a week. BUT, he ended up sick too. HA! Okay, not really. I feel bad that he is sick down there and I can't do anything for him.)

So, Monday comes and Bug still feels crappy and has a high fever. Monday night he wakes up again and tells me that it hurts his chest to breathe. So Tuesday we go BACK to the walk-in clinic because there are no appointments on base - of course. Luckily, after waiting about eight days to check in, we were seen very quickly and the doctor (different guy, natch) orders a chest x-ray. Good news! Pneumonia seems to be gone! But since the fever hasn't gone yet, he changes Bugs antibiotic to something even I can't pronounce. And gives him some (nasty!) cough medicine.

By Tuesday night, Bug's fever is somewhat manageable. Though, I finally relent and let him just sleep all night in my bed, figuring that it's the best way for me to get a good night's sleep. It actually worked, for once!

He seemed to be feeling much better yesterday (no fever!), though I did keep him home from school under the "24 hours w/o fever rule." We had supper at church last night but didn't stay for choir. Today, I am keeping him home just as a precaution. There is a girl in his class who has cystic fibrosis and has already been in the hospital a couple of times this year. I figure she doesn't need me taking any chances with her health.

HOWEVER. I have GOT to get out of this house. The child IS going to school tomorrow. If I have to play ninja, Spiderman, or animal doctor, OR watch one more episode of Curious George (post coming soon about the questionable sanity of the man with the Yellow Hat) or Dragon Tales for one more day, I will hurt someone. There are groceries to buy, errands to run, laminating to do (at the kids' school), silence to listen to...

Which only means that one of the other two will come home with a fever today. Because that's how things work around here. Damn those germ gods.

Anyone need a babysitter?

Be nice. Or I'll breathe on you.

So, first, I'm sorry about going for over a week and then posting a quiz. Lame? Certainly. But I thought it was kinda cool & thought I'd share. Besides, you're just jealous.

I have been sick for...ever it seems like. I went for like ten days with a sore throat, telling myself it was viral because I had these ulcers all down my throat and knew that the doctor would just tell me to take motrin and drink plenty of water. Which I was doing. Although, by last Tuesday, every time I took a drink, I had to shout, "SonofaBITCH!" There may have been other profanities uttered through the day. I have no comment on these rumors. It was at this point that SD insisted that I go visit the flight surgeon. I complied with his request (phrased thusly, "Just go to the damn doctor already!!!) because by that point I had a lymph node on the left side of my throat that was the size of a ping pong ball and corresponding swelling inside my throat. All the same, I really hadn't run much of a fever, so I figured that a trip to the doctor was silly - prudent as it might seem.

The nurse whom I LOVE went ahead and swabbed my throat for a culture, telling me that it looked viral to her, too. Then Doogie the Flight Surgeon came in and made me love him just a little by saying, "Wow! You have lost a LOT of weight! You look great!" (He just got back from a deployment to Iraq.) I resisted the urge to kiss him on the face. Because that would have been inappropriate. Right? (And I DO look pretty damn good. In the past year, I have lost about 25 pounds. I can finally fit back into my pants that have single digit sizes!) (I'm so glad I didn't give those away!) *ahem*


So, Doogie looks at my throat and says, "Wow. That's really swollen and red!" Duh. He said that he didn't think it was strep, but he was going to give me some penicillin just in case and if the test came back negative on Thursday or Friday, I could stop taking it. Which, HELLO? Do you ever pick up a newspaper or watch television? Super-Bugs. Heard of them? No, I told him, I would take the antibiotic home with me and if they called me with a positive result, the I would start taking it. But, of course THAT wouldn't happen since I didn't have strep. He redeemed himself somewhat by prescribing me something called "magic Mouthwash" which has lidocaine in it and made little things like drinking and eating much less painful. Yay Doogie!


So....Thursday afternoon Nurse-whom-I-love calls and asks if I had been taking the penicillin. I tell her no and she says, "Well, you need to start. Your strep test came back positive."

The hell?!

So, now I am taking penicillin four times a day. Allegedly. Because I cannot for the life of me remember to take something four times a day. For crying out loud. Who can remember to do that? If I had thought for a second that I really had strep, I would have gotten the penicillin shot in my butt. Because that works so much faster. But no. I am just now, as of today, feeling better. Today, finally, my throat is not so sore. Though, when I tried to eat the french fries I got with my lunch, it felt like razor blades soaked in lemon juice. Not so bad as water felt a week ago, but enough to elicit a "crapcrapcrapcrapcrap" if not a "sonofabitch."

Maybe tomorrow, we can downgrade to a "Dang" and eventually an "Oof."

Until then your best chance of hearing from me is my extraordinarily dorked-out Twitter posts. I'm the dorkiest dork there ever was. But at least I'm no longer contagious!

Blog Tour: The 24-Hour Pharmacist

You all know what a Google-chondriac I am. My struggle with migraine headaches, thyroid problems and depression is well documented here. Neither have I been shy about sharing my dismay at my fatigue and my ever-expanding ass. SD often teases me about my ardor for drugs, both prescription and OTC. The up side of this is that I really do research the medicines I take or consider taking or giving to my family. As such, I am considered by some of my friends as the "go-to" person for advice on many medical issues. I also have a very good friend, Mike, who has a PhD in Pharmacy and often call him when I have questions about pharmaceutical options.

When I found out from Mother Talk that I was going to get to review The 24-Hour Pharmacist by Suzy Cohen, R.Ph., I was very excited. Maybe this would give Mike a break from my weekly phone calls! When I opened the book, it wasn't what I expected. I'm not sure WHAT I expected, to tell you the truth. But what I found was even better than what I thought I would get in this book. Although if I would have just gone back and read the description that they gave me initially, perhaps I would have had a clue. (Having a clue is often an issue for me as regulars here can attest.)

"As a pharmacist for almost two decades, Suzy Cohen knows that medication can often be invaluable. But she has also learned to "think outside the pill" and recommend natural options that are often just as good or better at promoting health without the risk of dangerous, drug-induced side effects. In this comprehensive, one-of-a-kind resource, she answers such questions as: How can I stop my husband/wife from snoring? Are vitamin pills worth it or worthless? Are there alternatives to antidepressants? What kind of surge protection is there for hot flashes? How can I train my body to lose fat?"

Suzy Cohen is the author of the syndicated column Dear Pharmacist. A column I knew nothing about until now, but it may well become one of my favorites.

Like her column, The 24-Hour Pharmacist is just chock full of common sense. (Incidentally, another thing I seem to be deficient in many days) I suppose that I thought that the book would hold descriptions of different kinds of drugs, their uses and side effects. Instead it is actually a book that addresses the actual reasons behind common complaints such as depression, fatigue, lack of libido, and thyroid problems, among many. She explains, in a way that makes you say "Oooohhhh! Yeah!," how imbalances in certain nutrients and enzymes can lead to these medical problems and gives advice on how to go to the root of the problem and correct these imbalances.

One of the things that I found most interesting is that she identifies so-called "drug muggers," medicines that strip your cells of necessary nutrients and throw your body out of balance causing many common complaints and exacerbating existing conditions. She offers advice on how you can change your diet and add natural supplements in order to perhaps wean yourself off of some drugs AND what nutrients and dietary changes can counter-balance the drug-mugging effects of medications that you simply cannot stop taking. I was particularly interested in the suggestions to prevent and treat migraine headaches, as well as explanations of possible causes of them.

Cohen addresses all of this with a great sense of humor, which makes the book an enjoyable read. Girlfriend is one phunny pharmacist! Thus I read through the sections such as erectile dysfunction simply because I wanted to see what she had to say. She titles one section Viagra Excites Investors, Makes Profits Rise. Heh. I loves me a good double entendre. However, I must say that there was something that applied to my life in some way in almost every chapter.

Throughout the book, Cohen encourages readers to "think outside the pill." She also makes it clear throughout that nobody should stop taking any medications without first consulting his/her doctor. She also encourages readers to consult a doctor before trying some of the "natural" treatments. She gives many options for treatments for the conditions discussed and offers advice as to what order to try the remedies in as well as who should or shouldn't try certain ones. For example, did you know that id you aren't zinc deficient, that if you swab liquid zinc in your mouth, it will taste bitter and nasty. Other levels of nutrients and hormones aren't quite so easy to assess and Cohen recommends several labs who will test those levels for you without having to go through your doctor.

I am looking forward to going to the health food store and trying some of the remedies that Suzy Cohen suggested. Especially the ones for migraine and fatigue. Although, think that maybe she can help my inability to catch a clue as well, in the section where she addresses "brain fog." I can wholeheartedly recommend this book to all my fellow hypochondriacs. I'm certain that you will enjoy it as much as I have!

The end of the boob story (for now)

***funny note about Wednesdays' s subtitle - I got a BIG surprise Wednesday afternoon when SugarDaddy called me to tell me that he was in Chicago and would be in Candyland by about 10:30 that night. He made a spontaneous decision to come home for a few days. We are all so happy to have him home for a few days. He goes back to Turkey on Monday. I keep teasing him about making a transatlantic "booty call!""***


Okay the end of the boob story. At last.

I really wasn't too worried about the biopsy. I figured that since they couldn't see anything in any of the ultrasounds or anything that it wasn't anything to stress over. When asked about what I was going to be doing Tuesday, I said that I was going to the doctor so that he could tell me that I don't have cancer. Nothing to worry about. Right?

Right????

My appointment was at 10:45. I didn't anticipate it taking more than five or ten minutes. I got there barely on time. Okay, a couple of minutes late since I didn't account for the road construction. Stupid road construction. I dashed upstairs, checked in, sat down in the waiting room and took out my book. Then, "Mrs Lastname?" Wow they are fast! The only clinic on this whole base where I have always seen the doctor at my actual appointment time! I may never finish this book if they keep being so prompt.

The nurse took me to the exam room, took my vitals ("Your blood pressure is up a little" "You think?!") and then told me that the doctor would be in shortly and to put on the gown.

What? No. No! No gown! No! Gown! I don't need a gown! Why on earth would I need to put on a gown if all he's going to tell me is that the biopsy was all clear? For what possible reason would I need to disrobe and put on a gown? Crap. Good thing she took my blood pressure before she told me about the gown.

I changed and sat there for two and a half hours three minutes. The longest three minutes of my life. I sat there envisioning the surgery and chemo and everything else that I had dreaded. I was seriously fweaked out.

Dr. D came in and sat down. He said "I have your test results. Everything looked fine. Just benign breast tissue. Nothing suspicious at all. I want to check the site where I took the biopsy. Just want to make sure there aren't any problems."

Whew! My heart returned to my chest and began beating normally again. He recommended that I follow up with my regular doctor in six months to make sure that the lump hasn't changed or anything.

I got to call my husband and tell him that I DON"T have cancer. Of course, he wasn't there since he was on his way here. But, since he didn't tell me that I had to leave a message. Then I got to tell everyone I knew that I am cancer free. (as far as I know) YAYYYYYYY!

Now, I am going to go enjoy my husband. Since he leaves again Monday morning. If you call and I don't answer, you'll know why. :::big smile:::