How This Day Pissed Me Off/Ductwork

So, day starts normally. It’s raining and I would have preferred to stay in bed, but whatever. Work. It’s actually nice as my boss in out of town this week, and I have a shit-ton of work to do, so going in didn’t suck too badly. Lunchtime came and I determined to go the book store and browse around. Before I went to the book store I determined to go the bathroom, because browsing the book store with a full bladder is never a good time. After I wash my hands, I feel a weird twinge in my stomach, which rapidly becomes a wave of spreading, throbbing, dirty pain. I feel simultaneously like I am going to throw up and pass out. I start sweating. I bend over the sink for some stability, and notice that my hands are shaking. Hooray for me, 5 months after having my gall bladder out, I am still passing leftover gallstones through my ducts.

I have to stay in the bathroom for about five minutes, as I can’t possibly walk. I can’t describe what the pain is like really. It’s not like anything else. It’s not sharp, it’s not like something you can rub away or stretch out or anything. It comes from the middle of your body, it comes from everywhere. It doesn’t even seem like it can be real, that pain. The whole time you’re feeling it you’re wondering if it’s even happening. Perhaps you’re just hallucinating your insides trying to escape. And there’s nothing you can do to relieve it. Just nothing. No position you can assume or thing you can massage or anything. It is a nauseating, breathtaking, just stand and sort of try to keep breathing until it goes away kind of pain. It makes me feel like an animal, caught in a trap my body is making. I just stand and pant and stay really still so the pain might forget I am there, and leave me alone.

Apparently there are lots of tiny tiny little ducts in there that never make it into the medical illustrations, and mine are all full of sludge and bits of leftover gallstones! Hooray!

I finally wobble back to my office, covered in sweat and scary pale. I sit for about another ten minutes, trying to stop shaking so that I can drive myself home. I finally think I can, so I tell my staff I am sick and leaving, and go home. I fall asleep at home, and when I wake up I feel somewhat better, except – wait, no I don’t. I have another attack around 4pm, not as bad as the first, but not at all nice. This time I take some industrial strength pain killers, and then I go lay down for another hour.

Now I am better, maybe. I feel as if I have been kicked in the abdomen by something really angry, and I can’t move very well, but I am OK. Unfortunately I am also high on painkillers and rather out of it. Which fucking blows. I wanted to do some shit tonight, but now I am too high to even watch a fucking movie, much less read a book or do some housework, which were my other plans. So basically, thanks so much body, for ruining my day and not letting me get my work done at work, and then ruining my evening too.

And all I can think is that if this is going to keep happening, what if it happens when I am out, or around people? It’s bad enough that I have to go through this, but what if I am in the middle of something and have some kind of fucking attack and have to like, flee the area and can’t? One more thing to add anxiety to my going out of the damn house. And there’s no point in calling my surgeon, he’s just going to tell me what he told me last time, that the leftover shit in my system will take time to clear, how much time he cannot say. If I have intense pain for 24 hours, go to the emergency room, blah blah blah. Thanks for nothing.

So I am crabby and pissed off and scared and resentful that this is happening to me. Go away, fucked up ducts or whatever the fuck. Seriously. I feel extremely childish and want to throw a tantrum and there is no one at whom to throw a tantrum. One more way in which being an adult sucks a giant bunch of donkey balls.

Fuck this for a bunch of bullshit

I cannot remember feeling this bad, for this long, at any other time in my life. I have had an excruciating sore throat for a SOLID MOTHERFUCKING WEEK. I am now at the point where I don’t want to die, myself. I want everyone ELSE to die. I am also ruminating on all the shit I might have. Jaw cancer? Undoubtedly. Neck AIDS? Surely. An infected jawbone? Why the motherfuck not? The back of my throat is swollen almost closed, my ears feel as if they’re rubbing EACH OTHER whenever I swallow. Yesterday I took allergy meds, cold meds AND I crunched up extended release prescription painkillers and took those motherfuckers too. It did not TOUCH the pain in my throat. Not even close. All it did was make me pass out for an hour or two, which was a relief. Except that my throat hurt WORSE when I woke up. Now I am on to maybe having mono. What the fuck is going on? My TEETH HURT. My TONGUE HURTS. My NECK and ARM HURT. My GLANDS are SWOLLEN, my neck is swollen, I AM BROKEN ON MY EVERYWHERE AND I AM REALLY MAD ABOUT IT, OK? I gargled with salt water! I drank lots of fluids! I got rest! I ignored it! I took medicine! I stopped taking medicine! I rested! I went out and was active! I have tried everything, you dumb cock-sucking disease, and yet you keep hanging around!

It’s like one whole side of my body went into revolt. And is infected with pig AIDS and syphilitic cancer cells and toe herpes. Look, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me and I DO NOT CARE. Just GO AWAY THING. You’ve been here two weeks and I have been REALLY PATIENT. NOW FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

And all I can do is keep taking showers. Like, if I take a shower, I will feel better afterward, right? I took three yesterday. THEY DID NOT HELP.

Fuck whatever this thing is. It’s nice outside! I’d like to go enjoy my life! Instead I am at home infested with twelve deadly diseases and I am exhausted and I can’t sleep and I feel TERRIBLE. God DAMN it.

and THEN

So where did we leave off? Oh yes. Our heroine bravely struggles through surgery and a night of overheard puking which results in no sleep. She is all on her own, cruelly abandoned by her unfeeling family, possessing of a phone with a dead battery, an iPod with a dead battery and a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm which has now fallen off the side table and rolled under the bed. Oh and more surgery on the way. Things do not look at all rosy. (This is part 2. There might be a part three. I don’t know. Depends on how sick I get of typing all this up.)

Surgeon number two comes in and draws me a nice diagram of what is going on inside my body, and what he’s going to do about it. (All the surgeons and nurses and really every single person there was very nice. They took time to explain to me everything that was happening and make sure I understood it. I was impressed with that.) Surgery is scheduled for 1 p.m.. I am sleep-deprived, dehydrated, sore and cranky and lonely and scared. My parents are not there. I call them on the hospital phone to tell them that I have surgery at 1 p.m.. “I don’t know if we will be there in time.” my mom says. “We have to go to the vet’s office to pick up refills on their prescriptions.” “But they’re not out of medicine yet.” I told her. “We know, but it might snow.” WTF? Continue reading »

But that’s not the end of the story. Here’s what happened.

Been ramping up for a detailed post regarding last month’s organ extraction, and this is it. I warn you, it is both long and has details about medical procedures. I would recommend emptying your bladder before you begin and perhaps forgoing the snack.  (Edit, this is actually going to  have to be in parts, because it is so damn long. This is part one. Next will be part two, as I am kind of traditional in regard to sequences.)

So anyway, yeah I had my gallbladder out. Bad gallbladders run in families, from what I hear, and we grow them very faulty in mine. My mom, three aunts, one uncle and my grandmother all had them out, and I had one previous (hospitalized) episode with mine back when I was in college, so when the pain came back I was pretty sure I knew what it was. It’s not the kind of pain you forget, up high under your ribs and radiating downward—kinda like an alien trying to fight its way through your body. It shoots through to your back, and your right shoulder blade too. You can’t move or stretch or lay differently to walk it away. You can’t do anything but lay there and breathe very shallowly and wish you’d pass out. But I’ve never really been a fan of doctors, so when that particular pain started a few weeks ago, I thought I could tough it out. I figured I was passing gallstones, from the location and the way that the pain came, in waves over the course of the day. It was excruciating, but at the same time, not sufficient to make me do anything about it, as I figured that if I would go to the ER they would run tests which would be inconclusive and I would have wasted a whole day and $75 just to have indifferent nurses poking and/or looking at me while I was in agony. I knew I could be in agony privately at home and save myself some cash—so when I wasn’t in pain that day I was sleeping, and the next morning when the pain wasn’t gone I took a painkiller and slept all day that day as well. And then I was fine. Fine, I tell you. That fine lasted about a week. The next Tuesday night it started all over again. At that point I determined to go to the doctor, as I had developed some other complications, namely that my pee had turned dark orange and I had broken out in hives. Pain, OK I can take it. Hives and orange pee had me a tad concerned. My regular doctor was out of town, so I saw an alternate doctor who was very nice. She agreed it was likely my gall bladder, and wanted blood work. (it was awful, the dipshit lady punctured a vein in my hand and then there was this pool of blood that was rolling around my knuckles all afternoon. Well, admittedly that was cool, but the part where she pierced my vein hurt.) She also wanted for me to have an ultrasound. I didn’t understand why I would need blood work really, if it was just my gallbladder what does that have to do with my blood? Oh so naive. We will get to that later. Continue reading »

On Why I Wouldn’t Make a Successful Junkie, Or Maybe Then Again I Would

The nice part about narcotics is that they make you not care about stuff. I like to not care about stuff. Not caring about stuff is highly underrated.  I am constantly caring about things that don’t need to be cared about. This takes the edge off that. But then it also takes the edge off of remembering what day it is, or what time of day, and if you’ve eaten breakfast or lunch, or which nap this is. It takes the edge off of a few too many things, maybe. So thumbs up for not caring, thumbs down for forgetting you’re supposed to care. I tried to cut down on the pain meds today, and guess what? I have legitimate pain. I forgot about that. That pain gets stabby without these narcotics. That’s no fun. Maybe what I really need is to be very wealthy and have a steady stream of narcotics and a minder. Someone to remind me what day it is, and where to sign for more meds. But then again that seems like it’s going to end in my laying in pile of my own waste while my minder does coke off a hooker’s ass in front of my kick-ass entertainment system. I doubt I’d have a conscientious minder. I don’t think conscientious people go into the minding business.

All I know is that I haven’t been going out there, and it’s nice to forget there’s a there that I have to eventually go back out to. There’s no “what’s going on fun out there” since I am not going out there, no matter what fun is to be had. That’s a big relief, actually. I am not missing anything, because I am missing everything. And that’s fine with me. Go away, world, I find you to be unnecessary. I am pretty sure you will still be around when this wears off.

So anyway

So yeah, February always seems to be my month for health-related or other types of weirdness, and to keep up that tradition I had my gallbladder removed last week. I might do a longer post on the details of that once I can comfortably sit at the computer for a longer period and type more. (My hands are ouchy from the IV and blood draws and my belly doesn’t like to be bended, so much.)

So anyway I was just laying in bed looking at the new holes I have, and everything’s kind of ouchy, and I can’t move really well, and I keep getting these weird pinchy sensations where my gallbladder used to be, and I think – holy crap, someone cut three holes in me and stuck some implements up in there and snipped away one of my organs and yanked it out through my belly button. And despite that seeming as if it’s a big deal, kinda, I also feel as if I should be immune to the effects of it. OK that happened to me yesterday. Why do I still feel badly today? It’s both too big of a deal to be processed and something I would like to be entirely done with as of now, if you please.

I understand that I should probably be all “modern marvels of medicine!” and epiphany-laden, but really I am just a chick with the same exact issues she had last week, now with three extra holes and one fewer organs and a bunch of dried blood in her belly button. And also, you know, ow.

Lack of Sleep Finally Catching up With Me

Sunday’s late-night plus drinking*, Monday’s late night plus raging insomnia at 3:00 a.m. and last night’s late night plus drinking have finally caught up with me it seems. I would have paid hot cash money to stay in bed this morning. Especially since it was cold in my room and my blankets were so warm. Hate getting up in weather like this. And I also can’t resist jumping back in bed for three minutes when I go back upstairs to get dressed after I have my tea and check my email. It feels like I am stealing time from the world.

But I will say this for being a girl. Although there are many, many shitty things** involved in being female in our world, the fact that I was able to come to work this morning wearing the functional/comfort equivalent of pajamas is a pretty awesome feature for my sex. Floor-length cozy skirt, cotton camisole and baggy cotton hoodie sweater are about as comfortable as it gets while still imitating appropriate office wear. And since I knew all of today was going to be hiding out in my office down here in the catacombs, avoiding morons, I feel pretty comfortable in my slob-tastic attire.

Bought some discount liquors yesterday at the alcoholic warehouse at 44/Jefferson. One of the things I picked up was Cafe Boheme, which turned out to be just a really, really inexpensive ($8.99!) yet tasty knock-off of Bailey’s, in a pretty, French-looking bottle. Anyway I was sipping on a glass or two of that during the evening, and imagine my surprise when I left the room only to return to Jake having his snout buried in my glass, happily lapping away at my coffee-flavored-liqueur goodness. Moron dog.

I don’t think he drank too much of it, apparently not enough to hurt him, but still it was startling to see, because you know I love to worry.

Anyway, overall life-status is devastatingly horrific bordering on colossally depressing with a dash of heart-pounding, middle-of-the-night panic, somewhat ameliorated by an absorbing creative project I am working on for a friend and a 6-week (probably fantastical) time-line for health improvements proffered by my doctor***. Just when I think one more thing can’t go wrong in my body or my world, it does. And almost none of the other wrong things have gotten any better, so it really is a lot to deal with. And it leaves me just sitting around looking at the two or three things that AREN’T wrong in my world, and wondering how long it will be until they also go totally fuckwire. And probably when the next thing goes wrong it won’t even be one of the things I am dreading, it’s going to be some other bizarre thing that I thought was safe that turns around and bites me in the face.

But fuck it, right? Nothing I can do about anything, so no point caring.

*RevCo concert at the Firebird  – still pissed Al wasn’t with the band AND they didn’t play Attack Ships on Fire. Bastards.

**cramps, PMS and other hormonal surges, eyebrow plucking, bleached wads of cotton shoved up your ladyparts, leg shaving, pantyhose, high heels and underwire bras, to name just a few.

*** I am now on two medications and FOUR supplements, one of which requires I take 8 pills of it per day! It’s the awesome.

Protected: WTF? Seriously WTF?

This day’s beginning doesn’t bode well for later productivity.

So I had a doctor’s appointment this morning at 8:30. I don’t like to go to the doctor. I didn’t used to mind, back when I didn’t have any health issues. Now I mind. The whole experience fills me with dread and anxiety and a horrible out of control “These people are going to judge me, and they are never going to help me.” panic feeling. So, you know I was really looking forward to it.

In some kind of world record, I totally lost my shit IN THE WAITING ROOM. Yes kids, in a model to capable competent women everywhere, I sat there with a bunch of strangers, weeping most piteously over the forms I had to fill out. Seriously. I didn’t even know until I got there that I was going to freak out so hard. You never can tell.

So anyway, I had to take some calming medications. Then I saw the doctor, and tried to maintain my cool. She was a cool doctor, very matter of fact, which I appreciated. She seems to believe in some concept called… let me think… oh what did she CALL it again…? Oh! The “quality of my life.” Whatever that is.

She thinks mine is not high! I agree! It’s just that no one I’ve seen wants to focus on the fact that my medical issues are making me miserable, and making my life a pit of despair. They just want to focus on the one thing in front of them, not weighing whether treatment of that thing might actually make me feel worse, and if there are other options to consider. Anyway, she did some bloodwork and made me pee in a cup, and she wants to see me back in a month and “assess my mood” (I swore to her that I was not normally hysterical, but she did not believe me, and I can’t blame her.) In the meantime she’s sending me to two other doctors for other stuff.

So anyway I hadn’t eaten anything b/c I thought they might want to do fasting bloodwork. So I was hungry, and I was on calming meds. And then I had blood drawn. So then I was woozy and hungry and on calming meds. Then I was starving, so I went to Jack in the Box. FAIL on the eyes bigger than stomach level. Oh well, at least I am no longer hungry, I am going into a food coma.

Anyway, now I am at my desk, preparing to work. But I am woozy, low on blood, in a food coma AND still with the calming meds. I don’t know that I am going to be super-charged here in the office today, is all I am saying.

Processing

So my Dad has been feeling “short of breath” for awhile. Translation: he’s barely able to move and constantly exhausted. But like most men his age he’s practically allergic to doctors, so he keeps thinking it’s going to get better on its own. My Mom finally convinced him to go in for a stress test, and the doctor said that they couldn’t do it – something about not being able to get a clear picture. So they scheduled him for an angioplasty this morning. But once they got in there they just stopped – his blockage is so bad that they couldn’t clear it or put in stents and hope for any degree of success. So he’s now scheduled for a triple-bypass on Monday morning. They’re not letting him leave the hospital until the operation either, they said it’s too big of a risk to let him walk around. He’s got to be pissed as hell, since he thinks all doctors are only trying to scam him for his money, and this keeping him the hospital thing is sure to be seen as part of that.

The doctor says that the heart itself is strong and undamaged, so they’re confident that the surgery will go well. But still, triple bypass? WTF. The funny thing is, that staying in the hospital from Friday to Monday – or I guess beyond since they won’t let him leave the same day as his surgery I guess – will be the longest he’s gone without drinking in approximately forever. I don’t even know how his body will react to that.

I don’t really know what to think right now. I mean, this is not entirely unexpected. He’s a 70+ overweight diabetic alcoholic with high blood pressure and high cholesterol. He eats like crap, drinks constantly and gets no exercise. Heart trouble isn’t what you’d call a surprise. I don’t know what to think about all this, or how worried to be. I guess I have been trying to brace myself for a long time, it’s inevitable that his health will deteriorate. My Mom is one of five sisters, and all their husbands are dead. Not that I am cavalier about it, just that I don’t want to freak until I have a reason to. This just feels like the next logical step in the sequence, right? Don’t take care of yourself, suffer ill-health, see if our modern medical technology can save you.

Basically I am just refusing to process this until I get more information.

If I Strep for You, Will You Strep for Me?

OK so day two of being home with what I can only assume is strep throat. (Thanks again Dave, you fuck.)

I can only assume it’s strep because I refuse to call my doctor about it. For two reasons, at least.

One of which reasons is fuck doctors, they’re always wrong and assholish, and my primary care physician is way out in West County. Guess what I don’t feel like doing with the sorest throat this side of the Grand Canyon, and swollen glands? If you said “Drive some random, fucked-up, roundabout non-40 way to west fucking county to see some bitch doctor who’s probably going to misdiagnose you with an anal fissure?” you win. (I would also have accepted “Spend 45 minutes on the phone with your doctor’s cunty staff where they question all your symptoms and tell you things that you know for a fact are medically untrue?”)

The second reason is that the treatment for strep (characterized by a sudden severe sore throat, usually presenting with a fever and w/o regular symptoms of a head cold) is antibiotics. But whether you take them or not, strep subsides on its own within 3-7 days. I don’t want to take any antibiotics, and knowing that I can cut out the whole “dealing with cunty staff/driving to WC” part of this equation means: fuck a bunch of calling my doctor. I don’t want to take any antibiotics anyway, so I am skipping the whole modern medicine scene.

That said, I am just waiting around to get better, and bored out of my mind. I watched two movies yesterday that had been on my Tivo since we had free HBO back in January. One of them was Juno, and one of them was Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. Both of them were fair to middlin’   movies, and both featured Jason Bateman. Way to be ubiquitous, Jason Bateman.

Juno was OK I guess. For some reason, since everyone made such a big deal about her use of language in the movie I expected to notice it more, but I didn’t notice it at all. Which means that either everyone else made too big a fuss over it, or I talk like that in my head. It had some very nice moments in it, and kept my interest, which I think is the intent of movies. I thought that the mis-characterization of abortion protesters as these innocent, naive kids from your high school who say things like “bornded” and only kind of mildy rebuke women walking into clinics was practically crimianlly negligent, but then again I have actually worked at an abortion clinic and walked through those protesters, so it’s not surprising that would tweak my buttons.

Perv Alert

Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium was obviously not geared at my demographic, and as such it had several moments which either lost my interest or made me feel uncomfortable. When that mother discovered Jason Bateman (a total stranger) together with her son in her son’s bedroom, playing dress up with the door closed… um, well, you could just tell that this was a kids’s movie by the fact that she didn’t mace him and call the cops.

Then in one of the last scenes of the the film, Natalie Portman gives up her dream of running the emporium, and takes a job playing piano in a hotel lobby or somewhere. Since she spent most of the film looking like this:

I was excited to see her looking very sleek and sexy all in black with slicked-back hair and red lipstick.

Until I realized that being styled this way was supposed to represent all the bad, bad trappings of being adult and un-magical, and that in keeping with the spirit of the film I should much prefer Natalie look like this:

(Which shows how in tune with her childlike side she is! It’s a new look I am going to call hyper-unsexualized!)  Than like this: (not a scene from the movie)

Naturally I felt somewhat conflicted.

I’ve also been reading a little bit, although I have to admit that I fall asleep pretty quickly when I lay down to read. I’ve been sticking my head in Richard Dawkin’s The God Delusion, which I actually haven’t read yet, even though I bought it the week it was released. I’ve been having a problem reading non-fiction for the last year or so, especially when I agree at the outset with whatever the author is discussing. I mean, I am already an atheist, so do I need to read his whole book on how I should be an atheist? I accept the premise, I am not sure what else I am supposed to glean here.

Same thing with a lot of the political books that have come out lately. I get it, right wing fundies are assholes, Bush was a bad man, Cheney is a corrupt motherfuck. Do I have to read your whole deal to get the details, or can I just stipulate that I agree?

I know, I know, I need facts and to be better informed. And I will totally buy the stuff to support the authors. It’s just hard to make myself read a whole book on a topic I totally agree with when I started. Like a lecture on night being darker than day, I am not sure why I have to sit through it, exactly. Is this GenX Interwebs addict ADD rearing its misshappen head at me?

Anyway, rounding out day 2 of being at home and I am bored, bored bored. Going to work tomorrow no matter what, and going out drinking tomorrow night too. Alcohol kills bacteria, and I hear tequila is particularly good at it.

Random Thursday Ramble

My head is confused this week. I can’t seem to wrap my brain around anything, or get anything accomplished. Perhaps spewing all the nonsense I am able to share will help me get my thoughts in order.

Mommymobile – Still have it. This is the price I pay for not paying full price for repairs to my own car I guess. Nice that my Mom doesn’t mind (too much) lending me her vehicle for all this time. I actually really like driving it. It’s a Mercury Mariner, and it’s only a year or two old, unlike my ancient (circa 2000) Kia Sportage. I will miss the mommymobile when I have to return it, as the sensation of having my buttocks gently warmed as I drive to work in the morning is not entirely unpleasant. Kia doesn’t care if my buttocks remain cold.

I also like her sassy sunroof, which allows me to have fresh air in the city w/o feeling like I am going to get carjacked if I don’t pay attention to my open window. I don’t like her gas mileage, which is the suck, or how the car leaps forward when I take off from stop signs, making me peel out and sound as if I am a  17 year old boy with a really small penis.

It kinda makes me want to buy a new car, but then I remember how nice it is to have no car payment, and not to worry that anyone will want to steal my own POS car, and I resign myself to however many years la Kialissima has left in it. One thing that I’ve really been enjoying is my Mom’s car stereo, which actually plays real CDs (mine gave that up years ago) and has an excellent speaker system. What’s been driving me nuts though is that when I come off the highway and brake hard I would swear that the volume auto-lowers itself. It’s happened enough times that I don’t think it’s my imagination. I asked my Mom about it, but apparently she doesn’t listen to KMOX loud enough to trigger the stereo turning itself down when she brakes. This morning as I was cycling through some options on the stereo I saw something to do with “brake volume seven” and I think I am NOT crazy, there’s some kind of built-in system for monitoring your speed which assumes I want to lower my volume when i am not on the highway. Has anyone ever heard of such a feature?

Industrial Music – Been listening to a lot more industrial stuff lately, which I enjoy, but I have to laugh and wonder at the names. Why do all of these bands have to be called things like “ChristFuck” and “SkullFuck” and have songs like “Wreath of Barbs” and “Flesh Harvest”? It just makes me laugh. I guess they have to call themselves something, and fluffyBunnyBrains wouldn’t work, but it’s really kind of silly. And this morning I was listening to something on last.fm, the other main listener of which was called “Candy_Slutfuck.” I mean really. Continue reading »

Weekend Wrapup – Gastronomical Delights Edition

You know, my weekend did actually improve after my whole misery-guts Friday experience. It was a struggle, and took some epic willpower on my part (plus a lot of patience on the part of my friends who are really sick of hearing my stories) but I managed to hoist my broken carcass out of the depths of resentful misery and into a better, more productive place. Yay me.

Friday was errand-running during the day, with a surprise appearance by MyTodd™. I bought a new jacket, which cheered me. Then Friday evening was drinking and being irritated. Saturday morning was getting over myself and then some errand-running. I had to run to the grocery store and pick up about 62lbs of meat and seafood for Sunday dinner. Later, Todd and I ended up going out to dinner at Franco in Soulard, which was delicious. I had the mixed greens to start, Todd had the onion soup. We both had the wood grilled bistro steak for our entree, with raito, green beans and pomme frites. I had peanut butter ice cream for dessert, he had an apple tart/vanilla ice cream combo. We loved everything. I especially enjoyed the green beans, since I spent most of my life hating them until once I had them prepared correctly, so now every time I can find good green beans I get all excited. The interior of the restaurant was very nice, low-key, calm and modern. The staff were extremely friendly, to the point of an almost obscenely cheerful obsequiousness. When Todd got up to use the restroom, our server rushed over and refolded his napkin into a fancy shape. That’s a little OTT for me, but it never crossed the line to truly disturbing/offensive. Continue reading »

Undefeeted

So remember back in January when I posted that we’d hopefully never have to talk about my feet again on this-here blog? Wrong.

Went to the doctor yesterday because the “strained tendons” he said would heal themselves in 2-4 weeks had still not healed, close to 10 weeks later. I still can’t stand for long periods of time, if I step on an uneven surface I am in agony, and I get stabbing pains if I try to pivot on that foot. And now, due to adventures with Wii Fit, my left knee had gone all to hell as well, probably from favoring that leg due to the foot pain. So I wanted him to check it out. He poked and prodded, had me stretch and watched me walk, and decided that it was still my tendons, and he was going to send me to physical therapy. He wanted to do some x-rays of my knee, which he said was swollen, to make sure I wasn’t developing arthritis in it. I said that was fine, and that I really needed my foot to start feeling better pretty much right now. I told him that I was surprised it was really the tendons, since the pain was so sharp and wouldn’t go away, and I had been trying to stretch the foot and use it as much as possible. So, probably just to humor me, he decided that as long as I was having x-rays he’d “grab one of the foot, too.” Continue reading »

I have all the fun

Now I have a subconjunctival hemorrhage in my eye! Isn’t that awesome! It will take a week to go away! Isn’t that just delightful?

Apparently it’s from taking loads of aspirin (cold meds) and coughing/sneezing. Something in me takes a bitter pride in sneezing so hard I ruptured my own eyeball.

Gross picture after the jump, fair warning.

Continue reading »