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kjpepperOkay not really on the last one.
First off, this whole peter pan/greyhound buses having wifi thing? Very yes. They must have known I was considering traveling via Amtrak from now on. This development very well may change my mind.
Well on my way to NY from woostah now after a nice visit with Dr. Cave. I like him a lot. He's this mellow older gentleman with this lovely British accent mellowed by transplating to this side of the pond decades ago and this calm friendly demeanor. He could say "Oh, dear, you seem to somehow have gotten fifteen rabid wombats in your gallbladder." and not only make that sound only mildly worrisome but you will leave quite sure that it can and will be fixed. That takes talent.
The good news for today is I can start weaning off the steroids again, finally. One less med to take is always a bonus. And I don't have to make the trip to Worcester again until September.
There really isn't any bad news which is good. I seem to be stable. I honestly haven't felt this healthy in a few years, but that was true back in January too, before I found out I still have a ticking time bomb in my guts. So I don't really know how to feel about that, nor do I trust my own sense of well being.
And this is where the whine begins.
I hate being sick. No... I hate being sick in such an insidious omnipresent way. I hate basically feeling that even though I look and feel fine for the most part, I can't forget that my intestines are basically holding a gun to my head at all times. I'm sick of the pills, the shots, the trips out here, the litany of apologies to people unlucky enough to have to draw blood out of me, the tests, the constant awareness that if I ever lose my health insurance I'm fucked six ways from Sunday. I hate having two more reasons to hate my period, since both the cramps leading up to it and the ensuing bleeding sometimes freak me out now cause I can't tell if it's just cramps or something going sproing anymore.
Most of all though, I hate that I have to stare this down alone for the most part. I don't talk about this. When shit does hurt, I don't complain. I dutifully take my meds, and shoot nasty burnination into my tummy fat with nary a wince. I don't squirm or cry when people stick needles into me. I try real hard not to imagine x ray machines falling on me and crushing me to death, or the cat scan donuts exploding, and usually fail. And I hate every second of it. Some days I wish I could just throw the worlds biggest tantrum before any of this shit. I wish someone could come with me and hold my hand while they're doing scary things to me. Or even just pick me up after a doc appointment and restore my spoons with ice cream and pettings and white lies about how everything gonna be okay. But I'm not five. I'm thirty, and if my world can't come to a shrieking halt every time I'm reminded that I'm still sick, I can hardly expect anyone elses to. So it's another round of big girl panties and bad puns about poop and shrugging the suck off and making it easy for everyone to forget I'm sick except for me. But I don't like it, and today I don't have the spoons to even try to pretend that I don't want some ice cream and a big hug right now.
First off, this whole peter pan/greyhound buses having wifi thing? Very yes. They must have known I was considering traveling via Amtrak from now on. This development very well may change my mind.
Well on my way to NY from woostah now after a nice visit with Dr. Cave. I like him a lot. He's this mellow older gentleman with this lovely British accent mellowed by transplating to this side of the pond decades ago and this calm friendly demeanor. He could say "Oh, dear, you seem to somehow have gotten fifteen rabid wombats in your gallbladder." and not only make that sound only mildly worrisome but you will leave quite sure that it can and will be fixed. That takes talent.
The good news for today is I can start weaning off the steroids again, finally. One less med to take is always a bonus. And I don't have to make the trip to Worcester again until September.
There really isn't any bad news which is good. I seem to be stable. I honestly haven't felt this healthy in a few years, but that was true back in January too, before I found out I still have a ticking time bomb in my guts. So I don't really know how to feel about that, nor do I trust my own sense of well being.
And this is where the whine begins.
I hate being sick. No... I hate being sick in such an insidious omnipresent way. I hate basically feeling that even though I look and feel fine for the most part, I can't forget that my intestines are basically holding a gun to my head at all times. I'm sick of the pills, the shots, the trips out here, the litany of apologies to people unlucky enough to have to draw blood out of me, the tests, the constant awareness that if I ever lose my health insurance I'm fucked six ways from Sunday. I hate having two more reasons to hate my period, since both the cramps leading up to it and the ensuing bleeding sometimes freak me out now cause I can't tell if it's just cramps or something going sproing anymore.
Most of all though, I hate that I have to stare this down alone for the most part. I don't talk about this. When shit does hurt, I don't complain. I dutifully take my meds, and shoot nasty burnination into my tummy fat with nary a wince. I don't squirm or cry when people stick needles into me. I try real hard not to imagine x ray machines falling on me and crushing me to death, or the cat scan donuts exploding, and usually fail. And I hate every second of it. Some days I wish I could just throw the worlds biggest tantrum before any of this shit. I wish someone could come with me and hold my hand while they're doing scary things to me. Or even just pick me up after a doc appointment and restore my spoons with ice cream and pettings and white lies about how everything gonna be okay. But I'm not five. I'm thirty, and if my world can't come to a shrieking halt every time I'm reminded that I'm still sick, I can hardly expect anyone elses to. So it's another round of big girl panties and bad puns about poop and shrugging the suck off and making it easy for everyone to forget I'm sick except for me. But I don't like it, and today I don't have the spoons to even try to pretend that I don't want some ice cream and a big hug right now.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 09:53 pm (UTC)*and hugs*
no subject
Date: 2009-05-12 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 02:48 am (UTC)Well in that case, I guess we'll have to send the cape-less superhero costume back and get you a big bowl of virtual ice cream instead.
What flavor?
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 03:05 am (UTC)*Hug*
I wish I was not 4 hours away.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 05:55 pm (UTC)