This blog never had any intention of becoming a medical journal. I swear. Fresh from the doctor's office after another outburst from The Mystery Disease, this time in my stomach and esophagus. We are now treating it like an (or multiple) ulcer(s). Which means bye-bye Vicodin and hello frozen yogurt. New meds and the mac-and-cheese diet, which is okay with me except that it means actually eating. I've dropped two pounds with my lack of appetite. Two pounds doesn't sound like a lot, but keep in mind that I started at 105. Bottoming at 103 officially makes me a stick. But I haven't noticed because my tummy's all puffed up like a kwashiorkor child.
Not funny, I know, but bear with me. It's been a very long couple of months.
Fingers crossed that these new meds work. Lots and lots of fingers crossed. Because if they don't, it means a) there are serious complications or b) it's not actually an ulcer (and I'm really really hoping that it is; not because ulcers are wonderful, but it is nice to have a name to blame instead of The Big Mystery).
If this has been an ulcer all along (or some ulcer related trouble), I've only succeeded in making it much worse with all of the pain meds I've been popping since November. Much much worse. Thank you hospital visits for giving me no answers and the wrong prescriptions. This now means that the maybe-ulcers could be spreading to my other organs or drilling holes in my digestive tract and letting toxic fluid leak out (cough cough may I again mention that all the doctors HAVE been able to tell is that there is a lot of mystery fluid in my abdominal cavity) or - because I like worst case scenarios - the ulcers could be big and bad and mean gastric cancer.
So. It's a nice, painful wait to guess and check with these new meds. But I'm strangely positive about this. Trying to be, at least.
New Year's Eve. Tomorrow. Everyone's making their to-do-2010 lists. I'm not much for resolutions, but if I were, here's what my list would look like:
1) be well
2) write more
3) finish what I start
4) apply to grad school
5) be accepted to grad school :)
6) eat
Six is a nice number, I think.
Milta has heated a bag of beans for my back. It smells terrible, but it's supposed to ease some of the pain - we hope - so it's worth a shot.
I hope that you are well. I send you all my yellow thoughts for your new year.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
blunt force drama
Alright, blog world. I need answers.
Not in the existential sense. Just biological. Or pseudobiological, which is probably what the medical field amounts to.
Another round of The Mystery Disease sent me, yet again, to the hospital for another round of tests and another round of - you guessed it - inconclusive results. All that I've managed to discover is that there is still excess liquid floating around in my pelvic cavity. Which could mean nothing or anything but certainly doesn't explain why I've been experiencing a crippling pain from my sternum down to my abdomen.
Here are all of the things that The Mystery Disease isn't or probably isn't caused by:
1. a ruptured ovarian cyst: the most compelling theory after the first incident when my abdomen exploded; fails to account for the full-body pain of TMD round two; still, I am waiting on my next period to start a new kind of birth control that will hopefully prevent any future cyst eruptions.
2. my oh so diabolical uterus: I actually had a doctor tell me that my intense chest pain was caused by a miscommunication between my ovaries and my uterus; yes, I do and have always had awfulawfulawful periods, but really? I'd call that a miscommunication between doctor and patient.
3. Crohn's disease: a group of very intelligent, nonmedical people offered this suggestion, and it seemed fitting to me at least, the idea of my immune system literally eating away at my digestive tract; the latest CTs show no sign of this, however.
4. acid reflux: might explain the esophageal pain, but doctors ruled it out early on; plus it doesn't account for all of the other pain areas.
5. my gallbladder: Milta still holds strong to the theory that my gallbladder is actually to blame for all of this; she had trouble with hers for many years and is quick to diagnose it in others.
What The Big Mystery IS or might be is still ... a mystery.
I'm now taking a super antibiotic, just in case there is some infection involved, Vicodin, and super Ibuprofen. All of which make me nauseous and tired and unwilling to do much but lay. I'm not in OUTRAGEOUS pain (though the pain is not entirely gone, more muffled or half-suffocated), but I still feel like shit. And there's no telling what will happen when all of these pills run out.
In summary, I'M GOING INSANE. Or my insides are going insane. Or some combination.
To top it all off, I'm not writing. Haven't been writing. Can't write. It's not even writer's block -- it's the fuzziness in my brain. I can't even comprehend how a poem should work right now. Or I sit down to stare at my thinking notebook and the nausea kicks in and it's back to bed. This is the worst of it.
One of these days spring semester is going to start and I'm going to need to actually live again.
HHHEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP !!
Not in the existential sense. Just biological. Or pseudobiological, which is probably what the medical field amounts to.
Another round of The Mystery Disease sent me, yet again, to the hospital for another round of tests and another round of - you guessed it - inconclusive results. All that I've managed to discover is that there is still excess liquid floating around in my pelvic cavity. Which could mean nothing or anything but certainly doesn't explain why I've been experiencing a crippling pain from my sternum down to my abdomen.
Here are all of the things that The Mystery Disease isn't or probably isn't caused by:
1. a ruptured ovarian cyst: the most compelling theory after the first incident when my abdomen exploded; fails to account for the full-body pain of TMD round two; still, I am waiting on my next period to start a new kind of birth control that will hopefully prevent any future cyst eruptions.
2. my oh so diabolical uterus: I actually had a doctor tell me that my intense chest pain was caused by a miscommunication between my ovaries and my uterus; yes, I do and have always had awfulawfulawful periods, but really? I'd call that a miscommunication between doctor and patient.
3. Crohn's disease: a group of very intelligent, nonmedical people offered this suggestion, and it seemed fitting to me at least, the idea of my immune system literally eating away at my digestive tract; the latest CTs show no sign of this, however.
4. acid reflux: might explain the esophageal pain, but doctors ruled it out early on; plus it doesn't account for all of the other pain areas.
5. my gallbladder: Milta still holds strong to the theory that my gallbladder is actually to blame for all of this; she had trouble with hers for many years and is quick to diagnose it in others.
What The Big Mystery IS or might be is still ... a mystery.
I'm now taking a super antibiotic, just in case there is some infection involved, Vicodin, and super Ibuprofen. All of which make me nauseous and tired and unwilling to do much but lay. I'm not in OUTRAGEOUS pain (though the pain is not entirely gone, more muffled or half-suffocated), but I still feel like shit. And there's no telling what will happen when all of these pills run out.
In summary, I'M GOING INSANE. Or my insides are going insane. Or some combination.
To top it all off, I'm not writing. Haven't been writing. Can't write. It's not even writer's block -- it's the fuzziness in my brain. I can't even comprehend how a poem should work right now. Or I sit down to stare at my thinking notebook and the nausea kicks in and it's back to bed. This is the worst of it.
One of these days spring semester is going to start and I'm going to need to actually live again.
HHHEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP !!
Friday, December 18, 2009
before you go go
Issue 1 of Divine Dirt Quarterly is now live!!
A big thanks to everyone who contributed and the best sort of shout-out to Andrew Bowen who pulled everything together so beautifully and made the whole project possible.
As for me, I've been stuck in bed with another bout of the mystery disease. This time it's severe chest and back pain, which a (yet another) new doctor blames on my uterus, or rather what we're now calling dysmenorrhea. While I don't doubt that my uterus is capable of plotting against the rest of my body, I still can't easily equate uterus with chest pain or breathing troubles. Regardless, I've got a new batch of the good pain meds -- these are apparently given to women in labor, which does give me the strange urge to writhe about some and scream obnoxiously just for the sake of attention.
Cold and rainy here in the south. Momchik and I are haphazardly throwing together the new [bmb] project. Thanks to my immobility we've barely managed to shoot 3 out of a whopping 42 planned scenes. And we have just over a week to finish. Because of the size, we will be selling OLD SUN on dvd rather than sharing it for free online. Don't worry. There will be plenty of copies at dirt cheap prices. We may even throw in the soundtrack as a bonus. And expect lots of bonus features on the Old Sun dvd. It'll be one awesome bargain.
Here in bed I've successfully devoured the obscure combination of movies that people have given me over the years (or maybe just left at my house, who knows). These have included Meet Joe Black, Roman Holiday, the musical Rent, Chasing Liberty (which I believe is supposed to be an update on Roman Holiday but is perfectly atrocious), and a random selection of House episodes. I seriously need to be healthy. And fast.
Oh I was given a BCG inoculation. It's a vaccine for tuberculosis, and I believe it is illegal in the US. That's what my sister told me anyway. It's given all over the world to promote general well-being, prevent such ailments as the flu and cancer, and increase longevity of life, but the US government does not want US citizens to have it -- so says the doctor who smuggles it in from France and administers it for free out of his office. My sister was given the vaccine six years ago because of chronic bronchitis and hasn't had it (or any other major illness) since, so apparently it's good for something. My injection came with an anecdote about a Nigerian priest who, at 98, flew some great distance to receive the inoculation because his father, who was also a priest, had had it and had lived to be 155 years old. I have no intention of ever living that long, but I would settle for a more manageable uterus.
Yes. Many hopes that things will be looking up tomorrow. Patrick and I are planning to attend a party at our favorite professor's house, and I will be very upset if this pain business kills that.
Alright. Enough wallowing. Get to readin' that DDQ now, ya hear?
Also poems here in case I haven't told you.
A big thanks to everyone who contributed and the best sort of shout-out to Andrew Bowen who pulled everything together so beautifully and made the whole project possible.
As for me, I've been stuck in bed with another bout of the mystery disease. This time it's severe chest and back pain, which a (yet another) new doctor blames on my uterus, or rather what we're now calling dysmenorrhea. While I don't doubt that my uterus is capable of plotting against the rest of my body, I still can't easily equate uterus with chest pain or breathing troubles. Regardless, I've got a new batch of the good pain meds -- these are apparently given to women in labor, which does give me the strange urge to writhe about some and scream obnoxiously just for the sake of attention.
Cold and rainy here in the south. Momchik and I are haphazardly throwing together the new [bmb] project. Thanks to my immobility we've barely managed to shoot 3 out of a whopping 42 planned scenes. And we have just over a week to finish. Because of the size, we will be selling OLD SUN on dvd rather than sharing it for free online. Don't worry. There will be plenty of copies at dirt cheap prices. We may even throw in the soundtrack as a bonus. And expect lots of bonus features on the Old Sun dvd. It'll be one awesome bargain.
Here in bed I've successfully devoured the obscure combination of movies that people have given me over the years (or maybe just left at my house, who knows). These have included Meet Joe Black, Roman Holiday, the musical Rent, Chasing Liberty (which I believe is supposed to be an update on Roman Holiday but is perfectly atrocious), and a random selection of House episodes. I seriously need to be healthy. And fast.
Oh I was given a BCG inoculation. It's a vaccine for tuberculosis, and I believe it is illegal in the US. That's what my sister told me anyway. It's given all over the world to promote general well-being, prevent such ailments as the flu and cancer, and increase longevity of life, but the US government does not want US citizens to have it -- so says the doctor who smuggles it in from France and administers it for free out of his office. My sister was given the vaccine six years ago because of chronic bronchitis and hasn't had it (or any other major illness) since, so apparently it's good for something. My injection came with an anecdote about a Nigerian priest who, at 98, flew some great distance to receive the inoculation because his father, who was also a priest, had had it and had lived to be 155 years old. I have no intention of ever living that long, but I would settle for a more manageable uterus.
Yes. Many hopes that things will be looking up tomorrow. Patrick and I are planning to attend a party at our favorite professor's house, and I will be very upset if this pain business kills that.
Alright. Enough wallowing. Get to readin' that DDQ now, ya hear?
Also poems here in case I haven't told you.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
more good news
After months and months of waiting, I've finally heard from Kristy Bowen of Dancing Girl Press. She really is the busiest lady in publishing.
The early morning news was a YES for a chapbook I finished up over the summer, when I was very much immersed in the private study of nuclear physics and obscure space particles. The ms is called Planetary Mass. More details to come.
Also, new poems out in the Ballard issue of > kill author.
The early morning news was a YES for a chapbook I finished up over the summer, when I was very much immersed in the private study of nuclear physics and obscure space particles. The ms is called Planetary Mass. More details to come.
Also, new poems out in the Ballard issue of > kill author.
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