I don’t think it’s fair to say that I live in the past, but there are a few guys from my past that I think about a lot more than they probably think about me. That is, a lot more than I’d like to. And if I had my way, I’d erase them entirely… the loves of my life… in a very Spotless Mind kind of way. Tonight I ran across an online profile for one of them. Apparently he moved across the country in an effort to find people who might believe he’s 19 years old, at least according to his profile. He’s really 28. He told me he had lyme disease which could make him a little crazy. I always thought he was really toeing the line between sweetest-guy-EVER and complete and utter sociopath. I guess I’ll never know, but at least I know he’s alive and seemingly well. So well his twenties get a do-over.
I want to go to Sacramento and pass out fliers with his picture on them like they do in Texas when a convicted sex offender moves into the neighborhood. “BEWARE, THIS MAN IS 28! ALSO HE IS AN AQUARIUS, IF THAT MAKES A DIFFERENCE TO YOU!”
Fucking complex relationships. When I date “normal” guys, I get so bored. I would naturally have to have the complex guy with emotional issues and possibly a chronic disease. Maybe it’s because I’m the sub-hormonal one, you know, with the hypothyroidism and the enlarged spleen; I need excitement.
Not that I’ve dated anyone in a long, long time. Ahem.
I made this after a comment Ryan made (please don’t hate me). He’s back in full force with his outstanding American Idol recaps, by the way. And by full force, I mean he has a boyfriend who distracts him now with what I can only imagine are boyfriendish activities, the likes of which I’ve never known. But you should still read his updates.
Wow. The creator of this quiz is getting a gift basket. Nail on the head, and all that. I love the show even though I’ve only seen a handful of episodes. Maybe after I’m finished re-watching all of Buffy and Angel, I’ll conquer this one.
Who is Your Ideal TV Boyfriend?
Don’t forget HOT. Via Michael.
Monday night was the big CT scan. I decided that it would be useless to update until all the barium sulfate had exited my system. We’re hoping for that time being now. All in all, it was a relatively benign procedure, if you discount all the radiation my cells were bombarded with. If you know me at all, you already know that the biggest complication was when the nurse left me alone to change into my gown. She left two of them, and I couldn’t remember what she said to do with the other one because I had to pee so badly and the bitch wouldn’t get out of the room. I thought maybe I would put one of them on backwards around the other, so as to leave my asscrack completely covered. I opted to just leave the spare in the dressing room and hope I wasn’t too naked when I made my debut.
I was handled by a cute guy named Julian who loved more than anything the sound of his own voice. It was a nice distraction from the IV insertion process, at least until he randomly decided to name, in alphabetical order, a list of common blood thinners. All I could think was “there’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup…” and my eyes glazed over.
The iodine injection was fun. I love the feeling of fire in my veins. It was like that time I was (19 and) chugging vodka from the bottle. Luckily it didn’t last very long, because if I had felt that hot feeling betwixt my loins, I guess I would’ve been leaving the hospital with my gown tied around my waist. Also, don’t know if raging erections show up on a CT scan and don’t want to find out the hard way. Har.
As for now, there’s no news from the scan. But the following day, I did receive a phone call from my “regular” doctor telling me that we have a diagnosis: hypothyroidism. In short, this explains a multitude of symptoms, not the least of which is my chronic menstrual bleeding. Actually, it could explain nearly everything that’s wrong with me, things the doctors don’t even know about: mental fog, stuttering, anxiety, mental retardation. We can even blame my hair loss on it, although I’m sure it’s more of the “male pattern” variety. I’ve been buzzing it for years anyway. Ahem.
He called in a prescription that day and I began taking the new pill yesterday. It’s not terrible. I had already decided that I would accept almost any diagnosis that didn’t require the acquisition of a bone marrow sample or the insertion of a catheter - both of which I am still adamantly opposed to. Shiver.
I love my iPod, affectionately named Marco, but I hate that there is a new version of either iTunes software or the iPod firmware every time I go to plug the thing in. And right now I’m hating that the second letter of their stuff is capitalized, it’s making me angry. ANGST.
I’m considering getting a new computer, and for the longest time I wanted an Apple. But now I’m not so sure. Why set myself up for disappointment when with Ol’ Reliable, I already know to expect it?
I finished the third season of Buffy last night without having the fourth season ready. ANGST. I’ve been downloading them off the internets in .avi format and putting them on dvds because my dvd player recognizes it. Eleven episodes per disc, two discs per season. It’s genius, really. And then last night I had apparently filled up my hard drive - a feat I was sure I could never accomplish. DEL. I’m still not sure how this happened. It’s not porn, I promise.
I know I really should keep my hands off co-workers, but I spend so much time with them. There’s always one I’m pretending to be married to in my head. Most of them turn out to be real assholes. The latest one just happened to be cute and nice and sweet and spoke English as merely a broken, second language.
I’m not seeing a downside here.
My friends know him as The Peruvian. I caught him reading The Secret, and that’s when I knew he was gay. His birthday was yesterday (29), and he was looking for a date for Valentine’s Day. I came this close <-> to asking him out. But the fact that he hasn’t shown up to work this week at all kind of ruined my tentative, hypothetical plans. I’m assuming he’s been terminated. It’s just what happens.
On happier notes, the weekend after next is going to be all fun times. I have a hockey game, a concert, and the North Texas Irish Festival to attend… all of which are merely excuses to be drunk in public (spleen permitting, natch). It says “hi” and waves adoringly to you. My spleen.
Read at your own risk. Or better yet, don’t.
Today I had my follow up with my gastroenterologist. She told me that six months ago, my spleen was 14 cm, and that as of last Monday, it was 15.5 cm. Apparently normal is roughly 12 cm. It’s not a Big Gulp, but it has undoubtedly grown.
She does not think it is related to my liver (as is often the case), but took blood samples just in case.
Fast forward to my other appointment at 3pm with my ‘regular’ doctor. The fact that the gastroenterologist never bothered to fax any of the important information to my ‘regular’ doctor made him cranky and mean, when he’s normally wacky and zany and hilarious. It took three attempts from his staff to get all the correct information from the other doctor. And I wasn’t excited about sitting in that tiny exam room for over two hours.
The gastroenterologist decided that she was going to have my vials of blood tested only for liver-related functions because, I suppose, she wouldn’t have known how to interpret any other data. This also made my ‘regular’ doctor angry because there were all kinds of anemia tests and a CBC and platelet counts and mono and God knows what all he planned to do with 7 tubes of my blood that he ordered drawn. Even the nurse sticking me had trouble reading his coding because she’d never seen these tests before.
Maybe he’s collecting small amounts of O+ blood for the zombie he’s creating in the back room. Or maybe he’s going to grow his own ‘me’ in a jar. Who wouldn’t want to do that?
On the bright side, he doesn’t feel like it’s much to worry about since it’s not at all palpable. And both doctors agree that a CT scan will leave no doubts about what’s going on, so next Monday night I’ll be injected with dye and scanned until they can’t scans no more. Or for 30 minutes, whichever comes first.
“…We don’t deal in spleens…”
More words I never thought I’d hear being spoken to me. I felt like a patron in a black market with a trenchcoat and a hat and a long list of body parts.
My gastroenterologist’s nurse called today to tell me that my spleen is, in fact, getting larger. By the minute, probably. Larger than life. Soon to be making appearances at your local Dairy Queen.
When receiving this kind of news, it’s probably customary to ask questions, but I left my notecards at home. What I really wanted to know was: is it a small, a medium, a large, or a fucking Big Gulp? How big is it and how big can I expect it to get? I threw the dice at Google and, as predicted, wished I hadn’t.
I need my internets privileges taken away, stat.
She told me she was faxing all the information to my ‘regular’ doctor (since she doesn’t deal in spleens); the one who knows very little about what I’ve been going through for the last year because I chose to go straight to the specialist since I didn’t need a referral. But at least he can do the blood work which is where this next journey will begin, and hopefully end, because there are almost 700 causes for this, and my chronic GERD and its myriad complications aren’t exactly on that list. At least not in the current configuration.
So now I only have to compartmentalize this angst, to be used at a later date. Probably Monday when I see both the gastroenterologist (I do not enjoy typing that word) and my ‘regular’ doctor. Both of whom are fun and charming and couldn’t pick me out of a lineup, which is where they will find me if anybody gives me any shit over the next few days.
Ryan (my e-bffe!!1!) “composed” a song to set me at ease, set to the music of Blondie. It worked like a charm.
(more…)
About Obama and suddenly I remembered how much I liked Hillary again. Ahh, the fickleness of politics.
Or at least me.
“Do you remember the measurements of your spleen from the last time?”
Add that to the list of questions I never thought I’d be asked. In fact, I do not remember. But people tell me it’s big.
This morning I had another full abdominal ultrasound. My gastroenterologist suggested that I get one 6 months ago just to check for abnormalities with my gallbladder, which ended up being fine and we found that my spleen was enlarged instead (possibly, if not probably, related to my other issues). Today’s ultrasound was a follow-up. My beloved spleen is still larger than normal but I won’t find out until next Monday whether or not it has gotten any bigger.
I like being spleenful. But I hear that too much spleen is a bad thing. When my doctor told me the news, it didn’t seem to be much of a concern. She said “we’ll keep an eye on it.” But immediately I knew that this explained why I get sick so suddenly and so often. Every single time I see my nieces and nephew, or any kids, in fact, I get sick.
Naturally, I thought I was just allergic to them.
