Tuesday, August 18, 2009


Based on the condition I was in yesterday - stuffed with painkillers, prednisone and promethazine - I expected today's appt. with Dr. S to go smoothly. Dumbly. This morning was more like an indolent rendition of Sunday's pre-ER bout. Ten minutes after waking up I was planted in that oh-too-familiar place of bowel boot camp until my escort arrived to drive me to the hospital. Thank goodness I had a twenty minute window devoid of not-so-friendly fire during which to speed to the clinic.

This was the first time my new doctor had seen me so ill-composed and delirious, so he took the problem seriously... as much as can be interpreted from a man of medicine who speaks in analogies and terribly limpid metaphors. I love Dr. S; he is straightforward and caring and extremely quirky.

Since, after two days of prednisone and oxycodone, I was still in miserable shape, my options were laid out as follows:

1) If the prednisone begins to do its job by Friday (two days from now), and if my TB test is cleared (which it will be), then I will begin Remicade this coming Saturday afternoon.

2) If the prednisone does NOT begin to do its job by Friday, and if I continue to writhe in inexorable pain during that time, then I will be admitted once again to the ER and register as an inpatient so they can feed me saline/morphine/food through an IV until they figure out which section of my colon they want to remove.

As you might imagine, I am voting for the former. Remicade is not an exciting prospect, but I much prefer it to having my insides taken out and the entire next few years of my life destroyed.

As of yet - mostly because I am still so very high on painkillers (which Dr. S demanded that I take MORE of, btw!) - I have not thought too seriously about what will happen to my un-accommodated GRE exam in two weeks, or the destruction of my job, or the annihilation of my two week frolic to California in mid September to flirt with the primary investigators at Stanford and USC who have so graciously allotted time to learn my face... a face that, by the time I meet them, will indubitably be covered in steroidal acne and sporting hefty chipmunkness.

No, no. For now, I will take my drugs and take care of the most immediate ramifications of illness: finding someone at work who can pseudo-perform my most important tasks while I lay bed-ridden for the rest of the week, and finding a way to study between drug-induced naps.

I am by no means broken, and am looking forward to whatever needs to be done to make me well. If I bomb the GRE as a result, I will apply anyway and bank on my performance in all other areas of interest. And I will continue to live off of broth, Ensure and baby food.

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