Well, I am broke. Thus far in October, I have had eight separate doctors appointments spanning five doctors. I have three more -- count 'em, three -- this coming Wednesday before I head south to Willamette U. to be on a career panel for up-and-commer scientists and then get infused with Remicade before flying to San Diego for my first major conference. With all due gratitude to my government bosses for providing excellent coverage for their employees, never underestimate the paycheck-dissolving power of copays and prescription fees. I can no longer afford to eat sushi twice a week. Woe is me! My bedside table is officially over flowing with all my vials of drug, and I'm not entirely sure that my body is tolerating them either.
However, our home is thoroughly draped in Halloween splendor and this Saturday's party -- whether or not my guests decide to appear in costume, ahem -- will be well-worth the cooking frenzy (let's not kid ourselves -- I am not above a last-minute run to Costco to make sure the meal is edible). And Sunday... Sunday is reserved for horror flicks and football. Hell. Yes.
The cycle has snowballed, and I am, as yet, uncertain whether it is calming down. Despite all the more tangible symptoms, the fatigue is what is most getting in my way. Because of the fatigue, I don't run in the mornings. When I don't run in the mornings, the depression comes on all the more easily. When the depression sets in, I don't sleep because I spend the evening terrorizing and bloating my sinuses. When my sinuses are bloated, not all the sinus irrigation/flonase/sudaffed/fexofenadine or promethazine in the world can help me sleep. And when I don't fall asleep, it doesn't matter how many times my bladder forces me to get up through the night.
Where is my colon in all this, you ask? It's fidgeting on the sidelines trying so valliantly to get onto the field. "Lookit me! I'm giving you car sickness every morning and every afternoon!" it wails, "I'm giving you the most delightful smorgasbord of Throughput and you're not even paying attention to me!" Alas, my loyal companion, you have taken a back seat to other -- dare I say, more pressing -- issues. Never fear; your time in the lime light will come again soon.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
the Fall and the full
Halloween approaches, and so I begin my ritual of orange-food gorging, pie making and home-spookifying. This year, I have inherited a few decorations from my mother; among them, a porcelain child in ghost costume holding a glowing Jack-o-lantern which so encompasses all of my warm childhood memories of this very important holiday.
In honor of this conferment, and of all the new drugs I am on, I have decided to throw a small Halloween party this year. To hone (read: stumble embarrassingly through) my hostessing skills? To give my apartment some personality and to fill it with warm and spooky company? Because I am feeling well enough to truly enjoy the season? Perhaps all of these are their own motivation. However, it's mostly because I want to make edible eyeballs out of lychees and grapes and hide them in peoples' soup.
In the spirit of the winter season, the beautiful rain, and my venture back to a balanced state of mind, I have visited enough doctors and filled enough new prescriptions lately to account for well over half of my paycheck. The elusive urinary tract syndrome, which has been addressed by GI, primary, OBGYN and urologist is being treated with yet another antibiotic which seems to be at least participating in warding off the next episode. The outer ear infections are being treated with antibiotic as well, and the crusted plasma-oozing sore behind my right ear is being treated with a clever combination of cortisol and athlete's foot creams. The dermatologist assigned to me The Next Big Thing in acne antibiotics and tried to convince me to try Accutane (yes, on Remicade. yes, I rolled my eyes at him and explained what Accutane is, what Remicade is and what a liver is). My nasal exoskeleton is on its third (or fourth?) week of the Allegra-Flonase-Sinus Irrigation trifecta and is being admirably defeated (read: the reasons I don't sleep at night are no longer because of my inability to breathe). And lastly, I have been put on sleeping medication as a first serious approach to overcoming this ghastly depression which has been pwning me since July. Promethazine finally procured although it took a month to convince my GI that the vomiting actually is impeding my ability to work (that's a lie, because work is going exceedingly well, but what's a girl to do?). Now I just need to go to the dentist. When I get my next paycheck. And if I don't first spend that paycheck on Halloweeny Essentials.
This body is currently full with drugs. Damn antibiotics for working far better than any Astragalus, Ashwaganda or l-theanine supplements I've ever taken. H.K. remains, of course, my most effective medication.
This weekend, we acquired several very large and very face-friendly pumpkins. Hamicar and Toby remain faithful guardians of our domain, although only when the sun is out. Next weekend, H.K. has nobly volunteered to help me experiment with the Halloween menu items so that I don't kill any of my guests. Successful recipes will be posted. Unsuccessful recipes will probably also be posted.
In honor of this conferment, and of all the new drugs I am on, I have decided to throw a small Halloween party this year. To hone (read: stumble embarrassingly through) my hostessing skills? To give my apartment some personality and to fill it with warm and spooky company? Because I am feeling well enough to truly enjoy the season? Perhaps all of these are their own motivation. However, it's mostly because I want to make edible eyeballs out of lychees and grapes and hide them in peoples' soup.
In the spirit of the winter season, the beautiful rain, and my venture back to a balanced state of mind, I have visited enough doctors and filled enough new prescriptions lately to account for well over half of my paycheck. The elusive urinary tract syndrome, which has been addressed by GI, primary, OBGYN and urologist is being treated with yet another antibiotic which seems to be at least participating in warding off the next episode. The outer ear infections are being treated with antibiotic as well, and the crusted plasma-oozing sore behind my right ear is being treated with a clever combination of cortisol and athlete's foot creams. The dermatologist assigned to me The Next Big Thing in acne antibiotics and tried to convince me to try Accutane (yes, on Remicade. yes, I rolled my eyes at him and explained what Accutane is, what Remicade is and what a liver is). My nasal exoskeleton is on its third (or fourth?) week of the Allegra-Flonase-Sinus Irrigation trifecta and is being admirably defeated (read: the reasons I don't sleep at night are no longer because of my inability to breathe). And lastly, I have been put on sleeping medication as a first serious approach to overcoming this ghastly depression which has been pwning me since July. Promethazine finally procured although it took a month to convince my GI that the vomiting actually is impeding my ability to work (that's a lie, because work is going exceedingly well, but what's a girl to do?). Now I just need to go to the dentist. When I get my next paycheck. And if I don't first spend that paycheck on Halloweeny Essentials.
This body is currently full with drugs. Damn antibiotics for working far better than any Astragalus, Ashwaganda or l-theanine supplements I've ever taken. H.K. remains, of course, my most effective medication.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
This is Hamilcar
For all who enjoyed meeting my pet spider, Toby: this is Hamilcar. He is a hybrid Carthaginian Amazon spider who has made a home catty-corner to Toby in our doorway.
Hamilcar dwarfs Toby by roughly 2.5x; he is brown and orange and hairy and he scares the shit out of me, but he is the size of my eyeball so I have no intention of messing with him.
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