Sunday night came and went with far too little trouble. No panic attack, no depressive bout. I'm sure the beer helped.
I spent the weekend buying new Office software, backing up my home desktop computer in order to reformat to Windows 7 in order to be able to use said software, and furiously putting together 3 presentations. I practiced one of them so many times on Sunday that my tongue gave out on me. And then I decided to take a break. With beer.
This morning, I am paying for the beer (2 bottles, btw) -- and probably the relaxation as well -- with unrelenting morning nausea and dizziness. How I made the bike ride to work is a mystery. How I will make it home later is an even greater mystery.
But in this physical unpleasantness, being thankful that all the undergrads are taking midterms this week and are not all up in my grill, I am making an honest effort to not be self-defeatist. A subtle metaphor to my weekend, it is somewhat like reformatting my default mode and replacing it with a new operating system.
My week is not doomed from the start, my anxiety is unfounded, and the academic world will not decide Wednesday afternoon that I am not fit for a PhD. The worst thing that can possibly happen is that I'll run 2 min over. Do not be self-defeatist, do not be self-defeatist, do not be self-defeatist.
Showing posts with label nausea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nausea. Show all posts
Monday, February 11, 2013
Monday, August 27, 2012
grad school priorities #10
What I should be doing:
Working on my SfN poster... or analyzing behavior... or working on my grant-writing workshop presentation... or working on my journal club presentation...What I'm doing instead:
Abating nausea. Touché, CD.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Exponential decay
We are learning about neuron equivalent circuits in school. In honor of said topic, I present my own example of exponential decay.
Last week was the most idyllic example of an exponential decay in condition that I have ever experienced. Laughably so. And thus, I share.
Monday (100 enthusiasms): Treated to a fancy dinner with a group of excellent people. Up all night with epically bloody Throughput despite only eating beets and salmon.
Tuesday (10 ens): Receive denial of insurance coverage for the Remicade that I have been getting under new student insurance since October. They just now decided it was "not medically necessary". Morning spent on the phone with the GI, the infusion center and the insurance broker instead of doing science. Experiment set back by two full days because I am a noob blundering about a new lab with no one to tell me to parafilm my culture dishes so they don't dehydrate. Still losing irregular amounts of blood.
Wednesday (1 ens): Journal club blitz presentation for a particularly terrifying professor*. Afternoon spent haggling pharmacy over whether or not my prescription renewals have been translated instead of doing science. Fell, despite my greatest efforts, into behind-the-scenes mediation of a high school drama-esque conflict between two classmates. Still losing irregular amounts of blood.
Thursday (0.1 ens): H.K.'s birthday, for which I could muster only a card. Intense nausea all day long. Managed to do some science. Still trying to encourage adult resolution of a childish conflict. TA'd a lab. By late afternoon, running only on the fumes of media broth and some desperate hope of still being able to impress my PI this rotation. Continuing to lose irregular amounts of blood.
Friday (0.01 ens): Wake up with an un-concealable budding stress-induced cold sore. Recruitment day! After an extra-painful extra-long 4 hours of class (instead of the normal 3), the afternoon was spent escorting/interviewing/socializing with fresh meat instead of doing science. By the evening, cold sore noticeable, muscles aching from lack of oxygen, I couldn't even bike home. H.K. had to pick me up. I was in bed by 8pm, falling asleep on my study materials. Dreamed of my two midterms coming up on Monday and Wednesday.
*Of my classmates, I was the only presenter that she said "good job" to, which provided a fleeting blip of positivity in my week.
~
Last week was the most idyllic example of an exponential decay in condition that I have ever experienced. Laughably so. And thus, I share.
Monday (100 enthusiasms): Treated to a fancy dinner with a group of excellent people. Up all night with epically bloody Throughput despite only eating beets and salmon.
Tuesday (10 ens): Receive denial of insurance coverage for the Remicade that I have been getting under new student insurance since October. They just now decided it was "not medically necessary". Morning spent on the phone with the GI, the infusion center and the insurance broker instead of doing science. Experiment set back by two full days because I am a noob blundering about a new lab with no one to tell me to parafilm my culture dishes so they don't dehydrate. Still losing irregular amounts of blood.
Wednesday (1 ens): Journal club blitz presentation for a particularly terrifying professor*. Afternoon spent haggling pharmacy over whether or not my prescription renewals have been translated instead of doing science. Fell, despite my greatest efforts, into behind-the-scenes mediation of a high school drama-esque conflict between two classmates. Still losing irregular amounts of blood.
Thursday (0.1 ens): H.K.'s birthday, for which I could muster only a card. Intense nausea all day long. Managed to do some science. Still trying to encourage adult resolution of a childish conflict. TA'd a lab. By late afternoon, running only on the fumes of media broth and some desperate hope of still being able to impress my PI this rotation. Continuing to lose irregular amounts of blood.
Friday (0.01 ens): Wake up with an un-concealable budding stress-induced cold sore. Recruitment day! After an extra-painful extra-long 4 hours of class (instead of the normal 3), the afternoon was spent escorting/interviewing/socializing with fresh meat instead of doing science. By the evening, cold sore noticeable, muscles aching from lack of oxygen, I couldn't even bike home. H.K. had to pick me up. I was in bed by 8pm, falling asleep on my study materials. Dreamed of my two midterms coming up on Monday and Wednesday.
*Of my classmates, I was the only presenter that she said "good job" to, which provided a fleeting blip of positivity in my week.
Monday, June 6, 2011
of Crohn's and food cravings
When I was small -- and even during gymnastics when I had to carbo-load and be careful about protein and sugar balance -- I never had issues with food cravings. That was an adult-onset thing. Alternatively, it could have been a Prednisone-induced phenomenon. Although it's well known that part of Prednisone Mania can include enhanced sweet tooth and weird food cravings during regimen, there seems to be no accessible record of either long term effects of these sort. Then again, I haven't looked very scrupulously...
That I [and my medical journal of poo's and drugs] can recall, I started to have food cravings beginning after my first encounter with Prednisone when I was 16 (notice that I categorize 16 as "adult-onset"). Since then, I've only ever not had some degree of craving when I was nauseous. Usually this is just a sweet tooth, but in my later years it has become refined to sushi, curries and Teriyaki chicken burgers*. I have also expatiated on my inability to ignore food after a run to the grocery store, when the fridge and cupboards are replenished with veritable goodness.
In the past month, however, my cravings have subsided -- even in the [natural or coffee-induced] absence of nausea! This is very uncharacteristic and, so far as I can surmise, unprovoked. Am I just getting old? Am I evolving from a stress-eater to a stress-starver?
*as an aside, why doesn't Google know how to spell Teriyaki?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
in which Remicade is a Mercedes Convertible, and I decipher Russo-English science
It has finally happened. I -- organizational and scheduling fanatic -- have missed an infusion. By two weeks. How did this happen?, you may ask. I'll tell you.
I rescheduled my infusion to be two days after I met with Dr. GI, so that if we decided to scrap the Remicade and move on to "sexier cars" (his words), I would have drug-free buffer room to start immediately. In fact, what happened was that when the nurse rescheduled me, she in fact neglected to reschedule me. So my appointment came and went, as did my alleged infusion date, and I called the clinic to see why they had no appointment for me. "You were a no-show on the 14th," is what I was told. "But I rescheduled for the 27th of May, I just did not receive a reminder from Epic as I typically do and so I have not yet been infused -- I must not have been rescheduled" I retorted. "Oops," the nurse replied, not at all withdrawing the reprimand from her previous remark, mind you.
Not all that exciting a story, really, but I wanted to get your hopes up. The recent increase in Throughput over the past two weeks may be in part because I am overdue for my drugging. Dr. GI was firm in his conclusion that it is not because I've increased my veggie intake. My miniature experiment wherein I ate only crackers/rice/broth for a day and produced a 50% decrease in Throughput the following 24 hr period was noted. The 50% reduction did not convince him. And since I've been buffering all my veggies with fluffy carby foods over the last week with no Throughput let-up, I am beginning to side with him. It is possible that my notably increased nausea and dependence on Percocet to survive the evenings are weighing in.
So... I'm taking my Remi from the 8- to the 6-week interval -- perhaps the 4 -- and if in the coming two months I do not see improvement, I will concede to move on to "sexier cars". For now, I will deliberate between Humira (the Benz), Imuran (the Lexus) or LDN (the Prius). I refrained from challenging Dr. GI as to whether Imuran was a Lexus or, in fact, an Astin Martin.
Meanwhile, in my small corner of the world of science, I am reviewing my first manuscript as a Peer. It has been translated from Russian, and while the findings are very exciting, the syntax, run-on sentences and hugely neglected Methodology section have been problematic for my novice brain. I spent 6 hours on Sunday trying to get through this thing (during this same period, my boss pummeled through a 140 pg dissertation... pwned).
Something I am gleaning from my meager experience in reviewing and being reviewed is that reviewers tend to hope that you cite them in your work. Often, when we (my lab) produce(s) manuscripts, we request reviewers whose work we cite in the present work. The Russian paper from this weekend didn't cite any of our work anywhere, which was not really offensive so much as remarkable because their findings were so intertwined with ours, and supported by some of our previous publications. They did not defend discrepancies between their data and that of other studies which they did cite (which was a weird door to leave open), nor did they speculate on the correlations within their own data set (also odd). It is a very different experience to read a submitted manuscript than a published article. I think I like it...
I rescheduled my infusion to be two days after I met with Dr. GI, so that if we decided to scrap the Remicade and move on to "sexier cars" (his words), I would have drug-free buffer room to start immediately. In fact, what happened was that when the nurse rescheduled me, she in fact neglected to reschedule me. So my appointment came and went, as did my alleged infusion date, and I called the clinic to see why they had no appointment for me. "You were a no-show on the 14th," is what I was told. "But I rescheduled for the 27th of May, I just did not receive a reminder from Epic as I typically do and so I have not yet been infused -- I must not have been rescheduled" I retorted. "Oops," the nurse replied, not at all withdrawing the reprimand from her previous remark, mind you.
Not all that exciting a story, really, but I wanted to get your hopes up. The recent increase in Throughput over the past two weeks may be in part because I am overdue for my drugging. Dr. GI was firm in his conclusion that it is not because I've increased my veggie intake. My miniature experiment wherein I ate only crackers/rice/broth for a day and produced a 50% decrease in Throughput the following 24 hr period was noted. The 50% reduction did not convince him. And since I've been buffering all my veggies with fluffy carby foods over the last week with no Throughput let-up, I am beginning to side with him. It is possible that my notably increased nausea and dependence on Percocet to survive the evenings are weighing in.
So... I'm taking my Remi from the 8- to the 6-week interval -- perhaps the 4 -- and if in the coming two months I do not see improvement, I will concede to move on to "sexier cars". For now, I will deliberate between Humira (the Benz), Imuran (the Lexus) or LDN (the Prius). I refrained from challenging Dr. GI as to whether Imuran was a Lexus or, in fact, an Astin Martin.
Meanwhile, in my small corner of the world of science, I am reviewing my first manuscript as a Peer. It has been translated from Russian, and while the findings are very exciting, the syntax, run-on sentences and hugely neglected Methodology section have been problematic for my novice brain. I spent 6 hours on Sunday trying to get through this thing (during this same period, my boss pummeled through a 140 pg dissertation... pwned).
Something I am gleaning from my meager experience in reviewing and being reviewed is that reviewers tend to hope that you cite them in your work. Often, when we (my lab) produce(s) manuscripts, we request reviewers whose work we cite in the present work. The Russian paper from this weekend didn't cite any of our work anywhere, which was not really offensive so much as remarkable because their findings were so intertwined with ours, and supported by some of our previous publications. They did not defend discrepancies between their data and that of other studies which they did cite (which was a weird door to leave open), nor did they speculate on the correlations within their own data set (also odd). It is a very different experience to read a submitted manuscript than a published article. I think I like it...
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Food of the Day: i drink coffee for my liver
I have trouble justifying my typical 2-4 cups of coffee a week. No matter how diluted with rice milk, whether regular or decaf, there is no denying the less-than-ideal effect of the acids on my tummeh.
However, my average 36 oz of coffee a week has other benefits.
First of all, it magically suppresses nausea. Secondly, it helps me to stave off hepatic cancer and chronic liver disease (Johnson et al 2011*). And as anyone who has ever taken steroids or 6MP or been on chemo/biologic therapy knows, this is a handy dandy organ. Specifically, Dr. Johnson and colleagues report that of their coffee-drinking cohort participants, those who drank 3+ cups of coffee per day on average had a 44% reduced risk of develpping hepatocellular carcinoma compared to those who never drank coffee. As clinical studies go, 44% is a pretty big deal.
There are other reasons to drink coffee, such as its recent implication in protecting against prostate cancer, and the age-old [read: 6-year old] claim that coffee can protect lymphocytes from toxin-induced DNA damage (Steinkellner et al 2005; Bichler et al 2007). Suffice to say, there is ample support for moderate coffee consumption.
Folks, I needed an excuse to get my French roast fix. Or Brazillian roast, or fair trade Guatemalan... really, it's whatever is being served at Journal Club.
* Johnson S, Koh WP, Wang R, Govindarajan S, Yu MC, & Yuan JM (2011). Coffee consumption and reduced risk of hepatocellular carcinoma: findings from the Singapore Chinese Health Study. Cancer causes & control : CCC, 22 (3), 503-10 PMID: 21258859
However, my average 36 oz of coffee a week has other benefits.
First of all, it magically suppresses nausea. Secondly, it helps me to stave off hepatic cancer and chronic liver disease (Johnson et al 2011*). And as anyone who has ever taken steroids or 6MP or been on chemo/biologic therapy knows, this is a handy dandy organ. Specifically, Dr. Johnson and colleagues report that of their coffee-drinking cohort participants, those who drank 3+ cups of coffee per day on average had a 44% reduced risk of develpping hepatocellular carcinoma compared to those who never drank coffee. As clinical studies go, 44% is a pretty big deal.
There are other reasons to drink coffee, such as its recent implication in protecting against prostate cancer, and the age-old [read: 6-year old] claim that coffee can protect lymphocytes from toxin-induced DNA damage (Steinkellner et al 2005; Bichler et al 2007). Suffice to say, there is ample support for moderate coffee consumption.
Folks, I needed an excuse to get my French roast fix. Or Brazillian roast, or fair trade Guatemalan... really, it's whatever is being served at Journal Club.
* Johnson S, Koh WP, Wang R, Govindarajan S, Yu MC, & Yuan JM (2011). Coffee consumption and reduced risk of hepatocellular carcinoma: findings from the Singapore Chinese Health Study. Cancer causes & control : CCC, 22 (3), 503-10 PMID: 21258859
Friday, April 22, 2011
I am the Entertainer
I luvs nausea-free mornings. I luvs them.
Today is Behavior Day, which marks the highly anticipated culmination of five weeks of therapy for my most venerable participants. It also means that for the next ten hours, I will sit down perhaps once, juggle a protein assay whilst crunching data between behavioral tests, and probably not eat until supper. I might even present said data to my boss before attempting to toss together an abstract to submit to SfN 2011 before the deadline in two weeks. Maybe.
And I will most definitely be checking in on Wiley to see if my most recent manuscript re-submission has been accepted.
One must take advantage of days like this.
Today is Behavior Day, which marks the highly anticipated culmination of five weeks of therapy for my most venerable participants. It also means that for the next ten hours, I will sit down perhaps once, juggle a protein assay whilst crunching data between behavioral tests, and probably not eat until supper. I might even present said data to my boss before attempting to toss together an abstract to submit to SfN 2011 before the deadline in two weeks. Maybe.
And I will most definitely be checking in on Wiley to see if my most recent manuscript re-submission has been accepted.
One must take advantage of days like this.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Spring
Spring has sprung. It is still mostly gray, rainy and often sleety. It is still invariably no more than 55 degrees at the warmest parts of the day. But... the ants are out. A sure sign of Spring.
I am grateful that our bug infestations in the PNW exclude scorpions, bed bugs and brown recluses. However, I can't bring myself to be at peace with waking up on the couch to a horde of ants crawling up my afghan and in my hair.
Neither can I abide waking up in the morning and coming downstairs to a kitchen that seems to be alive with an entire anthill. Not a crumb of food or dirty dish to be seen, mind you. The entire counter space, stove top and empty sink were crawling. (and it is of note that the fruitbowl on said counter space that held two ripe bananas was devoid of any Hymenoptera).
Thank goodness that Sunday is Adventure Day. We wiped out the horde, hopped in the car and headed north. Lego store, bit of hiking, and Phở. Standard. Phở is always good for H.K.'s sinuses and my nausea. The exercise is not so much, although as I think I've mentioned, that will hardly stop me. The nausea is settling into its Springtime routine; it swells after I've eaten [anything], when I have forgotten to eat [anything] for more than five hours, and is exacerbated when my sinuses flare. Bring it on -- I'm armed with Phở, Netti Pot, five kinds of nasal spray and even more variations of antihistamine.
We arrived home to find that the counter tops had been resurfaced with a fledgling ant colony 1/3 the size of what we encountered this morning.
I am grateful that our bug infestations in the PNW exclude scorpions, bed bugs and brown recluses. However, I can't bring myself to be at peace with waking up on the couch to a horde of ants crawling up my afghan and in my hair.
Neither can I abide waking up in the morning and coming downstairs to a kitchen that seems to be alive with an entire anthill. Not a crumb of food or dirty dish to be seen, mind you. The entire counter space, stove top and empty sink were crawling. (and it is of note that the fruitbowl on said counter space that held two ripe bananas was devoid of any Hymenoptera).
Thank goodness that Sunday is Adventure Day. We wiped out the horde, hopped in the car and headed north. Lego store, bit of hiking, and Phở. Standard. Phở is always good for H.K.'s sinuses and my nausea. The exercise is not so much, although as I think I've mentioned, that will hardly stop me. The nausea is settling into its Springtime routine; it swells after I've eaten [anything], when I have forgotten to eat [anything] for more than five hours, and is exacerbated when my sinuses flare. Bring it on -- I'm armed with Phở, Netti Pot, five kinds of nasal spray and even more variations of antihistamine.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
in which ambition is met with not so positive reinforcement
The PNW continues to sweep the skies with both effulgent blue and hail. And it makes me think I have special powers or some such chimerical baloney. This afternoon, feeling especially accomplished after a long day, I came home and ran. And felt great about it. And lasted for a whole 2 miles. And then collapsed on the couch like a dead tree. A repulsive dead tree untouched even by organisms of decay, and with a coelom full of turbulent sea water that has no business being there. Nausea, heartburn, colon spasm; the whole gang came to partay. I can't even keep tea down right now, but at least my fatigue feels warranted. I may not eat for a day or so after this one.
Why is it that I am most motivated to exercise, or run errands or do chores when I feel [physically] most miserable? It's almost as if when comfort sets in I'm perfectly happy to just sit back and enjoy it. Then, when the rotten feelings come I feel an extra push to run myself into the ground in order to beat them at their own game. Except most of the time I don't feel better for it afterward. Or maybe the ambition is just a side effect of the sunshine... In any case, despite this [not so] positive reinforcement that now has me desperately pinned to the hard, flat, motionless couch cushions, somehow I don't think I'll be deterred from running again tomorrow afternoon unless an icy storm hits.
Why is it that I am most motivated to exercise, or run errands or do chores when I feel [physically] most miserable? It's almost as if when comfort sets in I'm perfectly happy to just sit back and enjoy it. Then, when the rotten feelings come I feel an extra push to run myself into the ground in order to beat them at their own game. Except most of the time I don't feel better for it afterward. Or maybe the ambition is just a side effect of the sunshine... In any case, despite this [not so] positive reinforcement that now has me desperately pinned to the hard, flat, motionless couch cushions, somehow I don't think I'll be deterred from running again tomorrow afternoon unless an icy storm hits.
Monday, April 11, 2011
blue skies, hail, nausea and wine
Monday mornings never sink me like they do many people in my midst. Usually, I'm excited to begin whatever needs beginning on Mondays. This morning has not been my average Monday.
It's beautiful outside, with a classically PNW combination of blue skies and hail. It's very fitting with my acid jazz and manuscript-writing ambiance. What doesn't fit is this biting maelstrom of nausea and acid reflux that I've had since last week (boosted, indubitably, by Boardgame Night's over-the-top partaking of 4 glasses of wine Saturday evening.. oops).
The manuscript is in the "accepted pending revisions" phase, as I choose to interpret it. So in a mish-mosh of protein analysis, scoping and drug administration, I'm finalizing my fourth first author paper. It's not that I don't enjoy this kind of day, sans the physical irritations, but I want nothing more than to sit at home in my calmly lit reading chair with a huge pot of tea and my book about George, Nicholas and Wilhelm and the events leading up to WWI, pop a promethazine and wait for sleep to catch me before emesis does.
But I will resubmit this manuscript first.
It's a Moondog kind of day.
It's beautiful outside, with a classically PNW combination of blue skies and hail. It's very fitting with my acid jazz and manuscript-writing ambiance. What doesn't fit is this biting maelstrom of nausea and acid reflux that I've had since last week (boosted, indubitably, by Boardgame Night's over-the-top partaking of 4 glasses of wine Saturday evening.. oops).
The manuscript is in the "accepted pending revisions" phase, as I choose to interpret it. So in a mish-mosh of protein analysis, scoping and drug administration, I'm finalizing my fourth first author paper. It's not that I don't enjoy this kind of day, sans the physical irritations, but I want nothing more than to sit at home in my calmly lit reading chair with a huge pot of tea and my book about George, Nicholas and Wilhelm and the events leading up to WWI, pop a promethazine and wait for sleep to catch me before emesis does.
But I will resubmit this manuscript first.
It's a Moondog kind of day.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Remicade, and other stories
In a striking turn of events, I feel like a bag of bones today. A very nauseous, very tired, ever so slightly irritable bag of bones.
My umpteenth Remicade infusion was Saturday, and I left the hospital feeling ill, which typically does not happen. Full disclosure; I did enter the infusion clinic preemptively concerned about having developed Remicadibodies and having an allergic reaction. This manifestation stemmed from my sort-of-recent hyper-allergenic condition (read: psoriasis, dermatitis, new mouse allergies, hives). While there was no immediate reaction to be seen -- bummer -- I did not feel well for hours afterward. In fact, I did not feel well for any part of Sunday either. And, in case reiteration is necessary, I do not feel well today.
It is highly unlikely that this is more attributable to Remicade than to the gluttonous amounts of [cooked] leafy greens I've been eating of late. I would even stretch to suggest it might be a result of the increased carb-heavy (read: salty, sugary, processed) foods whose ingestion I have defended on the basis of not being able to chew anything with much of a texture (potentially making the leafy greens an even more obvious culprit). Thanks to Remicade, I'm not in very much pain, but those manifold side effects are aggregating.
And yet, this bag of bones was here at work promptly at 7am processing tissue samples and simultaneously probing nitrocellulose membranes. This means I have what it takes to survive six years of this work load ten fold in graduate school, yes?..
My umpteenth Remicade infusion was Saturday, and I left the hospital feeling ill, which typically does not happen. Full disclosure; I did enter the infusion clinic preemptively concerned about having developed Remicadibodies and having an allergic reaction. This manifestation stemmed from my sort-of-recent hyper-allergenic condition (read: psoriasis, dermatitis, new mouse allergies, hives). While there was no immediate reaction to be seen -- bummer -- I did not feel well for hours afterward. In fact, I did not feel well for any part of Sunday either. And, in case reiteration is necessary, I do not feel well today.
It is highly unlikely that this is more attributable to Remicade than to the gluttonous amounts of [cooked] leafy greens I've been eating of late. I would even stretch to suggest it might be a result of the increased carb-heavy (read: salty, sugary, processed) foods whose ingestion I have defended on the basis of not being able to chew anything with much of a texture (potentially making the leafy greens an even more obvious culprit). Thanks to Remicade, I'm not in very much pain, but those manifold side effects are aggregating.
And yet, this bag of bones was here at work promptly at 7am processing tissue samples and simultaneously probing nitrocellulose membranes. This means I have what it takes to survive six years of this work load ten fold in graduate school, yes?..
Friday, March 18, 2011
cry of the neglected tummeh
Alright, I can take a hint.
I've been far too stressed, eating too many salts and sugars, indulged in a little more wine than I should. Or, I have a stomach virus. The fatigue, nausea and pain are indicative of either.
For the second day in a row, my gut is calling out for attention. "Drug me! Heat me! Love me!" I'm not a thrilled. But I totally deserve it. Perhaps its also calling, "Slow down!"...
I'll give it another day or two before I implement Prednisone or Promethazine.
I've been far too stressed, eating too many salts and sugars, indulged in a little more wine than I should. Or, I have a stomach virus. The fatigue, nausea and pain are indicative of either.
For the second day in a row, my gut is calling out for attention. "Drug me! Heat me! Love me!" I'm not a thrilled. But I totally deserve it. Perhaps its also calling, "Slow down!"...
I'll give it another day or two before I implement Prednisone or Promethazine.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
in which i grow tired
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 27, 2010
the besting of Hell Month
August was wretched. Full of deadlines and uncertainties, and brimming with uncontrollable outcomes -- many of them broken or bad. August was Hell Month. And what's worse: Hell Month so viciously consuming the soul of your humble narrator, there was no relief to be had (not that there were not opportunities; there were plenty begging for attention, but despair would not yield). Poor H.K. knowing not what to do with the sack of melancholic potato that had replaced his wife, did his very utmost to provide rejuvenating intervention. How he survived, I will never know. 'Patient' doesn't begin to do him justice.
September. We both held out for September. That beautiful transitional month where all students withdrew to their various institutions of edification. When all manuscripts would be submitted, new projects begun and peaceful nights at home would ensue. September failed me, and with manuscript rejections compounding the anxiety over That Test and the extemporaneous decision to apply for a massively competitive grant, I wobbled, and then collapsed.
But as September closes, Hell Month Part II is daring to show only its last fading embers. There are still projects, manuscripts, grant writing and applications, but these are what I live for. Well, I mostly live for H.K., but secondarily I live for science. With That Test out of the way, 99% of my burden is alleviated, and the rest is more than manageable. In fact, there is even time for Experimental Cooking and playing outside. And so it would seem that Hell Month has finally been bested.
This is Toby. Toby resides above the shrub adjacent to our front door, and has greeted us every morning and evening with his magnificently large web, which is consistently inhabited by some poor large insect about to be devoured by this disconcertingly large spider.
Currently, there is only the growing nausea and this four-month drawn out allergy disaster to hold me back -- and they are weak contenders if ever there were any. Remicade has given my immune system a startle, and it did not remember how to handle allergens when they came about this season. Since June, I have had a nasal exoskeleton and a nasal cavity effervescent with green mucous. For two weeks, I even developed an aversion to mice (a career-ending obstacle if permanent; please appreciate the potential gravity). The most recent diagnosis last week was "you clearly do not have an infection, so take everything together, and if it still doesn't work we'll give you an allergy shot!" Brilliant. To clarify, three weeks of Allegra, Sudafed, Flonase and sinus irrigation (otherwise known as drowning without involving the lungs) should do the trick. In theory, I should be sleeping again, not nauseous and not having post-void residual problems like a man who just underwent prostate surgery. We're a third of the way there, folks (because I am now sleeping from 11pm-5am!)! (!)
This evening: my attempt at Falafel Waffles. Though a half-failure, my chickpea-lima-chive concoction was also half delicious. It was very dry and crumbly, but would have been oh-so delicious with the appropriate sauce. Inevitably, no matter how crucial to the recipe, I forget about the sauce.
Falafel were meant to be deep-fried balls of internal soft moistness, and had I tossed them in a vat of boiling oil, they may have been just that. Although I followed Lisa's recipe to the last detail (excepting the cilantro and parsley... and the sauce), I could not make them puff in the soft way that Black Bean Cakes or Polenta do. I'll get you next time, Fawaffle... NEXT TIME!
September. We both held out for September. That beautiful transitional month where all students withdrew to their various institutions of edification. When all manuscripts would be submitted, new projects begun and peaceful nights at home would ensue. September failed me, and with manuscript rejections compounding the anxiety over That Test and the extemporaneous decision to apply for a massively competitive grant, I wobbled, and then collapsed.
But as September closes, Hell Month Part II is daring to show only its last fading embers. There are still projects, manuscripts, grant writing and applications, but these are what I live for. Well, I mostly live for H.K., but secondarily I live for science. With That Test out of the way, 99% of my burden is alleviated, and the rest is more than manageable. In fact, there is even time for Experimental Cooking and playing outside. And so it would seem that Hell Month has finally been bested.
This is Toby snacking on a giant grasshopper.
Currently, there is only the growing nausea and this four-month drawn out allergy disaster to hold me back -- and they are weak contenders if ever there were any. Remicade has given my immune system a startle, and it did not remember how to handle allergens when they came about this season. Since June, I have had a nasal exoskeleton and a nasal cavity effervescent with green mucous. For two weeks, I even developed an aversion to mice (a career-ending obstacle if permanent; please appreciate the potential gravity). The most recent diagnosis last week was "you clearly do not have an infection, so take everything together, and if it still doesn't work we'll give you an allergy shot!" Brilliant. To clarify, three weeks of Allegra, Sudafed, Flonase and sinus irrigation (otherwise known as drowning without involving the lungs) should do the trick. In theory, I should be sleeping again, not nauseous and not having post-void residual problems like a man who just underwent prostate surgery. We're a third of the way there, folks (because I am now sleeping from 11pm-5am!)! (!)
This evening: my attempt at Falafel Waffles. Though a half-failure, my chickpea-lima-chive concoction was also half delicious. It was very dry and crumbly, but would have been oh-so delicious with the appropriate sauce. Inevitably, no matter how crucial to the recipe, I forget about the sauce.
You can already tell how dry...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)