Tag: Disability


Hostile (Group) Takeover

14
June

There’s a new person in group. And she has really changed things up for the group. Or she did for this last session. She decided that the only person who could be discussed during the session is her. We got to hear about her past, many times. We got to hear about her living situation, many times. And we got to hear how every person who she ever talks to sees her as a victim who can get away with whatever she’s done because of her past. She wasn’t just talking about her family with that. Apparently, even the State DHR thinks that it’s all cool that she hit her own kid because she’s a good person and she has PTSD. And she was apparently told that her illness is the second worst mental illness in the world, only behind schizophrenia, so she deserves all the cookies and gold stars.

I wanted to scream, “For fuck’s sake, girl. We’ve all got shit going on that sucks. You’re not the most special snowflake at this party.” Of course, I’ve heard the histories of the other members of the group. (Even if I don’t pay attention to the therapy part, I do try to pay attention when the other patients are talking.)

Before anyone says that I’m being unfeeling or cruel about this girl and her pain, I will point out that her entire pity party/sob story time was not done in a pity party/sob story tone. It was done in a bragging tone. If we tried to get off the topic of her sorrow-filled life, it wouldn’t be long before she maneuvered the whole session back onto her. I know that she’s new to the group and she wants us to be familiar with her, but you don’t just take over group therapy. It’s just not proper group therapy etiquette. Group is about the group and the problems that impact all of the members of the group, it isn’t about a single member. Sorry, it’s just not.

And her comment about DHR? That’s utter bullshit. DHR is a state agency, filled with a lot of underpaid and overworked social workers who are about ten seconds away from quitting their jobs and going back to school for a different degree, so that they can have another career. And while someone at the agency may have taken pity on her situation, they would not have patted her on the head and told her that her past made it okay to hit her kid. They wouldn’t make excuses for her behavior. Social workers aren’t like that. I’ve met some people with sadder stories than her who have had their parental rights terminated even after DHR knew about their pasts; and sometimes they were terminated, in part, due to their pasts.

As for her claim that a therapist told her PTSD is more serious than any other mental health problem, except schizophrenia, I highly doubt that any therapist ever said that. Therapists don’t generally try to pit one psychiatric ailment against another. Admittedly, we all know that schizophrenia is the überscary, but therapists get very hostile if you try to make a competition about which problem is the baddest of them all. This is typically when they go into their speech about how mental illness is a very individualized thing, and that one person may not struggle with their bipolar disorder as another person with that same disorder or with any other disorder. Every person’s mind is different. Every person’s experience is different. And therapists are not shy about reminding their patients of that.

Oh, and she seems to think she’s morally superior to everyone else. Honestly, it feels like a narcissist has taken over the group. It’s just all fucked up. Maybe next time, she won’t be there or she’ll get her ego in check. Otherwise, I’m going to have to figure out a better way to zone out so that the borderline in me doesn’t smack the shit out of this girl.

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Review: Dead Ever After

2
June

Dead Ever After (Sookie Stackhouse, #13)Dead Ever After by Charlaine Harris

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

I cannot express how glad I am that this series that I once loved is now finished. I’m not sure why the series had to decline so sharply in quality over the last few books, but it did. And with this last book, it continued that decline. No, it didn’t continue that decline; it jumped off a cliff and sank to the very bottom of the ocean in quality. It wasn’t just a little bad. It was horrible. It was awful. It was a cross between mind-numbingly bad and just plain torturous.

I know that some have been quick to say that the backlash related to this book has to do with who people ‘shipped Sookie with. Even though I’m a Sooric (Sookie/Eric shipper), I can honestly say that that has nothing to do with my distaste for this book. And I’m a bit perturbed that people think that upset fans are really that shallow. I would have been fine with her ending up with just about anyone in the franchise, as long as there was a proper build-up to the relationship. And even if it ended with a sudden relationship, like it did, I wouldn’t have dismissed the book as being bad just for that.

No, the reasons that this book sucks are a bit more complex than that.

1.) For the first nine books, Sookie had a definitive voice. She was likable. She was funny. She wasn’t always the brightest or least-self involved character in the world, but she wasn’t the most shallow and she wasn’t horribly rude. At some point in the tenth book, this changed. Sookie became more hateful. She became more judgmental. She became obsessed with the most idiotic things. She became a character that disgusted me. By the time I finished this book, I felt like I had been reading from the perspective of the villain for the last 13 books. She was just rude, bigoted, and selfish. She tried to make it seem like she was a good person, but it was quite clear in her attitude and dismissal of certain characters (and their species’ in general) that she was just as bad, if not worse, than the antagonists. Oh, and she wasn’t just judgmental of bad guys. No, she even judged Tara for still being two sizes bigger than she was pre-pregnancy. She just had twins and Sookie is judging her for not bouncing back quick enough. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Oh, and everything that Eric does in this book is somehow wrong. He comes to Sookie’s house to tell her that he still cares for her and is leaving someone outside to protect her since he can’t, and she gets pissed. He bails her out of jail, she gets pissed. He wants to keep her in his (un)life, she gets pissed. He agrees to being away from Pam and Karin for a longer period of time to keep her protected, she gets pissed. He makes it so that she can’t be hurt by any vampire ever, she gets pissed. She is just so pissy in this book.

2.) For a character who has been sexually assaulted and a writer who has as well, the lack of compassion for Eric being sold into sex slavery with his marriage to Freyda was appalling. (His being forced to have sex with Freyda is described as a cushy benefit of his job.) What was also appalling is that even after Bill attempted to rape Sookie in Club Dead and after finding out that their whole relationship was built on him using her, meaning that any sex that she consented to was consented to under false pretenses and was, therefore, akin to rape, Sookie is still attracted to him. She describes his kissing like it’s magical and wonderful. She lets him in her house whenever he wants. She doesn’t care that he brings along a character in the beginning of the book that is actually out to possibly impune her character. She gets all googly eyed when he’s around. If she can so easily dismiss Eric for being a vampire and therefore soulless, evil, etc., then why can’t she do that with Bill? Why is he immune to her bigotry?

3.) At one point, Sookie says that she doesn’t think that her relationship with Eric was meant to be because he wanted to save it using the cluviel dor. She doesn’t think magic should be used to save or create a relationship. She then turns around and hooks up with her “HEA” because the has opened his eyes to the fact that he wants to have a relationship (with wild seal sex) with her. If magic can doom her relationship with Eric, why can’t it doom the relationship with Sam? Because, technically, the only reason for their hookup is that she used magic.

4.) For twelve books, Sookie was the sole narrator. For twelve mysteries, we only knew what was happening in the story based on what Sookie knew. For twelve books, that format was good enough for all involved. Why, in the thirteenth and final book, do we have to go from first person (Sookie) to third person? It was annoying. It made it harder to read. And it just seemed lazy.

5.) Speaking of laziness, there were times when it seemed like CH just half-assed her way through chapters and scenes. Either we were being told every single mundane thing that some random character was doing, or we would get one or two sentences that seemed more like they were part of an outline for the story. It was annoying and I can’t believe that someone along the way didn’t pick up on how bad that made it look. Of course, there were other editing issues with this book, so I’m wondering if maybe the editor just ignored all the issues that were going on in the book.

6.) When Tyrese is given HIV as part of a Faustian deal (on page 17), I got a bit pissed. Using an illness as a punishment for someone selling their soul is just wrong on so many levels. It makes it seem like it is okay to say that anyone who ends up with a disease, especially a deadly disease, is somehow responsible for ending up with that disease. It makes it seem like diseases are punishments from a supernatural force. Equating the cause for having a disability with selling your soul/sinful behavior? It is offensive. Absolutely offensive.

7.) The character interactions were off. The whole story lacked flow, but the character interactions were some of the worst. It was almost like watching a student film where no one in the film actually knows how to act. Basically, reading the interactions was like watching a trainwreck…in slow motion.

8.) Speaking of the characters, was it really necessary to have so many of the less-important characters from past books in this particular book. Did we really need Barry and Quinn and Mr. C and Diantha and Amelia and Bob and Copley and Johan and on and on and on? I know that Charlaine probably wanted to have Sookie have this one last battle with all her friends and enemies, but it wasn’t really necessary. Sometimes less is actually more, especially when it comes to ending a series. It just seemed like overkill.

I didn’t enjoy this book. I can’t imagine anyone who has been a fan of the series enjoying it. I can’t even imagine non-fans enjoying it. If there were a way to give it an even more negative rating, I would because it deserves it. This book was nothing but a waste of time. It makes the whole series, a series that I used to enjoy, seem like a gigantic waste of time. Avoid this book if you can. Even if–no especially if–you loved the series.

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Soon Night Will Come, Quieting the Sun

18
May

I haven’t felt well lately. (Big shocker there.) This is different.  (I always say that.) I was so nauseated yesterday and the day before and my muscles were so stiff that I didn’t really want to do much of anything besides sleep. Actually, my muscles have been stiff a lot lately. I guess it’s the fibromyalgia acting up. Either that or the weather. Who knows? Well, I’ve been sort of walking around in a bit of a daze for a few days and feeling pretty much like shit. I’m still reading books like crazy. For some odd reason, I can pay attention to that. I can’t really focus on much else, though.

On Wednesday and Thursday, I had to “babysit” for Amy. Mom had to go to the doctor yesterday (Thursday) because she thinks one of her medicines is causing the rhabdomyolysis to come back. She may have been right. The family doctor ordered some tests, including one that measured her creatinine. Apparently, in the short time that has passed between her visit to the nephrologist and yesterday’s labs, her creatinine level has gone up. That isn’t a good thing, especially for someone who has kidney failure going on already. The doctor said that if the rest of the kidney function tests come back with poor results that mom will be referred back to her nephrologist for further care–even though mom is never really out of his care. (A good deal of the time, her other doctors have to consult with him before they can try new medications for her, just in case the drug might make her kidneys get worse. Some doctors don’t really enjoy the whole playing with others thing, which is usually what leads to badness.) So, we’ll probably find out next week what the next course of action is for her.

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Once More With Even Less Feeling

2
May

Yesterday, I couldn’t wait for the results of the biopsies to talk about what had gone on last week at the colonoscopy/upper endoscopy. Today, at around noon, I got a call about the results. They came back normal. At this point, I’m not surprised. It seems that the more I want answers, the less likely they seem to come. I know that is just a coincidence, but it is a very frustrating coincidence.

Mom had her recheck with the kidney doctor today. Her kidneys are continuing to get better from their failing state from last year. She’s still in kidney failure, but it is still improving. That’s a good thing. The only bad news that she really had from the doctor was that her potassium level was too high. She was told last year that she needed to watch out on the potassium, but it wasn’t as important to keep a watch on as her sodium consumption. She’s cut the sodium out quite a bit, but she started eating more and more potassium laden food (sweet potatoes, okra, etc.) and now she’s got to figure out how to cut back on that. She whined some today about how there won’t be any food left that she can eat once she adds low potassium into her low sodium diet. If she would lower her sugar intake, like she is supposed to, I might think that she was being a bit less over-dramatic about that comment.

Tomorrow I finally get to see my psychiatrist. I’m almost tempted to beg her to put me in the hospital so that I can get away from my mom’s whining (which can sometime turn into extreme bitchiness) and my dad’s whining (which usually turns into rage/anger). Honestly, their moods are not helping my mood. Part of the time I just keep my mouth shut and try to become invisible so that their attitudes don’t end up messing with my own, but it doesn’t seem to be working. With each whining, ranting moment, I end up getting more and more stressed out, which makes me more and more depressed. And when I say that their moods have made me feel, at times, like killing myself, I can stress that I am not being over-dramatic about that. (Their moods tend to bring up their somewhat suppressed feelings about me [i.e. that they think I'm lazy, rude, and a lifelong screw-up], which end up reminding me of everything that ever made me feel like shit in my life, triggering my lack of self-esteem and wacky, masochistic brain to think that the only good thing that I could ever do in this world is end my life.) So, yeah, going to the hospital might be the only thing that keeps me from going off the deep end from their moodiness. Of course, I won’t do it because I still have issues related to psych hospitals from the whole 2001 experience–ranging from the way I was treated there (being laughed at when I cried) to my mom’s suicide attempt after being contacted from the billing office at the hospital about my stay.

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I Don’t Wanna Wait

1
May

I was going to wait until the biopsy results came back to post an official post-colonoscopy blog entry, but they can take between 7 and 10 days to come back. It’s been six and my patience is clearly wearing thing. So I’ll write this entry, then if I find out that the results say anything, I’ll write another entry about that.

Everyone said that taking the prep was the worst part, and it was extremely nasty stuff. (Basically, it tasted like lemon dishwashing soap.) I don’t know if it was the worst part. It started working almost immediately, and everything was cleared out after two 8oz. cups of the stuff, but I had to finish 6 more cups. Anything else I drank came straight through. I almost gagged on the juice before the prep and afterward, I couldn’t stand any sugar in my system at all. Since the juice was hard to get down and I had to stay hydrated, I had to down 32oz. of water every hour that I was awake post-first round of prep. Obviously, since everything was coming through, that didn’t really do a lot of good and I was feeling completely dried out (and pretty weak) before the end of the night.

The next morning, I finished off the prep by 5am, like I was supposed to and got some more water into my system before sitting around and waiting until my dad woke up so that we could go to the hospital. My mom didn’t go because she’d had a procedure (five or six cortisone shots) on her back the day before. After getting checked in at the hospital and going upstairs, I had to check in once again–this time with the endoscopy nurses. They brought out the anesthesia booklet thing that I had to fill out, and I did. Before I was finished, I was called back to answer the same questions that were in the booklet for a nurse. The nurse was nice, so I didn’t mind as much as I probably could have.

After that, she had me change into the gown and socks, and she told me to get some urine so that they could do a pregnancy test. My dehydration made that part impossible. I came out of the bathroom and I told the nurse that I had no success. She said I could try again later, after they got fluids in me–via IV. I knew that that was a long shot and I told her that I was pretty sure that I wasn’t pregnant. Of course, she wondered how that was possible, and I told her that it was a biological impossibility to get knocked up when you have never had sex. This whole virginity thing became the talk of the nurses, anesthesiology folks, and doctors. It wasn’t really kept quiet and became quite the embarrassment. The anesthetist said that some people had sworn they  weren’t pregnant before and “burned” their service when they revealed later that they were and the anesthesia had messed up their kids. I told her I wasn’t lying. I pointed out the D&C/hysteroscopy, that had been clearly marked on my chart, had been done in a hospital and under anesthesia because I have panic attacks and screaming fits whenever anyone comes near that particular region of my body. This led to some problems later when we went over other parts of my history. According to her and to the different nurses, the anesthesiologist who was supposed to run my procedure was a real stickler for the rules and would require a urine test. I almost offered to have them bring a notary public up so that I could swear on some legal document that I was in fact a virgin because I knew the urine test wasn’t gonna happen. The rules-obsessed doctor finally came around and said it was fine to not have the test. I guess he figured that if a 29-year old was willing to have her lack of a sex life examined, ridiculed, laughed about, etc. by a bunch of strangers to get out of taking a pregnancy test that that 29-year old probably wasn’t lying.

Anyway, while that embarrassing escapade was going on, there was a bit of a struggle with trying to find veins for my IV. (I wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a struggle over my veins.) I told them that I was a very hard stick–and I knew it would be more complicated due to the dehydration. One nurse bailed before even trying. (I liked that about her.) She offered to find veins for the other nurses, but when they’d go to check them out, they couldn’t find the ones that she had found. The anesthetist tried first, in my left hand, on the back of it, and it didn’t work. She felt a pop, so she thought she got it, but she didn’t. She even tried digging around to capture the vein, but it kept scooting away. She was a bit frustrated by her failure. Another nurse came around and tried my right arm, about two inches from my elbow, on the inside of the arm. She got a tiny flash and thought it would work, but it didn’t. Finally, the charge nurse for the center came over and got the IV started on the inside of my left arm, right at my wrist, where the bundle of blood vessels are pretty visible. (The last two sticks are still bruised, almost a week later.)

While the anesthetist went over my chart, she criticized my answers on the form. When I marked that I had trouble with anesthesia, she had an issue with that. I guess having your blood pressure drop and having trouble remembering to breathe in post-op aren’t significant enough to be put on her form. She also said it wasn’t important to know that sometimes the anesthetics could make me hyperactive. (I think she changed her opinion on that when I woke up right after the tests–while in the procedure room–and started talking a mile a minute.) I had marked that I do have a rapid/irregular heart rate. I’m pretty sure that a heart rate of 100-160 while I’m doing nothing qualifies as a rapid heart rate. She said I could just have a really fast heartbeat and that that could be normal. I told her that I had seen a cardiologist and he had told me that I had an arrhythmia, but he hadn’t told me specifically what kind. She didn’t believe that any cardiologist would do that. (Well, he did. Actually, his nurse said I had one.) I also told her about the murmur. By this point, she didn’t believe a word I said. She said that my heart was probably fast due to my having “constant panic attacks”–her words, not mine. Yeah, the anxiety can impact my heart rate, but I don’t think anxiety causes murmurs. When the anesthesiologist came in, he asked if I had ever had an EKG. I told him that I had. They got the last EKG that the hospital had done (during the July ER visit for the ant bites/faceplanting) and he kind of mumbled something about it. I didn’t really see the anesthetist again after the EKG debacle until after the procedure was over.

The test went smoothly. They found one polyp, in the upper left area of my colon. It was interesting that they found one there because I had been telling doctors for a while that I had some pretty bad pain in that area. (That may have had nothing to do with the polyp, though.) Because of that polyp, I have to have another colonoscopy in five years. Other than that, he didn’t see anything. He did send off tissue samples from the biopsies of my small and large intestine. He thinks that the diarrhea is a result of dumping syndrome, but I’m not really convinced of that since it predates the gastric bypass surgery.

So now I just have to wait to see if they found anything in those biopsies. It’s gotten to the point with all of these diagnostic tests that I want them to just find out whatever it is and get it over with. I’m tired of having tests done and finding out nothing. If I can know what’s causing me to be so sick, then maybe we can stop it and I can finally start to feel like a regular person.

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Hitting the Fan

24
April

Tomorrow is my endoscopy/colonoscopy double feature procedure. I’m not really worried about it. The only thing that I’m sort of worried about is passing out between now and then from my sugar dropping because of the liquid diet thing. I’ve had two small cups of white grape juice and 1 pineapple-flavored popsicle. I can have clear liquids, as long as they aren’t red, orange, or purple, which eliminates a lot of stuff. I could have some chicken broth, but I learned in 2003 that I truly loathe chicken broth.

I should probably be more worried about things like intracolonic explosions, which is apparently a legitimate risk with a colonoscopy. Honestly, though, if that happens and if I were to survive it, which is also possible, I would think I would laugh. Why? Think of all the jokes that could be told afterward. I mean, it seems like the kind of thing that you could never run out of jokes for–and if you did, then you’re obviously not trying hard enough to make them.

This is seriously the dumbest route that I have EVER seen. To get there from HH Main, you'd actually just go from Gallatin to Governors and drive until you get there. It's about 2-3 minutes max. Or if you don't want to drive, you get in the tram between them, but that takes longer and causes dizziness.

This is seriously the dumbest route that I have EVER seen. To get there (B) from HH Main (A), you’d actually just go from Gallatin to Governors and drive until you get there. It’s about 2-3 minutes max. Or if you don’t want to drive, you get in the tram between them, but that takes longer and causes dizziness. BTW – Every building on that side of Governor’s is part of the hospital complex.

Oh, I do have another thing I’m actually worried about: my veins. Anytime there is any sort of procedure and I have to get stuck, I worry about my veins. I’m not as worried today about them as I was earlier this week, though. Earlier in the week, I thought I was having the procedures done in the endoscopy center at HH Main. When I had my last endoscope there, they basically tortured me trying to get blood. I think that was the day when I got accused of causing my veins to be hard to see and for a couple of them blowing. (Yeah, more than one blew and that was all my fault because I guess they thought I enjoyed that sensation.) The hospital I’ll be at tomorrow is down the block from Main. The nurses at the one I’ll be at typically admit defeat when they can’t get my veins to cooperate. Typically, if they can’t hit them, they actually go and get the anesthesiologist to do it. Generally, I would much rather have an anesthesiologist, a cardiac nurse, or an oncology nurse start an IV on me than a nurse who isn’t used to hard sticks and gets super-nervous about it. (Health care professionals tend to forget that their anxieties can impact their ability to do things like IVs.)

It’ll be my luck that tomorrow W&C‘s Endoscopy Center will have the nurses from the Main Endoscopy center. I think many of the Endoscopy Center nurses end up working out of both buildings. So I guess I shouldn’t feel too relieved…yet.

Okay, I think I need to go find something to eat drink. My blood sugar feels like it is dropping again, and it’s been a little while since I last tried to down some juice. Besides, I start taking the prep in an hour. (Gross.)

Oy.

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A Tale of Two Rose Bushes

19
April

On Wednesday afternoon, I finally got around to calling Dottie to tell her that I had found the only other practice in town that took both the Humana and the Medicaid. (I still think it’s shitty that I had to do her job for her.) This wonderful person, who doesn’t seem to like to do her job, called me back the next morning at 9 (which wouldn’t have been a problem, except I didn’t get to sleep until about 6:30) to ask what I was talking about. I explained again, which led to her saying (again) that I couldn’t just make a doctor do a test I wanted done. FFS, who wants a colonoscopy? I mean, are there people out there that are begging for someone to stick a camera up their ass just for the hell of it? Personally, I would love to be able to go my whole life without this stupid procedure being done, but I apparently need it. So, she then called a few minutes later to tell me that I had an appointment Friday (today) with the partner of the guy that I found. At 9:30.

A 9:30 appointment is fine with me. It’s my dad that doesn’t believe in leaving the house before noon that leads to issues with the whole time thing. He was actually kind of okay with it, though, because he had to have some fasting labs done this week, so he needed to do those relatively early.

After getting the appointment stuff settled, my dad took my mom to the orthopedist (she officially got released) and to have her kidney labs done. (She goes for another check on that next week.) I was left alone with Amy, and I tried to get her to take a nap with me. (I was still seriously sleep deprived when they left, even though I got about 4 more hours of sleep before they left.) Amy wouldn’t calm down, though. It wasn’t her fault because Loretta’s lawn maintenance guys came by and were working on her yard. Then they started working on ours. This time was different, though. This time, instead of doing the grass and weeds, they started cutting some stuff down. One thing was a plum tree, which was totally fine with us. (The plums on it were godawful.)

The thing that wasn’t so fine was that they started cutting down the running rose bush that my grandfather planted a year or two (1994 or 1995) before he died. It wasn’t just any rose bush, either. It was one that was part of two running rose bushes that were at one of my mom’s dad’s dad’s brother’s house. One was red and one was pink. After a few decades of growing side by side, their pollen got a little slutty and the roses turned this kind of ivory rose color.

trees and well
(This picture was taken from Nana’s house. The trees in the distance are at that house. There is still part of the rose bush there.)

Anyway, this rose bush is part of a rose bush that has been in our family for years. It is important to her because of that, and because it was planted by her dad. She adored this rose bush when she was a little girl and it was one of those things that she always wanted to have at her own home one day. She was so happy when it was planted. When she found out that it had been cut down yesterday, while she was gone, she was pissed and heartbroken.

She and my dad told off the yard folks. They said that Loretta told them it was fine to cut it down. (She thought it was something wild. She was very apologetic when she found out.) My parents and I were shocked that they thought it was cool to chop something down in a yard because a neighbor said it was okay. They (the company) thought it was cool because the person paying them was the one who said to cut it down. They didn’t knock on the door. They didn’t do anything to see if the homeowners might want to have a say in what was going on in their yard. I know that they had to see me in the living room. You can see shadows from outside.

I would have gone outside if I thought they were going to cut the bush down completely. I thought that maybe they’d get rid of a dead tree stump in the yard before they’d chop down a rose bush. I mean, it seems like if you were going to get rid of something in the yard, you might go for something that is dead before you go after something alive. And they should have known the difference between a wild plant and a damn rose bush.

Anyway, mom got some of the branches from the bush so that she can root them and start over again. So, hopefully that will work. Still, it is rather annoying.

This morning, I went to the new gastroenterologist. He was really, really nice. He said that they only way to figure out what was going on with my gut was to do a colonoscopy. He’s also going to do another upper endoscopy that day. He said he’ll biopsy part of my small bowel and colon. So, that will be fun. (Sarcasm, obviously…unless your Dottie, then you probably think that I’m jumping up and down over the idea of having parts of vital organs messed with.)  He thinks that it’s still possible that I could have Celiac or IBD, even though I’ve had the blood work that said it was unlikely. He said it could be something else. Cancer is one of the possibilities. So are hemorrhoids. (It’s bad when you start rooting for it to be hemorrhoids.) He also seemed to think it was a bit ridiculous that I’ve had these problems for so long and no one has really taken some of them seriously.

I had my mom go with me this morning because I was so worried that the doctor would be rude or intimidating or something. She didn’t need to, though, because (like I said) he was so very nice.

So I have a camera going up my butt and one going down my throat next Thursday. That kind of sounds like some kind of truly fucked up health care fetish porn. (I’m sure that I’ll get some more kinky people checking this blog out because I mentioned kink, porn, and fetish. And I try so hard not to judge fetishes, but sometimes it is almost impossible not to.) Wish me luck…and for you horny, kinky bastards, I’m sorry that this was a waste of time.

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