Tag: Family


The Likely Cause

12
June

Since shortly after the endoscopy and colonoscopy, I’ve known that there were no significant results from the test. I was a bit disheartened by that fact until yesterday, when I saw my gastroenterologist. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good thing that there wasn’t anything wrong, but I wanted to know what was causing the anemia. Because of yesterday’s visit, I may now have my official answer. It was the gastric bypass surgery, but not in the way you might think.

When you have gastric bypass surgery, the surgeon tells you to expect to take vitamins for the rest of your life due to the whole malabsorption thing. This means that you’re not absorbing enough, but that you still can absorb them. What they don’t tell you is that if they mess up, by just a tiny bit, they can make it impossible for you to absorb certain nutrients forever. Iron gets absorbed in the very beginning of the small intestine. If the surgeon bypasses it at the wrong spot, then the body no longer can absorb oral iron…in any form. This would explain why the pills didn’t work and why the liquid iron didn’t work. This would explain why it didn’t matter when I tried to increase my vitamin C (which helps iron absorption) and when I increased my overall iron-in-food consumption, it didn’t do a damn thing. The gastroenterologist told me that my iron and blood count would definitely need to be monitored 3-4 times a year to see when I would need my next iron infusion. These will definitely be a part of my life…for the rest of my life.

The doctor also said that it is possible that there is still something wrong in the bypassed part of my stomach, but (because of the surgery) it cannot be reached by his instruments. He basically said that to get the answers about if there’s an ulcer or something else in that part of my stomach that I would need to get an appointment with a surgeon to let me know. I think my mom sort of wants me to do that. And it would probably be smart to find out for sure, but I’m not certain that I feel entirely comfortable with the idea of going to a surgeon. Yeah, now I’ve finally gotten a little bit more squeamish than I had been. I’m afraid that seeing a surgeon will lead to some kind of surgery, which, to be quite honest, freaks me the fuck out.

So I guess I need to make the decision whether to be “smart” or to let my squeamish side win.

Oh, and my mom and I had sort of a blowout argument while waiting for the doctor. I made a comment about how I wished I could have individual therapy with Debbie again. She said that I might be able to find a therapist in this area that took both of my insurances, which is very, very unlikely. I tried to explain that it took years for me to trust Debbie enough to work up the courage to want to talk to her about what I want to talk to her about. (I’ve known Debbie since I right after I turned 15, even though she’s only been my therapist for a few years now.) She said that I only wanted to talk to Debbie about it because I “want to take all my toys to Debbie so that she can play with me because” I “know that she can’t play” with me anymore. And, yes, she phrased it exactly like that. She thinks that I want to talk about symptoms and shit related to my diagnoses and, while that might come up, that isn’t true. What I want is to talk about something that has been causing me issues for years. And I want to talk to Debbie because I trust her, because I feel comfortable with her. I want to talk to her because I feel like after over 20 years of therapy, I finally have a therapist that I can actually tell things like this to. And, what my mom doesn’t realize, is that I was planning on discussing this issue with Debbie before the Mental Health Center started requiring group sessions, instead of individual ones. This is an issue that, if I could finally deal with it, might help me with my anxiety, trust, eating, anger, and various other issues. So it’s kind of a big deal to me, and I don’t feel like it’s something I could just blurt out to some random stranger who happens to take my insurance.

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If This Is Torture

28
May

For some unknown reason, people in my family don’t seem to understand that, like them, I need to sleep sometimes. Even though I’m always tired, it takes forever to get my brain to finally shut off enough that I can fall asleep. When I do fall asleep, it doesn’t take much to wake me back up. And once that happens, I have to start the whole process over again. And it seems to compound with every single time that it happens. Sometimes I can deal with it, with a little grumpiness, but after a while, I start wanting to scream at every single person. Actually, screaming is the nicest thing I want to do to people when I’m really exhausted.

This morning, my mom did her usual “early morning dropping of Amy on me while I slept” and went into the kitchen. She hadn’t gotten Amy up during the night to let her go pee. She hadn’t given her long enough to do that this morning. Instead, she dropped Amy onto me and Amy decided that I looked like as good a place as any to pee. I don’t blame Amy for this. I blame myself (for not getting her up myself, in the middle of the night, to pee because I was awake) and I blame my mother. I as much as told my mom this. As I was shucking off my clothes and putting the urine-soaked blanket and clothes in the washer, I told her that I didn’t appreciate only getting two hours of sleep. She told me that I could just go back to sleep once I changed clothes. I pointed out that it wasn’t that easy. I told her that assuming that I got back to sleep, it was going to take at least an hour for that to happen, then my dad would be up in another two hours and he would be making so much noise that I would wake up, then I would just feel even worse.

I did get back to sleep, but it was more like an hour and half later that that happened. Then, I kept waking up every hour to various little house-related and neighborhood-related noises. Finally, my father got up and Amy had to jump on me again to get to him, instead of walking over to his chair–where I’ve asked him to have her greet him. After he decided to get on his computer, Amy decided to wake me up by licking my face, jumping on me, and scratching at my mouth until it opened enough for her to start licking my teeth and the inside of my lip. (I wish I could stop that behavior, but everything I’ve tried for that doesn’t work. If she does it long enough, my teeth and lip start to hurt, and sometimes my lip will bleed.) Anyway, after she had finally woken me up, my dad comes back around and says he’ll watch her and that I should just go back to sleep, but I’m not even going to bother. It’s just a matter of time before someone does something and I’m back awake and bitchier than ever.

It would be nice if my room had ever been finished from the events of last year. It got painted, but the blinds never went up, I never got sheets for my bed, and my new pillows were given to my father the first night we were even allowed to stay in the house. The only thing, other than the painting and the cleaning out, that got done in there is that I have a working air conditioner and a working ceiling fan. Everything else–everything I somehow expected to happen, but shouldn’t have because it’s my room after all and anything of mine never gets completed–has been left to get done at some point.  If I wasn’t afraid of falling through and breaking the rest of my bedroom window, I would put the blinds up myself, but I can’t go get sheets or pillows and anytime I want to ask, I get to hear about how we need to get something else–usually something that my mom wants, but doesn’t actually need. And if I point that out to her–even if I leave out the snarky part about her, I will get to hear her tell me how she didn’t realize I was upset with her (though I’ve told her many times), that I need more therapy, that I have issues, etc. Yes, I have issues and I need more therapy, but I also need to feel like things I say or do or need matter. I need to feel like a person instead of some random thing that no one gives a shit about.

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Delirium Archive

26
May

Late this morning or early this afternoon, Amy got to meet Nana. They both seemed to enjoy one another’s company. I was actually quite shocked at how taken Nana seemed to be with Amy. Amy was just really happy to get to explore (part of) Nana’s house, and to get out of the car after the long, hot drive to Nana’s house. (It is about 30-50 minutes away, depending on the traffic and the stops you have to make. And somehow it seems longer when it is around 80°F (~28.9°C) outside. (Have I mentioned that I hate hot weather recently?)

Anyway, little miss Amy Pond seemed to enjoy Nana’s house with the exception of her two angel cabinets, which I thought was funny. (Nana The first time, she backed away from one of the cabinets. (This was extremely funny to me, since one of the angels sort of looked like a Weeping Angel.) The second time, she barked at them. If you don’t understand why a puppy named Amy Pond barking at angel figurines/statues would be funny, then you seriously need to watch some Doctor Who and read up on Weeping Angels and the character Amy Pond.)

I have some pictures and videos of various things that happened today, while at Nana’s, but I haven’t downloaded them onto the computer yet. So they will be around soon. Until then, just know that Nana seemed to enjoy her 80th birthday, even if it was without the members of the family who went on vacation the weekend of said birthday, and that she and Amy had fun together.

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Eighty Reasons Why

21
May

It’s been so long since I had a post rife with family drama involving those relatives who loathe and detest my very existence that some people may think that they have given up their disgust of me, or that I have, in fact, forgotten about their dastardly ways. Alas, the latter is not true. As for the former, I’m pretty sure that they still dislike me, but I try not to let it weigh so heavily on my mind. I’ve accepted that my family is made mainly of people who share no biological relation to me. I’ve quit the daily checking of Analytics and my stats–sort of. Actually, most of the time, I only check it once a week. Generally, there are no visitors from my aunt’s hometown. There are some from where my cousin and his wife reside, as well as the town where Nana’s “sister” lives, but I choose to think that those might just be locals checking out my blog–or even some of my friends who know about it.

(I still sometimes feel a bit wary about Twitter after the whole printing out my old tweets and dropping the them in Nana’s mailbox thing.)

Anyway, if you remember the last significant mention of the family drama, then you might remember that my mom wanted to celebrate Nana’s 80th birthday (which is this Sunday) with lunch at Nana’s house, and a truce of sorts between my aunt’s side of the family and, well, me. I had refused to participate in said proposed event because I don’t feel that that level of stress would be good for my mental health. As I explained to my mom at the time, I still have panic attacks whenever anyone (especially Nana) calls because I think that something I say via my blog or Twitter is going to be turned against me. I told her that being in the same house as my aunt would only lead to massive amounts of stress and possibly the hospitalization or a potential self-harm related episode involving me. My mom thought, at the time, that I was being childish. I guess that she eventually got over it, especially after my dad and I basically reiterated every bad thing that had happened, since she seemingly forgot some of it.

Well, I didn’t have to worry about a dinner or lunch with both sides of the family or even skipping out on said meal because of my reactions to the family members who hate me because *cue dramatic music* my aunt, uncle, cousin, cousin’s wife, and cousin’s son are going on a cruise to Alaska that starts later this week and ends sometime in early June. (My aunt and uncle have been to Alaska, via cruise, before so I don’t understand why they’re doing that again.) Apparently, my cousin’s wife decided when to plan it and, despite having been married to my cousin for 14 years and knowing very well when Nana’s birthday happens to fall, decided to go ahead and schedule it on the weekend of my grandmother’s birthday. When my aunt called to tell Nana, Nana (in the aunt’s tone of voice) responded with something like, “Oh, sure, a cruise to Alaska on your mother’s 80th birthday is a great idea.” I’m sure that even those of you who don’t normally pick up on sarcastic tones can guess the inflections used within that statement. My aunt apparently apologized quite a bit, but it still pissed my grandmother off. I don’t blame her.

I was worried that my lack of wanting to be around those family members (except my cousin’s son, because I still think he’s extremely awesome) would piss off Nana. Still I’d hoped she would understand, and I think she understood my reasoning. She’s being a lot less understanding about their forgetting her 80th birthday and scheduling a vacation away from her on it. So I’m no longer feeling like the biggest fuck-up in the family. I don’t know if it makes me evil to want to do a happy dance about that, but it is the general reaction I had to finding out that I am not currently the least considerate person in our family. Sometimes a little bit of schadenfreude is good for the soul.

I do feel bad for Nana, though. No one deserves to be forgotten on their birthday, especially on one that is as huge of a milestone as this one. I have a feeling that lots of groveling will be required. Maybe Sarah Palin will hear about their plight and take them in as refugees from the wrath of the forgotten Nana.

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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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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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