Tag: stomach issues


No One’s Laughing at God

27
December

I haven’t felt very well lately, but I’ve tried to keep my whining to a minimum. I didn’t really talk much to my parents this weekend about how sick I was feeling, because a whiny daughter isn’t really something that I thought they would appreciate. Besides, what could they have done? Nothing, except maybe send me to the ER, and the ER isn’t exactly a place I enjoy being. I don’t enjoy being at any doctor offices really, though. (I doubt anyone does, except maybe doctors and sadistic folks.)

So, I may try to see my family doctor this week, but I have a feeling that she’ll be a bit dismissive–suggesting things like ibuprofen (can’t take), eating high fiber diets (which doesn’t generally help), and losing weight (but not having an idea how I can do this with no major risk to my clumsy/death-wishing body). She will mean well, telling me that when my sinuses are easily clogged that I should use the sinus rinse more often; she will fail to realize that the sinus rinse tends to make me feel worse. She will say that I should take something in the triptan family for my migraines, and will not understand how I can’t do that and can’t do the ergotamine versions of the migraine meds either. Basically, it won’t do any good for me to see her.

Oh, I forgot to mention what I’d gotten for Christmas.

From my parents:

  • An 8GB SD card
  • Plush Blanket (from Target, I think—don’t really care as long as it’s soft and warm)

According to the phone call from my Nana, I got the following from my aunt & uncle, cousin & his wife, and from her:

  • $40
  • A $15 Gift Card for iTunes–so expect new tunes to be displayed on my last.fm soon
  • Dear John Blu-Ray
  • Inception Blu-Ray

Not too bad. It was the first year, though, that I didn’t get a teddy bear or stuffed animal. That was a bit of a bummer, but I know that they can be expensive and I’m probably too old to get them. I’m thankful for what I did get. I hope that my family can stop having holidays where things go completely awry, though.

Comment » | Family, Sickness and Health

Bitch Didn’t Even Suffer

30
November

This afternoon, I saw the family doctor. I should’ve known how everything would be going by the fact that it was raining. (Raining when I’m outside is a bad sign and a major anxiety point for me.) Of course, I’m not always that bright.

When I got there, I didn’t have to wait long to get called to the back. This gave me a false sense of security and helped me to forget that only minutes earlier, I had seen the most incompetent bitchy nurse coming in. When I was called, it was the new Miss Incompetent RN. I weighed, and it appears that it hasn’t gone up…or down. My blood pressure was the real “fun part” The nurse, who has fucked up my blood pressure before (when they were checking for postural BP issues related to vertigo & tachycardia), used the regular adult cuff on the lower part of my arm. Since I think I’m smart and stuff, I told her, “that’s too small and it’s not going to be accurate.” She replied, “this cuff is the proper size for this part of your arm.” (My lower arms [like the rest of me] are larger than the average person’s.) I said, “it’ll be wrong. Small cuffs cause bad readings.” She scoffed and acted like she knew better because she got a nursing degree. (Nurses should know better, but that doesn’t mean they do.) When the machine read it, it was 150 over 100. I knew that was BS since I didn’t have a headache. So, when the doctor came in, after examining my knee (and asking if I had arthritis–probably due to the fun crackling thing they do), she asked if I typically have a problem with my blood pressure. I said, “Only that it tends to run low.” (Since this is something that has been stated by people who deal with heart, pregnant, and pre-op patients, I think it’s probably the more educated stance.) She checked it. She got the biggest cuff and put it on my upper arm. I thought she couldn’t find it the first two times. She ended up getting a different cuff and checked the other arm. When she finally accepted that it was 120 over 70, she said, “It is on the low side.” This was apparently surprising, as it typically is. (I guess fat people=high blood pressure, kind of like fat people=diabetes.) So, she was less concerned about the high reading. (Staff incompetence isn’t anything she has control over.)

My family doctor told me that I need to take 600 milligrams of Ibuprofen. I told her I would. I have learned not to argue with doctors about anti-inflammatories. They are even more anal about having their reasoning questioned than the incompetent nurse. I won’t take the Ibuprofen. I don’t particularly want to take something that messes with my stomach that badly. So, I won’t take it, but I won’t tell her that.

2 comments » | General, Rants, Sickness and Health, So Damn Special

Under My Feet

6
September

I haven’t really been online a lot this weekend. That’s mainly due to heightened anxiety/stress. I think that’s due to the beginning of football season. Around the time my father woke up on Saturday morning, I started giving myself my headache medicine. It kept me asleep for around 12-13 hours. I ended up waking up during Auburn’s halftime, which meant I got to experience rants full-on. I had missed the rants about the teams that he didn’t even care about, which was good. I had wished I could make it through the Auburn ones, too, but they would have been harder to miss. Auburn ended up winning, which was good. If they had lost, then I probably would’ve started dosing myself into unconsciousness again. (I’ve often used medicines to induce sleep. It’s how I managed to sleep while I was having major sleep issues during middle and high school.)

I started crying sometime in the early morning hours on Sunday. I just felt like I was ready to scream, throw things, etc. I started composing a very long letter to my parents about how I felt like I needed to be taken more seriously. (This was what I used to do when I was a little kid–if I needed something or if I felt like I needed to apologize, I’d write a letter.) Well, the ink ran out of the pen and I got upset and threw it across the room. It barely made a sound when it hit Willow’s chair, but it was loud enough that my mom woke up. We ended up talking, and I complained about the thing on my stomach, which she checked out a little closer this time. She was surprised because it was burning up, and I told her that that was normal. (It is hot most of the time, but it gets worse in the middle of the night [around 3:30-5:00 AM] and it starts hurting worse.) I have an appointment to get it checked out with my family medicine doctor, but I have honestly lost faith in most doctors lately. Yeah, they send me for the tests, but the longer this whole saga goes on, the more dismissive they get. (Half the time, the results are never relayed to me.) And with the cardiologist refusing to even suggest anything that could help the extra beats and tachycardia, it just seems to be stupid to go through massive amounts of tests.

Speaking of tests and medical records, I think that is unfair that if I want to access my medical records, I have to pay fees. (Where is Files & Records when you need her?) If I want a copy of my blood work, I have to pay per page of the test, which can be 20-or-so pages. The doctors, who have a lot more money, don’t have to pay anything. They can get paper copies or faxes or computer access without paying anything. All that they really need is a signature from me to share the records. (If they’re in the Huntsville Hospital system and the record is on my hospital file, they don’t even need my signature.) All these people can see whatever they want about me, but I don’t get to see my own file. (At the Mental Health Center, I don’t even get the opportunity to pay for the records to see what’s been said. I can have my therapist or doctor or one of the nurses read it to me, though.)

I’m a little frustrated with the Social Security Administration. When I started on SSI and SSDI, I was told that if I started paying $200+ a month in household expenses, then my SSI check would be increased by that much. After I got the first check, I began doing just that. I’ve told the SSA about this twice. I filled out lots of paperwork the first time–nothing happened. I called again in May or June (or possibly early July)–I haven’t even gotten paperwork or anything that says that anything will happen. I get that the government doesn’t really have lots of money right now, but it seems like they could at least hold up their end of the 1/3 reduction rule.

Anyway, right now I’m dealing with an earache and headache that my mom told me was probably just TMJ. I agreed at first, but after a while, my throat began hurting. I would say it was allergies, but I know that’s not likely.

Comment » | Family, General, Mental Health, National Weirdness, Sickness and Health, So Damn Special

Mama May Have, Papa May Have

3
March

Dad got back from the gastroenterologist and the results are not necessarily good. Dad’s doctor says that he probably has Barrett’s Esophagus [1]. My mom says that this diagnosis doesn’t scare her, even after I described it to her, but she seems to be hiding the anxiety it is causing her. I’m fairly good at reading her. [2]

My dad is apparently in the group of people who is at highest risk for a malignancy from the disease. He can change his lifestyle, but that’s no guarantee that he won’t end up with cancer. I don’t know how I feel about this, and I don’t know if this uncertainty is a sign of me possibly being a bad person.

You see, I love my dad. I love everyone. You can be the nicest person in the world or the most horrific, and I will still love you. You can be abusive. You can be genocidal. I’ll still love you. My dad is not genocidal, but I wouldn’t say that he’s not abusive. [3] My dad has been emotionally abusive towards me for years, which I guess is a result of his explosive temper and his own abusive childhood. (The same treatment that his father put me through, for the most part, was lobbied against my dad, though my dad claims it was worse for him.) The odd thing is that I don’t blame my grandfather for his bad behavior. He was the child of 2 abusive parents. My dad had a good one and a bad one, and the bad one didn’t know better. My dad, therefore, should know better, so his attitude bugs me.

I don’t want my dad to die, but it’s kind of like the day that I found out my grandfather had died [4] and I basically cheered his death. I felt a bit guilty later, but I was happy because I knew that this man who had tormented me was no longer going to do so.

I don’t want my dad to suffer, either. I just feel conflicted, and I know that I shouldn’t. I should feel worried. I should feel guilty about not feeling worried. I should feel like this shithole of a human being, but I don’t. I just feel like a girl who knows that she loves her dad, but wishes that there were someway that she could love him without worrying that he was going to kill her or yell at her or kill or hurt someone she loves. Does any of that make sense?

[1] Barrett’s esophagus is a condition in which the tissue lining the esophagus—the muscular tube that connects the mouth to the stomach—is replaced by tissue that is similar to the lining of the intestine. This process is called intestinal metaplasia. No signs or symptoms are associated with Barrett’s esophagus, but it is commonly found in people with gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD). A small number of people with Barrett’s esophagus develop a rare but often deadly type of cancer of the esophagus.

[2] We have an unusual bond that even psychiatrists are baffled by.

[3] As I state in my introduction, my dad has an explosive anger problem. This causes him to become violent very quickly. He can also just be extremely mean, which may seem like a ridiculous thing to say, but you have not seen this level of meanness before unless you’ve seen someone with his behavior issues.

[4] Dadada died of what many would consider to be a “hardfought” battle against Diabetes, Heart Disease, Emphysema, and Dementia. He actually drowned in his own fluids because his sister refused to force him to go to the hospital to help get the fluid off his lungs and such.

Comment » | Family

     

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