Another Sociopath Bites The Dust

Dear friends of mine, IRL, who know me beyond my text on a computer screen, feel free to not read this, as it just reiterates some things you already know. The rest of you, feel free to read on.

I am not perfect. I have awareness to know who and what I am. I have a healthy enough ego to say this.

One of my main mantras or guides I've used in life has been: Say what I mean, mean what I say, and try not to be mean when I say it. Oftentimes, if I think that what I am about to say could potentially be hurtful, I remain mute.  I don't know if I'd be bold enough to say "It's the buddhist way, to try to diminish the suffering of myself or others," because well, I don't like labels, and so much of my way of being and philosophy straddles several belief systems. All I know is, ultimately, at my core, I neither want, nor  take any pleasure in, being cruel to others.

Granted, my journey to good health has been a long one, and has had its ups and downs, like everyone else's life has. It's not a special journey, but it's mine. And even if I might (INTERNALLY) judge someone else's journey or the choices they've made, I try to limit whatever negative comments I might have on the topic. THIS IS WHAT SEPARATES US FROM THE REST OF THE ANIMAL KINGDOM: IMPULSE CONTROL.

So imagine my surprise when someone who is on their own journey back to health, back to mobility, back to some measure of independence, battling pain and their own demons, someone who puts themselves out there as an enlightened Buddhist, posts a comment so utterly callous and judgmental on my wall on FB, I simply could no longer remain mute.

In sum, this person suggested/alleged that I surely have up to three different phobias or mental illness, implied I am over sharing (when he's got videos on YouTube documenting a bed sore on his ass--wherein his testicles are on clear view, and another one video documenting a urinary catheter that is not emptying), and also implied that I'm imagining what I'm going through.

As he made the allegation publicly on my wall, I decided to respond publicly on his wall, in a thread wherein he's discussing "gaslighting" and sociopaths. I did not sugar coat anything. He doesn't get a free pass because he's a quadripeligic. I've kept quiet long enough out of respect for that. But he's shown his true colors to me to be just that, plain and simple, a sociopath. 

I summed it up: a sociopath goes out of their way with the intent to be cruel. If the intent isn't there, then you're just a carelessly cruel dillhole.  And so the shitstorm conflated, and burned out rather nicely.

My response to, "Hey you offended me" were met without self-examination and without even weak apology along the lines of, "Hey, I'm sorry that was not my intent," but was met with more cruelty. He called me a liar about something very trivial (alleged that I ever used the word psychiatrist to describe my therapist--who IS a psychotherapist, but is a LCSW, NOT a psychiatrist), then started attacking my friends (both on my wall, as well as the walls of friends whose privacy setting is set to public) with misogynistic ad hominems. Apparently my posting topics irritate him.

Not at any point in time did he privately message me, which he still has the ability to do so, if he were to decide to apologize (not that it matters at all at this point, the damage is done, and well, I AM DONE with him, as once trust is gone, it's very rare to ever truly re-establish it). Instead, his intent was to insult and attempt to humiliate me.

This online friendship started in October (of 2011) and so in October (2013) it shall end. I had the very best of intents when I reached out to him after seeing some of the videos documenting nursing home neglect; however, here it is two years later, and really no change in his status quo. So perhaps all the videos were a vanity project, or a way to ensnare otherwise good-intentioned folks into a trap wherein he could be an empathy vampire, sucking out the good intent, feasting on the good will and attention.

So what took two years to culvitate, ultimately, in the end, took roughly 24 hours to destroy. 

There's a Buddhist theme along the lines of "take that which is useful, and discard the rest." In the end, that was my only recourse. And thank you "dear," you made it an incredibly easy decision to make.  Have fun with the delusion, "dear."

ETA: For posterity,  a bunch of screen caps from FB to document the dipshittery. 

*I decided that since he decided to make allegations on my wall, publicly, so my friends could see it, I'd post my rebuttal on his wall so his friends could see it. To date (Jan 2014 now) there are no further updates since October, so I don't know if he's still posting, or if I'm just blocked from seeing current content. Not that it matters for my purposes. Here are the screencap rebuttals and ad hominems:

Also: In the end, I found it somewhat amusing, in a very pathetic LOL kinda sick way of laughing at someone's cluelessness, that Ralph had issues with my candor or my sharing, alluding that I might have been OVER sharing. Be that as it may, I may be the queen of TMI; however, one thing is abundantly clear: I have never photographed my ass and slapped it up on YouTube for all the world to see. 



Good times. 

Again. Good luck with the delusion, Ralph. And PS: You have emerged victorious in Pain Thunderdome.

Annus Medicus Horribilis: Ultrasound Done... Hurry up and Wait

Nothing new to report; however, the ultrasound was done early this a.m. So I'm hoping that my internist will contact me with the results. I'm fairly confident NOTHING is going to show up, nothing out of the ordinary, and that either the pain was a fluke due to the fiber in the Arctic Zero, or perhaps it was an ovarian cyst that went 'splodey. 

Made for a bracing morning... bracing, like taking an icy cold shower, that type of bracing. When I scheduled the ultrasound I had no idea there'd be an intra-vag part of the diagnostics, and also I had hoped my onset day would not be until TOMORROW.

Yep. Trans and intra-vaginal ultrasound on a heavy flow day. I don't recommend this. But fortunately it was first thing in the a.m., and the technician was neither disgusted (outwardly) or nasty about it.

Hurry up and wait.

Annus Medicus Horribilis: Best Laid Plans... Blah Blah Blah

I *was* hoping that once summer was over, so too, would be the never ending supply of doctor's appointments and medical wild goose chases. I guess at this point, I'm striving for the end of 2013 being the end of my Annus Medicus Horribilis.

Over a month ago, my internist put me on a calcium channel blocker as an adjunct to my ace inhibitor to hopefully help my unresolved BP issues, to no real avail. The pressure is elevated, but I've been reassured it's not ZOMG STROKE LEVEL!, but still, given the fact I"m already at risk for clots, embolism, stroke etc due to the blood clotting disorder, I really don't want to tempt fate. Also? The horrible headaches which come out of no where, not to be confused with my menses related migraines. I'm losing days of my life to this nonsense.

And as I'll be at my renal guy at "The Mount" next week (and my endocrinologist who is a few blocks away), I was hoping to squeeze in an appt w/a HTN specialist (also at The Mount) on the same day, but the Universe's Power conspired against me and my best intentions to jam as much as I could in that trip into NYC. But perhaps, this is for the best, because after the summer I had, the result of which I never was able to find enough time to do what I wanted to do and go for a class on a particular crochet technique I want to learn. So perhaps if the instructor is available on Columbus Day, and Election Day... perhaps that will take care of two of the three classes (it's a class of three sessions). Perhaps THIS is how it's supposed to be.

So hurry up and wait until Election Day for me to get any real idea of what's cooking with my ticker. No doubt I'll be there having an EKG, ECG and a stress test. No doubt. Fun times await!

As if that weren't enough, last night I started having acute pain in my RLQ (lower right quadrant of my abdomen). I've had this on and off for the last two years. To date, I'm nearing my three year anniversary--well January makes it officially three years, since my WLS, so that's always a worry for me, that somehow I've injured myself.

Last night I ate (over the course of a half hour) a pint of Arctic Zero, a 150 calorie frozen treat, which I view as a frozen protein shake. It's got about 20 gm of FIBER in it, in the form of chicory etc, and perhaps this might TRIGGER the pain, but there's no flatulence, etc. So I don't really know what's going on. And given that I am about 24-36 hours out from the BLOODY DELUGE which is my menses onset, I also think it COULD be an ovarian cyst. Or it could be a kidney stone. Or something with the cecum. 

I emailed my bariatric surgeon's NP regarding this, and I also called and left a message for my internist to call me back with the thinly veiled "RLQ pain." Internist is a GI too, so that helps me. His first impulse was to say I should have my gyno do a sonogram, and well, my gyno is also at The Mount, and that's logistically a nightmare for me to coordinate everything, and I"d rather do as much diagnostic stuff close to home and save my sick days for WHEN I AM SICK BECAUSE I KNOW I WILL BE SICK. I get depressed at this certainty.

Long story short: As I don't have a fever, diarrhea, impactions or any other thing to indicate an emergency, I've scheduled my sonogram for Thursday a.m. before I head into work. 

I hate being this person, and I am wondering when my depression, bitterness and pain just engulfs me entirely.

Annus Medicus Horribilis: A New Rx

Amlodipine. Internist is putting me on it, and will monitor me. Hoping to get my diastolic #s down. I see the endocrinologist and the nephrologist on Columbus Day, so I could hopefully get a month into this Rx and see if it helps lower the pressure, lessen the tension type headaches, and hopefully make me less agitated and more prone to getting asleep (and maintaining good sleep). Here's to hoping. Going to start dosing tonight with dinner. I take my ace inhibitor in the a.m., and figure I don't want to start my day too groggy if the calcium channel blocker makes me too groggy. Better to sleep off the groggy, IMHO. Nothing else new to report. I'm about 21 days into my cycle, feel pain and weirdness. Maybe I'm ovulating. Meh. Let's see what next week brings: relief or yet another month of unbearable pain. Hurry up and wait.

Annus Medicus Horribilis: Quasi-Amazing: Difference a Day Makes

Being in chronic pain just grinds away at you, and can turn you into someone you hardly recognize as your SELF. After the summer I've had of non-stop medical drama, mess, disappointment, existential angst, and outright active, debilitating pain, I'm hoping today's the precipice of the tipping point, and (dare I say) hoping things are going to start to improve (at least until my next menses hits).  

Last night I went out to knit night with my friends, even against that inner voice saying not to. Not because I do not enjoy their company (which I do enjoy, immensely), but because I've been ground down to the point where I felt like I had nothing to give and nothing to gain from going, and of course, because I've been (perhaps justifiably so) a whiny bitch lately. So I went. And I'm glad I did. I'm glad because it felt good to be with friends. 

Humans are social creatures, even the most antisocial of us need human interaction. We're HUMAN. We laughed. Exchanged info. And in the course of chatting, I had an epiphany of sorts. And perhaps this epiphany is just enough to keep me from entering a realm I haven't wanted to enter: feeling sorry for myself. Feeling sorry for myself is an easy enough trap to find myself. 

Afterall, I finally did something proactive about losing weight and getting healthy, and get healthy enough to attempt to conceive. And while I liken this process I've gone thru to someone training for a Couch-to-5K, only to realize they overslept or the big race was cancelled.

So I've spent the summer feeling as if all of this effort was pointless, given the nature of the path my life has taken. Like why did I radically alter my body and my life, if the reason I did so isn't a driving force anymore? For weeks I've been thinking about the Big M (menopause) and how it waits for every woman, and thinking about how I can have a different peri and post-menopausal experience/narrative than my mother. 

Hells-bells! Losing a lot of weight goes a long way towards working towards the goal of having as stable or uneventful menopausal experience possible, and hopefully also ensures I'll be a lot happier and healthier and more mobile experience for the second half of my life. So last night during knit night, I had that a-HA! moment, where I connected those dots, and all that work and effort isn't pointless after all. However, the pointlessness of my very existence is always debatable at this point! At least all my hard work thus far hasn't been for naught. 

It's been a tough summer, and very hard for me to make any sense out of what I'm going thru at all. So at least I'm able to see some positivity in this. And I think today is the first day where I can say I see a marked change in the "blood situation." But then again, my uterus has a mind of its own. So who knows if I'll end up having to go home today to change my clothes. Because yes, I felt well enough and dared enough to wear light colored pants today.

Weight Loss Chronicles: Update on my Supplements

Looking over my archives, I wanted to see my inventory of supplements I'm taking. Here's the link to the last inventory I did.

Here's my current inventory: (This first group I take first thing in the a.m. with a hot cup of coffee): 

Magnesium 400 mg (1-2x daily) 
Omega-3 1400 mg (1x) 
Evening Primrose Oil 1000 mg (1x) 
Alpha Lipoic Acid 250 mg, 2x daily
Colace 200 mg (1x) 
2 Gummy VitaFusion Prenatal Multivitamins
2 Gummy VitaFusion Sugar Free Fiber Chews, 5 gm, 1x 

Then throughout the day I manage to get these in:

D3 2000 IU (1x)
Calcium Citrate, 250 mg (4x) 
Zinc (dosage I cannot recall at the moment) 
CoQ10 (50 mg, though I'm thinking of boosting this) 
Hyaluronic Acid capsule 1x (100 mg) 
Feosol 325 (2 tablets) 
Vitamin C, 500 mg, 1x 
Apple Cider Vinegar capsule 
KAL brand B12 spray (1-2 blasts under the tongue)

Melatonin Chronicles: Day 11

So far it seems to be helping me doze off. I've been trying to get out of my habit of sitting in front of the computer in the evenings to try not to "energize" my brain. I still watch t.v. in the evenings w/the husband. Once he goes to bed, I usually watch a little more t.v. Since I've been dosing with melatonin, I find I've been falling asleep in front of the tube. And I usually end up getting up about midnight to turn out the lights, brush my teeth and head to bed. Last night was the first night in a long while I've had a trippy dream. And today when I woke up, I am groggy and foggy headed. Not sure if that's due to melatonin, my depression, or something else. Tonight is my knit night, so I'm looking forward to that. And hoping, of course, I'll have something interesting to say/share with my two friends. Last thing I want to be is a "Debbie Downer." It's been a rough summer. I feel like I've aged 10 years in the last three months.

In Too Deep, I Suppose

(FB Status update just now) 
I know I'm in this funk a bit too deep when I misread (after blinking several times, mind you) the word INTERFILE, and *thought* I was reading the word INFERTILE. Can I go home now? Like forever? ETA: I removed this from FB, as I felt like a whiny bitch after posting it. And at the moment, I cannot decipher support or empathy from outright pity. So read my whiny bitching here, folks. Good times. Pain: Vacillating between a 3-4. Friday's pain: 6-7 agonizing (yep, still room for MORE PAIN, and still agonizing.)

Hysteria

Yeah. It's not really funny.

Annus Medicus Horribilis: Reply From the Gyno

So I got replies from the gyno (surgeon) regarding my expectations after the ablation. He tells me that the first menses after the surgery is heavy, but things will gradually normalize thereafter. I'm in a considerable amount of debilitating pain (and it's really grinding on me). He wants me to come into the office for an exam and "to talk." What's there to talk about? There's nothing that can be done... well, beyond the BIG H, which I do not want. I cannot even process that at the moment. 

He tells me other than just "time" he could put me on birth control pills. And my inner bitch really stifled itself at the mere suggestion of the birth control pills, because fuck me running, if I didn't have a blood clotting disorder that puts me at a higher risk for clots and stroke, and if I didn't have elevated cortisol issues which could potentially lead me to clots or stroke, FUCK YEAH, I would have taken the pill rather than totally, irreversibly put the kibosh on what little is left of my fertility, all for the hope of a pay out of no more debilitating pain. So why waste his time and mine to discuss what, exactly? Birth control pills I cannot go on, or hysterectomy which is something I want to avoid outright? I was hoping the ablation would buy me some time until I hit menopause, so then hopefully I could avoid having a hysterectomy. 

Since my gastric bypass, I have had more than my fair share of fecal impactions and constipation issues, and I fear that having a hysterectomy will just exacerbate that. Also the potential for prolapsing my bowels thru my vagina is a big deterrent, plus painful sex or a diminished drive or having some other sexual dysfunction is a concern, too. So that's that. No plan for pain management. I've got tramadol from my internist, which barely blunts the pain. I took one on Friday and I still managed to leave the office early due to agony. The only thing that blunts it enough is the occasional cocktail and using my TENS unit at home. This is not how I want to live my life. So, I'm done talking to friends about it. I'm sure I've worn out my welcome and have exceeded the acceptable level of hand holding I can expect from friends. So I'm going dark. No more discussing it (on FB or in personal conversations). I'll unload here or on my therapist, and that's that. And just suffer in silence. With any luck I'll just die in my sleep.

Melatonin Chronicles: Day 8

Was a bit anxious about missing a dose (like I did Sunday and ended up awake until 3 a.m. Monday a.m.), so I took a full dose, 3 mg about 9:30. Finally got groggy enough to get to bed by 11, and don't remember much more than that. Didn't take long before I fell asleep, and from what I can recall, I did not wake up with a START like I normally do. I think I slept straight thru until about 7:45, but I did not want to get out of bed. Hard to live like this. Either the physical drain is draining me, or the emotional depression is draining me. I just want to stay home in my safe cocoon and putter around the house. I hate people, and I really have nothing productive to offer at work. I'm distracted and in pain. Bossman just asked how I was doing, as I was pretty much destroyed by pain (and disappointment) on Friday. I replied, "Better than Friday, but still shitty." 12:01 p.m., and gritting my teeth until it's six p.m., which cannot come fast enough.

Today's Birthday Gift

During today's session with the therapist, he told me he thought I was handling everything very well, and even said it was inspirational. I'll tell you what, it doesn't feel like it's very inspirational. He ended the session with "Keep doing what you're doing. You're experiencing a death. Take as much time as you need." 

But I know grief well. I'm grief's bitch. I know that I'll never get rid of it, it'll blunt the edges a bit just enough for me to be sucker punched at a time when I think I've moved beyond it.

It's always going to be there like an anchor.

Plans Aborted: Part Deux

To recap, I left work early on Friday as a result of (what shall I say here? debilitating? agonizing?) pain.

My plans for attending a craft show (to see my dad's elder sister, who I rarely see) shit the bed.
My plans for hosting a luncheon for my brother-from-an-Indian-mother, shit the bed.

And here I am, it's Monday, and had a full day's activities planned in NYC (after a therapist appt), and these plans, too, have shit the bed.

Waiting to do what will end up being a phone-in session with the therapist, an ironic one, given that my surgical procedure was supposed to or promised to change my pain paradigm, and since it hasn't it's negatively impacted my ability to go in for a therapist appt, to discuss why it cannot be an in person therapist appt.

It's kinda like the Inception of Suckitude actually.

Dropped the husband off at the train, and did a minimum of grocery shopping. Put up my steaks to dry age, got myself in the shower, and hoping I'll compose my thoughts enough to have a productive session with my therapist.

Mood: Pensive. Anxious. Depressed. Bleak.

Happy motherfucking birthday to me.

What's Stunning

...Is the lack of support.

There's a hierarchy of sympathy and it goes thusly:

If your parent dies, most folks can either empathize or relate to that loss, and sympathize accordingly.
Same thing goes for your spouse, or sibling.
Even more so if you have a kid.
And when your baby dies, some folks are a bit weird, but still forthcoming with sympathy.
Less so if you miscarry. Enter the realm of awkwardness.
And well, for the rest of us who have to suffer the loss of the possibility, the loss of our fertility... well fuck us. We have to suffer in silence.

At work I've taken the tack of no longer giving out my smiles for free. Hey after all, it doesn't get me anywhere, and really the folks I'd be dispensing smiles to haven't done jack shit for me in 11 years of working there*. I even went so far as to say to someone recently when they remarked the lack of smiles, "Hey, why should I smile? What have YOU done for ME lately?"

And really, I've reached that point where I'm separating the chaff from the wheat and really realizing who my friends are. And no, my friends aren't the ones with whom I've spent countless hours helping thru whatever their drama du jour is. My friends are the ones who SEE AND KNOW what's going on with me and they reach out to me, privately to let me know I'm loved and they wish they could help.  Even outright strangers on the net, folks I've befriended and never met or only met once... those are the ones who have reached out. (And of course friends I've had for 30+ years). 

I cannot help but look at my friends list on FB and see 250+ people and it's appalling, the paucity of support. Been thinking about deactivating my account, maybe temporarily, maybe permanently, in response to it. But FB does serve a purpose while I'm at work and it passes the time. But it is also a reminder of who responds to what type of posts I post. WTF and crazy shit? Yeah. Folks come out of the woodwork. I'm destashing shit or posting a picture? Yeah, same folks come out of the woodwork with their hand out for my stuff or a recipe. But to be PRESENT? And compassionate?  Fuck that. 

I'm flailing. I know. And I'm angry and depressed and disappointed in a good lot of things this summer.

I just wish I'd die, to be honest.

*ETA 2/12/19 Nearing 17 years of being here and not a god damned thing has changed in this office, and in some respects, things have degraded FURTHER. 

End of the Future. Must Stay Grounded In The Present

So cleaning out the bathroom drawers and found this EPT whose services, obviously, are no longer required in this household.

Hard not to get emotional about it, when I"m experiencing moderate to intense, active pain. Hard not to get emotional about it, when my own actions having the ablation and to be responsible, having the tubal ligation after, have pretty much sealed my fate.

Hard to think I went my whole life thinking motherhood would find me, only to realize that bitch was never out looking for me. 

Hard to think that the life I thought I'd live isn't what I"m living.

Hard to deal with all of this knowing my dad's not here to hold my hand and if need be, cry right along with me. The loss of him signifies the loss of my past. And the loss of the possibility of having a child of my own, signifies the loss of my future. This all leaves me no recourse but to live in the moment. But what is left for me in the time I have left before I pass? A few more inane spats with my husband? A few more good meals? A few more vacations? A few more laughs or tears? Surely that's not IT, is it?

Mood: Melancholy and bleak.

Plans Aborted

I was really hoping that the ablation would help alleviate the excrutiating menses pain and adenomyosis pain I experience.

For the last 24 days, I haven't stopped bleeding, and I believe my actual menses started yesterday. The pain yesterday was moderate, and today's pain has been nothing short of "exquisite." Left work early today as a result, and pretty much have been curled up in a ball most of the afternoon, making noises that only dogs or dolphins can decipher, and overall hating life.

I'm beyond disappointed. I was hoping to no longer be a prisoner to my pain. I had plans for tomorrow and Sunday, both of which I've cancelled as I don't anticipate this changing anytime in the short term. And I have plans for Monday, my birthday, and the jury is still out on whether or not I'll be able to do what I need to do, much less do what I WANT to do on my birthday.

Husband left work early and came home, with a bag of dinner in hand, and immediately set about trying to do what he could to make me feel better. I'd be lost without him.

Onset to Onset: 23 Days

23 days since ablation & tubal ligation. 23 days of medium-to-light (and back to medium) flow. 23 days, onset day to onset day. Tradmadol ingested one hour ago. Fuck me running, status quo has been maintained (or one could argue that it's WORSE, given I've been bleeding nonstop for 23 days). But I guess bleeding = the blood is coming out and not building up in utero or in the fallopian tubes, so perhaps there's a chance I won't suffer from some post-ablation syndrome weight gain. Here's hoping. But still? I'm fucked no matter how you slice it.

Weight Loss Chronicles: 2 years and 8 months post-op

I have not lost one single pound since January 2012. Devastating when you think of it. It's not for lack of trying (well, other than I am not in a regular excercise routine), as I am pretty diligent about packing my feed bag for work, and staying compliant with my protein intake, supplements, and adhering rigidly to the 30 minute wait time after eating solids before transitioning back to liquids. Perhaps this is the cortisol talking. Perhaps. I'm hoping that the melatonin supplement I'm taking will get me back on the right track. Get me in a good sleep habit, and break my habit of pulling all nighters, being up until 2 or 3 a.m., and of course having 1-2 more feeds in the process. Hopefully more sleep (and more restful sleep) will = less calories consumed and = more weight lost. Well, you know what Ben Franklin says about people who hope, right? (they die farting.)

Not to be Remiss: Ablation

So it is now three weeks to the day since I had uterine ablation and my tubal ligation. Still too soon to tell if the ablation is going to help me at all. I was under the impression that it would help my symptoms. I was also under the assumption that afer a few days to the first weeks, I'd experience a "watery" discharge. Well, there's nothing watery about it. What drove me to have the procedure was the unrelenting agonizing menses pain and excessive flow. Well, I went from losing a few days to one full week of my life to menses, to what appears to be three weeks of flow. Granted, it's on the light side, but I'm still wary of wearing light colored clothing. So here I am. August. And I'm wearing black. So really, from my point of view, no change in my status quo. Also? Yeah. Good times. I'm no doubt ovulating this week, which means, no rest for the wicked. That if by some weird fucked up stroke of luck my flow finally subsides, next week it'll start back up again as my regularly scheduled menses. So all this is to say, that I'm regretting it all. At least before my procedure I could delude myself into thinking I didn't have kids because of fertility issues and now I"m too told to do anything about it and had the tubal to prevent what could be a life threatening pregnancy (if I were to become pregnant). The rub, bub? Yeah. Since I have't had one single day without blood, yeah, I haven't felt like having sexy times. And at this rate, wondering if I ever will. Between this and the unabated elevated cortisol issues making me cranky and wound up tighter than a fucking top, yeah. I'll be so fucking glad when this horrible summer is over. But that won't happen until after I turn 45. One more good time to be had. A reminder of me losing one more year to fucked up genetics, fucked up fertility, and living a life that has been so fucking convoluted and NOT what I ever dreamed my life would be. Signing off for now. Color me: Blue. Blue as in blue haired old biddy, Get the fuck off my lawn you hooligan. I don't feel like myself and wondering if/when I ever will again. Whatever that means.

Melatonin Chronicles, Days 1 & 2

Sunday night I started self medicating with melatonin, to try to reverse or change my cortisol levels. Sunday night's dose was 3 mg, and I got to sleep okay, and woke up okay, a bit groggy but okay. But I still needed the assistance of either the alarm or my husband to wake me up. Half dosed last night (1.5 mg). Got to sleep around 10:30-11 p.m. despite another pre-sleep accidental tickling. Got up 6:45, no alarm. Got out of bed 7:15 since I couldn't go back to sleep. I puttered around doing housework etc, before getting ready for work. 

I heard back from my ReproEndoGuy re: the melatonin, and he thinks I might benefit from it. But I want him to run a baseline on me (of all three, cortisol, DHEA, and melatonin) so I can monitor any change or progress for three months of dosing. I might switch to a lower dose melatonin to see how little I can get by using. And will be tracking my progress via that spreadsheet I alluded to in my previous post. Here's hoping I don't lose my formatting like yesterday. I just could give a shit less about going backwards to reformat my posts.

Email Sent to ReproEndoGuy and RenalGuy

The following is the body of an email I sent to my endocrinologist and my neprhologist in regards to my elevated cortisol: 

I’m going to organize a spreadsheet so I can get an idea of the changes in my DHEA and my cortisol levels. Would you be interested in reviewing this spreadsheet? If so, is there any other item you’d like to see tracked on this spreadsheet? 

For years* My DHEA has been excessively high (*10+ thereabouts, though, I only have on hand blood reports dating back to 2006 (I’m sure I’ve got earlier blood test results at home, just misplaced/MIA at the moment), and since my weight loss surgery in 2011, the DHEA has lowered, yet the cortisol is now spiking. 

What little I have read about DHEA and cortisol, they emanate from the same area of the adrenals, and I wonder if there is a connection? I have three major concerns regarding my cortisol:

1. I do not want to be a “nervous Nellie” of a patient; however, I have made considerable progress with my weight loss surgery, and do not want the elevated cortisol to undermine my progress. To date, I have not lost any weight since January 2012, and I am now 2 years and 7 months post-op.

2. I am also concerned about my blood pressure, which remains on the high side, despite my dosage of Quinipril being upped to 40 mg 1x daily. 

3. Sleep. Prior to my WLS in 2011, I had been using a CPAP for apnea and discontinued using it as I was not convinced I was getting any benefit. Weight loss notwithstanding, my sleep continues to be a big issue. Not only do I have problems falling asleep, but I also have problems MAINTAINING sleep. I wake up several times a night. 

Unrelated, I have been having palpitations or possibly anxiety/panic attacks occasionally, and not sure if this is related. Is there some dietary supplement (i.e. Relora?) from which I might derive some benefit? I’m curious about what the next step will be in solving this mystery.
 ### 

In the meantime I'm debating sending a note to endo guy to see if they can test my melatonin, cortisol and DHEA regularly to monitor this. I took melatonin last night (3 mg) and managed to get to bed by 11, and I think I remained asleep until 7:45 this a.m. Don't want to get in the habit of using this until I get a baseline for my melatonin to see if that's the key to unlock what's wrong w/the cortisol.

Two Week Follow Up, Thereabouts

Had uterine ablation and tubal ligation on 7/23. So far so good, though I'm still a bit unimpressed. Surgical procedures were fine and came with it the predictable discomfort from, at least, the laproscopic portion of the procedures. And here it is, about 11 days later, and it appears as if my period has not stopped. It's not mere discharge. I cannot go without wearing a pad. And this has me depressed and wondering if this procedure is going to help me in the long run. 

Saw the surgeon on 7/31 for the post-surgical follow up, and he said that all seems well, and he didn't want to see me for another year. Though did make mention that with my adenomyosis, uterine ablation aside, I still could have between period spotting. I've been reading up on the topic and I guess this current "spotting" (subtext: NEVER ENDING PERIOD) might abate after about 4-5 weeks. I'm just hoping that things even out thereafter and I won't have to worry about a hysterectomy. Just trying to bide my time for the next 5-7 years until menopause hits. I really, really want to keep my uterus (for structural reasons, as I don't need more difficulties in the bathroom than I currently have).

I don't feel 100%, despite getting a return to work letter for 8/1. Mentally I'm drained today, and have a birthday BBQ to go to, which I *am* looking forward to, but at this very moment, I'm struggling with myself to get showered up and out the house and be in a festive mood, when really for the first time in 11 days, I just feel like crying. 

I'm hoping I'll feel better once I'm showered up and dressed, and I guess if I am still not feeling 100% while at the party, I can excuse myself.  I baked a special cake for the day and hope it's as delicious as I expect it to be. 

If it's not my pain debilitating me and keeping me from DOING THINGS, then it's my depression sucker punching me when I least expect it.

PS: My mother knows about the procedures, which by extension means my sister knows. And I haven't gotten so much as a text, email, or call from her to see how I am doing. I guess it's my punishment for not going to my niece's graduation party (graduation from ELEMENTARY school, btw) a few weeks back. Folks fail to realize how debilitating pain and depression can be, and fail to remember that if I do go to family functions it's normally done solo. But hey, let's vilify and punish me because I married a man who refuses to play my family's passive aggressive games. It just perpetuates the loss of my dad, and the feelings I have that God and family have forsaken me.

*SIGH.*

Off to shower I go, and hoping for the very best for today, and hoping my friend's birthday barbeque is a lovely, enjoyable affair for everyone.

Murphy's Law... Maven's Spin on It

Murphy's Law: If something can go wrong, it will.
Maven's Corollary to Murphy's Law: If something can go wrong, it will, usually spectacularly so, and usually with an audience.

Ablation & tubal scheduled for Tuesday.
Full on first day of period is predicted for Wednesday.

I fucking started spotting today. Ever since the age of 12 when the curse has darkened my doorstep, I have been quite private about my menses. And now, fuck, it looks like I'll have an up close and personal audience for it on Tuesday

Still Hurry-Up-And-Waiting

Pulmonologist called me yesterday to let me know my TB and CBC came back negative and normal, respectively. So I think we're waiting on one more blood test to find out, conclusively, if the granuloma is going to prevent my surgical procedures which are fast approaching.

Apparently in 2008 when I had my sleep study done, there was a chest xray done, so the pulmonologist compared the xray from a few weeks ago to the 2008, and the granuloma was there, and unchanged. Which leads me to believe that the granuloma is from the time I helped clean out dad's back room, and inhaled bird dander and microscopic amounts of bird feces that got kicked up in the cleaning frenzy, and NOT something I inhaled while in India a few years ago. So, at least that's a good thing. And I'm not suffering any breathing issues as a result of it, and my body has done a fine job of identifying something "foreign" and encapsulating it in a shield of calcification. So whatever I did manage to inhale, it's somewhat neutralized.

I called the pulmonologist's office and got the same shit head who set up the appt w/an internist and not a pulmonologist for the pre-surgery clearance, so I'm wondering if my doctor ever got the fax number for my surgeon, to pass along whatever reports, etc. As much as it chaps my ass, I doubt the person answering that phone has the intelligence necessary to pass along a phone message, so I'll be reduced to calling AGAIN, asking to talk to the doctor and confirm with the doctor that the message was received and/or if the reports have been forwarded. 

Time is a-wastin', and I don't have time and luxury to let slackers fuck with my surgery.

Hurry Up and Wait: Yet Another Appointment

I've really felt as if I were a dog chasing its own tail as of late. Before I can even have my surgery next month, to bring about some change in the agonizing adenomyosis pain (and mess), I had the thyroid scare a month ago. Now the current Wild Goose Chase is this granuloma thing on my lung.

Appointment is Monday. I just zapped off an email to the hospital that did the chest xray just to confirm that they, in fact, sent the reports and CD to the doctor. Tedious but necessary. 7/8 is the pulmonary consultation, and my surgery is slated for 7/23. So, essentially Monday's consultation will make or break those plans for surgery, depending on if I need further diagnostics run.

PAIN. IN. THE. ASS.

I Hate People

Yes. I do. However, I do see myself trapped by that statement, as I am, obviously, a PERSON. To clarify, I hate people who are lazier and/or STUPIDER (yes, STUPIDER, to drive home how very STUPID these folks are) than I am. And yes. I'm lazy and stupid, but we're talking DEGREES of laziness and stupidity, and perspective, and perhaps self awareness. I know (to certain degrees) I am stupid and lazy; whereas there are some folks who tool along WHOLESALE UNAWARE that they are stupid and lazy.  And to those folks, I say, "FUCK YOU, ROYALLY. SERIOUSLY AND SIDEWAYS."

How might the statement "I hate people" apply to the "Wild Goose Chase Du Jour," aka, the granuloma discovered in my lung, you might ask?   Here goes.

I call my pulmonologist's office to schedule a consultation to check out my granuloma because I am having surgical procedures 7/23. I very clearly stated this, as DUH, I am not going to a pulmonologist FOR FUCKING FUN. I wanted to schedule an appt w/Dr. V, yet he's unavailable. So they schedule an appt w/Dr. L. Brilliant. So I contact my surgeon's office to see about getting the chest xray results faxed to Dr. L., only for me to do a quick GOOGLE NOW, and realize HOLY SHIT, Dr. L., isn't even a mother fucking pulmonologist.

Luckily I have nearly a full month until my surgery, and I'm very glad that I got my anesthesia consult done as early as I did, because what if I waited two more weeks, then I'd be spending the two weeks before my surgery running around, getting agitated and exasperated. I truly do hate people with the stupids.

I call back and was not even polite about it. I railed into whomever it was who answered the phone, and REITERATE I called to schedule an appointment w/Dr. V., who is a pulmonologist. I very clearly stated I needed to be cleared by a PULMONOLOGIST for my surgery, and yet, the dimwit scheduled an appt with an internist. Well, fuck-me-running, I already have TWO VERY fabulous internists I already see, so why would I want an appointment with some third internist, when that's not what I even effing need?

I'm not even apologetic at this point. I'm annoyed because as a result of their stupidity, I'm now enduring second party stupidity by annoying the surgical liasion at the surgeon's office with emails regarding extraneous shit. 

Best part of this story? The payoff? The doctor's first name?

DIMPLE.

How can I stay angry after reading that as a first name?

Putting Out Fires: One Step Forward, Three Steps Backwards

Yesterday was the day of doom. A day of EPIC proportions. I set my all time new personal BEST (if BEST is even the BEST word to describe the day) of trying to cram as many medical appointments into one day as possible. I do this to maximize my time in NYC, as each time I need to see a specialist, it requires time out of the office. 

So yesterday went thusly:

10 a.m. appt w/Bariatric guy in Morningside Heights. Fabulous appointment. Truly uplifting. Only problem was blood pressure was jacked about 150/100? thereabouts.

11:45 appt w/Renal guy  nr. Central Park East. BP 160/103. This is after 10 days of being on new dosage of BP Rx. Blood drawn, urine sample collected.

2 p.m. appt w/anesthesia consult for surgery in July. Blood drawn. EKG done. SURPRISE! Chest xray. Discussions on the assortment of ways I am an "interesting" patient: No NG tube, BP wonky, and will I or won't I need blood thinners post op? Also, the technician ticked me off with idle chitchat asking what surgery I was having, and when I said "ablation," the inane chit-chat went thusly:  

Idiot: "Oh, how many kids do you have?" 
Me:  "None." 
Idiot: "Oh, I guess you don't want none of that." 
Me: "I never really had a choice really. Too  many things wrong with me, and now I'm old. And with my luck I'll be the 1 in 1000 who gets pregnant after this procedure."  
Idiot:  *crickets* 
Me: "Yeah, it's usually at this point people run out of glib things to say to me." (Also worth mentioning, I'm sure this idiot needed to look up the word GLIB to know I insulted her.)

4 p.m. appt w/Therapist nr. Columbus Circle.

By the time the day was over, I was spent physically and emotionally. And all I could do was cry.

Bring us to THIS AFTERNOON. I get a call from my gyno informing me that before the anesthesiologist will okay the surgery, I need to consult a pulmonologist regarding an irregularity they found on my SURPRISE! chest xray. Apparently I have a granuloma in there. I suspect it might be from my trip to India in 2012. I find I get sick anytime we do international travel. I don't know if it's related to that or what. I'm disgusted at the thought of it being histoplasmosis. Gah. Hurry up and wait for the gyno's office to get back to me to see if I can use a local guy instead of going into the city for YET ONE MORE APPOINTMENT. 

And of course, this is on the heels of the other "fire" that was put out in the last two weeks... the thyroid wild goose chase. 

I don't feel sorry for myself. I'm just getting really angry. Not "WHY ME?" but just angry. I just want to get on with my life and this shit is just wasting precious time and energy.

Epitome of Awesome...

... which is to say UNAWESOME, of course...

Ultrasound came and went w/out so much as a text, email or call from sister or aunt to see how I am.
Biopsy came and went w/out so much as a text, email or call from sister or aunt to see if I have cancer or not.
 
Yet, today I get a text informing me that my nieces 5th grade graduation party is SUNDAY, yet no mention is made, even secondarily, inquiring as to the biopsy results.
 
Note: Five days is an insufficient amount of time to notify me of a party you have no doubt been planning for the last few weeks. Additionally, if you want me to attend a family function, perhaps some day, one day before I die, you'll arrange it on a SATURDAY, so I don't spend my entire SUNDAY driving 4.5-5 hours to sit at a party where I'll no doubt be ignored or irritated (or a combination of both), thus ensuring a horrid back spasm and an even bleaker outlook to start my work week. Fuckyouverymuch.

Benign

Nothing More To Add: Results Might Be in as Early as Monday Afternoon.

Dayenu Redux

I am one more health issue/syndrome away from needing a continuation page for my Medic Alert Bracelet. Yes. I'm dead, fucking serious. Serious enough to wonder if I am hitting that tipping point, and this is the slow slide into the abyss. Truly. That's where my mind is RIGHT. THIS. MOMENT.

And oddly, I'm almost on the brink of laughing. Yes. Seriously. Because I no sooner have intellectualized possibilities of how my biopsy results might pan out [cancer, yes or no?; if yes, papillary or follicular? Thyroidectomy (partial or entire)or nodulectomy?; will I lose my hair? will I lose more of my "me-ness" my sense of self? Accepting that quite possibly surgery and pain (at a minimum) are going to be some short time challenges to overcome], when a well meaning friend drops a conversational dirty bomb in my lap, sight unseen, something that hasn't been discussed, but now has me on hyperalert, worried. 

Hell, the biopsy isn't until tomorrow, with the results available maybe Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, and now I'm worrying about the scenario of "Well, it's not cancer, you've got rheumatoid arthritis."  I had just braced myself for the possibility of cancer, and weighing out the papillary vs the follicular (and not even thinking about lymph node involvement yet for either), and the idea of having RA is just too devastating for me. I dare say, even more devastating than the idea of cancer.

SHORT TERM:
Statistically speaking thyroid cancer (papillary) appears to be what I'll call "manageable." The thyroid is removed, either partly or entirely. Radiation is given. A restricted diet will be part of that "FUN" of the post-op experience while they determine hormonal balances and what not. Mobility of the head/neck will be slowed down/limited. Hormones will be taken daily. Ultimately the survivability of the cancer itself is quite promising, and a good lot of folks go on to live 30-40 years post op without their thyroid. I've read up, prepared myself mentally for a "prepare for the worst, hope for the best" type of thing, then the RA conversational dirty bomb gets dropped in my lap.

My mom's dad had RA and was pretty much debilitated from it (however, at 91 he was STILL more mobile and walked better than my mom does at age 67-68), and HIS dad had RA (and lived to be nearly 100-101 when he died, bed ridden for a good many years of the winter of his life). RA to me might as well be a death sentence. There is no cure. And considering that I cannot take NSAIDs and no doubt a good lot of the RA medications out there (Celebrex comes to mind) would cause ulceration issues for what is left of my stomach pouch after the bypass, the mere thought of rheumatoid arthritis scares the piss out of me. *Amazingly, my mother doesn't have RA, but OA. I'm not sure how she dodged that bullet, considering how many things that are wrong with her health.

LONG TERM:
Rheumatoid arthritis would mean the eventual curtailing and discontinuation of the things that bring joy and meaning to my life: Travel and Crochet. I've come to accept the notion of not having children of my own. Okay. I'm accepting that on a moment by moment basis, and it is still hard (some days harder than others). But to think of the things that bring me joy, traveling the world with my husband, and crocheting, and let's face it, being able to walk of my own steam, unassisted, independent. As it stands, given my mother's assortment of health issues and how her inability to be her own advocate and get treatment at crucial times when it could have made a difference, only to see her handicapped, house bound, and bitter, that's enough for me to be HYPER AWARE and GRATEFUL of every step I am able to take.  The idea of being HOBBLED & wheel chair bound? No travel? No crochet? Perhaps unable to write my own name or type letters on a keyboard? Perhaps unable to grasp a knife to cut a tomato or run a brush thru my own hair?  In the long term, that is not living. It's merely existing and being a prisoner of pain. I just hope that if this were to be my fate, someone would have the good sense to smother me in my sleep once things got so deteriorated I'd need a wheelchair or I can't brush my own teeth. Seriously. 

I have no doubt that the friend who was suggesting a papillary thyroid cancer/RA connection was trying to be helpful but it's about as helpful as someone trying to cheer me up or show support by saying:

"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's LUPUS!"
"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's MS!"
"Hey! Maybe it's not cancer, maybe it's ALS!"

So, it's not bad enough I still have tomorrow's fine needle biopsy to endure. And now I'm even MORE scared shitless than I was before.

It's just too much to process.

In summation (if you're keeping score):

Papillary cancer = lower recurrence rate, but also has the possible bonus WILDCARD of rheumatoid arthritis

Follicular cancer = higher recurrence rate

Snippet From a Thread, Elsewhere

[This is a snippet of a reply I left in someone else's thread involving their (in)fertility.] 

[...] "At this stage of my ("unproductive") journey,  I'm using Maude (of the 70s flick "Harold and Maude") as my role model. I *want* to live a life rich with meaning and deliberate choice. I'm just at the point of accepting this (and no, there was no "choice" for me to make regarding motherhood), and (intellectualizing) if my journey won't involve kids (of my own), what will my "deliberate choices" be? 

Of course, this is made even harder when you've come to just barely accept your own fate/destiny/narrative, when someone comes along and pities you, when really that's the last thing anyone needs. FWIW, I'm the only non-breeder amongst my family, so as if the drama with our mother isn't enough to be off putting, the alienation I feel from others (as they don't know how to either respond to or process my infertility, or worse, come up with their own conclusions about why I don't have kids). 

I have come to truly embrace my friends, as THEY are without a doubt the biggest influence/impact on my life (next to my husband).

End note: 
Regarding pity. I'm not someone who defines themselves one way or the other, that I am "somebody special" because I'm Mrs.Whutwhut, or that I'm "somebody special" because of where I work. And I envision that I never ever indulged in the notion of me being "so-and-so's mom." So this (infertility, non-mom) is merely a state of being. It does not define me any more than being white, or being female, or being American, or being (fill in the blank here). So when I mention in passing, "oh yes, I've got female troubles," or "hey, yeah, I'm dealing with infertility," the very last thing I need is someone's pity."

I've found that a good lot of folks confuse empathy for pity (and visa versa), and for whatever my 2 cents is worth, I think some folks are incapable of truly being empathic, as sometimes their own pains are too close to the surface (can't see the forest for the trees, that type of perspective), and incapable of any true depth.

Sometimes there are no words. Outright silence is even worse. However, I think the best response is rather succinct: "Hey. I care. I don't know what to say. I'm here for you." Even if "here" is you being there, sitting in silence, while someone does word vomit to deal with what they're dealing with. Even if you being there is to take them out for coffee, a momentary distraction.

What The "F"

Friday.
Fourteenth.
Fine needle aspiration (biopsy).

Hurry up and wait 11-12 more days before we know anything conclusively.

Blood Work: A Trajectory

Cortisol is problematic. So far every other test (so every six months) the numbers spike. I suspect it might be White Coat Syndrome given the horrid quality of care/service I get at Quest Diagnostics. I'm tired of complaining to corporate about it, as it doesn't amount to jackshit in the scheme of things, and I've seen zero improvement. And the last time I was there (May), the blood draw was so bad, I had a very painful welt the size of a halved tangerine in the crook of my arm for DAYS.

I have no doubt that the stress I undergo each time I've been to Quest Diagnostics has adversely affected my cortisol levels. The undue wait time, the rushed nature of finding a vein, how harried the single solitary lab staffer is. To under staff a  heavily trafficked site like Quest does is not only a fuck you to those who work there, but also to the clients/patients who rely on this being the most proximal lab for them to go to for their blood test needs. Plus? Most of us are fasting, so yeah, make us all wait LONGER, make us MISERABLE while we're there. Fuck you. I'll take me, myself, and more importantly MY INSURANCE MONEY elsewhere. Labs are a dime a dozen. I think there's one spitting distance away. Sayonara, motherfuckers.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah... A trajectory of my blood work results:


5/2/13:
Creatine, Random Urine 91
Protein, Total Urine
Urine Total Protein 769 H Range: 50-240 mg/L
Protein Total, Urine 846 H Range 21-161 mg/g
Creatine: 0.62 Range 0.50-1.10 mg/dL
Bun/Creatinine Ratio Normal Limits
Uric Acid: 5.3 Therapeutic target for gout patients: <6 br="">Albumin 4.2
Cortisol, Total serum  31.0 H (Reference range: Cortisol AM 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL; Cortisol PM 3.0-17.0 mcg/dL
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C 5.3 (Reference range: <5 br="">

2/20/13:
Creatine:  0.57 (ref: 0.50-1.10 mg/dL)
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal limits
Protein (serum) 6.7 (6.1-8.1 g/dL)
Albumin 4.1 (3.6-5.1 g/dL)
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C 5.5
(No microalbumin tested in Feb)
Uric Acid: 5.5 (2.5-7.0)  *Therapeutic target for gout patients: <6 br="">Cortisol (total serum): 21.9H (Cortisol a.m.: 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL)

November 2012:
Creatine: 0.64
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
Microalbumin (random)  314H <30 br="">Blood Moderate (2+) negative
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.3
Plasma Renin ACT, LC/MS/MS  8.37H (0.25-5.82 ng/mL/h
Uric Acid: 5.3

July 2012:
Creatine: 0.66
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.5
Uric Acid: 5.7

April 2012:
Creatine: 0.67
Bun/Creatine ratio Normal
C-Reactive Protein 0.1
Hemoglobin A1C: 5.5
3A Adnrostanediol-G 30L (60-300 ng/dL)
Uric Acid: 5.5
DHEA Sulfate: 448H (25-220 mcg/dL)
Cortisol: 10.9  (Cortisol a.m. 4.0-22.0 mcg/dL)

Obviously, between the cortisol, microalbumen and the uric acid, SOMETHING is cookin' in my kidneys. I have been wanting my docs to adjust/tweak my blood pressure Rx for months now, as I have been having "break through migraines" which are not in line with my usual, predictable menses-related migraines.  Endocrinologist mentioned something about the possibility for Cushings. (Yet no retest for anything. Yet. We have more pressing matters. Read on.)

Yes. I have about seven thyroid nodules, one of which is problematic, as it's nearly an inch in size, is close to my windpipe, and has "unclean margins." Hurry up and wait for four days to hear back from the diagnostic center, to find out that HURRY UP AND WAIT the earliest they could get me in for a fine needle biopsy is NEXT FRIDAY, which means that it will be nearly two solid weeks (from today) until I finally know if this nodule is cancerous or not, if so, what type of cancer is it (papillary vs follicular, for example), and if it's not cancerous, can we get this thing out of me LIKE YESTERDAY, M'KAY?

I've sent a thoughtful email to my bariatric office to find out, if, worst case scenario, if the thyroid (whether partial or entirely) needs to be removed, will this adversely affect my body's ability to absorb calcium, as being someone who is living post-op gastric bypass I am already contending with vitamin absorption issues, I want to know how this will impact me.

At this juncture, I'm not getting morose or morbid. I want as much information I can muster as possible, regarding how am I going to live, quality of life wise, post-op, should my thyroid be removed. I'm not indulging in death fantasy yet. Ideally I'd like to live to a nice old age like my late 80s, have a good meal, a few good laughs my last day and perhaps lay down for a nap, and it'll be GOOD NIGHT IRENE. I do NOT want to even think about dying a grizzly death of cancer, being taken apart piece by piece like my grandmother was for seven years following an oral cancer diagnosis. Nope. I just want to know what's it going to take for me to get through each and every day. Pills? Supplements? What's one more pill in the grand scheme of things?

Like I've said to friends, I don't know if I'm THAT strong, if I'm THAT much of a stoic, or if I'm THAT much in shock about the possibility of this being cancer.

And if I had my 'druthers, I'druther and just assume get all my surgeries/procedures all done at the same time or the same week, so I can get on with the business of recovering and more importantly get on with the business of LIVING. As it stands, I have my ablation and tubal ligation scheduled for next month at Mt. Sinai, and I'druther get my nodule-ectomy or thyroidectomy done at the same time, as the doctor I'm seeing for that is at that hospital too.

Sis and aunt both are aware of what's going on, yet neither one of them have texted or called me to see how I am doing. In stark contrast the very few folks at work (boss) as well as a friend of the husband's (who has adopted me, as sort of an adopted older sister) seem incapable of NOT asking how I am doing. Heavy duty stuff I'm going through for sure, but no sense in worrying until I know, DEFINITIVELY, what I am going to worry about. 

PS: FUCK YOU QUEST DIAGNOSTICS! FUCK YOU SERIOUSLY AND SIDEWAYS. IN YOUR PROVERBIAL EAR AND REAR END.

Dayenu! (It Would Have Been Sufficient...)

Seems like I'm putting the DIE in Dayenu...

If I just had to deal with PCOS & Syndrome X, dayenu.
If I just had to deal with fatty liver syndrome and hypertension, dayenu.
If I just had to endure RnY to turn some of that shit around, dayenu.
If I just had my joint pain, herniations, carpal tunnel, and plantars fasciitis, dayenu.

If I just had my "optic nerve druzen," dayenu.
If I just had my adenomyosis, endometriosis, and infertility, dayenu.
If I just had my kidney issue, hypertension (yes, a 2nd utterance), and migraines, dayenu.
If I just had 7 thyroid nodules, one of which is "suspicious," aka has "unclean margins," dayenu.

Summation: Monday I had three appointments. The trifecta of suck as it were.

1st appt: Nephrologist. Nothing new. Cortisol still high. Pee in a cup. Still no resolution on my blood pressure Rx, which we have been talking about changing or tweaking for months now.

2nd appt: Ultrasound of thyroid. Oh yes. Fabulous. Asshole doctor is a no-show, but diagnostic center gave me choice of continuing w/a different radiologist to read and interpret the findings. Okay. Fabulous. Seven nodules (thought I had just one), with one being close to an inch in diameter, and with "unclean margins." RED FLAG. Of course, HAD the asshole doc been there, I could have seen about getting a fine needle aspiration done THAT DAY, but no. I'll have to burn another day (or half) a day to come back into the city for this nonsense. Which means, I have to wait yet again for an office to call me back to let me know when they can fit me in, and of course, they cannot get this shit done today, or tomorrow or even this week. My anger is righteous, and brewing moment by moment. I went into this appt armed with the knowledge (thanks to Dr. Google) that if it were thyroid cancer, there's an 80% chance it's benign. Radiologist contradicted and said it's closer to 90%. Okay. So I exit the building, get pinged by the husband, and find out his grandmother passed away earlier that morning and he wanted to go home asap, but would wait knowing I had a 3rd appt later this afternoon.

This day is getting better and better.

3rd appt: Endocrinologist. Of course nephrologist never forwarded him any information from our appointment earlier in the day, so the blood pressure Rx discussion gets shelved YET AGAIN (I'll tell this to my migraines and heart flutters, I'm sure there's therapeutic benefit in that, right?). He calls me into his office, the inner sanctum, instead of the exam room. Glum as a chum he informs me that things aren't good, and I need to get a biopsy done ASAP. And oh yeah, remember that 90% the radiologist quoted? Yeah, well that's closer to 75%-70%. Plus, with the size and location of that 1 inch motherfucker? Even if it's not cancerous, that doesn't mean that surgery is out of the question because if it continues to grow, it's a choking hazard. As it stands, I can feel it when I swallow, and I have discomfort when I swallow hard tablets and supplements.

And of course, the place that does FNAs don't do them on the days I already HAVE appointments, which means ADDITIONAL time off. And of course, given the fact that the thyroid is MILES away from my endometrium and fallopian tubes, when I have THOSE procedures done next month, I cannot get the thyroid done at the same time, so I can recover from all of that mess at the same time. Oh no.

I'm bearing my burden well, thankyouverylittle. I'm just not bearing the burden HAPPILY.  I'll power thru the best I can like I always do, but yanno what?

DAYENU! Enough. Just, fucking, ENOUGH already.