tactfullyblunt

thankful for small mercies

Wednesday morning I took my last antibiotic for the tonsilitis. I also woke up with a horrible sore throat. I ended up busting my ass until late Wed. night (four hours after I was supposed to be able to go home), to finish a fairly sizeable project that is due to the client today. More about that later.

Thursday I awoke feeling like someone had beaten me all night long with a heavy bat. Since I'd done the bulk of my baking the nights before, in between the fever and the sweats I managed to finish getting the house cleaned up in prep for the arrival of The NY Dugans. I was then able to help Bill finish up the cooking for the main meal, make some appetizers, and wash a cubic buttload of dishes.

I told myself I was feeling remarkably better. Mistake. I went down early and slept like a log.

Friday morning I awoke to find that I felt worse than I'd felt throughout the last two months. While they went out shopping, I stayed home to sleep most of the day away. I got up around 3pm and got a shower, and sat downstairs with Mr. D while the other three shopaholics went back out to Home Anthology. My visions of going with them all to dinner were short-lived when I started feeling tummy rumbles.

I'll spare you the worst of the details, but I found myself in probably the most embarrassing situation I could in my own home: drenched in sweat, cuticles purple, doing lamaze breathing in the hopes that it would all just pass (half a pun intended). Afraid that I was about to introduce my skull to the side of the tub and/or the sink, I was forced to yell for Bill to come help me. Exactly what I thought he was going to do is beyond me, really, but in that moment of excruciating pain it was all I could think to do. I really don't know what I'd have done if I'd been in that much pain and been alone--I'd probably have been found with my head split open, I'm fairly sure of that. Thanks Bill, for being so wonderful to me, and I was serious about what I said in my pained haze: I'm getting an epidural when the time comes if giving birth feels anything like that.

Yesterday wasn't a whole lot better: vague cramping and a headful of stubborn boogers for most of the day, and a migraine at the end of the day just to shake up the monotony a little. Still, I spent most of it awake and downstairs, which was definitely a nice change. Plus, I think I ate more yesterday than the last few days combined. Once the migraine hit, at least I went to bed full.

What woke me this morning was the frantic phone call for emergency design help on the project I stayed late to work on last Wednesday (and I'm convinced helped make me sicker than need be). As a sidenote, I'm not scheduled to be there today, I rearranged my schedule the last two weeks to make sure the project got done to meet this deadline, and while there are more things I feel personally responsible about regarding it not being completed earlier, there were additional things done by others which set me back a bit. The deadline is today, I'm certain the majority of the edits are internal, and the mock-ups still need to be built. I called to let them know I couldn't come, offered no reason (I wasn't pressed further for one) and got a weird response. This crazy cycle happens just about every time with this client and I usually am working on the day it comes and am able to work through it...so how come I feel so guilty for saying no this time?

So I'm sitting on the couch, trying to get my lungs to clear a little, soaking in my own two-day funk, and wondering why it is that I feel even the remotest bit poorly for declining to subject myself to what I know would be a grueling day of work. What do I do in this situation? I call for Bill, who like the other night, wraps me up in his arms, says I'm all sweaty, tells me everything will be ok, that I don't need to make excuses or apologies for feeling so badly, and maybe I'd feel better if I laid down in bed.

Thanks for taking care of me, Bill.

everything old is new again

Today I went to the coolest doctor I've been to in a long time, and not just because he gave me the news I'd been hoping to here (namely that I don't have to have surgery, my sinuses vacuumed or pricked to drain, and that my hearing is just fine), but because he was what every doctor is in my fantasy world: a genuine human being who gives an honest damn about his patient. He made me feel like I was intelligent, that my thoughts and perceptions were accurate and that my explanation of my symptoms was reasonable. If I were single and he were about 25 years younger, I would at least think about asking him to dinner (but I wouldn't because I'd still be me and I'd be terrified to do that).

He said that my problems weren't sinus related at all, even if I am having sinus and migraine headaches due to the change of seasons. He said that he agreed that the Singulair Dr Babs put me on probably made the situation somewhat worse. And he didn't bat an eye when I told him that Meniere's syndrome runs in my family and that I have periods of vertigo myself that land me in bed. In fact, he had my hearing tested just to make sure that my hearing wasn't damaged by my waiting so long to go the doctor in the first place.

In the end, the resulting diagnosis is that I have subacute tonsilitis (which I had repeatedly when I was a kid) and that I'm to continue taking my antibiotics until they are completely gone. I'm relieved, even if my head still hurts and I'm lying on the couch.

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Mom isn't doing so well. The tumors on her spine are back and are pressing on the sciatic nerve of her left leg. Her doctor gave her Percocet to dull the pain, but Dad says that's not settling so well in her stomach. The other day they tried to go out to eat and she vomitted all over the inside of his car. He said it was shocking how sick she got so quickly.

Apparently she's resigned herself finally to the fact that she has lost quite a bit of weight. He says she's down below 140, which is wending its way steadily back into the too thin range for her. She says she's not hungry and all she wants to do is sleep when she's on the drugs.

Dad had originally projected that the cancer wouldn't rear its head until February, but I told him I thought the fairer date was pre-Thanksgiving. Obviously I don't like to be right about this, but here it is.

What with this and Robbie's "volunteering" us to host Christmas this year (he probably thinks he engineered the whole thing, but Bill and I had been planning for this eventuality since Mom went in the hospital in August), the holiday season should be interesting at the Lockardugan Estate this year.

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I've done quite a bit of work in the house despite my illness the last few weeks. I've done quite a bit of work on the dining room and if I can get the "artwork" done before Thanksgiving I'll be thrilled. I've painted and restyled the guest room pretty much all by myself and I'm pretty proud of how it's turned out. I'm feeling much better about my surroundings, even if trying to bleach the disgusting mildew bathroom of the century this afternoon landed me on the couch with a nasty headache and nausea.

I guess working on the house lately has been my way of forcing myself to keep moving, even though I've mostly felt like ass. It's nice to feel like I have control over something, even if it's taking most of my energy to get it shaped up.

me'n'yasser (and the mystery illness) rawk out

I'm going to have the pleasure of visiting the Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist for the first time since 1995. For those of you who haven't heard of my previous appointment with Dr WWII and his instruments of medieval torture (including a sinus vacuum, a CIRCULAR needle which was inserted up my nose and then back down into my throat via my skull, and some mind-numbing weeks of total deafness along with the skull-imploding migraines), I'll be happy to expound upon how much my heart thrills in anticipation later.

Long-story short, Dr Babs still doesn't know what exactly is going on with me, but as of last night she said that my CT scan shows some "discoloration in the cheek bone area underneath BOTH eyes" and put me on some antibiotics until I can see the ENT to whom she has referred me. Since they didn't scan the throat, she has no idea what might be going on down there and was reluctant to say that that pain was in any way related to the sinus issue. Thank you, Jesus, for creating a medical system wherein no one can get a frickin straight answer about anyfrickinthing.

Did I mention that all the offices I called were booked until the end of December? Thankfully, one receptionist was merciful enough to offer me an appt with one of the lesser doctors just so I can try to get some relief from the never-ending sore throat.

mysterious

My trip to the doctor yesterday ended up sucking up my entire afternoon and early evening. Seems Doctor Babs had no idea what was wrong with me, so she threw some meds in my direction, said she didn't think it was sinus related and that she wanted to run some tests.

So off I went to the nearby hood, where the imaging center is located. The people at this imaging center know me well as I have been there for many images in the past three years. I'm convinced that somewhere my life's orders must contain the phrase "thou shalt visit each and every one of Seton Imaging Center's imaging machines before thy quest is complete". I'm well on my way to working through all the currently acceptable ones, so I'm certain there will be a leap in technology soon. Otherwise I'll have to croak since my journey is done you see.

Yesterday I had a CT scan. This wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that I had to take off my glasses, lie on my stomach with my chin on this painful ledge and wait for the machine to take me on a herky-jerky ride toward pukeville. It was much more annoying and uncomfortable for me than the MRI (with which I'd had a mild reaction to the iodine they inject into your arm), and I felt the need to vomit until I made it to the car and popped some of my new Ginger flavored Altoids. Thank GOD for Ginger, natures anti-motion sickness root.

This morning I went to have my bloods tested (that is how the lady said it to me in the waiting room, as if you have more than one blood to be tested) along with probably every old person in The Ville. I swear to Christ, every other time I've been there has been no one there, but today I guess they were celebrating their vote by leaving some blood at the doctors' offices. After waiting for about 45 minutes I finally got into the back and the woman told me I also had to leave some urine, which was a surprise to me. It was also a bit of a pain because I didn't have any urine, singular or otherwise, to contribute. Usually I've got more than enough urine to spare, but not today.

Which leads me to the theory that it might've had something to do with the meds Babs gave me yesterday. I took her allergy medication (who gives allergy meds if they truly believe it's not sinus related is what I want to know) and woke up this morning feeling worse than I did yesterday. The sore throat had somehow commandeered my whole neck until the base of my skull felt like it had been filled with concrete while I was asleep it felt so heavy. Let's just say that I'm reserving judgment on the meds, that I realize it can take a while to work, and I'm going to take another one tonight but that I'm not pleased with the added pains I'm having today.

Hopefully in 72 hours Babs will know what the problem is and be able to fix it. Because this is really putting a huge dent in my love/work/play life.

I've been so blessed with health my whole life that this is just beyond old to me now.

older than dirt

Sick. Again.

I'm going to the doctor today at 2:15 to see why it is that I've been sick off and on for six weeks.

And before anyone gets into their head that there's a potential blessed event on the way, NO CHANCE.

or I could just be sick

When I was in college, my body would herald the end of every stressful semester/finals week with a rip-roaring sore throat. Vive la predictabilite, because my throat woke me up every half hour last night.

fug 3, jen 0

Hidey-ho, kids! This is your old pal, Jenny D-Fug here, reporting today on round three of Fug Face 2004.

For whatever reason, the rash is back in full effect. I had gone off the antibiotics at the advice and reassurance of the dermatologist that it was ok to do so for about three days last week when wham-o, Saturday morning I woke up with the familiar dots around my right eye. These have now spread to my left eye; my eyes are burning and the skin all over my body is incredibly sensitive. Which can only mean that despite the fact I started popping the antibiotics two at a time to get a blood level going ASAP, I'm getting ready to have another full-blown outbreak of Rashomatic6500 for the third time.

Actually, I did have some warning signs that I should've recognized--itchy forehead and scalp--but I put those down erroneously to being psychosomatic from talking about it. Apparently the two designers working in the studio said that they have never had these problems before this spring themselves, and proceeded to show me all the places where they had it poised on the precipice of acting out last Friday. I'm wondering if this is something unique to print designers this spring.

[cue annoying dance music, followed by bellowing-yet-too-cool-for-you-voice]

And now, fresh from Milan, it's the new fashion this spring for print designers everywhere, the fashion accessory that everyone needs--A FACE FULL OF FUG!

it doesn't get any better than this, folks

On top of everything else, I think I'm having a reaction to the antibiotics for the rash.

Let's just say it's hard to concentrate on anything when it feels like your tummy is trying to give birth to Satan's spawn. I'm serious, I'm having contractions every fifteen minutes, and all five of the cats are sitting around looking at me with looks of sheer concern.

Well, that or they want me to shut up about how bad Mommy feels and get them some kibbles!

the sun also rises (you just can't see it for the clouds)

Just as I was about to step into the shower this morning, Bill came excitedly to the door and told me that Jo, our receptionist, had called to tell me that I didn't have to come in today due to the water main break. I am loaded so full of Benadryl and discomfort that I'm happy at the prospect of getting in and out of bed several times today.

For a face update, let's just say that now it's spreading down my neck and I have a few spots on my right thigh. This is completely and totally not good, considering that I am trying to interview for a new job and no one wants to interview or hire a leper. I'm going to try to stall the guy who called last night to schedule an interview until next week, but I'm not even sure this shit will be gone by then. Did I mention how frustrated I am by this whole thing?

As for work...my last day there is the 26th.

Indeed things have gotten worse there, as they have come to us and said that we are "going back to a look that dentists respond to" (better known as BJ: time before the two Jens). This basically means that they have had me creating "ads" that look like someone with a rudimentary knowledge of layout software created them. It's insulting, it's awful, and most of all it's just plain ignorant.

The brain trust/management have been funneling all new jobs to the other "graphics" group, which I refer to lovingly as "desktop publishing" (because that is what they do). This focacta company doesn't even see the difference between what they do and what I do. They can't see that I have market research experience, that I know about targeting their audience, and that the pieces I have crafted have given them and their corporate clients quite a bit of positive response. In short, they piss me off with their insults.

I can feel myself getting all wound up all over again. Thank Jeebus I don't have to go to work today, or I might go postal on someone.

Pox Americana (or: No Shit, Fucktard)

You know you're in trouble when you go the dermatologist and he walks in the door, takes one look at you, does the shocked-shoulder-shrug-with-wide-eyes move and then comments, "Wow! What happened to your face? Did the medicine not work at all?"

Hm. When I swing my arm, will my fist not connect with your face at all?

Then he tells me that the drugs he gave me before have actually made my situation worse.

Really? I hadn't noticed during the time that I woke up on Saturday and the time I woke up today, MotherfuckingTuesday, that what I see when I look in the mirror has mysteriously changed into the face of a 16-year-old boy who works at the very back of the local Pizza Hut 14 hours a day.

He says that he's going to give me a different medicine that will not do that to me again.

Thanks, Chachi. Why couldn't you have given me this in the first place and spared me the need to hide underneath the credenza in shame?

Oh, and by the way, make sure you don't have any sex for the next 30 days. This antibiotic will not only burn out the fug, it will melt latex. And flesh, let's not forget the flesh.

Great. That will make for a great "Happy Birthday, Bill".