Knots of Humiliation

It's been an embarrassing month here. Dr. S. changed my birth control pill prescription to the much cheaper generic form of Loestrin, Microgestin.

The price is nice, but so far not worth the havoc it's wreaking on my body.

After about a week and a half on the new pills my cheeks, chest, and shoulders formed very large, swollen, and extremely painful lumps-- like boils or something, only they never come to a head, they just sit there deforming me.

And another 10 pounds showed up out of nowhere, because that's what I really needed.

I've felt so humiliated. And I know I shouldn't, really, because these are things I have no control over. My family knows it, sort of, and my friends are understanding, but I can't help but see how I look-- especially to strangers, since they have no idea, and it's not like I can sit everyone down and explain why I look like this.

Which is so horribly superficial...and then that's embarrassing...

Speaking of, the bumps are starting to go away, thank goodness, but there are further problems with the new medicine: it's not working.

The endometriosis pain is back full-force, and by my estimation, right now, I have about 20 minutes left of upright time before I have to lay down for a few hours again.


I don't think there's anything I hate more than medicines that take a while to work right. I know the new BCP is doing something to my hormones so I have to give it a chance to balance out, but it's so frustrating to live through its bull waiting for it to work. Like the Nexium, the Ear, Nose, & Throat doctor (Dr. A.) said it would take up to 6 weeks to see results.

6 weeks? 6 weeks. Great. Looking forward to it.


Luckily it's spring break this week, so it's not like I'm missing out on work because I'm sick this time.


Patience...patience...it took 15 years to get this way, it'll probably be another 15 to get back what I've lost.

It's funny, this whole situation is like a huge knot. A hundred threads all balled up, kinked and woven. Everything's so interconnected and layered you can't begin to work on one part before you've unwound the 12 before it.

I just need to be patient, and keep working on it...one day it'll be better.

Right?

It's Not All in My Head

I had a few good days (!!!) last week and, like always, I begin to doubt myself.

I felt good, I was out and doing things, working, shopping, spending time with people I care about, it was really nice. And in the back of my head I was thinking, "Oh, God, I was just so lazy. I wasted years because I was 'tired' and 'depressed' and 'in pain', when really all I ever was was bored."

And I get so embarrassed. And I feel so guilty.

But then, like I always do, I crash. Something like spending 40 of the next 48 hours asleep-- like I did this weekend and have been dragging ever since.

Part of me is grateful for the crash, if only because it reinforces that I'm not crazy. It reminds me that I'm really not in control regardless of how it may seem for days at a time. So in a way it's comforting.

It's amazing how easily the months (years!) of misery can be so quickly undone by a few days of normalcy. "Hey, this feels normal!" becomes, "What if I'm actually normal...?!"

But my body never lets me down. Sooner or later, or very sooner, I'll be back in bed.

Because I'm sick. Not crazy.

Frustration and Hope

I started working on this post...a good long while ago.

I started this blog under the impression that I could write no matter how I felt. This month taught me otherwise. I spent 12 days stoned out on Vicodin, and the other days working or just trying to keep up with the exhaustion, housework, and the piles and piles of writing I need to do.

This month I watched things fall away, one-by-one, and I didn't have all that much in the first place. Stupid things like Facebook games and TV shows I was too tired for, and big things like my work with Chandler and, once or twice, personal hygiene.

As my pain has intensified and the fatigue took me over my mood plummeted. Why me? Why now?

Through January and the beginning of February I had the best month and a half...the best month and half that I'd had in a long, long time. I remembered how I used to feel when I was young, athletic, enthusiastic. I felt creative and started playing with costume design and for the first time I realized I had talent. Talents. When I could move and breathe and not have to stop unless I wanted to...I felt strong. I felt free. I felt powerful. I wasn't really any of those, but at that point I was, more than I had been in a decade at least. And I could see myself working at getting stronger. I was in a position where I wasn't too sick to grow, much less too sick to imagine growing. I was sad my friends never got to see me like this, never got to enjoy this person...she's a lot different. She can be.

This month makes that little window of time look like a sick joke.

And I'm so frustrated with it...I'm so frustrated...there's an enormous weight on me. I'm literally (and figuratively) being held down by this enormous force and nothing can get it off me. I can't look for work as a receptionist or whatever because I can't work 9-5 for 5 days straight right now-- much less a theater job. I get so angry when I hear someone talk about costumes used in movies or on TV. I get so angry. I get so angry because this thing is holding me down and no matter how much I kick or punch or scream it doesn't move and no one can help.

I worked two days in a row the other week...I spent 8 hours awake over the next three days. I get six to eight hours of consciousness a day, with four to six hours of functioning. Not good functioning, just functioning.

This isn't living. It's barely existing.

So what now?

Well, not a moment too soon, I had a wonderful trip to see a new gynecologist. You heard me. Wonderful trip to the gynecologist. Let that sink in.

She was smart and funny, and listened to me. Made me feel like I wasn't crazy. And talked to me like I was a human being and not a sock puppet like female doctors usually do.

And she said I was probably right about the endometriosis. Again, let it sink in.

She said I was probably right about the endometriosis. After more than six months of people doubting it was endometriosis I had someone say to me, "Everything that you're telling me says 'endometriosis'."

It still could be something different, but as of last Monday my diagnosis is "endometriosis" and not "hypochondriac." (Mystery Diagnosis and Other Medical Issues)

And I'm getting treated for it.

The first step of endometriosis treatment for new doctor, Dr. A., is birth control pills to make my cycle lighter and less painful (Loestrin) -- mind you, "heavy" for me now means I have to use regular tampons instead of light on my one "heavy" day, but the lightening aspect is so I have less of the stray fluid rolling around my abdomen and hurting a ridiculous amount.

And I'm seeing Dr. S. tomorrow to tell him to either re-up my dosage of Lyrica (Side Effects) or move on, because I can't take another month of the elevated fibro while I'm waiting for the endometriosis treatment to do something. I can't.

Sometimes I think about what I'd do if I could. I daydream about running. I fantasize about having a real job and still being able to handle the functions of daily life at the same time. I wonder what it's like to not be afraid to shower because it's not going to feel like razor blades when the water hits my body and the towels won't feel like sandpaper when I dry off. Would I be able lean against the edge of a chair, table or counter without having to flinch away? Could I brush against something and not have it burn for 20 minute after?

At least I still have the strength to hope.

Mystery Diagnosis and Other Medical Issues

Bad news.

Really bad news.

I'm going to have to change my "Endometriosis" tag to "Mystery Diagnosis".

Why? Because I got a phone call from the gynecologist. My old general practitioner's (GP), Dr. J., office sent my most recent blood test results to the GYN, so with those and my ultrasound results he made a decision.

The decision that my problem was not gynecological.

So I guess it's just a coincidence that my pain is synchronized with my cycle. And apparently he doesn't care anymore that I said I think it's endometriosis, and that he agreed that it could be, and that he himself said the only way to tell for sure was surgery. But apparently none of that matters anymore because he had some kind of psychic vision that my problem isn't gynecological.

If it ends up being endometriosis I'm going to make an appointment just to punch him in the face.

I've got an appointment with the new GP, Dr. S, in about two weeks so he's going to get an earful about that. For sure.

--

One of the co-morbid disorders of fibromyalgia that isn't often talked about is AAIFS, or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Family Syndrome. AAIFS is almost never found in the fibromyalgia patient themselves but is actually found in the people surrounding the patient. Variations of AAIFS are AAIFS2 (Annoying-Ass Ignorant Friend Syndrome) and AAIAS or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Acquaintance Syndrome, often found in friends of friends or coworkers of the patient.

Symptoms of AAIFS, AAIFS2 and AAIAS include comments covered in What Not to Say, but also include a general ignorance, often with refusal to comprehend what's being told to them in response to their ignorant-ass comments.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty awful so I took a Vicodin and, for whatever reason, while I was showering an hour or so later I was overcome by weakness, dizziness, and nausea-- I really thought I was going to faint. I sat down for a little while because I was afraid that if I laid down I really would pass out, so I sat and waited it out. When it passed I was okay, but pale and shaky. I told my mother what happened and that I'd be staying downstairs for a little while afterwards in case I really did faint.

She started hemming and hawing about my eating habits (which are normal and haven't changed in months), then started in about how much I've been sleeping-- which I admit is a lot, 12 hours or more daily, but that's because of the change in medication and I may need a new sleep aid.

I tried to explain to her about how switching a major part of my medication (Lyrica now instead of Celebrex: New Doctor, New Methods) is going to mess me up for a while until we get it worked out, and how Dr. S. said he would normally see a person in my condition for whom he's changing a major part of their medicinal regime he would see once a week but because of our horrible insurance and financial difficulties I can only see him once a month.

Then she did her "I still disagree even though you had a logical and reasonable answer for each of the points I brought up" pursing her lips face (not to be confused with her "I want to say more because I think you're wrong and stupid but I can't because you're in no condition to fight" pursing her lips face) so I knew that was the end of the discussion.

It's so frustrating, and I don't know what to do. Arthur, Janet and I were talking about Arthur's, Mick's, and my fatal stubbornness that we get from our mother...I mean, we hang on to things that we think or feel waaaay past the time that everyone else thinks or sees that we should stop, but we either don't see it or don't care that it's there. Tenacity is a good thing, but we cross the line into obstinacy.

It takes a lot, a lot, to convince her to change her mind, and I really don't know what else to do. She has plantar fasciitis, so it's not like she's a stranger to chronic pain...but she just refuses to...or she can't...I don't know. I don't even know how to describe it.

Let's just say she's ignorant of the real situation but is too stubborn to see it differently and it annoys the crap out of me.

--

This situation sucks from about 15 different angles.

But hang in there with me, kids, we'll all get through it.

Your Good Deed for the Day

Sorry for leaving you stranded yesterday-- the trip to Maryland was cancelled because my father has his annual "Sean's Birthday" cold which he's had literally every year since Sean was born, including the actual day Sean was born.

As for me, the pain came and did not disappoint with its severity or duration-- spent 2 Vicodin taking care of it.

I'm currently working on a post that will go up later today, but this post serves a bigger purpose than my apology.

Mental_floss's Morning Cup of Links this morning includes a link to a video produced by the scientists, students, lab techs, and volunteers at McGill University's Goodman Cancer Research Centre dancing to Taio Cruz's "Dynamite". The video is sponsored by Medicom, a company that pledged to donate to the Goodman Centre for every view the video receives on YouTube, so get to watching!

McGill Dances for Cancer Research

Another Day in Hell

The past few days have been brutal, and as such I'm terrified of the pain that's coming...since this thing changes with my cycle I know I've got a little over a week before it becomes excruciating again and there's nothing I can do about it...from now til then the discomfort's going to grow incrementally until the day comes when it's unbearable. Considering that it's been getting worse with every month that goes by and last month it was so bad I cried I'm really, really scared of what's coming.

I haven't heard from the GYN about my ultrasound results. Chances are that since the CT scan didn't show anything that the ultrasound won't show anything either, but it's still nerve-wracking-- especially since they wouldn't let me see the images during the test so I don't know what the doctor is looking at, I can't be sure there's nothing.

I keep going over the CT images, making sure there isn't anything that the doctors might have missed being too focused on my stomach and intestines, any blip of anything, but there's nothing there.

So then I think maybe the ultrasound got a different angle or something...but if there was a cyst or tumor the doctor would have called right away...but maybe he hasn't even seen it yet?

So then what's next after that? An MRI? Surgery is coming as long as these things keep coming up negative.

I don't know what to do. Do I keep applying for jobs? What if I get one? Can I handle it? How can I be reliable when I know I've got semi-random crippling pain several days a month?

So if I can't work, then what? Disability? That's barely enough to live on...how would I pay my bills? Medical, credit card?

And if I went on disability, would I still be able to write? Like if I open the new blog with ads, or by some miracle I get an agent interested in me?

I'm stressing myself out now. I'm going to go knit and pretend that I'm normal.

Busy Busy Saturday Summary

The past couple of days have been crazy busy for me, sorry about that, not neglecting you.

Thursday was my ultrasound. So here's

Ultrasounding Off: So what with the possible endometriosis, I had a pelvic ultrasound ordered by the GYN. Genius idea, really, when someone is having lower abdominal pain, let's take a stick and jab it around those places that hurt. The conversation between me and the technician went like this

Me: *flinch*

Tech: Are you okay?

Me: Mm-hmm!

...

Me: *flinch*

Tech: Are you okay?

Me: Mm-hmm!

Repeat that 7 or 8 times. I had to keep saying "Mm-hmm" because it hurt too much to talk. And you know what else sucks about those things? The technician isn't allowed to tell you anything. And they won't let you see the screen. So you could have massive tumors hanging off your internal organs, but they can't say anything. Like when I broke my leg (Spaz Girl Walking), I asked the nurse taking my X-rays and she couldn't tell me. She did make a face, though, so I knew, but really. You're scared and in pain, knowing is infinitely better than knowing something's wrong but not knowing what.

--

Friday: I overslept like, 5 hours for going on errands with my mom, but the more pressing matter was a phone call from Debra. It's sad, but I predicted this: Manny isn't doing well in school. I'm no expert, but I'd say his social, life, and motor skills put him at about age 3. I know it's hard to think of 5 year olds as being self-sufficient, but they do need to be (to an extent) in order to be able to handle school.

They need to be able to feed themselves, they need to be able to follow a set of directions, they need to be able to go to the bathroom alone. Manny's having trouble with these things. He's also getting in trouble because he gets frustrated very easily (common with autism) when he has trouble with things. My poor boy, I wish I could hug him. Maybe I can talk my mom into visiting tomorrow.

I also made killer cinnamon rolls last night. Found the recipe here at Whipped the Blog's Ultimate Cinnamon Rolls. Incredible. They were delicious, and I managed to make them without brown sugar (I substituted white) and vanilla (I substituted nothing). I can't imagine how good they're going to be when I'm able to make them for real because these were awesome. And pretty easy, too.

Oh, and my two cents, when you're cutting the individual rolls off the log it's way easier to use the thread than it is a knife.

--

Today: Today I got to hang out with one of my best friends from high school, Linus. Aaaah, Linus is awesome. We had a long talk about relationships and work and family...it was great.

I also picked up a study book for the GREs. Holy crap, I'm going to fail, I'm going to fail so hard. I've got the language part, that'll be fine, but oh, man. The math? Not good, not good at all. Flipping through the book I saw triangles. TRIANGLES. I know the area of a triangle is one half times base times height, but that's all I remember about triangles. Crap.

At least I have the book...

--

Upcoming Posts: Movies based on books has been postponed as Blanc came up with a great idea for tandem movie reviews so we're going to talk about that. The Fight Club & Self Injury post is still coming, I just need to feel good about the final draft. Tomorrow will be the obligatory September 11th post, of course. Also definitely coming is a review of Bridget Jones' Diary, the novel, and I might have a substituting job this week and those are always entertaining.

Stay tuned, it should be a good week.

What Kind of Day Has it Been?

I love days like these...rainy, nothing to do, nowhere to go days. Tomorrow I should probably do a few productive things (defer student loans...order GRE study book...make doctor's appointment...work on room reorganization...shark substitute assignments online...), but not today.

I miss having days like this in college...the girls and I would drink coffee and play games. Those are the days I miss most. It's what we did when Gayle threw that party for Lisa a few weeks ago and it was the happiest I'd been in a long time.

Today was Manny's first day of school, hard as it is to believe. I got a little teary over the picture of him wearing a backpack and holding a lunchbox Mick posted on Facebook this morning. My mother was there when he got home from school...she said he was as unfazed about it as he is about everything...and he's been placed in a classroom with other special needs kids, with two teachers and an aide, but I'm still worried-- we don't know what Manny's place on the autism spectrum is and whether the school is equipped to deal with it. The whole deal is frazzling my nerves.

I've been distracting myself with Regretsy and Facebook games...A&E On Demand...and setting up another blog to publish a trashy novel I've been playing with off and on for a few years-- then maybe others, I don't know, I'll have to see how the first one does if I ever get around to biting the bullet about it. In the meantime I'm going to play with the design templates and ponder about whether to write one or two stand-alone "About" pages.

I'm watching Intervention and this 30 year old girl is sleeping with a 75 year old man that pays for her drugs. Umm...I can deal with that if somebody would pay my bills. How often can a seventy-five year old want it? Damn. Well...what, 68, technically, in my case? Shoot. Steve Martin's 66 and I'd totally hit that. Kevin Kline's 64. I'm game.

Old, wealthy men: pay my bills and I'll seriously consider dating you. Cute, old, wealthy men: pay my bills and I will probably date you. Cute, wealthy men: pay my bills and I will definitely date you.

Just putting it out there. Like that challenge to Microsoft that my 5 year old computer is waaaay better than anything new coming out now. Seamus the Lappy forever.

Today's pain has gotten harder to deal with as the day has gone on...I've got an ultrasound coming up on Thursday. I'd tell you to cross your fingers for me, but I don't know what to hope for. Especially since I don't understand what an ultrasound could see that a CT scan couldn't. If I've already had a more detailed test for the same person, why order the weaker test? Part of me just wants them to cut me open already and dig around to find out what's going on...be sure, whichever doctor I see first (my GYN or new GP), I'm getting painkillers at my next appointment. Be. Sure. I'm not going through another cycle of this pain, I'm not. I don't care what it takes.

And poor Herbert's so sick and nobody knows what to do with him...

Tension headache. Hahaha, this was supposed to be a relaxing post-- what happened?!

Pre-Aftermath & Spoons

Apologies about the lack of posting, it's been a rough couple of days.

Janet and Arthur only ended up spending a couple of hours without power, but Mick and Debra lost power Saturday night and it hasn't come back on yet. They've been staying with Deb's mother, but they're coming here for dinner tonight.

My street experienced the worst flooding its had in at least 40 years, the water was waist-deep in some areas, I have pictures and will do a whole post on it later, but not today, I'll explain in a minute. We never lost power, and truthfully, the wind was at its worst on Sunday after the storm had already passed.

From the sound of it, Gayle and Mr. Yikes made out better than even we did.

As to why the real aftermath post will be later, I'm in a great deal of pain. 10 being excruciating, 0 being no pain at all, yesterday was an 8 and I ended up taking a Vicodin and spent the day slipping in and out of sleep. The pain's only a five/six today, but with Mick and Deb and Manny coming I need to hang on to as many spoons as I can.

This is the Spoon Theory and it sums up life with a chronic illness absolutely perfectly. 


Mick, Deb, and Manny are here, gotta go. Wish me luck.

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming

I make it a point to be as honest as I can on here because if I'm going to lie I might as well not post...it doesn't do anything to help me and it certainly won't help anybody else who could be going through the same thing, for sure.

So here it is: I'm a 23 year old virgin that's having her first gynecologist appointment tomorrow to see if the symptoms I'm experiencing are due to endometriosis. And I'm freaking terrified.

I'm kind of glad for my stomachache today. It's not bad, but it's a reminder that it's a problem and that next week or so it'll be much, much worse, and that's why I'm doing this. It's why I have to go. I have to find out what this is and get it treated, if only so I can wear my clothes again.

Wear my clothes again? Yeah, wear my clothes again. My abdomen is so distended none of my pants fit because they're too tight in the waist, and none of my shirts fit because they don't go over my 5 months pregnant looking belly. Clothes that fit well enough 20 pounds ago don't anymore.

I'm doing my best to get ready, but there's so much to keep track of: different symptoms, different dates, different appointments, different medications, different procedures...I mean, I started noticing something was weird in February-- it's a lot to keep track of.

And I know the anticipation is much worse than anything that's going to happen tomorrow, but goodness knows that knowing that doesn't mean a thing in terms of anxiety. The nurses that take my blood pressure always comment on how fast my pulse is...I tell them it's because I never got good news in a doctor's office. They laugh, but it's true.

In fact, it's one of the reasons I took so long about getting to the GYN-- it was the one thing that never had any problems. Never a yeast, urinary tract or bladder infection, I'm not sexually active, my periods (were) light and regular with very little cramping (I'd just be really hungry), and there's no history of any kind of gynecological disorders in my family. So why go?

You know how nervous I am? I involuntarily shuddered earlier. Like an actual shudder.

I'm going to have a cup of tea...I need to relax.

Maybe I'll have a glass of wine with breakfast. I mean, really, it's just grape juice...

Fireworks Daughter

Short post today because I'd like to get my Fight Club post up tomorrow. 

My father, Dan, The Fireworks Man, began shooting fireworks before I was born. He was a member of the prestigious Garden State Fireworks company throughout the 70s and early 80s. He stopped when his friend died, which seems to happen to my dad a lot. 

He has a show today with the company he joined about ten years ago, International Fireworks. I wanted so badly to go to the show tonight, I even gave up hanging out with Blanc for it, because the I.F. warehouse wants to get rid of their stock of 16 inch shells and tonight's venue is one of the few places that's possible.

The larger a shell is, the larger a firework is, the more space you need around it, legally and logistically, space without people or trees or structures. The National Fire Protection Association's code number 1123, the regulations for fireworks displays, requires a minimum viewing distance of 70 feet for every one inch of shell size. So for the 16 inch shells they need 1120 feet of space. 

That's a radius of 1120 feet. You need almost a half of a mile for these things to be launched safely. The largest shell my father's ever seen lit was a 12 inch-er in a show he did. He said that it left a 4 foot circle on the ground, that it pulled all the grass surrounding it towards itself for four feet. The shells they want to launch tonight are four inches larger. 

Average shows consist of mainly three to six inch shells. The biggest shells in average shows are 8 inch-ers, and there's usually only a dozen of those, if that. 

I hope they don't do it. I hope it's not tonight. For one thing, it's a gigantic fucking bomb they want to light, three times the size of the bombs they usually handle. And because I rrrrreeeaaaallllllllllyyyyy wanted to see it, but I'm not well enough to go. 

Good show, boys. Come home with all of your fingers and toes. 

Living on a Prayer

I have a weird sleep schedule. I suspect my days and nights are flipped as the most natural thing for me to do is sleep all day and stay up all night. I fight against this so I end up going to bed around 3ish and sleeping until noonish, so I end up showering around 1 or 2 in the morning. 

My parents sleep with the door open (don't get me started) and our bedroom doors are separated by a 2 square foot bit of carpet at the top of the stairs. The main part of our house, our bedrooms and the living room and kitchen beneath them are over 100 years old and were part of a farmhouse before the area was made residential. People that have been in my house would think this is weird considering that my house, along with a few other houses both on my street and in the surrounding area, is a duplex. The interesting thing about that is that all of the other duplexes are laid out exactly the same way, exactly the same as my neighbor's side of our house and Herbert's a few blocks away: a basement, 3 rooms downstairs, 2 upstairs with an upstairs bathroom, and an attic. 

But my house isn't laid out that way, and it's the only one not-- so basically things were built up and around these four little rooms. The point I'm trying to make is my house is old, and the stairs between my bedroom and my parents bedroom are old and creaky, and I have to go down them to get to the bathroom because our bathroom is tacked on to back end of the downstairs because our house was built without a bathroom. That's how old it is. 

So the point I'm trying to get at is I often wake my parents on my way downstairs to shower, so it's not unusual that I wake them, then they have to use the bathroom because they're really old and always have to go to the bathroom (Hi, Mom!). 

The other night this happened, so I wasn't surprised to see my mother in our living room on my way back upstairs after my shower. I was surprised she didn't need the bathroom...and I was even more surprised that she was crying. 

Like so many others, we're struggling right now, financially. We're only getting a fraction of what we should be because my father was forced out of a job when he retired from his union and they threatened to take away his pension and benefits if he took a position having anything to do with plumbing-- which is ridiculous and illegal and we can't afford to press charges. I'm not going to go into the levels of sick there. 

So now we're trying to find me a gynecologist, but since New Jersey raised the doctors' malpractice insurance rates to the highest in the country a lot of specialists left the state, so only the really wealthy could afford to stay, which means they're all at least twenty minutes away in the "old money" section of the state or in Pennsylvania- so I can't find a male gynecologist within a half-hour of my house that takes our insurance. Yes, male. I'll post about female doctors one day, but not today. 

And I have to leave my regular doctor. I stopped seeing a pediatrician when I was 6 when he almost killed my brother Mick. So I started seeing our family doctor, so now it's been-- what, 17 years? But my insurance no longer takes out-of-network doctors so I have to leave him. There aren't any in-network doctors nearby, so we have to go to an out-of-network doctor that at one time was a business partner of my now-ex doctor but they split up their practice after they got caught taking bribes from a  lab to only use that particular lab and then not claiming it on their taxes. So they broke apart the practice. Anyway, so we have to go to the other guy, but he charges 3 times his usual rate for the first appointment and we all need to go see him because our prescriptions are no good because they were written by the other doctor, so no longer covered so we'd have to pay full price for them. 

Full price for prescriptions. To put this into perspective, I take 11 pills every morning, and 11 pills every night. 

That's 77 pills a week. My stomach medicine alone, with insurance, is $50. Without insurance? $1500. 

The good news is if I do have endometriosis (that's the good news!!) I can stop taking those and go on a cheaper stomach pill-- but I'm going to need more medicine for the endometriosis. 

So you see why my mother was crying?  And why our family's theme song is "Living on a Prayer"?

God, I need a job. 

Harry Potter and the Stomachache from Hell

Update on the Great Job Project: haven't heard back from anyone but applied to a fucking fantastic job with the state so keep your fingers crossed for me. 


My stomach is killing me. I think I was right with my initial thought of endometriosis as the pain resurfaced again during ovulation and my stomach is still freaking gigantic. How gigantic? My waist is generally 32". It's now almost 40". The new pain pills, dicyclomine (generic Bentyl), are doing nothing. I wish I could talk to my regular doctor, but he's out of my insurance network now and I can't see him until my insurance changes from either my father getting a promotion or I get the fantastic job with the state. 


I wish I hadn't taken The Internship from Hell...there'd still be cash in my checking account and room on my credit card. All I have right now is my box of change and that's only half full, and barely enough to even go to the movies. 


I still haven't seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part II yet and it's killlling me, even though I know what's going to happen and I know I'm going to cry my eyes out. I cry all the way through the end of the 6th book to the end of the 7th-- it all just slays me. 


Interesting story, actually, I never wanted to read the HP books. In fact, when they were spending so much time at the top of the Bestseller list my parents would ask me repeatedly if I wanted them to get them for me because everybody liked them so much, and I said no, I just wasn't interested. 


Granted, I was 10 at the time and on the precocious side and was reading Little Women and Gone with the Wind, or The Secret Garden AND I was truly obsessed with the Anne of Green Gables series- I honestly had no interest. 


Then in 7th grade my reading teacher said we'd be reading HP and the Sorcerer's Stone and I didn't really care until we actually started reading it- one chapter in and I was hooked. Then some parents complained and they took the books away so I made my parents go out and buy them for me. 


I live in a very Catholic area, though, so that could have something to do with it. 


Figured out how to set Georgia as my default font- what what! I'm getting all computer literate and stuff. 


I think my mother is making my favorite dinner- fettuccine Alfredo- for dinner. Nice of her, considering I'm not supposed to be having lactose. 


Oh, well. At least with endometriosis I can enjoy lactose while dealing with the crippling pain. 


Back to HP- I read Emma Watson has been cast in Guillermo Del Toro's retelling of Beauty and the Beast (here). Is it too early to get excited? Pan's Labyrinth is one of the best movies ever made- can you imagine what he'd do with Beauty and the Beast? I'm stoked. 


I've had this brutal headache all day...I'm going to go lay down until my mother tries to murder me with cheese. 


Edit (7:32 pm): I was right- we had fettuccine alfredo for dinner. Heavy cream, butter, and cheese. If I were lactose intolerant I'd be dying right now. I'm not lactose intolerant. It goes to show you: stomach doctors will give you a stomach diagnosis- looks like I need to go to the gyno. 


Oh, well. At least I can have milk again.