About that time I was sick...

In an attempt to get caught up on some of the major happenings of this summer, I'm going to tackle it one topic at a time, and not necessarily in order. Why? I don't know. But maybe it will explain the extended absences mixed with the lame half-a*ssed (*'s for mom's work filter, remember?) returns.

So let's see.

Well...

I spent the end of June and almost ALL of July sick as a dog.

It started with a super fun combination of laryngitis, bronchitis, and strep throat. I managed to lose my voice ENTIRELY for 5+ days. Let me tell you how fun that was - especially when I was working a few 10 hour days at cycling races and had to communicate with everyone via walkie-talkie. It was a lost cause. Even whispering was difficult. I felt like I had climbed a flight of stairs after the effort it would take to push out just one sentence. Bad news. Then there were days I couldn't swallow, days I didn't sleep because I would cough all night.

UGLY.

I went to the doctor, got antibiotics and some other good fun drugs.

And then I thought I was better after about 3.5 weeks.

For like two whole days.

WRONG AGAIN, CHIEFTAIN.

After 2 whole days of feeling great and finally indulging in a nice, summery, ice cold beer, my throat started getting sore again. And then I couldn't swallow.

Oh! And there was that morning (before I was leaving for work) that I almost passed out in the shower. I had to lay down in the tub and turn the water off with my feet. That was fun.

Then I drove 40 minutes to sit in the sun on a super humid day for 2 hours.

As soon as I got back, I went to the walk-in clinic doctor that I see through our private insurance. He thought it was still the same thing and did a strep test (negative) and told me to drink a lot of gatorade and soup. Umm. Sure.

He also did an x-ray of my ribs because I managed to either sprain/strain/or hairline fracture one from coughing so hard.

A few days later I still felt miserable. Perhaps MORE miserable....and now I couldn't hear out of my right ear and the left one was feeling weird. I had a standing appointment at the VA a few days later because they like to see you at least once a year. I was going to cancel it, but since I still felt crappy and my old doctor there (that I couldn't stand) was finally gone, I decided to keep it.

My new VA doctor? AWESOME. I love her. Not as much as the one I had in Fresno, but still, I like her a lot. AND...she didn't tell me to east some soup and drink some gatorade. She actually examined me again, which is kind of more (or at least different) than the walk-in doctor did.

Turns out my other stuff had evolved into pneumonia and a double ear infection! Awesome. I also needed to start using an inhaler and she said there was a chance I'd need it in the future now that I had been so sick for so long

So that took some more time to get over. I was very weak for quite awhile and my hearing didn't return very quickly either. I was still sick when we left for our week long anniversary road trip...

...which I'll write about next time.

Damn kids.

So there is this athletic training room...also known as "my office that everyone in the world seems to have the key to". 

I would say 3-4 days a week when I get to work, said door is unlocked.  I find this inappropriate, rude, and irresponsible of whoever is opening it and not locking it.  Either no one is in there and it is wide open, or kids are in there helping themselves to whatever isn't locked up or bolted down. 

What's wrong with that, you ask?  You mean athletic trainers don't just know how to pour water and tape ankles? 

No.  I didn't spend 5 years (7, now that I'm about to get my MS degree) in college learning how to pour water and tape an ankle.  My colleagues and I know a plethora of other things.  We are certified and licensed providers of certain kinds of medical care for crying out loud.   Not your f-cking band-aid-giver-outer.

A few days ago, a teacher (or coach - who knows) let an athlete in there with no supervision and this kid spent 12 minutes in the ice bath at a temperature about 15+ degrees lower than is safe.  Why?  Because he thought if it was colder, he would get better faster. 

I've also had similar things happen with kids putting a moist heat pad on without extra padding because they thought if it was hotter it would work better and faster.

Dude.

So anyway...I'm losing the point of my story about the unlocked doors.

Today I get to my office door with my hands full - laptop bag, keys, and purse in one-hand, fresh extra-hot cup of Americano from Starbucks in my left hand. 

I don't check to see if the door is unlocked.  I was in an awful mood.  I didn't want to know.

I turn the key with the right hand, and push the heavy door forward with the left (burning hot coffee) hand. 

As I start to reach for the light switch in the pitch black room, I glance up and get a quiet "Boo!"

HOLYEFFINGSONOFAWHATTHEEFFINGHELL*#*@&%^!%!!!!!!!!!!!

Standing there inches from my face in the dark is one of our biggest offensive linemen waiting there to scare THE HOLY BEJEEZUS out of me.

The extra fresh burning hot coffee?

Running down my bare hand and arm almost as fast as the swear words are flying out of my mouth.

This simultaneously pissed me off even more but made me laugh.  This is one of the least-scary kids I've ever met in my life.  No, he should not have - for any reason - done what he did...but if it had to be, couldn't it have been a day where I didn't have the coffee in hand? 

It helps that he feels terrible.

And that he realizes that I'm going to give him hell about this incident until the day he graduates.

As for my hand, it's a little red and sore, but not very noticeable which is surprising but good.  Athletic trainers need their hands almost as much as surgeons do...well...on a smaller scale anyway.

Correction:

BILATERAL Pulmonary Embolism.

She went back to the ER this morning. She felt awful all night and in the morning and was afraid to be home alone (VERY not like her, trust me). Plus, the cats and dog wouldn't leave her side which is even more scary since animals always seem to know when something is wrong.

She's back home tonight and feeling a little better. She's got an appointment with her regular doctor tomorrow for some test results and what not.

I love Wisconsin, but it is so hard to be so far away right now.

I went to the resurrection of book club tonight and had a great time. My friends here are amazing for providing a good time, good company, and a welcome distraction.

Pulmonary Embolism

This is what we found out my mom has last night.  She went in to the hospital on new year's day (after putting it off a couple days) because she was in a lot of pain and didn't feel well.  She suspected a kidney infection, but then they saw that she had some pancreatic inflammation and that her pseudo-cyst from earlier this year was gone, but there was scar tissue there now.  Either way...also not the culprit even though her amylase and lipase levels (pancreatic stuff) are still through the roof (they are lower though - that's good).  Anyway, x-rays, a CT scan, and an EKG later...we have pulmonary embolism.

She is finally back at home tonight with all kinds of new medications to take on top of the ones for RA and the other fun stuff.  This now includes giving herself injections twice a day of Lovenox, some blood thinners, and vitamins.

:::sigh:::

She is too young to have to deal with all this.  I wish she lived closer so I could help her out and be there for her more.

I'm sorry for the seeming-randomness to those of you who haven't heard/read any of my worries about my mom and her health and that I'm speaking like it's common knowledge.  I don't always do a very good job keeping track of where I put my thoughts or to whom (who? I never quite got that one) ends up on the receiving end of them.

4th and 1

Sorry for the not-so-clever football reference. 

I'm talking about 4 semesters down, 1 to go!  I finished my final assignment last night and can forget about school for a solid 6 or so weeks.  I'm one 6 credit semester away from my masters degree and can. not. wait.  As much as I'd like to say that I will be able to forget about school forever, I can't shake the feeling that I may end up back there somehow to learn a new trade that fits in a little better with the family-friendly work schedule I would like to have.  But, then again...if I go back to school that would probably mean we'd have to put off the family thing even longer.  So we'll see I guess.

There I go jumping back on the Debbie Downer train again.  I can't seem to stop doing that. No matter how many things I am happy or excited about, I manage find twice as many things to bring me down.  I don't know what my problem is.

Tonight we are going to Corey's company Christmas party.  We had a lot of fun last year and are doing the same thing this time.  It was a dinner/booze cruise on Lake Michigan and the Milwaukee River.  The food was good and the view was amazing.  I'm hoping that the boat will make fewer attempts to break through the frozen over parts of the water.  I'm not in the mood for any Titanic moments.  After the dinner cruise last year we ended up bar hopping on Water Street, but the people we were with live closer to Madison and still had to drive home.  This year we live closer to downtown and have invited people to stay over if they need to.  Anyway, I'm off to clean the house a little more just in case. 

Sweet contest!

I learned about this contest to win a Wii Fit through a friend's blog. I've wanted a Wii for a long time now but Corey doesn't see the point because he has a PS3. The key word there is "HE" has a PS3. Not to mention that PS3 DOESN'T HAVE WII FIT! I would love to win this more than I can describe. I can't just "work out". I won't stick to it. I can't commit to any certain times/days of the week for a class for a recreational team because of my job.

Right now I am back up to a weight that is less than 10lbs under the weight I was at my heaviest. I know I'm not obese, but I'm definitely overweight and more out of shape than I've ever been. I'm about to turn 30. I wake up every day feeling like a got hit by a car/bus/train (that is my pain scale these days) with fibromyalgia crap and exercise and yoga are supposed to help that too.

Plus, I REALLY need to lose some weight and gain some better habits. I'd like to do this before we have kids, too. The weight itself is just a number, I know...but it's a number I'm so scared to see again. I remember how I felt at that weight. I remember how low my self esteem was and the stress and depression surrounding it too. So even though I don't look terrible, I associate that weight with a terrible time in my life. One I don't want to see and feel again. Ever. I envy those people who are overweight and know it and still exude so much confidence. I had that once too...but it was when I was in shape. It's different for everyone I suppose.

Woooo...sorry that got a little Debbie Downer-ish.

Therapy Thursday

I am starting to feel like I'm on the brink of crazyflakes.

Who the F hits the snooze button every 5 minutes for TWO AND A HALF HOURS?!?! Especially after about 9 hours of sleep. This is an almost daily occurrence now. On a good day it's 1.5 hours of snooze. Today was a new record.

Why do I talk/think about all kinds of stuff that I'm going to get done and plan to be really productive the next day and then can never bring myself to do any of it?

Is any medication going to help my insomnia? I'm not laying there stressing about anything in particular. I'm just...laying there. The stuff I'm taking now seems to be helping with my quality of sleep and a little with the fibromyalgia (I wake up feeling like I only got hit by a mini-cooper instead of a bus), but making the insomnia worse.

I don't feel anxious. I don't feel depressed. I'm actually less stressed than normal these days.

So what the hell?

...and then I went all vasovagal 'n shit...

So yeah...

I had to go to the doctor this morning for to get my blood drawn to check my cholesterol and thyroid. Walked in, felt fine yadda yadda. I was just telling the nurse that my veins are kind of difficult but she seemed confident. So she goes for my right arm...it rolls and she misses...digs around, can't get it. Switches arms, finds a good one...WHOOPS...there it goes...starts digging...finally gets it. I still felt fine this whole time. I open my hand and relax my arm while she's taking the blood out and I start feeling kind of hot and only a little light headed.

She's done, I ask if I can sit there for a minute...(sure! do you want some juice? sure!)...she leaves and I start feeling a little worse. I drink the juice, still don't feel too bad. She tells me she'll be back in a second because she has to grab something in the next room. I start feeling suddenly REALLY dizzy and sick. I remember deciding that I needed to go lay down on the table 2 feet away from me.

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor and there are people saying my name and asking if I'm ok. I was halfway under the counter that I was sitting next to and my head hurt. Apparently when I passed out I hit my head on the counter on my way down.

A doctor came in and checked me out and my head was sore and my neck was getting really tight and sore. He made me go get a neck x-ray and drink a soda.

X-ray was fine. I feel a lot better but have a headache and my neck kills. Diagnosis: another vasovagal reaction. This is my 5th now - but it's been a looong time.

Oh! And also when the nurse was leaving the room to grab whatever she forgot, I was reading a text message from a friend asking if I was pregnant. I was closing my phone as I was about to go over to the table but passed out instead.

Goodtimes.

And no, I'm not pregnant.

Luckily I am off of work today so I am hanging out on the couch. I did still feel the need to go wander around Menards to buy a rake on my way home though.

I was supposed to give blood at my friend's blood drive tomorrow, but that is not a good idea for me (or anyone involved, probably) now.

So before you freak out about having blood drawn or donating blood (PLEASE GO DONATE BLOOD! IT'S IMPORTANT!) or anything like that, let me tell you the circumstances of my other 4 vasovagal episodes.

First time: Age 17, I went to give blood for the first time, they pricked my finger and I passed out.

Second time: Age 21, wisdom tooth removed...was sitting there 10-20 minutes after it was done. I was fine, laughing and talking with the nurse, then (according to her) I turned about 6 different colors and passed out.

Third time: Age 22, on a field exercise in the army staying in a building in the woods. I was sitting on the stoop outside talking to Corey and a friend of mine. Got up to go inside, felt dizzy suddenly and told myself I'd make it to my bunk. Instead I passed out and hit the fire extinguisher bracket on the wall, the fire extinguisher on the floor and then landed on the concrete floor with blood gushing from my head. I got a helicopter ride out of that one. no real explaination for it other than *maybe* due to medication I'd only been on for a few days. It would have been much cooler if that German hospital would have given me a room instead of kept me in the hallway for 3 days. That experience is only balanced out by the fact that the German paramedic in the back of the helicopter with me was HOT.

Fourth time: Dentist office, wasn't numb enough (my mom and I both take a TON of novocaine to numb up) and started freaking out. The dentist stopped and let me sit up for a second to wipe my eyes while he got some more novocaine - passed out.

This time: Also *might* have something to do with new medication that I've been on for 2 days. Or the digging around for my sheisty veins with a needle. Or both.

I've donated blood probably 6 or 7 times, had numerous blood draws, and have 3 tattoos and have been fine (or mostly ok) for all of them. I also see and wipe up a lot of blood and open wounds in my line of work. No big deal - actually I'm kind of fascinated by it (which you might find disturbing - sorry!).

I need to live out loud.

I have had this master plan to become a better (or at least more regular) blogger and to finally do that now 3 months late post about our wedding and to get all my thoughts off my chest and out of my head where they have been marinating lately. I'm not usually one to keep my life-happenings secret or quiet or to keep my opinion to myself. But that is what has been happening. Things have been sitting there...marinating. Turning me into Debbie Downer or at least a heaping pile of stress.

I bring this up because I was getting caught up on a message board I have with some friends here and there was a discussion about how long you should (or they decided to) wait before telling people about their pregnancy. There was a lot of 6-8 weeks, even more 10-12...some reasons were to make sure everything was ok, it would affect their job if people knew, or a flurry of other very good reasons - like keeping their privacy as long as possible.

My answer to the question, because I know myself: I am willing to bet that I will tell the entire world the second I find out.

Not to mention I would be ridiculously excited and nervous and a ton of other emotions that I would never be able to hide. I know some of you are starting to think I might be trying to tell you I'm pregnant. I'm not.

But...

I do have something going on that I've been really trying hard not to talk about because I don't know anything yet. I'm a little bit afraid that saying something about it so publicly before knowing anything makes me seem a little attention-whorish. I can assure you that that is not the case. I'm a very open person about the things I've gone through in my life - they are why I am the person I am now, no matter how bad or good. By suddenly not being open, I feel like I'm hiding things from people I care about or that might care about me and like I have to watch what I say and keep track of who I've been open with and who I have not.

That has to stop now. It's not "me."

Plus, I have something that I have a lot of thoughts about and absolutely do not want to torment any one specific person with my paranoia and worst case scenario plans for the future. I'd rather just vent them here and let you all quietly think I'm crazy.

About a week and a half ago, I found a lump in my left boob (breast? Sounds so...proper. I'm hardly what you'd call proper). It's good sized. It's not rock hard, but it's pretty dense. Say you cut an egg in half lengthwise...it's about that size, and seems to be attached to my chest wall deep in the...boob.

I scrambled to get recs to an OB/GYN with my new married chick medical insurance and saw my shiny new doctor 2 days ago on Monday. She said that with my family history and my age, there is "a good chance" that it is nothing. But...it is significant enough that it definitely needs more testing. She sent me to radiology with orders for a mammogram and ultrasound.

Wednesday, Oct 29th, ass-crack of dawn. That is my hot date with the boob-smasher.

Am I scared? Yes. Terrified, actually. I don't scare easily...but cancer? Cancer is fucking scary.

I know there are a lot of (Ok, maybe only a few...) other things that it could possibly be, and I'm hoping and praying for those. But...I can't stop myself from the "what if's" - it's what I do. It's how I prepare for the worst. It's also how I set myself up for a pleasant surprise when it's something better than the worst.

For those of you who know me and are learning about this for the first time, I'm sorry you heard about it this way, but at least it's still the early clueless phase. So now you know as much as I do and I can stop acting like I don't have anything freaking me out.

I feel better already.

Open Letter

Dear Coach,

You are an asshole. Your memory sucks. You have no say in medical decisions. You are not as important as you think you are and I don’t care who you are friends with.

Have a nice day.

Since excuses are like assholes...

(everybody’s got one)

Here is mine.

I’m sorry I haven’t posted or called or emailed in so long. I’ve been busier than ever. The office manager at the clinic quit, so I’ve been working there in her job every day from 9 am until 2:30 (until the new girl can start - 2 more weeks), then heading straight to my other job until at least 6, and sometimes as late as 9 pm. Then there is grad school crap to do when I get home.

Somewhere in all that I eat and sleep.

I’ve also been really busy gaining 12 lbs in the last 30 days (exactly). The only thing that has changed in my life habits in the sleep. So what I’m saying is apparently the trazodone has turned my metabolism into molasses on a cold cold day. TWELVE POUNDS. 30 DAYS. If I kept that up for a year, I’d gain 144 lbs. Yikes. I have this wedding dress I need to fit into, too. I already ordered the next size up because while the first one fit, it was snug, and I didn’t want to chance it. Now the new, bigger one is a worse fit than the first one was! WTF!

Anyway, I called my swell VA doctor (well, her nurse actually), and not only did she answer my call, she explained what was going on to my doctor AND called me back! They are replacing the trazodone with ambien, so hopefully that works out and maybe it will even bring my metabolism back to it’s former state, or God-willing, even BETTER than that. Somehow I doubt it.

Anyway, I also have this glorious fish-fry/brewery tour/irish pub/pizza shuttle night (with pictures!) to blog about, I just don’t have the time right now. My fingers are crossed for this weekend. Check back then :)

Because this day wasn't sucking enough.

I woke up really happy this morning because we were going to pick up our sofa and loveseat and it was going to be the best day ever.

:::insert obnoxious buzzer sound here:::

We got the loveseat in fairly easily. Then came the couch.

Not. A. Chance.

See, we live on the second floor. You enter our apartment from the ground level and there is nothing in front of you but our stairs. once you get up the stairs, there is a landing and the entrance to our livingroom on your right. That entrance is kind of skinny. We have vaulted ceilings, but that little doorway there is narrow and the landing isn’t very big. The couch is huge. There lies the problem.

Corey and his brother tried every angle they possibly could. They came close a few times, but would have needed about 3 more inches in any given direction for it to work. If we could get it over the balcony we could get it in our back door, but the balcony is too high. It would take a lot of rope and a few more strong guys to get it in that way. And maybe a ladder. Or 6.

I don’t know what else to do. I’m so disappointed.

We got the apartments to let us stick it in a garage until we figure it out, but it can’t stay there long without them making us rent it out, which would be way too expensive. Tomorrow I will try the maintenance guy - he’s been here awhile, maybe he’s got an idea. Maybe I can pay him and his ‘roid-ed out biceps to pick it up and throw it over.

And then, as if this day wasn’t sucking enough…

We went ahead with changing our wedding date to a week earlier. Not everyone I wrote to responded to let me know there was no problem with a week earlier. One of those was my matron of honor. She’s still in the army and I guess a week earlier they have something going on that she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get a couple vacation days.

Fuck.

Just give me a shovel

Because that is how I’m eating now that I’m a non-smoker. No wonder everyone bitches about gaining weight when they quit. Smoking was keeping us all from shoveling mountains of other shit through our lips.

I gained 3 lbs over Christmas, and then it was gone almost as fast as it came. Now I’m back up - higher than I was before I started keeping track of food and exercise on sparkpeople. People with sleep disorders have a hard enough time losing weight (basically, REM sleep is an important part of metabolism). While I was smoking I was at least holding fairly steady. The combination of quitting and crappy sleep is sending me in a direction I don’t want to go. I have a wedding dress to fit into for crying out loud. Don’t worry - I’m not going to smoke again. That would be lame.

I’ve lost track of my calls to the VA to try to get appointments. I sort of want to cry, but not as much as I want to sleep.