Werds.

A co-worker sent me this today:

http://www.inspiremore.com/girl-scout-email-mike-rowe/?utm_medium=social&utm_source=ONECY&utm_campaign=partner

I want to be friends with this kid.

Tummy time.

A guy in medical scrubs sat across the room from me and asked me a question I knew was coming.

"What happened recently that made you come see me?"

I told him it was a long story, and I told him I was going to start from the beginning.

The beginning is a good place to start, he said.

So I started talking. I sat in a little room and told a total stranger everything, from the first doctor's appointment I made, to the changing symptoms I had, to another doctor I went to, to the grumpy surgeon I went to.

I told him all of the gory details, matter of factly.

I told him about some new symptoms I've been having. I told him about the medicine that I was taking, and about how it helps with the most obvious symptom, but that it doesn't really help with the pain.

He stopped me in the middle of the story.

Apparently the medicine I'm taking isn't supposed to help with the pain. As in, that's not at all what it's made for.

Dude, no one ever told me that! I had a pages-long document written out on my phone detailing the pain I felt, because all this time I've thought I was a freak of nature that medicine didn't work on.

I asked him if my symptoms were normal. He said yes, every single one of them is run of the mill, you can't get more normal than that, normal.

He said the way that I've felt, the way that doctor's offices have made me feel*, "pisses him off."

Then he went back to his original question: What happened recently that made you come here?

Again, I told him all the gory details. In October, I just gave up eating solid food. I lost a pound a day for two weeks. I got shuffled around doctor's offices, and then I struggled to find a pharmacist who would help me.

He told me to look up this thing called post-infection IBS.

He also told me to not even bother with certain questions as to why I have this or why my body suddenly decided to go to war with me.

You will never know those answers, he told me.

Well, great! I love it when things happen to me that I can't control!

He also said it's likely IBS, but we need to run some tests to rule out other things. Those other things are scary: Crohn's, colitis and cancer.

Jesus, doctor. Way to throw three "C" words at me at once.

He said he expects the tests to come back fine, just as all of my other tests have come back fine. And when that happens, we'll meet again and come up with a plan of action.

He also said a few things that he probably didn't have to say, but I think he knew I needed to hear them.

He said that I was intelligent and educated, and that I needed to be healthy enough to work every day. Staying home for a week or two in pain and misery is not an option, he said.

The paperwork I had to fill out for this appointment was kind of ridiculous. They asked about recent dental work, whether I see an optometrist on a regular basis, what my education level is, and my mode of transportation.

...I guess they see all kind of people and can't take any of that for granted.

And for the record, yes, I receive dental and eye care. Go me. Apparently not everyone does.

Anyway, I pushed the appointment back for those tests until March. Until then, I have to find out what food groups work for me and which ones don't.

Today, for the first time since October, I only took one Really Expensive Pill. Eventually, I would like to try to not take them and save them for emergencies, much like last October was for me.

Peppermint tea seems to work well for me. This morning, I woke up happy and I woke up early. I don't even remember the last time that happened! My stomach was fine and for once, wasn't dictating my life.

Sweet!

So yes, Mr. Specialist, something did happen recently that made me come see you.

I'm relieved that someone believes me, and I'm thankful that someone is willing to do tests to rule out something more serious. Because, when something serious happens to you, your mind automatically goes to the worse case scenario.

He told me that's normal, and even he does that. He told me to not ever let anyone tell me that this is in my head, or just due to stress.

It's a medical condition that you need medical help for, he said. He said to not ever let anyone tell me otherwise.

(Dude, where were you six months ago? And ps, I kind of love you.)

Oh, that brings me to another thing he said. If it is "just" IBS, there's one good thing. I raised my eyebrows up, practically to the ceiling, and looked at him that he had 17 heads, a reaction which he picked up on immediately.

IBS is miserable, he says, and yes, it can get so bad that all you do literally all day is stuff you don't want to talk about on thishereblogpost.

But the good thing, he said, is that there are no medical complications from it. You can get an abscess from Crohn's or colitis. Diverticulitis can kill you.

But IBS? The most severe thing it does is irritate you.

Well, body, I'm irritated. And once I rule out those three "C" words, I'm going to figure out a way to fix it.

*I'm aware that anxiety might be talking here. Still, I think doctors in Hometown could have done a little more for me.

From the mouths of babes, part 1

I had lunch sitting across from a kindergartener on Saturday.

I asked her when her birthday is.

"When I turn six."

:)

Absence makes the heart...something.

I haven't been blogging lately.

I have tons of stories to share, but right now, I'm too tired to share them.

This week, I have stuff to do and social engagements after work five out of seven days this week.

FIVE DAYS.

Tonight, I have a free night. I will lounge in my pajamas. I will binge watch tv. I will probably eat ice cream and try not to move an inch.

This week, I'm trying to adult. I will raise my hand and speak up in a group. I will take notes. I will talk to a doctor about stuff I really don't want to talk about, and I will do it in confidence.

But tonight, I will sleep and the only people I will talk to will be my Pugs.

It will be glorious.

A warm butt is a happy butt.

Dog selfie

YOU DIDN'T TAKE ME BYE BYE.

Stupid storm

These two things are related.

In the city

I have an anxiety disorder.

Don't worry, though. I talked to my doctor about it a while ago and we came up with a solution that works, most of the time.

But that stupid anxiety pops up every now and then.

In Kansas, there's one city that gets my anxiety going. Like, really, really going. To add anxiety on top of anxiety, I can't take parking garages.

They're so sterile, and so closed in. I hate them and I try to avoid them when I can.

In dawned on me in Big City that driving around downtown looking for a parking spot is pretty much as fun as going to Big City to have a root canal.

(I'm not being dramatic. I've lot a lot of root canals in Big City.)

So, on Thursday, it took me at least 20 minutes to park. Please note, I spent more time trying to park than I did shopping.

Gah.

I finally found a parking spot, after figuring out that when parking garages say "Full," they only mean "Kinda sorta full, sometimes. Lol jk."

I finally parked without hitting anyone, and I started to walk towards the exit, all the while looking three stories down, and hoping that no one would jump out of the shadows and throw me to my death in the meantime.

(Shit happens in Big City. I have an active imagination, a slight fear of heights and a fear that I will someday become a headline, okay?)

There was a sign in the parking garage that said something like, 'You should take your ticket with you and pay in the parking garage.'

Say what, now? I've always paid as you left. It's different, now?

Okay, I thought. Fine. I walked back to the car, got my little parking pass ticket thing, then went about my happy little business.

The nightmare came a few hours later. I pulled out my ticket at the machine on the first floor, and got ready to pay it.

But I put the parking pass ticket thing in the wrong slot.

OH MY GOD THE HORROR.

There were people behind me. People, as in plural. I got the ticket in the right slot on the second time, and then I put my credit card in the machine to pay.

I put my credit card in the machine wrong.

By then, there were at least five people behind me.

Did I mention I have an anxiety problem? I can't handle this stress, you guys.

PANIC PANIC PANIC.

I can graduate from college, buy a house and keep three dogs alive...but I can't get out of a parking garage?

I managed to put the ticket and my card in the machine the correct way, and the machine still refused to work. Then, it gave me my credit card back, but the machine kept my parking pass ticket thing.

People were waiting and glaring at me.

Does God hate me right now?

I looked at the line behind me, apologized, and told the people who probably thought I didn't have a brain that I couldn't get the machine to work.

I walked back to my car a few stories up, and hoped that no one would follow me and write down my license plate and report to, I don't know, God, that I'm sometimes stupid over simple things like this.

I drove down to the street level, and found a line of cars had formed to pay at parking garage's exit.

My confidence, which had just been totally shattered, started looking up while waiting in line.

Every single car in front of me had to buzz for help. The guy who helped, whoever he is and wherever he was, opened the gate for everyone.

His voice was magical.

Does that mean my card did not get charged? I have no idea. Does that mean that everyone had the same problem I did? I have no idea.

I'm just really, really thankful that I'm chilling out in my house right now, a few hours later, instead of a concrete prison/parking garage in Big City.

For a moment, I thought about what it would be like if I was never able to leave the parking garage. What if I had to spend the night there? What if I had to spend a lot of time there?

WHAT IF?

Who paid for that parking garage, by the way? The city? How much money does the city make each year? Is said parking garage paid off? How much money does it make each year?

My mind roams around like that.

For what it's worth, I felt better as soon as Big City was in my rear view mirror.

Anxiety is stupid.

I am too, sometimes.

-----

I guess on a more positive note, I actually looked for and located my car in the correct parking garage this time.

I'm getting better at this adulting thing, kind of.

Sweet tea

I am addicted to sweet tea.

Instead of buying it twice a day, I decided to make it.

It's pretty delicious.

On houses and hopes

I went through a lot to get my house.

I ended up in a lawyer's office after my first attempt to buy a house backfired badly.

The thing is, though, I love my current house. I think it was always meant to be mine, and I think that's why I went through what I did before I found a house.

I've had long weekends over the past two weeks. I toyed around my house, fixing "up" ie, de-crapifying my back two bedrooms. I tinkered around here and there, put my Christmas decorations up, and re-arranged my furniture.

I looked around my kitchen and thought, holy crap, I have a kitchen.

I have a living room.

I have another living room.

I have another living room that I'm using at my bedroom.

My bedroom and bathroom combined are bigger than my first apartment.

Holy crap, guys.

Holy crap.

My brother's old house was bought by a rental company, and they're now advertising it for rent. As I told a friend the other day, that's the problem with hometown and the housing market. The houses in the affordable price range - $80,000 to $150,000 - get snatched up by rental companies and aren't available to buy for the little people like myself.

The people I bought my house from sold it to me because the only other offer on it was an all-cash offer from a guy who had rentals. The previous homeowners wanted someone to live in it who would own it and love it as much as they did.

I will not stay in this house forever. But when I decide to sell it, it will be sold to someone who loves it and who will respect it just as much as I do.

I've brought dogs home to this house. I've cried over boys in this house. I've sweat in this house, I've bled in this house. This year, better things will happen in this house.

I'm pretty sure 2017 will be better than 2016. I'm pretty sure that 2016 and 2015 both sucked really, really bad things, but I'm certain 2017 will be better.

I know 2017 will be better. I know it, just like Lorelei knows when it's going to snow.*

*I had to put a Gilmore Girls reference in there. Ps, I HATE LOGAN. DAMMIT RORY, MAKE BETTER DECISIONS.