The Health Chronicles, Volume 1...My ANA is Rocky Mountain High

*Sigh*  Where to start...  I've thought about this post for a long time, and I'm still not real sure where it'll end up, but I guess this is where it starts.  I've typed about 10 lines and erased (deleted, I suppose, in this age of technology) them all.

My goal with these posts (it won't fit into one) is to share a little about what I'm experiencing in hopes that either (a) someone else knows what the hell I'm talking about, and/or (b) someone else might be relieved to know you're not going crazy (I can't promise that, but...).

Here we go.

For about, oh, all my life, I've not felt good.  As a little kid we had to complete a 600 yard walk/run.  I couldn't really run it at all, but I'd try to keep up with all those speedy little bastards in my class.  It usually ended up with me sucking wind while finishing it up in a slow walk.  All those other kids were back in the cold AC by the time I was done, and I know my gym teacher cursed my name every year.  I was plenty active, but running kicked my ass.

I believe I was probably the only kid in Trigonometry that needed an extra chair to prop up my swollen, purple knees.  While I wish I had some super athletic story to share (winning basket, sliding in homebase), my amazing maneuver was simply walking to class.  I went on a date once with a boy to a dance place for teens, and I could only sit.  *sigh*

Through my 20's and 30's, I went around and around to doctors.  All I could describe was that I didn't feel well.  My bloodwork always looked good, and I had nothing that could be "seen" by anyone.  The best description I had was that I felt like I had a bell jar over my head.  Imagine the look I got as I described this..."Well, have you read Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar?  That's how I feel, like I'm an insect trapped inside and the rest of the world is out there."  I feel disconnected from everything...

Essentially, I feel like my body is flipping me the bird every.single.day.

In my early 30's I learned I was allergic to milk.  I love milk.  In all forms.  Ice cream. Whole milk. Cheese. Yogurt. Sauces. Coffee Creamer.  Me and milk?  We good.  My allergy didn't take an epi-pen kind of approach, so I just kept on consuming it.  I learned that soft cheeses and whole milk kinda messed with me, so I avoided those, but I still kept on.  I'm beginning to wonder if I have kept my immune system in overdrive for so long fighting the allergy that it's just had enough?

I also have the amazing luck of having polycystic ovarian syndrome.  This is endometriosis's sort-of cousin.  Recently while having an transvaginal ultrasound (the tech and I are VERYCLOSE after this procedure.), I got to see what polycystic ovaries look like.  The answer?  Swiss cheese.  Those bitches hurt, too.  One burst a few months ago, and it was what I expect I would feel if I were being stabbed by a long, rusty blade in the lower abdomen.  

PCOS screws with your hormones, and not in a good way.  I guess there's really no good way to screw with one's hormones, but...  I've always struggled with my weight, and the only time I've been able to lose weight has been right after being pregnant, when my hormones are as close to normal as they will ever be. I've been lucky in that infertility has not plagued me as it does a lot of women with PCOS.  Still, it's a pain in my arse.

So here I am....According to my ANA test, which measures inflammation in the body, I have very high inflammation right now.  I've changed my diet completely.  No milk.  Let me repeat that:  No milk.  None.  I'm sure there are trace amounts sneaking in, but to my knowledge there is no lovely, delicious milk entering my very pissed-off body.

That is where I am at today.  Of course there's more to how I know my ANA is high, and I'll let you in on that in the next post (did I mention this business makes me super lazy and fatigued?).  On a high note, I managed to vacuum the living room today! Doesn't everybody get excited about that?  No?  Oh.  

Grecian Eyes, Niagara Falls, and a Doctor's Office...

There are some stories that I find hysterically funny, and (yet) when I tell them to others all I hear is crickets.  My sense of humor is just sometimes at odds with others and other times it's just really poor taste.  I know this because sometimes my closest friends on the planet call me an asshole.  No subtle read-between-the-lines there!

This one, however, is funny.  Funnier because it happened to me.

In all honesty I had forgotten about this until one of coworkers was telling me about her doctor's appointment.  It triggered my memory and I told her the story.  There might have been an emergency run to the bathroom to avoid the laughing-too-hard-I-pee syndrome.  Maybe.

Several years ago, before my amazing doctor passed away, I had a funky mole on my upper arm, so he sent me to a dermatologist to have it checked out.  I was a touch nervous because my grandfather had to deal with skin cancer when I was younger.  Because of this, I got the full treatment.  Let me share...

As I walked into the office, I was greeted by a full room of people.  I checked in and parked myself into one of the few chairs close to the entry.  I'm weird about walking across a waiting room full of people I don't know.  This gave me a premium view of the receptionists' office.  Receptionists are like secretaries in that if you really want to know the vibe of an office, secretly watch them.  They are the true gatekeepers of all important knowledge in any business.

photo: wallpaper2020.com

While I'm doing recon on the receptionist, a gentleman in a white coat walks behind them...Obviously a doctor or PA.  He is lovely.  No, I mean LOVELY! Olive skin, dark hair, eyes that look like the Grecian coast has been bottled inside them.  As I'm reflecting on his godliness, it hits me that I am a new patient.  A NEW PATIENT.  This means I have no doctor or PA.  Oh. My. God. He could be...no, no, no.  I decide at this time that God does not hate me enough to make this happen. After all, I'm being responsible and taking care of my health.  This responsibility demands absolutely no cute doctors doing my inspection.  Right?

No. No, it does not.  

As I'm now sitting in my little (very white, sterile, COLD) room, in walks the Grecian God of Eyes.  Of course he does.  I am in a thin paper gown sitting on an exam table/chair thingy covered in thin paper.  Sigh.

After introductions, I realize this man is quite nice.  Which should be comforting, but I'd prefer he be an asshole like me so that I could hate him a little instead of being in awe of those damn eyes of his.  We start with conversation about why I'm here, blah, blah, blah.  Then the games begin.

The arm part is easy enough.  That's already sticking out of the gown.  Then we move to legs, toes, hands.  Again, easy.  Then he says the words I never expected:  "I need you to stand and take off your gown."  Oh. My. God.

When he initially walked into the room, I began to perspire a bit.  Not like I'd been running from zombies or anything, but enough that I could feel the warmth on my back.  I had sort of forgotten about it because arms, hands, legs, and toes are easy.  Removal of gown?  Not easy.

photo:  freepik.com

I'm sure I would have been a little, um, sweaty regardless of the person performing this glorious inspection, but I immediately developed more than a little glistening of perspiration at this point.  I've never been to Niagara Falls, but I would wager I was within range of daily output in less than 60 seconds.  You can't stop that kinda sweat.  Not perspiration, full-on sweat.

And so I stood.  I stood up to remove the paper gown to stand there in a freezing (yet not enough to stop the waterfall of sweat), sterile, florescent-lit room with Grecian God and two nurses, to bare myself in my obviously-not-chosen-with-care underwear in the sake of my health.

That moment.

When I planted my feet on the floor and began to rise, I realized the sweat was actually acting as a glue between myself and the paper on the table.  And it came with me.

Firmly planted between the cheeks.  Not the cheeks on my face.

*sigh*

I'm not sure if it was embarrassment or relief when I finally heard the paper RIP away from my body and fall back against the table.  I'm sure the heat coming from my face would've powered several electrical grids for days.  So there I stood...no gown, yet still decorated with lovely bits of paper.  

Ain't nothing you can do with that mess.

So, as my friend/coworker that I dearly love and admire tells me her story of being embarrassed by being pretty-much-naked in front of others (she's tall, blonde, and appears a decade younger than her years, mind you.), I say to her, "At least your ass cheeks didn't kidnap the paper by force of sweat in front of the Grecian God of dermatology."

You're welcome.

Circles...Coming Around and Easing Back

http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2011/229/d/b/
life_in_circles_by_maritsvalas-d46xl68.jpg

It often strikes me how life comes full circle, weaves around the bend, and comes home again.  When I start over-thinking things (cause that's what I do...even at the grocery store), I try to remind myself it'll all come out in the wash as my grandmother used to say.  Sometimes, tho, that's one long damn cycle.

The 48 hours of this weekend have been a topsy-turvy ride...last night I celebrated as two of my favorite people promised to be each other's best friend, to shelter each other from the world, and to be there forever.  It meant so much because their love story started over 20 years ago and is now starting again.  

Tomorrow I will go to the church cemetery to lay my uncle to rest.  Those words are heavy.  Heavy with regret, joy, sorrow, finality...

He was my uncle by marriage, inherited when my aunt married him.  He had two sons from a previous marriage, and they had none together...which made me as close to a daughter as anyone could be.  I will tell no lies: I was spoiled rotten by the both of them, both in the things bought for me and the love I was given.  Like all good stories, that came to an abrupt end.

When my aunt (of Wanda's Stripper Dip fame) passed away unexpectedly, we each responded in our own ways.  Each of us, though, fought hard to stay away from each other.  It was hard to hear that laughter that sounded like hers...hard to see faces that were mirror images.  And, as humans do, we tried to tear each other apart because that was easier than facing the fact that she was gone. We inflicted pain with words and deeds to make sure everyone hurt.  It kicked off a 20 year battle of wills that left no one the better.

As I drove to my in-laws house one day, I saw my uncle's garage door open.  I said to God (we're tight like that...I think, anyway), "If that door's open when I drive back by, I'm stopping."   God's funny because the door was open.  Like, "So, what are you gonna do with that, big girl?"  So....I stopped.  That easy.  I just stopped. We talked briefly, exchanged numbers, and had lunch not too long after.  Just. Like. That.

We had several lunch dates in the following year or two.  Initially there were stops and starts in the conversation, but eventually we developed our rhythm and our conversations were always wonderful.  Don't get me wrong:  He could be a stubborn, principled ass at times, but for that reason I loved him.  It's easy to give in to the rest of the world, but it takes hard guts to stand your ground. He always paid for my lunch and hugged me goodbye.  Every last goodbye was followed with "I love you."  And he did.  I loved him, too.  I loved him because he was my uncle, because he was kind to me as a kid, because he was my last tie to the years of my youth when I didn't know people died and left you.  

Yesterday at the grocery store, there was a family of four: mom, dad, son about 10 years old, and a toddler.  They were walking down the aisle arguing about money.  The dad was telling mom he needed pants for work because the only pair he owned without holes were the ones he had on.  She was upset, telling him there was no money for that.  The young boy was just walking with his hands stuffed in his pockets, defeated and sad.  They weren't yelling, but it was loud enough for everyone close-by to hear in a quiet, Saturday morning grocery store where the 16 year-old kid forgot to push play on the shitty muzak.

I walked to the cash register and bought a gift card, and then I went to search for them in the store.  They were in the frozen food section, still arguing.  I walked up to them, and, while handing the card to the mom, said, "I remember not having money to pay bills, but I was lucky to have family to help me.  My uncle recently passed away, so this is in his honor.  Buy the pants you need, or just take your son for pizza and a movie.  You're all each other has, so be kind. Just be kind to each other."  The dad was shaking his head no, and the mom was teary, but I walked away before they could say no to me.  No was not an option.  It was important to me that they be kind to each other for the sake of not breaking apart as a family and missing years of time spent together.

Tomorrow I will cry because he is gone.  I will forever hate that I didn't get that last lunch date.  Despite those tears, I am so, so grateful that I stopped that day. I know that, against 20 years of hard silence, in the end I had an uncle who loved me.  That is enough for today.

Sit down, pick up the phone, and ease back into those relationships you're missing...Before you can't.

Happy birthday, Wanda...