moiread: (BATTLESTAR GALACTICA • six/affection.)
A lot of stuff in my life is going really, really well right now. I have a new relationship that is a whole bunch of different flavours of awesome, and I have all kinds of fun travel coming up between now and October. Also, minus the brief medication-related hiccup in Montreal three weeks ago, overall I am feeling physically better than I have in ages. This is probably just a combination of endorphins, normal hemoglobin levels, and being off nutty hormone treatments for the first time in a decade, but I'll take it!

Going to try to get my tubes tied this summer, during the one month where I don't have plans to be anywhere. Have dealt with the pre-ablation emotional stuff and want to take back control of my bits again! May not have a job at the school next year, so have come up with some ideas for freelance work I can do over the summer and continue through the rest of the year if things go that way. Also may or may not go back to school for my own education, either locally or online. That one will take a bit more reflection, since I need to be pretty sure my health is going to stay stable for at least a full semester before I start throwing large chunks of money around.

Plans! Things! Goodnesses! Hurray for me!

I may not be posting much these days, but I still read everything. Promise.

PS: Travel-wise, right now it looks like I'll be in Chicago from May 16-21, Montreal from May 23-27, Minneapolis from June 20-26th, back in Chicago for probably two weeks sometime in August, and then back in Montreal for at LEAST the three days of [livejournal.com profile] farthingparty in September but maybe longer. I'm going to try not to wind up in any more hospitals for the duration of this giant traveling period. Fingers crossed!

Ablation

Feb. 26th, 2013 02:30 pm
moiread: (moirae • art.)
Surgery was apparently very successful. In a lot of pain now but nothing I can't handle, and anyway they gave me morphine to take home with me. On a good trajectory for recovery. Going to go be dead to the world for the rest of the day now. Thank you to everyone who sent me well wishes, good thoughts, and virtual hugs.
moiread: (STAR TREK • I got out of bed for this?)
I know everybody wants to hear how the gyno appointment went this morning but frankly I don't even know where to begin. It was such a mess. )
moiread: (dude • stock.)
(Disclaimer: If you are reading this, you are not the person with whom I am angry, and I do not expect any of you to ever be this much of an asshole, but I am going to say it anyway because I need to get this off my chest.)

Look. I understand that you have opinions about women's sexuality that are coming from your interpretation of your particular religion. I respect your right to your religion. I do. I may have all kinds of other feelings about your particular choice of religion, or about religions in general, but I respect your right to have one and to live your religion as you see fit within the limits of the law and basic human rights.

But when the group is discussing the legitimate treatment of ovarian cysts through the use of the hormones available in oral contraceptive pills, you do not get to tell me that you "have a different opinion" because you're Catholic.

You have a different opinion on what? OVARIAN CYSTS? Did I miss the part where you obtained a medical degree in the last thirty minutes and now you want to contest the diagnosis? Are you advocating for prayer in lieu of treatment? Do you think cysts are some kind of divine punishment and therefore should be left alone? Seriously, what? What part of the treatment of ovarian cysts do you have a different opinion ondue to your religion? Because from here it just looks like you opened your mouth without thinking first and let a little steaming turd drop out.

We were not discussing sex. We were not discussing religion. We were not discussing you. We were discussing medical treatments for medical conditions using available medications. I understand that those other aspects are part of a similar, related discussion happening in many other places at the moment, but that is not what we were talking about. You have missed the point entirely.

And frankly, it offends me on a personal level that you would even have the gall to say it, considering the medical condition in question is something I have been fighting for the last thirteen years, something that has caused me a lot of pain and grief and hospital visits, that has left me with deep emotional scars that I have had to work on healing. Just because I have the good fortune to live in a country that isn't completely fucking batshit about medical care doesn't magically negate my strong connection to this particular topic.

Maybe you didn't know it was personal to me. I can see how that would be the case, as I rarely talk about my medical problems outside of LJ or Twitter. But I expected you to be smart enough to figure out that it's got to be personal to somebody, whether you know them to be within earshot or not, and I hoped you would be classy enough to treat the topic accordingly.

TL;DR version: My ovarian cysts have nothing to do with your fucking religious views. Shut the fuck up.
moiread: (GOSSIP GIRL • bffls.)
Whoever had 20 days in the betting pool, you win. Didn't even need an ER trip this time. Apparently I'm just good at it now.

BB ([livejournal.com profile] endeers) thinks I should name it 'little Fuckyou' and throw a baby shower with cake and presents. I admit I am not opposed to celebratory cake.

And on that note, I am going to go genuinely cry with relief. I have been in an incredible amount of pain every day and I am so happy this is over.
moiread: (hugz • sarah s.)
Well. That was a thing. It's done now and I'm not dead and that's about all I can say to recommend it.

From now on I should really trust my own instincts on what pain drugs to take before procedures instead of going with what the doctors recommend, because god damn it was not enough. Though I shouldn't ever have cause to Plan Better Next Time ever again, at least not for this particular procedure, because this is the last time I am ever doing this. If it fails, I am done. I am just done. That is what I kept saying the whole way to the hospital and home again, and to anyone who would listen. I am done.

This bit gets a little crass and graphic. )

Though actually, to be fair, the bedside manner at the women's clinic at the Riverside is quite wonderful, generally speaking. It is exactly what you would want at any other time.

My good things for today are:

1) There was a local beekeeper selling his honey in the lobby of the hospital, so I got to talk about honey and beekeeping with him while I waited for my ride to come. He was a lovely old man who has been running his bee farm for most of his adult life and he seemed really delighted to talk about it with someone who knew a little bit and was curious to know more. He had my two favourite honeys (clover and cinnamon-infused), so I bought a jar of each off him, along with some flavoured honey sticks that reminded me of Farthing Party in Montreal and walking through the MJT with Tim.

2) When I got home, I found a parcel waiting for me from my friend Harry. Inside were some really lovely red long-stemmed paper roses made from recycled processed elephant dung, because my friends are awesome and they know what will tickle me. Even though laughing hurts right now, I needed a laugh, and I got it, and it was worth it. The timing was pure wonderful kismet. Bless.

Going to take some more drugs and try to nap.
moiread: (GLEE • antidepressants.)
I guess I should update. It's at the point now where people have been sending me emails asking for proof of life and besides, it's something to do.

I had a triple infection before Christmas -- ear, sinus, lungs -- that turned into bronchitis and then pneumonia due to multiple doctors not taking me seriously. I seem to finally be infection-free as of last week (yes, really, it dragged on that long) but in other ways I'm still recovering. I have been unable to work or DJ or be social (even on Skype or similar, because of the holycraplungrestriction), so I've been playing a lot of Star Wars: The Old Republic. And writing, when I have the energy, which is something I haven't done in years. I suck less than I expected for being so out of practice, which was a wonderful surprise but is somehow also psyching me out. Part of me is afraid it's a fluke and that if I continue, I will start writing more accurately (as in worse) and be a failure. Because my brain is stupid. (We already knew this. I have the diagnoses to prove it!)

Of course, my recovery from sad 18th century convalescence is just in time for hormone-laden IUD attempt #3, which some of you may remember is the reason why I've been on crazy chemically-induced menopause for the last four months. After today, if all goes well, we continue the menopause for two months to give the IUD time to settle and then take me off the drugs and see what happens.

The IUD procedure is in a little less than four hours. I should be asleep, and I had been sleeping, but they gave me some drugs to take the night before and HOLY FUCK I AM IN PAIN NOW because of them. Whatever this "softening the cervix" is, it's excruciating, and it woke me up. Hard. Apparently these are the same drugs used as abortifacients early on in pregnancy and as an alternate labor-inducer later on, but I don't have contractions, just screaming cervical pain. I have been lying here in bed crying for the last hour, and we all know I have wicked pain tolerance so that should give you some idea. I managed to hobble around the apartment trying to find my emergency Oxy stash but I think I'm out. What swell fucking timing.

I wish I still had some pot and a working vaporizer. Right now I am willing to chance the seizure risk (if there even is one, since that neurologist has turned out to be pretty whack) just for some pain relief and some sleep.

Times like these, I wish I wasn't single. I am always the one taking care of everybody else, and just once I would like to be the one receiving pot scones for procedure pain instead of making them.

Maybe that can be my new benchmark for possible partners: Would you get out of bed at 4am to drive to my dealer and then come home and help me get high? If so, apply within. Include resume. Must like foreign cuisine, terrible/awesome sci-fi movies, and loud rambunctious sex.

God it hurts. I don't even want this. I'm only doing it because it's one more thing I can say I tried, and if it does happen to work, well, okay then. It will be useful. Not as useful as actually solving the problem, but good enough that I can live with it. I don't expect it to work, though, and frankly I find it cruel to ask me to go through this much pain and nonsense over and over with new inventive variations.

But what do I know? I'm just a stupid baby machine too young and naive to have grasped my real true purpose as a woman. Asking the medical community to please make my pain stop is just me being short-sighted! This will all be worth it later when I start popping out sprogs, I'm sure.

Not that I'm bitter or anything. I'm allowed a bit of melodrama right now.

I wish I could just say I've had enough and hit a stop button. Not in a suicide way, but just in a fed up with this stupid shit kind of way. I have developed as much strength of character as I need. These lessons have been very thorough. You can turn it off now. We're good. I promise.

Okay, I seem to have found a position that doesn't hurt as much. It's kind of a weird hunched-over one, which doesn't make sense to me anatomically, but I am not going to disbelieve so hard I pass it up. If I prop myself up with enough pillows, I can probably get some more sleep, and bad sleep is arguably better than no sleep at all.

I'm sorry my life is so depressing lately. But honestly, I put it here so that I don't have to keep dregging it up in my regular one-on-one social interactions. It lets me keep those more normal. It seems to work out. But I will try to post about things that are more awesome/funny/interesting soon.

PS: If you ever find the stop button, let me know.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.
moiread: (give me patience • liv t.)
So here's the sitrep:

Really bad flu, again, since last weekend. Rae ([livejournal.com profile] soirenoir) wound up back in the ER two days ago re: Crohn's, got re-admitted, and had emergency surgery this morning. (I spent yesterday there for moral support. The place is so full that they have canceled all elective surgeries until who-knows-when and the only bed they could find for her was in the plaster room where they lie people down to put casts on them.) I keep losing my voice and am hacking up giant chunks of semi-solid grey-green gunk, so chances are good I'm heading for a lung infection again like last time. My period started this morning after weeks of indecision, so now there's that hemorrhagic ridiculousness to handle for the next who-knows-how-long and in the meantime, on Monday I've got to call and book all those diagnostic tests my new gyno team wanted done as soon as I started bleeding again. More rushed ultrasounds and biopsies all next week, I suspect, and then immediately after the last one they intend to induce menopause. Previous experience with hormone treatments leads me to expect that'll be hell on wheels, but at least maybe it'll mean my period actually stops after a reasonable length of time and I don't wind up in the ER myself. (Where, of course, they will be unable to admit me; please see above and laugh along with me if you like.) Also on call for emergency childcare, day or night, I don't care, and am determined to make at least three meals that I can bring over. Though I might have to cook sitting in the walker, between the bleeding and the fact that my feet are shot because I've been too sick to go to physio all week.

If anybody knows when life intends to stop beating me in the face with a heavy brick and/or where I can go to acquire an android body, please let me know.

This is what's playing in my head today:


But hey. I could be in worse health, but I'm not. People could be dying, but they're not. ODSP could have fucked up my payment for this month and left me without rent money, but they didn't. I could be homeless, but I'm not. I could be relying on the food bank again, but I'm not. (Hell, I could be living in a place that doesn't have food banks, or that does but they're all the scary religious kind that refuse to serve people like me, but that's not the case.) We could have had a tornado too, but we didn't. I could have nothing good in my life, and no good people to support me, but that's not the case either.

It could be worse.
moiread: (Default)
At the hospital for the day, being tested for another blood drug. They draw blood and then inject me with the drug, then draw blood again and again at regular intervals.

Hematologist: "Looking at the results of your bloodwork, it's really quite amazing that you made it this long without a diagnosis or a transfusion. Did your previous gynecologist not talk to you about the possibility? By the way, this drug might make your migraines worse. Some of our patients say they can't tolerate it because of what it does to their migraines."

Insert me laughing here.
moiread: (sigh • natalie p.)
So guess what? I have Von Willebrand's Disease! That officially makes disease/syndrome/thing #15. The list goes like this: Anxiety, depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Emotional Dysregulation Disorder, Crohn's Disease, chronic Achilles tendinitis, platar fasciitis, Patella Femoral Syndrome, myopia, migraines, sleep apnea, Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, diabetes, high blood pressure, and now Von Willebrand's Disease. I feel like I've turned into some sort of collector. It's like Pokemon, but for wacky health shit. (Next thing you know, my left ear will grow stripes and start squeaking and shooting electricity.)

Anyway. Am currently sitting in the General Hospital's lab's waiting room, about to get tested for how efficient various drugs are likely to be. And guess what the side effects for these drugs are are? You guessed it! Increased blood pressure and GI distress!

All I can do is laugh. I've suspected the "Congratulations! It's a bleeding disorder!" diagnosis was coming for awhile now so that part's really not a shock, but the medication side-effect stuff is actually pretty distressing, considering how much trouble I've had with each of my health problems blocking treatment for the rest. And now this is yet another thing where treating it will make other problems worse.

So I laugh, because crying in public is just embarassing.
moiread: (it's a funny story • camilla b.)
Chelle: Oh god I'm having sudden stabbing monster cramps.
Chelle: If I have to have the evil deathplague flu AND my jesusfuckingchrist period (AGAIN) at the same time, I may very well throw myself out my goddamn window.
Rose: You live on the ground floor.
Chelle: Hush. You weren't supposed to point that out.
Chelle: You're totally messing with my tantrum chi, here.
Rose: I'm sorry!
moiread: (DR WHO • rocks!)
Day 3 of Painful Medical Tests is now done, and it will be the last day of them for awhile. This is the very best thing I can say about it.

In happier news: Afterwards I swung past my bank and said, "Hey guys. I'm done repaying that 2-year loan I took out to improve my credit rating, and I did so flawlessly. Can I have a credit card now?"

AND THEY SAID YES.

It will arrive in the mail soon, and after that I'll be able to stop borrowing other people's cards to make my purchases online! Elise ([livejournal.com profile] elisem) won't have to continue being confused as to why I apparently have three PayPal accounts, none of which actually bear my name! My mother won't be in a position to ask exactly what the charges were about when I don't want to tell her! And most importantly: my credit rating is healthy again! The six-year saga of ruinous aftermath from my bad relationship is finally over! YAY!
moiread: (facepalm • cate b.)
Ha. "Invisible Disability Bingo Card". Reminds me of "Stupid Shit People Say to Me".

Seriously, if I hear one more person wishing they could "do what [I] do" and "stay in bed all day", I might start throwing things. I haven't been to work in almost three weeks now. Is anyone actually stupid enough to think that I'm just lazing around because it's fun and that it feels good, instead of that I'm lying there because I'm mind-breakingly exhausted and in pain, wishing I could be at work and trying not to freak out that I'm going to lose my job?

Anyway. A health update has been requested of me, so here it is:

I am managing. I am not well -- I'm still dizzy enough all the time that just bending down to take food out of the fridge makes my vision swim, and I had to lie down on the floor for fifteen minutes after trying to put away a few cans of soup in a high cupboard -- but I'm within the spectrum of stuff I have coping strategies for. I have the walker with the seat on it, so I can sit in that while I take things out of the fridge and fix basic no-cooking meals on the counter. The way my heart pounds frantically over something as simple as going from bedroom to kitchen to get a glass of water kind of freaks me out, but since I'm fairly certain it's not actually going to explode anytime soon, I'm not that worried about it. It's just... disconcerting.

My parents have been over to help out -- I made a grocery list of everything I'd need for a week of "no cooking more complicated than sticking something in the microwave for five minutes because using the stove is probably unwise just now" and my mom did a grocery run for me, while my dad unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher and took out my recycling and stuff. They are behaving very well so far, which means I can just be plain old grateful for the help, and I am. I've asked my mom to stop in here on her way home from work tomorrow so I can have somebody in the apartment when I attempt to shower tomorrow, since there's a good chance it'll go badly. Not so badly that I expect I'll fall over and crack my head open, but I'd like someone on the other side of the door just in case, and preferably not my father or brother, who would not cope well with having to rescue a naked, bloody, unconscious me from the floor. I'm not sure I would cope well with having my mother do it, but hey, necessity wins.

So things suck, but I have help, and apart from being incredibly bored and frustrated as all hell, I'm basically fine.

....I can't believe I just typed that. Wow. I really do have some fucked up definitions of words. Quoth my dad: "Sweetheart, you have a weird definition of the word 'bad'." Because I had said this wasn't overly so. I mean, yes, I know other people have it way worse than me. Hell, I am friends with someone who has, in fact, dealt with severe non-stop vertigo 24/7 for years, who can probably look at my situation -- hanging onto things, falling over in the shower, using the walls around my apartment to make sure I know which way is up when the room spins, not being able to bend down or reach up too high because it makes the world tilt, depending on the walker, etc -- and laugh. But still. My perspective is a little fucked up. So okay, maybe I'm not "fine", but I SAID I WAS COPING. That's like the same thing, right?
moiread: (nude • chloe s.)
Sometimes I wish I could run an orgasm service. I know so many girls and women who are virgins (or have very limited sexual experience), have never had an orgasm, and are scared as hell of dating, in large part because they feel like they're so horribly behind their peers that if they told their date/potential mate, they'd be laughed at. They are so anxious and so ashamed. And I wish I could help.

(God knows I'm no help in convincing them that their view of themselves is unrealistic. No matter what I say, I'm still that friend of theirs who lost her virginity at 16 just to get it over with, figured out how to orgasm at 18, went on to do everything sexual under the sun, and now does sex education for a hobby. Even if I'm not lying even the tiniest bit when I say they're not freaks in any way and that MOST of the women I know are in the same demographic as they are, the fact that it's coming out of MY mouth makes it sound like a platitude. Which I hate but also understand. But I digress.)

And I wish that I could just... run a service. Like, call me up, I'll bring the appropriate equipment, and we will "fix" your "problem". I will bring you vibrators and toys and warming lubes and funny squishy nubbly pink things to make you giggle and we will try everything and I'll make repeat housecalls and we'll figure it out. You'll learn what an orgasm feels like and how to make it happen for you and all the things you like. And then you can go stride confidently off into dating without worrying that the person you're meeting will judge you. (Because even if I think being judged like that means you're dating the wrong people, past a certain point, it doesn't actually matter what the partner is like, because the voices in your own head will always say this shit to you and make you believe it.)

Except then I'd be sexing up my friends, most of whom are straight, and it would undoubtedly be awkward and appalling to them. And I can see why. But still. I wish I could help.

FWEEEE.

Jul. 21st, 2010 12:24 pm
moiread: (FRINGE • in the dreamtime.)
So my plantar fasciitis (AKA the connective tissue along the bottom of my foot that is slowly splitting and tearing off the bone, AKA that thing that, in conjunction with my shin splints, makes walking painful) is apparently bad enough now that I am being forwarded to a different kind of foot specialist to get X-Rays done and determine if my connective tissue can be saved with corticosteroid injections and intensive PT or if we are going to try surgery. (And then Rose and I could be twinsies even more!)

Also, when I went in to get a 'script for progesterone to end my current period (yes, this one, still going, welcome to my life), I talked to my GP about surgery on my girly bits again and he was actually supportive. ACTUALLY SUPPORTIVE. This is a huge turnaround from other conversations we have had over the last eight years! I guess because now I'm in my mid-twenties and this is still going on and we've tried all sorts of things with no results, and I'm still saying I don't want kids, it's worn down his conviction that we can and should solve the problem in other ways. He says he suspects any surgeon my gynecologist sends me to now will hopefully feel the same way. He also recommends that I put "I DON'T WANT KIDS" in writing as part of a letter detailing why I want the surgery, because that may help some surgeons feel more like their asses are covered if they go through with taking on my case. Putting it in writing was something I had planned to do anyway (I think signing some kind of waiver about that aspect is even mandatory?), but hearing him say it is nice corroboration.

Since this fall is my gyno appointment where I get to say that the Metformin is provably doing more harm than good to my general health, and where I had planned to start my "okay, I have officially reached my absolute limit on alternative options, I WANT SURGERY NOW and will go down to the US to get it if I'm refused" campaign, it feels like good timing. I think I'm smelling progress on the wind, as it were.

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Chelle

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