Thursday, June 23, 2016

Monday I thought I was dying.



When I thought I was dying, I found myself with a spare 30 minutes waiting for the Loyola switchboard to wake up and I looked around to decide how I wanted to spend my final moments of freedom and I banged my children's book out. Pow. Done. Happy. Happy. Happy. 



Then I did something I've never done before and that was put in a call to the doctor. Pronto as opposed to stat. And the Loyola phone woman-who was joyfully hilarious-which I find especially wonderful-that you can laugh like that when actually think you're on your way out-this was crack of dawn Monday morning asked me if this was acute and I didn't really know. 

And she said, in other words, are you trying to get in today? And I said, oh yeah. And we both cracked up. And then she accidentally called me sir and we were both laughing again. (She said she was going to hang up and go get more coffee.) It was going to be either 11:15 or 4:00 so I took the 11:15. 

Then I texted work. The people immediately above me are so good to me.


My primary care guy is my interpreter of maladies. 


It's the thyroid meds he thinks that might be giving me such a hard time. He explained(and please don't take this as actual medical knowledge-sometimes I wonder if I ever catch it all-there's so much in the department of terminology)that when you get your thyroid out, they give you a nice blast of thyroid substitute because if there's any thyroid they might have missed in the surgery? They don't want that engine kicking in. And that puts you in the realm of hyperthyroidism and that comes with a list of symptoms and they suck. Remember when I wanted to take them for a spin? Hmmmnot so much. 

In addition, the dietary changes we've made. (Subtle. Extremely subtle.) It is those kinds of maneuvers that set up your digestive system for fireworks and if you stop because they get too uncomfortable? The next time you cross over into green vegetable land-you're going to experience the exact same thing. ("Green means go", said my library supervisor. "White means stop.")

We talked about the hernia repair and the blood thinners and he was able to explain that it's people with A-fib that the fine print on the Xarelto commercial is directed toward. Not me.  He said it was a bad idea to skip some of the shots after the surgery because that's exactly when you'd want to NOT develop additional clots. 

oh. 

And that we can speak to the blood lady about the hernia when we see her again. Which is tomorrow. And that some people love Dr. Pink Shirt and I was like, oh yeah? I think he's a jerk.


Primary Care doubled me up on of my pills, wrote me a note to go to the Cancer program at the gym, told me to call if I had any questions and I was on my way. I didn't feel different but I felt a little better.

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Cool thing about working at a library. Your co-workers are readers so they Know Things. Karen mentioned FoodMatters and I watched it and I guess my most gigantic tidbit I walked away with was the guy said you should spend all your money on the best food you can get. I have always done the opposite. I think watching P. He gets what he wants-he doesn't try to save 37 cents like I do. It's a mistake. I'm trying to do better. Viva la watermelon! 

Ginger texted her friend to find out an herbal sort of a stomach thing  she swears by. I'm gonna check it out and let you know. 

And I'm surround by books. I'm reading Life, on the Line by Grant Achatz. So far-really, really, really good. 
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My Mother's      did not get along with his       . My Mother considered that one of the great tragedies of the universe and swore the same fate would not befall her          

She never considered the effect it would have when one person had to surf the turbulence created by another. You know like, for 53 years. 

This week          requested I gather       from the rehab facility he's been in for two weeks. It's a six day work week-this week and next for me but P could do it because his hours are weirder than mine so I made the calls to set it all up. 

You sure you want to ask him, I said to my Dad. Because I'm not playing around with this like last time. It's not nice. 

I got a call from the Case Management worker that           was in her office insisting she wanted an Actual Family Member to collect him. The Case Manager said, I don't know what else to do but to call you. 

"I don't. Know what else. To do." 

This kind of thing tears through my stomach like a serrated knife. 

This shit has got to stop. A theme for the week, eh?

Onward. 

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