I have had this "cold" off and on since the beginning of the year. Well, okay, I had a slight fever on the 2nd of the month, and then it went away.
But starting Sunday, I gained this lovely sex-phone operator's voice that I currently possess, and cannot shake. I know that the infection is gone. I just had a sinus infection for a day or two and poof! It is gone today.
This cough is just getting a little bit on my nerves. I know I shouldn't complain, because as it stands, this is not the worst case that I have ever had. I remember being deathly sick when I was younger and this is certainly no where near that - but it does suck when the weather is so nice outside and I feel crummy inside.
I am just looking forward to the weekend, and actually, I know this sounds weird - but purchasing my books for this semester is getting me pretty perky. Mainly because I chose semi-easy classes this semester (*knock on wood*) to accompany my Chemistry 107 class. (which by the way is requiring yet ANOTHER chemistry textbook, of course they couldn't be nice and use the textbook I used just LAST semester for this semester. Of course not.)
This year I am learning to be smarter about the book buying thing though. I am going to finally use this Amazon.com thing that everyone has been raving about to me all these years. See if I can get a discount. And then get reimbursed with my book credit later on. I have a lot of schooling ahead of me and might as well scrimp and save where I can.
Showing posts with label sickness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sickness. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Not any better
My head feels like it's going to explode. I was going to try and work on the Part Two of Day One Virgin Fest post today with the pictures that I emailed myself last night but I am just not in the mood.
I feel so grumpy when my head hurts. And it's only 11:43 AM and I have the rest of the day to go through. I actually brought food to eat today but I don't even feel hungry. I just want to lie my head down come 12 noon and take a nap for about an hour.
Last night, I received a package in the mail. It was from UrbanOutfitters. I started to wonder what I had bought and when the last time I was cracked out was - because I certainly don't remember ordering anything or purchasing anything from UrbanOutfitters. But I decided, what the heck, I was going to open it.
Inside I found three hats. Cute hats, real funky. Not ones that I would normally buy for myself but they are definitely growing on me this morning. There was one that was totally me. It was a grey knit cap, shaped like the army cap kind. I love those. I love the way they look and how they feel. And then there were two more caps. One was red with this funky pattern on it in cream and green and then there was one that was blue striped. I really like them. I am wearing the red one today.
So who is the mysterious hat person? I checked on the invoice and at the bottom it said, "I hope you enjoy the hats, babe. Carlo"
Carlo is Bboy#1. This bboy that I met a while back at Sky Lounge. He has this crush on me - despite the fact that I have been telling him that I am not really the type of person made for a relationship. He's a nice guy. I would randomly run into him whenever I went to Sky Lounge to get something to eat, and the breakdancers would start piling in, and he'd always come over to say hi before going upstairs to the dance floor. I never thought anything of it but lately he's been texting me a lot. Telling me to have a good day. He's a real decent guy, but just not my type.
And now the hats. It's the sweetest gesture ever, it really is. Especially since I recently told him about my alopecia. But he's just not my type. I thanked him for the hats though and a part of me feels like maybe I should send them back.
I feel so grumpy when my head hurts. And it's only 11:43 AM and I have the rest of the day to go through. I actually brought food to eat today but I don't even feel hungry. I just want to lie my head down come 12 noon and take a nap for about an hour.
Last night, I received a package in the mail. It was from UrbanOutfitters. I started to wonder what I had bought and when the last time I was cracked out was - because I certainly don't remember ordering anything or purchasing anything from UrbanOutfitters. But I decided, what the heck, I was going to open it.
Inside I found three hats. Cute hats, real funky. Not ones that I would normally buy for myself but they are definitely growing on me this morning. There was one that was totally me. It was a grey knit cap, shaped like the army cap kind. I love those. I love the way they look and how they feel. And then there were two more caps. One was red with this funky pattern on it in cream and green and then there was one that was blue striped. I really like them. I am wearing the red one today.
So who is the mysterious hat person? I checked on the invoice and at the bottom it said, "I hope you enjoy the hats, babe. Carlo"
Carlo is Bboy#1. This bboy that I met a while back at Sky Lounge. He has this crush on me - despite the fact that I have been telling him that I am not really the type of person made for a relationship. He's a nice guy. I would randomly run into him whenever I went to Sky Lounge to get something to eat, and the breakdancers would start piling in, and he'd always come over to say hi before going upstairs to the dance floor. I never thought anything of it but lately he's been texting me a lot. Telling me to have a good day. He's a real decent guy, but just not my type.
And now the hats. It's the sweetest gesture ever, it really is. Especially since I recently told him about my alopecia. But he's just not my type. I thanked him for the hats though and a part of me feels like maybe I should send them back.
Grrrrrr
I don't know what it is but I feel like total shit today. J just text me back and said he felt the same way. So I know that it isn't the steroid cream or anything making me feel that way (sometimes I get paranoid)
I couldn't sleep last night, I have a stiff neck this morning, a stiff neck last night. A huge headache and a horrible dose of vertigo that started yesterday and still hasn't ended. Now it seems like it's forming into the worst migraine that I have ever had.
I kind of wish that I would just puke or something to make me feel better. Have you ever felt that way? You know - when you feel sooo nauseated that you would rather just vomit it all up then have it holding inside your stomach and tearing your insides? That's how I feel right now. I want to curl up in my bed and just sleep sleep sleep. Sleep this horrible feeling off.
Hopefully I'll make it through the day. Thank God it's Thursday. Jesus.
I couldn't sleep last night, I have a stiff neck this morning, a stiff neck last night. A huge headache and a horrible dose of vertigo that started yesterday and still hasn't ended. Now it seems like it's forming into the worst migraine that I have ever had.
I kind of wish that I would just puke or something to make me feel better. Have you ever felt that way? You know - when you feel sooo nauseated that you would rather just vomit it all up then have it holding inside your stomach and tearing your insides? That's how I feel right now. I want to curl up in my bed and just sleep sleep sleep. Sleep this horrible feeling off.
Hopefully I'll make it through the day. Thank God it's Thursday. Jesus.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Forgetfulness
I know my co-worker is irritated with me. (On just a hunch, I could alone base it on the long pause and eyeroll that he gave me as he walked past my cubicle after hearing the answer to his question.) This is the fifth day in a row that I have forgotten to bring my Notary Public certificate in so that he can make a copy and send it to the supply company to purchase a Notary stamp with my information on it.
But I just haven't been able to think straight all this week. It has been terribly difficult to get any sort of answers about my brother's condition from my parents: 1. Because one parent is absolutely clueless to what is going on with anything involving the kids. 2. The other parent that should know what's going on in detail has decided that it was much better to just...forget.
When I physically left my parents' house eight or nine months ago, it wasn't the first time I had left it. Mentally, I had already left my concerns at the doorstep a year or two prior. Or at least tried to.
I remember that day I went to go pick up my belongings that had been crudely shoved into trashbags with my friend, Trish. I remember watching her as she pulled my baby brother's arms that were trying to reach out for me. I can even more clearly remember the look of despair and sadness in my baby brother's eyes as he was crying for me, watching as my mother threw bag after bag at me as I walked through the front door.
When I got into the car, and Trish began to speed off, I just started sobbing uncontrollably. I knew that memory would stick in my brother's mind forever, and I immediately began to worry immensely over my siblings, and their safety while living in that house.
Things have gotten better over time. (Therapy for my mother, medication for my father.) But all of a sudden, this past Sunday, that same worry and fear for a sibling's care and safety rushed back in.
When I first found out about my brother's white blood cell count, I was freaked out. I sat at work with a blank expression and constant tearing in my eyes.
So quite obviously, on Sunday, when I went to visit my parents and siblings, I had dozens upon dozens of questions that were roaming through my mind. What was this disease? Why did they think it was transfused through the blood? Wasn't the last time he had a blood transfusion months ago? Wouldn't this issue have shown itself sooner if it was passed through a blood transfusion? What did all of this mean for Adam's health? When were they going to get more tests done?
"I don't know," my mother replied, simply - with hardly any expression.
"I don't understand. You talked to the doctor, didn't you? The one who read his first blood test results? How can you say 'you don't know'?"
"Yes, of course I talked to the doctor. And yes, he did say his white blood count is lower than it should be. Much lower. Said it was very serious."
"Well then, what does Adam have? Is it treatable?"
"I don't know. You're asking me too many questions," my mother paused a second and then looked at me, "Okay, so I forgot. The doctor told me what it was, and I forgot. But it's not like it's that huge of a deal, they are going to be doing more tests on him in the upcoming weeks because they think he also might need surgery again soon. He's been having pains in his head and his back again."
[Wait, back up. Did she just say she forgot?]
I dropped the discussion. More out of being horrified and stunned than anything else. How can you forget your son's diagnosis? How can you act so nonchalant? Okay, okay, EJ, calm down. Don't over think. Don't overstress. I can't help but be pissed thinking about this situation.
It's been a week now - they tested Ads for Epstein Bar, Mono, and a bunch of other things. Last thing I heard from my Dad was that Ads tested positive for a very slight and mild case of Mono. They aren't sure whether that's why his white blood cell count is low or not. He tested positive for one other test, the one that they used to diagnose him with, but my mother can't seem to remember.
Whatever it is, I am sure it doesn't help that all these surgeries (the opening and exposure of his spinal cord and nerves) keep exposing his body to possible infections and such.
But I just haven't been able to think straight all this week. It has been terribly difficult to get any sort of answers about my brother's condition from my parents: 1. Because one parent is absolutely clueless to what is going on with anything involving the kids. 2. The other parent that should know what's going on in detail has decided that it was much better to just...forget.
When I physically left my parents' house eight or nine months ago, it wasn't the first time I had left it. Mentally, I had already left my concerns at the doorstep a year or two prior. Or at least tried to.
I remember that day I went to go pick up my belongings that had been crudely shoved into trashbags with my friend, Trish. I remember watching her as she pulled my baby brother's arms that were trying to reach out for me. I can even more clearly remember the look of despair and sadness in my baby brother's eyes as he was crying for me, watching as my mother threw bag after bag at me as I walked through the front door.
When I got into the car, and Trish began to speed off, I just started sobbing uncontrollably. I knew that memory would stick in my brother's mind forever, and I immediately began to worry immensely over my siblings, and their safety while living in that house.
Things have gotten better over time. (Therapy for my mother, medication for my father.) But all of a sudden, this past Sunday, that same worry and fear for a sibling's care and safety rushed back in.
When I first found out about my brother's white blood cell count, I was freaked out. I sat at work with a blank expression and constant tearing in my eyes.
So quite obviously, on Sunday, when I went to visit my parents and siblings, I had dozens upon dozens of questions that were roaming through my mind. What was this disease? Why did they think it was transfused through the blood? Wasn't the last time he had a blood transfusion months ago? Wouldn't this issue have shown itself sooner if it was passed through a blood transfusion? What did all of this mean for Adam's health? When were they going to get more tests done?
"I don't know," my mother replied, simply - with hardly any expression.
"I don't understand. You talked to the doctor, didn't you? The one who read his first blood test results? How can you say 'you don't know'?"
"Yes, of course I talked to the doctor. And yes, he did say his white blood count is lower than it should be. Much lower. Said it was very serious."
"Well then, what does Adam have? Is it treatable?"
"I don't know. You're asking me too many questions," my mother paused a second and then looked at me, "Okay, so I forgot. The doctor told me what it was, and I forgot. But it's not like it's that huge of a deal, they are going to be doing more tests on him in the upcoming weeks because they think he also might need surgery again soon. He's been having pains in his head and his back again."
[Wait, back up. Did she just say she forgot?]
I dropped the discussion. More out of being horrified and stunned than anything else. How can you forget your son's diagnosis? How can you act so nonchalant? Okay, okay, EJ, calm down. Don't over think. Don't overstress. I can't help but be pissed thinking about this situation.
It's been a week now - they tested Ads for Epstein Bar, Mono, and a bunch of other things. Last thing I heard from my Dad was that Ads tested positive for a very slight and mild case of Mono. They aren't sure whether that's why his white blood cell count is low or not. He tested positive for one other test, the one that they used to diagnose him with, but my mother can't seem to remember.
Whatever it is, I am sure it doesn't help that all these surgeries (the opening and exposure of his spinal cord and nerves) keep exposing his body to possible infections and such.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Red Parachute
Ads and I used to have this red parachute when we were little. We would play for hours: crawling underneath it as the other would make waves to pretend we were swimming through crimson red ocean waves, laying across our Little Tykes chairs to create a dirt tunnel where we were mining for gold, wrapping each other tight to become ancient Egyptian mummies surrounded by treasures. But my favorite memory of the red parachute was when we would use it as a magic bedsheet.
Certain nights when either the thunder would be roaring outside our bedroom windows or an extra frightening nightmare had awaken my little brother from his slumber, I would crawl into my brother's bed beside him and place the red parachute over his big comforter.
Together his bed would become a jeep, riding through the bumpy dirt roads of Africa on a wild safari or a spaceship taking us up into orbit around the moon. There would be dark cold nights where the room was pitch black, the moon's glow hidden behind dark clouds.
These were the nights where we would grip our red parachute's edges together, and curl underneath the layers of sheets, knowing that no matter what - be it tiger, comets, or hungry wolves in the forest - attacking us the red parachute would protect us both.
Now, 15 years later, I wish I had that magic red parachute back. I wish that I could wrap my baby brother in the red parachute to ward away the disease that is infesting his blood stream. I have this sudden urge to run home to my parent's house, and climb into my brother's bed next to him and wrap my arms around him. I would give anything to take away his pain. I would give anything to be able to give him my white blood cells. To give him my good health.
I would give anything to become his red parachute.
Certain nights when either the thunder would be roaring outside our bedroom windows or an extra frightening nightmare had awaken my little brother from his slumber, I would crawl into my brother's bed beside him and place the red parachute over his big comforter.
Together his bed would become a jeep, riding through the bumpy dirt roads of Africa on a wild safari or a spaceship taking us up into orbit around the moon. There would be dark cold nights where the room was pitch black, the moon's glow hidden behind dark clouds.
These were the nights where we would grip our red parachute's edges together, and curl underneath the layers of sheets, knowing that no matter what - be it tiger, comets, or hungry wolves in the forest - attacking us the red parachute would protect us both.
Now, 15 years later, I wish I had that magic red parachute back. I wish that I could wrap my baby brother in the red parachute to ward away the disease that is infesting his blood stream. I have this sudden urge to run home to my parent's house, and climb into my brother's bed next to him and wrap my arms around him. I would give anything to take away his pain. I would give anything to be able to give him my white blood cells. To give him my good health.
I would give anything to become his red parachute.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The $150.00 Connect-The-Dots game
I don't think my life could get anymore complicated at this point. I went to the GS Hospital on Friday morning to get the "clinical rehab evaluation" through this MVA-certified program. First off, that alone is a bunch of bull sh*t because the first lesson I ever learned from this is that "honesty to NOT the best policy". Just because it says "cerebral palsy" on my records, and the technical term of "spastic diplesia" makes it sound even worse... the MVA decided all on their own that despite a letter from my doctor writing specifically that he thought I was capable of driving - that they needed me to attend a rehab facility to show that I was capable to them.
So I walk in, sit down, wait for this woman. She comes out, smiles politely and then leads me into this room.
We sit there and she suddenly sits down in front of me and realizes that...I am not as "slightly mentally retarded" as she thought I was going to be. As she chuckles out of pure uneasiness she looks at her paper holding her pen above it and asks, "So...why are you here, exactly?"
"Ma'am, quite honestly, I have no clue. The MVA just saw two little words of Cerebral Palsy and started freaking out. So they placed a hold on my license, and here I am."
"Well, wait, I see you've already completed and received a certificate for a Driver's Ed program...so that means you've had in-driving instruction already?"
"Yes, I have."
"Oh...so in that case, I am not going to require that you take the driver's assessment testing today...you already have proof that you can drive," she said for her own relief more than mine.
That's awesome, I thought. I get to save myself $150 dollars and I am not too stressed out or nervous then. Cha-ching.
"Okay, let's begin the clinical assessment. It's just going to be testing your cognitive abilities," she said, spinning around in her chair with a black binder and some pages. She turned the table around and sat in front of me placing the pages on the table flat.
Now let me give you some insight - my thoughts on this clinical test in the very beginning were skeptical...but as time wore on, I tried to find some good in it, some sensible reasoning behind it. Thus, I began to think that possibly, it had to do something with the clinical testing that I had done in the past as a child. Being hooked up to a machine with wires to test brain activity, being asked a series of psychological questions to test my ability to answer and handle myself in an "average/above normal" fashion. So here I was, bracing myself for whatever this lady had in store for me...
"Here ya go! This is the beginning of the test. This will be timed now. Please connect the dots 1 through 15 as fast you can," she said whipping out the paper and placing it in front of me while handing me a pen.
I freaked out. Inwardly...but freaked out. Out of pure disgust/pride/surprise/horror [please continue to insert whatever horrible emotion you can here], I paused. I am sure my slight pause in reaction probably embalmed her assumptions of me being an utter retard even further into the recesses of her brain, but I just couldn't contain my surprise.
As I connected dot 14 to dot 15 she exclaimed, "Wow, that was fast!" Not even trying to hide her incredulous tone.
Then she whips out another paper. At this point, I was still in shock over the first...and was praying to give her my slight good graces of hope when...
"Okay, now this is a bit trickier now. That's why I am giving you an example first so you can get a good feel," she explained, "This one...this one involves matching numerics and the alphabet..."
What?! Wait a minute...what is going on? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher along with J, Gen, or Cheryl, or hell, even L-Boogie going to come out from behind the curtain and shout "You've Been Punk'D!"
No, sadly.
There were more tests to be done. More degrading tests.
As I walked out to the front desk the girl at the computer said, "Miss, I am ready whenever you are..."
I walked up with my purse and glimpsed over at the receipt she was writing out.
"It will be $150.00 total today."
I felt my stomach start to get queasy as I signed the check and handed her the most I have ever spent on a connect-the-dots game.
So I walk in, sit down, wait for this woman. She comes out, smiles politely and then leads me into this room.
We sit there and she suddenly sits down in front of me and realizes that...I am not as "slightly mentally retarded" as she thought I was going to be. As she chuckles out of pure uneasiness she looks at her paper holding her pen above it and asks, "So...why are you here, exactly?"
"Ma'am, quite honestly, I have no clue. The MVA just saw two little words of Cerebral Palsy and started freaking out. So they placed a hold on my license, and here I am."
"Well, wait, I see you've already completed and received a certificate for a Driver's Ed program...so that means you've had in-driving instruction already?"
"Yes, I have."
"Oh...so in that case, I am not going to require that you take the driver's assessment testing today...you already have proof that you can drive," she said for her own relief more than mine.
That's awesome, I thought. I get to save myself $150 dollars and I am not too stressed out or nervous then. Cha-ching.
"Okay, let's begin the clinical assessment. It's just going to be testing your cognitive abilities," she said, spinning around in her chair with a black binder and some pages. She turned the table around and sat in front of me placing the pages on the table flat.
Now let me give you some insight - my thoughts on this clinical test in the very beginning were skeptical...but as time wore on, I tried to find some good in it, some sensible reasoning behind it. Thus, I began to think that possibly, it had to do something with the clinical testing that I had done in the past as a child. Being hooked up to a machine with wires to test brain activity, being asked a series of psychological questions to test my ability to answer and handle myself in an "average/above normal" fashion. So here I was, bracing myself for whatever this lady had in store for me...
"Here ya go! This is the beginning of the test. This will be timed now. Please connect the dots 1 through 15 as fast you can," she said whipping out the paper and placing it in front of me while handing me a pen.
I freaked out. Inwardly...but freaked out. Out of pure disgust/pride/surprise/horror [please continue to insert whatever horrible emotion you can here], I paused. I am sure my slight pause in reaction probably embalmed her assumptions of me being an utter retard even further into the recesses of her brain, but I just couldn't contain my surprise.
As I connected dot 14 to dot 15 she exclaimed, "Wow, that was fast!" Not even trying to hide her incredulous tone.
Then she whips out another paper. At this point, I was still in shock over the first...and was praying to give her my slight good graces of hope when...
"Okay, now this is a bit trickier now. That's why I am giving you an example first so you can get a good feel," she explained, "This one...this one involves matching numerics and the alphabet..."
What?! Wait a minute...what is going on? Is this a joke? Is Ashton Kutcher along with J, Gen, or Cheryl, or hell, even L-Boogie going to come out from behind the curtain and shout "You've Been Punk'D!"
No, sadly.
There were more tests to be done. More degrading tests.
As I walked out to the front desk the girl at the computer said, "Miss, I am ready whenever you are..."
I walked up with my purse and glimpsed over at the receipt she was writing out.
"It will be $150.00 total today."
I felt my stomach start to get queasy as I signed the check and handed her the most I have ever spent on a connect-the-dots game.
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