only read while listening to soft piano. also read outloud. with the lights dimmed.

I really hoped that last visit was it, the visit where the doctors couldn't really put their finger on what was wrong with me after a week of unnecessary tests, several days on the 'no eating' diet, a melee of doctors that communicated solely with rocks and birds, certainly not their colleagues or me - and so they just kind of threw out some educated guesses as to why my belly has become a constant source of brutal misery and sent me home. And things kind of just slowly festered, until I found myself slithering through lab on my belly, pulling myself hand over hand to whatever destination because walking really hurt that much, assuring my labmates that no - ive gotten quite used to being in this much pain so its kind of just normal now, thanks for the concern though, try not to step on me as you guys just ""walk around."" I'm just going to roll my way to the microscope room now where I have to sit unfathomably upright for hours and count intestinal tumors.

I've been on this mission to not let whatever these doctor inspired 'educated guesses' that are attempting to take over my life, not take over my life. I'm really working hard to ignore the fact that I'm actually really effing sick, instead I am marching full speed on with my life in this senseless stubborn brattiness refusing to succumb to the absolutely immense weight of how sick I really feel. Thinking if I give in just a little, I might never again be able to get back up. And not being tough is just not an option ever really. Secretly, all I really want to do is take turns lying either curled up on my couch or in my bed, with my macbook, and the cats, softly whimpering, just enough so that I still look pretty and huggable while im crying and not a big mucus sobbing snot affair, and maybe I could say something heartbreaking and kind that would cause whomever was watching to tear up a little also, and for a moment they would really understand the injustice that comprises the brutal senseless shit that really great and A+ people like me have to endure.

This secret fantasy decidedly does not involve straining at a microscope, attempting to walk, attempting to joke around, attempting to feel bad for someone who thinks their cold is killing them, attempting to care about anything really at all, and constantly telling everyone that I am perfectly capable to be carrying out the way that I am. I am so done with this facade of oh guys im not really that sick routine, sure I'll run here and there and take care of all your trivial needs.

So this morning, I was almost relieved to wake up with a bowel obstruction knowing that it would land me back in the hospital where I can finally take a few days off to rest and be the recipient of sweet sweet dilaudid - the wonder drug that cures all my mental and physical ailments in convenient 2mg 2 hour installments. Especially convenient this morning was the small bowel study I had scheduled for 9am which would certainly hasten the process of being admitted. Arriving in the basement of the women's hospital sufficiently comforted by maybe too many percocets, I eagerly told the technician that I was suffering from certain bowel obstruction - as to which he looked at me, practically skipping down the hallway with glee, with complete skepticism. Four very lousy hours of laying on a metal board later, percocets long worn off, I was finally declared blocked!! I was thusly whisked upstairs to the GI clinic where I was further whisked into the supreme comfort that only dilaudid can so whiskingly whisk into one's veins in a very mere and modest 2 mLs. I was so relieved I would finally have time to get some R&R at the excuse of being bed ridden in a hospital, where I pictured myself thumbing through magazines, leisurely watching daytime tv, chatting with the nurses, sun shining through my windows, god reaching down and pushing my dilaudid button for me....yes it would be *gloroious* -a real break where I could be sick in peace and whimper pitifully (but keeping it delicate and poetic).

so. yeah. I sure as hell got the eff what I wanted. This was last Wednesday. (I am typing on Friday, like 10 days later Friday, like, two episodes of lost later, like, 10 GIGANTICALLY LONG ARDOUS MIND KILLING DAYS). The doctors decided I needed more surgery (kind of saw this coming) - buuuttt, its mostly a minor two hour affair they promised, we'll just tidy up a few problem adhesions while we share warm stories of past xmas parties over my comatose body kind of blase run of the mill procedure.

Six hours later I wake up in some ungoldy agonzing pain where my surgeon declared my abdomen an absolute brutal battlefield and it was unheard of that anyone could possibly form that many adhesions post operativley in just two months. Well. I am a fucking miracle guess what. They were really impressed with the complete and utter mess of networked tissues that I had formed. So being a long and complicated surgery, I have been in here for a long and complicated post op stay - and I really just don't even know how I make it through each minute anymore.

The complications range from persistent fevers topping out consistently at 104- 105, profuse vomiting, where they eventually shoved an NG tube down my throat to cease said incessant vomitfest (Read:lubed a honking peice of gigantic pipe, shoved it down my nose , threaded it through to my belly, and have been sucking out my stomach contents that don't look so very unlike what one would find in clogged gutter detritus- cockroaches, wet leaves, dead spiders, that frisbee I lost when I was 9, etc - fascinating to watch though) ANYWAY. I would now like to continue on complaining on the subject at hand. The pain is monstrous, the back pain from laying in this bed is unbearable, I have swollen body parts that are hideous enough to make children cry, I had an internal catheter installed in my arm that travels to my heart yesterday, a sort of - permanent IV so they can feed me food via TPN b/c I haven't eaten a non vomited up food substance in over a week, two blood transfusions, and a ppaarrttrriiddge in a peeaarrr treeeeee.

The doctors still don't really have any consensus as to why I'm having all of these complications. They have a lot of ideas, but I have yet to see where they are logical, effective, and most of them don't even get acted on - I mostly think they are amused watching me rot here in this bed (they make their rounds at 6am to boot).

So, instead of having my hoped for little teary eyed sessions of 'man guys this is kind of the pits' cutesy cries, I have been having heaving pillow soaking gallon snot producing attacks....usually these are followed by my jamming on my dilaudid button waiting to become mentally comatose again. I have flipped through no magazines. I'm cranky to the nurses. The TV blows. I still can barely walk. My belly still fucking hurts, my head is positioned by a gigantic fucking window so I can remind myself daily that I'm in prison. My IV pole grows larger everyday, no literally they put a new piece of equipment on it like everytime I turn around- reverse nurse Jenga, honest to god. and having to unplug three different pumps, my ng tube, wrap 6 wires and my pain pump, everytime I want to walk 6 feet to the bathroom is RIDICULOUS. Then haul all that shit over to the sink. Pick at some new pimple. Get all the way back to bed, hook everything back up. Climb in. And then realize. in horror. that I forgot to wash my hands. I may or may not rengage in a crying jagg that my neighbors can hear. But I think tears are good for sterilizing or something?

Now I fantasize about being back in lab and having a grad student gracefully float into my bay with a box of Dunkies and saying Lisa I picked out your favorite, and also, I have just a few samples of intestine if you wanted to count them? and her eyes would twinkle. and my eyes would twinkle. and we would share a doughnut moment while gazing at one another, endulging in silly light hearted tales that would cause the people overhearing to smile and shake their heads. and I would tell her I would be delighted to count tumors as I loving licked the chocolate icing from each of my nonswollen, non bruised, unfinger pricked, unscathed, hand washed fingers. And I would walk down to the scope room, with a little whimpering cry, and it would look pretty, and genuine, and the sun would reflect just right off my face - and the tears would be for happiness this time, because I just ate a fucking doughnut and its not causing me to double over and writhe around in agonzing pain, because IM LIVING LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING DOES EVERYDAY. except I won't be taking it for granted. suckers.

I.can't.take.this.anymore.

I would like to take a brief reprieve from marathon hw to whine.

In the past five days I have had to:

1) take a test covering most of endocrine physiology (fri)
2) write a 6 page report detailing the ins and out of NSAIDs and their effects on gi and cardio health (mon)
3) put together a 20 minute presentation on NSAIDs and their chemotherapuetic properties (mon)
4) write another 6 page report detailing the ins and outs of pre/probiotics and their effects on gi health (wed)
5) put together another 20 minute presentation on pre/probiotics and their chemotherapuetic properties (wed)
6) lab (all week)
7) redo my entire physiology test (in a timely fashion) , because I did just that bad on it the first time around. But apparently the whole class was given their test to correct and turn back in, so , on the bright side, it was kind of okay I failed the crap out of it.

I have a vague recollection of sleeping at some point last week. I think I ate a bowl of cereal or something yesterday. Ive adjusted to the permanent burn of exhaustion that has manifested itself in my eyeballs. Honestly, this was all for one class too. ONE CLASS. All three professors for ONE class decided to put this all on us due in the course of ONE WEEK.

That's all I really have to say. I have a quota of bitching that must be met every hour concerning my work load, and I thusly decided for the 15th hour of feb 24 I would whine via blog post. The last of my work is due tomorrow morning at 9am. 17 more hours left of the most schoolwork intensive week I have ever experienced. or anyone has really. I feel confident enough to go out on a limb and say no one ever, except the other 5 members of my physiology class, ever experienced this intense of a work load. If you think you have. you are wrong. My undereye circles will beat you into submission if you refuse to concede this truth.

I would like to borrow a hat please.

Why I have a lot of pimples on my forehead where there are usually none:


-Ive narrowed down my headaches to Ambien use. Rubbing my head while its hurting does nothing to alleviate the pain but it feels useful.

-Self diagnosing persistent fevers by touching my forehead with the palm of my hand, the back of my hand, my wrist, if someone is near I ask for their second opinion with their hands - - not that my forehead ever feels hot to me, but it seems like a necessary prerequisite to taking my temperature and eating motrin like m&m's.

-Sitting on my ass for the past two weeks waiting to miraculously look and feel like a normal person - and fretting/stressing/whining that I still look and feel like a 1 week post mortem starvation victim. This causes a lot of stress induced forehead rubbing.

-Having my bf repeatedly ask me if I was recently in a knife fight, how I made out in my recent fist fight, and maybe I should stay out of dark dangerous alleys - due to illustrious pimple holes on my forehead that, apparently, resemble gigantic, violent, fight induced wounds. I then naturally feel the need to self consciously touch all of my pimples, because finger probing is an appropriate measure of pimple severity, even though I just looked in the mirror 5 min prior to assess said damage. Then I stress out and rub my forehead because not only am I really pale with gigantic undereye circles, but I also look like a leper. A starving one.

-I honestly really hate this 25 notes b.s. circulating on fb because I'm incapable of not reading everyone's kooky narcissistic self-commentary b/c IM BORED OUT OF MY MIND. (Certainly not a parallel to my blog here at all). I read them immediately upon their arrival on my newsfeed. I rub my forehead out of sheer stress that I just subjected myself to another 3 minutes of lifewaste.

-I haven't done my laundry in over two weeks and am wearing the last of the last. Stressful headrubbing ensues after every shower, as I stare into my dresser drawers, wondering how the cats are going to treat me if I pair nine year old plaid pj pants with a tie dye shirt and striped rainbow socks.

Okay, I can drag this list out forever, seeing as I have mammoth swaths of time on my hands, but I need to check facebook to see if anyone else posted 25 notes. I MUST KNOW HOW MANY PETS YOU HAD AS A CHILD. and I need to stare at the wall some more. and wait around for this day to be over so maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and look and feel a little more normal. I'm also horribly nauseous, that is to say I can literally feel my stomach throwing grappling hooks into my esophagus as a means to escape out of my mouth - so I need to lay down to thwart operation gut escape, and I can't really type from that angle.

I rubbed my head 11 different times during the writing of this post alone. I need to find a different means of physically expressing my stress. Like eating more than a meal a day regardless of how violently queasy it makes me, because dropping all this weight in the course of two weeks is terrifying, and naturally, it makes me rub my head.

I could consider that whole, resolution business - but that would be admitting I don't love this lifestyle.

the new year thus far:

-left essential medication at home. begged mom to overnight it on tuesday, the 30th. it won't be here til tomorrow at the earliest, Monday, the 5th.

-procured a hangover worthy of matching my Halloween hangover. That is to say I spent most of the first day this year whining about being on the cusp of passing out/vomiting/mind blowing headache/dehydration/imminent death. Also, NYE was a blast and the hangover was totally worth it.

-thusly detagged about 173 pictures on facebook.

- after removing approximately 97 lbs. of trash from my car (consisting mostly of empty red bulls, v8 cans, diet pepsi max bottles) I found someone's car keys, still unclaimed (GM car keys anyone?). My car still looks and smells like an alley from a bad part of NYC.

-ate more cookies then I probably have in all of 2008 put together. I am really not being sarcastic on this one. dead serious.

-realized I scheduled a lab meeting for my previous rotation (that I failed to give during my rotation) on top of the first class on the first day of the semester, I am befuddled at my lack of blatant organizational skills. no, wait, I'm totally not.

- broke my bike. like, have to take it to the shop for repairs kind of broke my bike. After my big christmas present this year was my dad totally revamping and repairing my bike with all new parts.

- thought I killed my roommate's cat.

- reset my internal clock by going to bed after 3 am every single night/morning. Certainly this won't exacerbate already persistent insomnia.

-subsequently, I woke up at 1 pm today - drank a red bull at 3pm in preparation for a 2 hour bike ride (and of course made it 7 miles before I broke my pedal). Oh weird, I'm blogging at midnight and feel capable of running back to back marathons.

-So, yes, blogging. Instead of my original intention of reading papers for my rotation that starts tomorrow.

-that I said I would arrive for at 9am.

-but won't go until 10am because my P.I. said she wasn't getting in until 10:30 am.

-sigh.

-2009: perpetuation of picking up very avoidable messes, piecemeal, organization is for the birds.

-happy new year.