Today Dennis was released from the hospital. I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t expecting him to call me and say that he got a ride back to our place. Getting that message at 6pm, I packed up what I could from Vance’s place, gathered my little ones, wrote a letter to Vance explaining where I was going, and left. He’ll find it at about 6am, when he gets home from work. It was harder to leave Vance than it was Dennis. Vance always kissed me good morning, good night, hello and good bye. He kissed me for no apparent reason other than I was there, and he felt like being affectionate. Dennis, on the other hand, thinks that by marrying me, he never has to tell me that he loves me anymore.
My mind has been wandering tonight. First from the medical tests that revealed Stage III cancers in two more places, to discussing surgery, alone, in that huge hospital, to knowing that I am going to have to see the therapist tomorrow. My tits are sore from the mammogram and the biopsies. My armpit is sore from the biopsy. I feel as though I will be alone in my battle, had I not gotten back together with Dennis when he called me. Vance would not miss work, no matter what, even the day that I had my Gamma Knife surgery. He dropped me off at the clinic, went to get coffee, and came back in about two hours and picked me up, distorted and disoriented. I was essentially alone. Today was a horrible reminder of this.
The thoughts that raced through my mind kept me anxious. When I heard the technologist tell me that lumps were found in my breasts, that a lump was found in my side, I wanted someone there, someone familiar, to hold me. I wanted someone to be there to tell me that yes, the road was a frightening and strange road, but that I was going to get well, and I didn’t have to go down it alone. That would have made the entire procedure 100% less frightening for me. The only person there was the technologist and I, and I certainly couldn’t hug her. She was so cold and sterile. The x-ray machine was cold and sterile. My nipples bled during the procedure. I was shaking by the end of the procedure, wanting to sit down between shots, but the technologist kept telling me to stand there, we were “almost done.” Forty minutes later, and much blood on the x-ray machine, I was told we were finally “done.” I was shaking. I’m not used to standing that long. I’m not used to something squeezing my tits that hard for that long, in those exotic positions. But I survived it. Alone. In that huge, cold, lonesome hospital. As I was walking back to my car, I saw that it was pouring rain out. I walked slowly to the car, feeling embarrassed that I had just shown my tits to a stranger, and that I had to face said stranger. I also felt as if the hospital was going to swallow me up, with the twists and turns and such. I just wanted to get home, change, and sleep it off. But then Dennis called to tell me that he had been released from the other hospital, and was at our house.
Gamma Knife surgery was as bad as the new diagnosis. They screwed a box to my head. Underneath the skin. The box was to keep my head still, and only allowing movement when the huge CT-esque machine was ready to move my head. Couldn’t they do this some other way?! I could feel the screws grinding against what I could only logically assume was my skull. I wanted to faint, but I’m not wired that way. I stay awake for the whole gore-y situation. No matter what is being done to me. The same thing happened when I got my root canals done a few years back.
Somehow, things just feel like they should be this way, you know? I feel as though I should be here, in this house, digging through a mountain of laundry, lightly teasing Dennis, while we watch worn-out, has-beens in rock. It just seems like this is they way things should be. Even though my heart is craving kisses and smiles and someone who doesn’t scream at the kids at every opportunity, the Continuum is no longer in danger of Chaos.
If you don’t get that last reference, it means that all life as we know it would cease to exist because I wasn’t playing my part in the Universe. Now that I am, I have saved mankind, somewhat. Be thankful.
I must be living on some alternate planet and time line. The doctor gave me Vicodin yesterday. Sixty of them. For the next three months. I’m screwed. Three refills. Three chances to fall from grace. A new chance to fall in another way: to selling the shit out of the pub. That isn’t me, but the alternative of taking the medicine when I do not need it scares me. There is a chance that I could get addicted. There is a chance that if I gulp down the pills, I will be searching for more the day after I have them refilled. What if I drive while under the influence? Or wander?
I have a doctor appointment after work (yes, I’m breaking the rules, blogging from work, so what?), and I am afraid of that appointment as well as what I know he will want me to do. He wants me to go back for observations and other medically unnecessary procedures that I feel uncomfortable in doing. Maybe I should bring that up? Hey, if he can get out of writing me prescriptions that make me feel comfortable, maybe I can get out of psychiatric counseling because it makes me uncomfortable! It’s worth a shot!
Why aren’t people commenting here? Whose leg do I have to hump to get some real comments? Not the spammers that I have to delete every day cuz ID won’t install a simple captcha!
My site was down for over 24 hours. While that’s not uncommon, I sent an email to my hosts asking what the problem was. I got no response. All of my files were in the FTP program, so I knew it wasn’t a crash, and it wasn’t a hack because my other site was down as well, and that site does not have any software installed on it. For a short time yesterday, the site was available. Then it would redirect to wilwheaton.net, as if he needed more hits. My payment is due this month, but not until the 26th, and I thought I should at least get a reply. Then my emails were coming through.Then my site was back up. I’m thinking of minimising my sites. That being said, crimsonsparkle.net will be moved over to my Dreamhost account as soon as I can get a few minutes time to switch everything over. My photo blog is on there, as well as my experimental sites and my husband’s page. Why not put the personal site on there as well? There’s no blog on crimsonsparkle.net anymore, and the archives that were there are now here, but it’s still a good place for my family to go to see photos and read about upcoming things in my life. This is the site they don’t know about. *grins*
Just incase this ever happens again, I have a couple of off server blogs, Recovering Beauty and Comatised, a tumblr, and several scene journals, gamine, stxr and Christina. What can I say? I love to write, I love to get feed back on my writing, and I always want that option there to write online if I need it. But I have been online for way over a decade, so I’ve gotten around some.
I am back on my Cymbalta. I don’t remember why I stopped taking it, but I did. I don’t know if I’m happy with being on it or not. I am also on another diabetic drug that I don’t know if I want to take. Low blood sugars scare me so much and I don’t know how many of them I can take. I was already put under ‘watch’ today, having to have a ‘baby sitter’ to go out and buy Valentine’s Day gifts and a little somethings for me. I picked up some illuminating foundation for my face that leaves a small shine of glitter after I put it on. It goes with the power foundation I bought last year. I now have the whole set! WooHoo! I picked up some Venom DooWop lip stain, and a tiny little tin of peppermint mints for Chloe. She wanted her own make up and lip stains, since I was getting some. I had to explain to her that like with her pierced ears, she has to wait to get to use make up. But then I ended up giving her a small make over in the hallway outside the candy store. Our skin tones are practically identical, and she acted as though she was a princes after the make over. I wish I would have thought to take pictures.
The last stop of the day was Walmart, so I could get more DVDs to record more movies for my mother. I picked up some candy for the family. Those large Carousel Lollipops. I gave the boys and Chloe each a Wild Cherry pop. I think the DVDs are going okay. I’m sleepy from my meds, so I haven’t checked on them. I should be napping. I have a lot to get done tomorrow.
It was beautiful out today. It felt like spring time in January. The wind was a little strong, but I loved it anyway.
I didn’t venture out, but stayed inside with the windows and doors open, letting the warm breeze sweep though the house, cleaning out the dirty air, and replacing it with fresh air. The zing zing made working on anything a little harder. I feel like my foot is swollen, but I don’t believe it is.
With all the good things that happened to me today, I am still dreading next week and the start of dialysis. Dialysis is what caused the septic infection that eventually led to Jess’ death. His body couldn’t fight off the infection, so the doctor did not supply any antibiotics. They went ahead with the transplant, though. Smooth move, doc! There’s that tiny thought in t he back of my mind that I may or may not end up like Jess. In so much pain from sepsis that I swallow too much codine or too many Percs and I don’t wake up. Champ offered to bring me over some barbs. No thanks. I have enough to worry about, with how I could fight off the pain, should I get an infection.
All that being said, I am excited to get the first dialysis over with, because that means I can board the plane to the Golden Coast and nothing will stop me from being with my man and family. It’s summer in Australia right now. Where I am is about to get covered with several feet of snow. I still have plenty of time off, and nothing to occupy my mind. I have read Chloe every book that is appropriate for her, played dolls and video games with her, read just as many books to the boys, and played hide and seek with them, letting them win a few times, of course, that the three kids are tired of playing. Ashe asked me if I was going to start dinner soon because he wanted his supper and to go to bed! How many other people have the luxury of their four year old asking them for bedtime?! Didn’t think so.
I myself am going stir crazy. I finished my spiral notebook that I started back in October, I started a new journal, and even ordered a new one from Amazon. I’ve done all I can do with this site and the design. I have looked through more layouts, chosen one for March, and then I actually turn off my computer. I have watched every single show on cable in HD several times over. I am bored with everything. Bored and brilliant is a really bad combination. When I get those two together, I usually end up having a seizure and wake up sucking some stranger’s cock in the men’s room of the Cherry pub, stoned off my ass on a narcotic or two, in the early stages of alcohol poisoning, only to stagger out and be informed by Champ that I had a fourth man who wanted to take a turn. Whoa. I have called all the friends I have numbers for. I brushed the dog. The kitchen is spotless. I have an open bottle of Jack Daniels here, and I have had several drinks from it. Oh downward spiral, take me on another magic carpet ride…
Nick finally called me last night. He said they weren’t going to take me out of the filming. I was secretly relieved. I really wanted to work on that with him. The director is just going to shoot some other scenes that do not include me. I really want to go back to the gardens there in Sydney. I want to relive the beautiful flowery trails, collect wildflowers and have them pressed and made into perfume. That’s always been a favourite thing for me to do in Australia. I want to make a bottle for my friend Mandy, too. I hope she likes it!
While I was going through my meds this morning, I noticed that my fentanyl was gone. A whole five patches. I found out that my loving mother gave them to her drug addicted sister because she “needed them more than I did”. What? Really? All that is wrong with my aunt is she’s a chronic drug abuser. I really have a broken back and tumors that are causing me horrible pain. After the argument, I locked my med box in the trunk in the closet. Double locked, I might add. Let’s see anyone break into that! She started to tell me that maybe I should move out and earn my own money for my medicine myself. What kind of a selfish bitch was I to totally rely on my husband to work and support me and my ‘drug habit’ I had because of my cancer diagnosis. Wow. I’m not allowed to rely on my husband to buy my meds and work to support the household? I should move out of my own home? What the hell is wrong with her family!
That trip cannot get here fast enough. Have a great rest of the weekend, everyone! I have some pictures to upload after a while from when I tore apart my TimeCapsule and old iMac and harvested their drives. Now if I can only get some USB cords and connect them, I can get my data back. I’ll be so glad to get it, too. Never ever rely on media that you cannot connect to your main computer. I learned that the hard way.
I’m off to finish the bottle of Jack Daniels!
Well, it’s finally happened. Come Monday I am going to be briefed on dialysis and then scheduled for my first trip some time next week. The whole idea depresses me like I have never been depressed before. Why is this happening? I have asked that question to myself many times. While I know why it happened, biologically and chemically, it was only a percentage that I was in, and the majority of this not happening was on my side. Yet it happened anyway.
My (asshole!) doctor wanted to blame the chemicals that I work with. They can cause severe kidney damage. Sure. If I had worked there for fifty years. He then blames the metformin that I have been on for the past four years. Well, he wanted me to take it because it causes weight loss. He also told me there were no horribly wrong side effects. Um, sure. See, I knew better. If I were an everyday person I could have a lawsuit against him at the moment, but as a bio-chemist, I knew the risks of taking the medicine and I still took it. Having my mother tell me that at 173 lbs, losing 30 lbs since Halloween night, made me less of an embarrassment to her. Of course she’s in her 60s and living off me, but I’m the embarrassment because I was a few pounds overweight. Technically for my height I wasn’t even obese, but I stopped eating, got depressed, and here I am. Though my loving doctor and mother want me down to 100 lbs even by summer. I was encouraged that I could do this. Ever see a 100 lb 6′ 1″ person? We don’t look good. We look like we survived the holocaust. We have no energy. Ten years ago I was down to 100 – 90 lbs and I looked like total shit. No tits. No energy. Constant pains. But damn, I wasn’t an embarrassment to my mother, her family, or my doctor. The people whom I should have truly been trying to please weren’t interested in my weight; I’ve always been perfect to them.
I was put on a double transplant list yesterday. Monday I pick up my pager to wait for the news that there is a kidney or lung (yes, those are fucked up too). I’m not sure if this will affect my trip to Sydney, or the trip to Las Vegas in March. I’ve already paid for my tickets and I want to go. My plane to Sydney is supposed to leave on Thursday morning and I return on Sunday the fifth. I had everything planned, from a new camera to a ton of GBs of space to take pictures and video. I even stocked up on spare batteries and a fast charger so I wouldn’t run out of juice on the trip. Then there’s my “artisan” make up because I was supposed to be a part of the filming we’re going to. I can’t get on camera with a dialysis cath in my arm with the bruises to go with it. This all has screwed up my entire pleasure in looking forward to the trip; I haven’t been to Australia for pleasure since 2003. Dennis was also looking forward to seeing DW again. I guess he can do that without me there, though. Nothing would be stopping him. I haven’t told anyone about this, other than posting it here, for people to sympathise with me over it. Let’s have that Pity Party for me!
On a lighter note, I have a couple of family members who are going to take blood tests and such to see if they match and I can get a kidney from them, possibly. I know my cousin BJ got tested. I’m not sure if I truly need my lung(s) replaced. That’s one of the things we’re going to discuss at the doctor’s office Monday afternoon.
Oh, and my TimeCapsule died and went to hell a week ago. I’ve gone through the motions of removing the hard drive in it (and have the pictures to prove it), and now I am waiting on my check to go into my card so I can get a cord for it. I have another TimeCapsule, but I can’t get the computer to recognise it. I hope that wasn’t the error with my older drive. After harvesting that drive, I feel as though I can harvest the drive from my old strawberry iMac, just to get the data off it. That would be pretty awesome if I could get that drive too. I may update next with pictures of me harvesting my TimeCapsule drive and the iMac drive, if I can get it out. Right now I have to sit at my desk and update, and that’s a bitch. I usually update from my bed while I’m watching TV. Not anymore! Not until I can figure out how to get that TimeCapsule working. Any suggestions? Advice on anything I’ve posted? Email me if you do. Or leave a comment. Whichever is good for you.
Don’t forget to add my feeds:
It’s 4:48 in the morning, and I’m just updating to let everyone know that I have failed. It’s been slightly twenty-four hours since I took off my last Fentanyl patch, and while that should have been empty, I am feeling shakes and general sickness. Nausea. Fever. Insomnia. I have to have these. I am on my last box, and there’s at least another week or more before I can even call in for another prescription. I have tried many times to no longer need these patches, but there’s something really wrong with me because I cannot quit using them. Maybe my mother and my harasser (there was only one; if she comes back and harasses me some more, I’ll expose all that I have on her, but for now, she’s leaving me alone, and there have been no other threats made against me online or off, so I’m returning the favor) were right when they said that I was a chronic drug addict. My mother throws those words at me when she wants to bully something out of me.
Whether it’s money, merchandise, or “favors” to house her criminally insane friends for the weekend, she throws insults at me and berates me. That used to work, when I was about six years old. She got a kick out of it. She would threaten to throw me out in the elements, make me, a little child, beg her for mercy to let me stay there. There were times when she would push me out the front door, and because I would scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear and turn their heads, she would snatch me back inside the house, before they called child services. But I never had that luxury. I never had the privilege of being in a foster home, away from that physical, mental, and emotional torture and abuse. I constantly think about it when I am alone, on nights like this, when I am (still!) burning DVDs for her because she has lost her copy that I sent her months ago, and will most likely end up on her floor, being kicked around the garbage strewn around her bedroom floor, destined to be scratched beyond playable repair (even though I give her cases, sleeves and ziplock baggies to store the DVDs in), which will only cause her to wake me up again in the middle of the night to make her a new disc. Good thing I have archived copies of these movies. Or is it?
With that, I am going to get a small snack, a drink, and some more opioids. At least I can sleep through whatever demons come scratching on my door tonight. That’s the purpose of taking the medicine anymore. I have pain, but it’s not physical, and the psychologists, therapists, and psychoanalysis professionals can’t fix me. Failure is a good word to describe me, even if I was not the first to think it, I am certainly the first to admit to it.
That dreadful hallway.
It’s just wrong that so many people are here. It’s even more wrong that I am the youngest patient this doctor has.
I don’t go back until August 5th. Can this be over already? I cut my trip to Manhattan short so I could make this appointment because I slept through the last one. That’s a hint that this needs to be over already. I want to be well. I want to live long and into my prime. Is that too much to ask for?