Sunday, November 7, 2010

The Jam Packed Ultra- Happy Birthday to ME Post!

I think the more totally false statements I cram into my title, the more promising it gets? Right? Or not.

Anyway, so what better way to celebrate your own *special* day than to schedule yourself a doctor's appointment?! I KNOW! I really should write a book about this or something. And I'd like to note, for the record, that somewhere, a doctor is still shaking her head in sympathy for my psychosis.

Basically; here's the thing (and if you're one of my Biffs, you already know ALLLL about this, so feel free to trot off and get yourself some tea or mayhaps something a little harder if you're so inclined): I've been off and on medicine for awhile now for a Stupid Recurring Issue. This medicine is an antibiotic, and they make tummies all sorts of upset. I started a different medicine on Friday, only to have Dire Stomach Issues ALL DAY Saturday.

Being a certified Crazed HypochondriacTM, I actually read the little paper insert in the packaging, which, from memory went a little something like this: "On rare occasions, use of this medicine can cause serious and potentially FATAL problems like ULCERATIVE COLITIS! Call your doctor NOW and pray to Jesus you don't fall over and DIE in your own diarrhea!!!" I'm pretty sure it was that general sentiment.

I don't know what "ulcertaive colitis" is, but I made a very technical Educated Guess and assumed it meant "your colon ruptures" which sounds pretty damned serious.

So, being Saturday, I couldn't just harass my doctor's nurse like I *normally* do (shout out to Nicole!) and I had to call the answering service. Which. Yes, I WOULD like a call back. What's my problem? Well, I might have possibly taken something that is causing my COLON to RUPTURE. I know, it does sound serious! And thanks, the doctor-on-call will call me.

And she did. And it was my husband's hottie mctottie blonde doctor (who frankly, if SHE has implants, I assume they're totally legit. And safe.)(Don't question this logic friends) and she was all caring and nice and for the LOVE OF GOD I was low on electrolytes (and sanity) and I was blubbering all over the phone and choking and crying and she probably was confused because it's hard to understand the phrase "ruptured colon" when someone is crying and sniffling and already visualizing death.

Then she said it was probably a coincidence. I'm sorry, what was that you said? Well, Dr. Hottie, you may have heard of him, but Dr. House probably doesn't believe in coincidences! She said something about blah blah blah systemic absorption and how she couldn't imagine that the medicine was causing my condition and she was really knowledgeable and nice and caring (and blonde)(with implants)(so I have to hate her - it's a Natural Law) and I sniffled a little more and she said I could come in on Monday and talk to my regular doctor and try a different medication.

Very well, Dr. Hottie, but ONLY because you're the one of us who went to med school. FINE. I didn't rupture my colon, and now I'm heading to the doc's office on my birthday. Karma FAIL. Seriously.

I mean, it's not like I expect (although I sort of do) the world to come to a halt and invent large pageants with expensive song-and-dance numbers to commemorate my birthday, but I'd REALLLLLY rather not spend it in my doctor's office, trying to tell the Children of the Corn not to touch the germy surfaces and picturing e-coli everywhere.

Is anyone getting this down? No to the pageant, but YES to the steam mop.

And I mean, my birthday is on a Monday which sort of sucks anyway, but I generally LIKE Mondays, so that I can handle. It's the ongoing incurable stupid medical issue PLUS the changing medication AND oh yeah, the entire weekend ruined by toxic stomach problems, THAT really chafes a girl's mojo.

And the fact that I'm turning stupid 32? Well, that's just the icing on the proverbial and TOTALLY non-existent cake. I'll be hot damned if I have to make myself a cake and The Man is working and would just be all "my cakes are better because I use secret spices" and then I'd be all "my secret spice is ARSENIC!" and yeah. So. Proverbial cake.

Let's be honest, shall we? When I was a sprightly 20-something, we'd talk about 30 as if it were some exotic yet distant far away land we'd heard of, but never intended to visit. And now? Well, I woke up one day and thought "holy crap, I'm in Nepal!" This is what happens, Friends. I can only assume the same thing of the next decade, but I'm still too busy mucking around in the Nepal of my 30s to deal with THAT concept.

For now, I'll just hope I can eat some solid food on my *special* day and that my boots-with-the-fur show up. Is that too much to ask? No, no it's NOT.

Well. Apparently even having a nice, relatively normal day (despite having a potential doctor's visit) was too much to ask. Ha ha fate, how you mock me. Whatever toxic stomach adventure I lived through on Saturday morphed into an awful dry-heaving nightmare that has left Princess totally wrecked this morning. The bucket is back in regular rotation, and I'm typing this from my upstairs hallway - direct line-of-sight in case I have to jump over the dog (again) and get to her bed. At least I can see the doctor tomorrow and ask what is UP with the stomach ebola going on around here! (This is, while helpful, NOT the way I wanted to lose weight.)(Either it's this, or a tumor.) And poor Princess hates throwing up as much as I do - this, for lack of a better word, sucks! Remind me, don't suggest to Life what you should get. Or it'll show you!

The horrendous soul-level vomiting has ceased and desisted. Grandma brought presents, bomb pops (!!!) and a cake. So. I can't really complain. I got a cake AND bomb pops, which, in all honesty SAVED MY LIFE during my pregnancy with Casanova. And presents. And the weather is gorgeous here today, despite those nasty fake ladybugs clamoring to get in through my windows. This birthday is turning around people!

Comments, questions, need to know where to mail my steam mop? Because really, a steam mop would be GREAT right now.