A post in which I have a CAT scan

I woke up feeling like absolute hell. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, since I could have nothing by mouth this morning until after the scan. I dragged myself through the morning routine pretty miserably. But it had to be done. I had to go to work afterwards too.

Finally I dragged myself to the car. I had left myself a half hour to find the radiology room, despite being only about five minutes from the hospital, because of the perverse tendency of architects to house medical facilities in gi-normous homogenized and featureless concrete buildings, around which sadistic hospital designers erect no signs. There are plenty of signs at St. Francis that invariably provide absolutely no help whatsoever in finding the department you seek. I was supposed to report to 3 St. Francis Drive. St. Francis Drive is about two and half blocks long. It’s more a driveway than a drive. I saw two road numbers this morning, 290 and 172. I’m like WTF? After a frustrated call to the radiology lab, I found (with their assistance) the road number – not at the road with the multiple useless directional arrows, but at the very top of a nine-story building in an oh-so-unhelpfully-tasteful color scheme I’m quite sure some idiot designer called “toast on mocha” or something equally dildonic. It was very slightly darker tan on very slightly lighter tan - not exactly screaming out at you from nice stories up. Nonetheless, because the letters are about six feet high, you feel like a total tool when someone points it out to you.

Having successfully found the building, I then had to find a parking space. The parking lot was a bit smaller than that Huston Astrodome, but was at about ninety percent capacity. Apparently half of the population of Greenville County had been scheduled for simultaneous treatment this morning. I eventually did park somewhere in Western Uganda. After summoning some native bearers and loading the elephant, I began the trek to the entrance – and I’m thinking how in the hell could a really sick person ever make this hike?

In short, I felt like shit, and was fully prepared to be grumpy as all get-out. I was also tortured by thirst, having had nothing to drink since the night before. Fantasies involving the orgiastic guzzling of V-8 juice, chocolate milk, and Ruby Red Grapefruit punch lit my fevered brain like a desert mirage.

Once I found the building and (eventually) reached the entrance, finding radiology was surprisingly easy, unlike at Greenville County Hospital, where one is forced to engage the free-lance services of an ex-employee of Dionne’s Psychic Friends to find out where you’re supposed to be.

The waiting room was gray, grim, vaguely but quietly grimy-looking without actually being dirty, and depressing. Kind of like the waiting room for purgatory. Everyone there was about 110 years old with the exception of myself and the staff. It was a mark of distinction that I was moving unencumbered under my own power. I reflected for a moment on what a selfish SOB I was to be so pissy and sorry for myself when there were so many people who have it so much harder than I do. I watched an elderly married couple check in. She was obviously having problems, and he was gallantly managing the process for her. It was so sweet it broke my heart. They had obviously prepared meticulously for the visit to the hospital; she with her hair and makeup done, he with his hair freshly washed and in a tweed jacket.

For any treatment at St. Francis, you have to register. Being fully prepared to be as cranky and ungrateful as the most cantankerous Alzheimer’s patient, I was completely disarmed by the woman who registered me, who was an absolute angel of kind sympathy. If ever a person was perfectly matched to her job it was this woman. She laughed obligingly and seemingly with genuine amusement when I told her many people would probably think it was a great idea for me to get my head examined. I’m sure she’d heard that one a million times, but bless her heart, this woman deserved an Oscar (or at least an Emmy). I didn’t even snap when she broke my heart a little. “Do you still have a life partner?” she asked. “No.” I replied. I had no gallant to fight the process on my behalf. I thought about Michael’s mother explaining to him that one of the reasons you stay together as you get older is that you help take care of each other.

Unsurprisingly, the preliminary mechanics took much more time than the treatment itself. In short order my brains (such as they are) had been photographed, and I was told I could leave. I then began the process of navigating the labyrinthine hallways that are another common feature of the modern health care facility to find the exit. Had I known I would be doing this solo, I would have brought some string, or pebbles, or bread crumbs, or something. I thought I had lucked out when I spotted an EXIT sign pretty quickly. It did indeed lead to an exit, which opened onto – dirt; and locked behind me. There was no sidewalk (well there was one that led back to another locked door), no sign, no path, and nothing I recognized to be seen. After a minute or two, I realized that I had to be facing Eastern Uganda at this point. Dammit. And I with my elephant double-parked in front. Following a vestigial graveled service drive, I circumnavigated the building, and then made the hike across the Great Lot to the car. As I made the journey, I reflected again on the unlikeliness of any sick person being able to make this trip. I flashed on the old couple up in purgatory, and it came to me that you weren’t supposed to have to make this trek injured. You were of course supposed to have a loved one to drop you at the entrance and park the car. I felt really, really alone. (Hospitals and airports, for some reason, do that to me.) I went straight from crotchety right on through to my big ole Pity Party.

With the Southern Baptist rationalization of my upbringing, I decided that one of the reasons I probably felt so bad was that I had nothing on my stomach, which I resolved to rectify immediately. I felt too bad to stop by the store for the planned bever-orgy, but I had iced tea in the fridge at home, where I retreated. After eating (and drinking - yay) something, I didn’t feel much better. There was just no way I could go into work yet. I took my pills and a nap.

I woke feeling surprisingly better. I guess it was that second dose of meds that did it. I got ready, ate a bit of lunch, and went on into the office.

I got done what needed to be done. Alan will be back tomorrow and I’ll be ready. But as the day progressed my blue mood continued. Just when I get my finances semi-together, my body falls apart. I’m quite sure my blood pressure (and probably other things as well) are symptoms of the increasing stress at work. So my job is killing me, but I can’t afford to quit. Dad could only do the corporate bullshit thing for 15 years before it wrecked his health, and I’ve been doing it for over 17 years. Of course if I did quit then I’d be poor, my health would deteriorate because I wouldn’t have the money to buy healthy food, and I’d have stress then because of not having any money. So the choice seems to be dying with or without stuff. Either the job can kill me, or poverty can. I suppose I’m choosing with stuff.

Since I was depressed about my health, I stopped for junk food on the way home. I know. I feel like a Cathy Guiswite character. Of course cartoon characters suffer remarkably few ramifications from diet, unless you count the occasional inadvertent consumption of lit dynamite and/or bombs. Even that doesn't usually kill them.

I talked to Justin tonight. He’s been worried about me because the blog has been behind (it has never before been as behind as it was this week). We had a great time talking about the ridiculousness of corporate bullshit. I knew from a friend of my parents that school administration is just as bad (if not worse), and he’s a teacher. When I shared the ‘death with vs. death without stuff’ theory, he suggested I look around for another job. I’ve thought about it in the past, but of course every job has stress, so my theory has always been ‘better the devil you know than the one you don’t’, but at this point I’m giving some serious thought to dusting off the ole' resume. The devil I know seems to be on a body-building program lately. But I just don’t know if another job would resolve anything.

It was good to talk to Justin though, and I went to bed feeling a bit better.

A post in which things take a turn for the worse

I slept until about 1am. I woke up hurting. I thought maybe I was just constipated, but should have realized that constipation shouldn’t have hurt this much. It basically felt like someone had packed my gut with concrete that had hardened, and that my body was trying unsuccessfully to move it out in a single piece. I was up three times out of a sound sleep. It hurt so badly that all I could do is lay there and groan for a bit before I got up. I would have felt like a drama queen, but there was no one there to hear me. Jinx was worried about me. Her preferred (and indeed only) means of treatment is to walk back and forth over my stomach, which was not helping at all; but she didn’t know what else to do, and kept doing it until I thought I was going to wring her cute furry little neck. To make matters worse, on my unproductive trips to the bathroom I was freezing. I finally figured out that I was running a fever and took some Ibuprofen.

I considered going to the emergency room, but I would have felt stupid going in there with an impaction, and the only thing I could really claim was constipation and fever. I knew that would put me at the bottom of the waiting list, and that I probably wouldn’t get to see a doctor any sooner than if I just waited and went and saw my doctor later in the morning. I made a Scarlett O’Hara vow that if I lived to see the morning I would go to the doctor, and finally fell back into a restless sleep about 4:30.

I woke up about 8 and called in to work. I had no choice, I had to go in today to do my preliminary report, but there was no way I could have gone in this morning. I had told them I would be in after my doctor’s appointment, but I couldn’t get an appointment until 3:30 this afternoon.

I ate brekkie and slept for a couple more hours (During Meet Me in St. Louis, incidentally. Even in the throes of illness, I couldn't help but be reminded that Judy was truly at her most ravishing during the filming of this movie, despite the fact that she wasn't initially very enthusiastic about it. When I sleep through Judy, things is serious.) (Lordamercy, I am SO gay) then started going through the routine of getting ready for work. By the time I was done I was exhausted. I decided since it was so late in the day to go ahead and eat lunch before I went in. I didn’t really want any, but I was afraid my blood sugar would bottom out if I didn’t eat something.

I got to the office to find an email from Canada wanting to know where their numbers were. Before I could get the computer booted they were calling me. I explained that I had just gotten in, and would have them their stuff ASAP.

I got their numbers to them, and started working on my preliminaries. They had to go out today, but I couldn’t finish them before I had to leave to go to the doctor. That meant I had to come back to the office late this afternoon, which I really hadn’t planned and didn’t feel like doing.

The doctor told me that I had diverticulitis, but I had told her about my problems in the morning, the headaches and stuff as well. She scheduled me for a CAT scan to eliminate the possibility of a tumor or sinus complication – for tomorrow. She suspects high blood pressure, and she’s probably right.

I went back to the office and finished my preliminaries. I sent them out and then headed for home. Of course since I felt like hammered shit, the pharmacy was too backed up to fill my prescriptions while I waited. I went home, ate supper, and gave myself an stern internal lecture about how I wasn't going to feel any better until I started my meds to make myself go back to get them. I felt awful, but still noticed that the hot pharmacist with the Suspiciously Beautiful Hair and the sexy euro-trash beard was on duty. I took my pills and crawled into bed.

A post in which it is Monday

As a further sign that there is something wrong, after a 4pm nap yesterday, I slept a full night. I woke up feeling bad, natch.

Work continues to be frustrating. Guess who wanted her numbers calculated in a different way yet again? To add insult to injury, it took me all day to drag an answer out of her as to exactly what it was she wanted. When I got the answer, it was it was two Yoda-cryptic sentences. She referred me to her assistant for details. I talked to her, and just to be sure (having run this gamut 5 fucking times now, after all) I emailed the witch for confirmation, only to have her directly contradict what her assistant told me, and still not giving me any clear instructions.

Working as I do, however, I have learned to pick up on the psychology of people. (There’s a book in there somewhere, there are about five main types of debtors.) She let slip (reading between the lines) in her final communication that what she’s after is more slides. She wants as much exposure as my boss has. So forget going to college, it’s like dealing with a damn pre-school kid. Since I didn’t get her answers and their data back until late in the day, and with sending out data to the other departments, I got nothing done on my preliminaries today. I am so heartily sick of this (now 8 page!) report.

It was a small consolation that at least my boss is out of the office for a couple of days.

I do nothing on Monday nights. It’s the one night of the week that I don’t schedule stuff. This week is looking a bit more free than last week, thank goodness.

I went home, ate, and collapsed on the sofa until it was time to collapse into the bed.

A post in which I see some friends

Apparently behaving responsibly is not the answer. This was the worst in a series of bad mornings. I got up and debated whether it would hurt worse to go get the Ibuprofen or to just stay in bed and hope for it to go away. Being a take-action kinda guy I got up to go after the pills. My head was just killing me this morning. It took me two hours to feel good enough to leave the house.

Fortunately I had been awake early, and by the time the two hours had passed it was prime flea market time. I debated the wisdom of this, but went anyway based on: 1) my determination to have some kind of life, and 2) the fact that I needed fruit anyway.

It was great flea market weather. The day was sparkling bright and there were plenty of people out shopping. I walked around, basically just happy to be out of doors and feeling functional. I got the fruit, a couple of veggies, and looked at the glass. I did actually purchase a plate eventually. It was Sharon, not one of my favorite patterns, but a pretty piece at a decent price, and in good condition. I usually see Sharon in amber and I don’t like that color, but the piece I found today was pink. Also unusual to see a plate in this pattern -ususally I just see the ubiquitous 8 1/2" bowl - apparently there were millions of those made. I saw a sugar bowl also, and the color looked right, although I know that piece has been reproduced, but the base was all chipped up.

Sharon "Cabbage Rose" 9 1/4" dinner plate in pink by Federal Glass Co, circa 1935 - 1939

I also saw a really cool old-looking hydrogen peroxide bottle that I thought would be neat for dana, but when I went back and looked at it, the mold seams looked off to me. I’m just learning about bottles and not confident enough to buy something like that I’m not sure about. The lady wanted $7 for it too, which would have been about all the money on it if it had been old, I’m thinking. I turned it down.

I saw Tammy from work there. She’s always nice to me. I also saw a woman I used to work with name Vicki. I always liked her.

While I was chatting with them and debating on whether or not to buy the plate dana called. I was SO happy to hear from her!! She called to tell me they were making breakfast and invited me over. I said I’d be right over.

I ran by the house, dropped off my fruit, and grabbed a shower, then headed over there. Miss Kat had had a tooth out this week, and her mouth had been sore until today, so she was ready to eat. We had a real country breakfast: coffee, eggs and cheese, homemade biscuits, fried taters (and is there anything, really, better than fried taters??), and bacon for them. Everything was delicious!

After an indulgent meal, we settled in to chat and smoke. I hadn’t seen them in over two weeks, so there was plenty to catch up on. Miss Kat and dana are in agreement that I need to find out what the heck is wrong with me, and that I should go back to the doctor. At this point I’m thinking that there has to be more than just Epstein Barr going on, and even if there isn’t there’s got to be something I can do to feel better. For the last week I’ve felt more like I was existing than living.

Dana did some stuff around the house, but after a while, it was clear that they needed to get some stuff done. I went on home. I was so tired. I decided to take another nap, despite the fact that it was really too late in the day to nap. But first, of course, I wanted a snack.

When I woke up it was about 5:30. I was still tired. But there were things I had to do for next week. I put in an onion to pickle because I was out of pickled onion (to which I am now officially addicted) for sandwiches next week. I made some chili for hot dogs (which I had planned for supper next week).

After that I just hung out and watched the Fox lineup until time for bed.

A post in which I take some time out

I had told myself that I wasn't doing anything today. Good call. I woke up feeling crappy (I know, how unusual), despite it being Saturday and all. It was a beautiful day. I had thought that I might go to the flea market this morning. I needed fruit anyway (plus that would be fun), but I just plain didn't feel like going. I'm so worn out, and it looked cold outside.

I ate some breakfast, and then lay back down. When I woke up it was 1:30pm.

One of my strategies for getting more rest is that if I don't get called and specifically invited somewhere, I don't try to find other stuff to do. It's much harder for me to decline an invitation than it is for me to be passive about it.

I futzed around the house a very little bit. I had told myself I would get some housework done today, but after feeling so bad last week I had seriously lowered the bar. I cleaned up the cat's eating area, which gets surprisingly disgusting. Anyone who thinks that cats are fastidious creatures has obviously never cleaned up after them. Jinx has the surprising ability to get dry food to stick to the wall. I don't know either. And I won't even go into what Crooner does, which is disgusting. By the time I finished up with that, straightened up a bit, and got cleaned up myself, it was late afternoon.

Since I had gone to the trouble of getting cleaned up, I wanted to go somewhere, and I decided that going to the grocery store would kill two birds. A brief outing (I only needed a couple of things) would get me out of the house for a mo and do something that needed doing at the same time. I went.

I ran by the library on the way to drop off a book.

I went to Publix downtown, but while I was there, I got bit by the bug. I planned suppers and lunches for next week, and got the stuff to make them. I headed home afterwards, but there was nothing in the house to eat. I still felt like kind of a loser to be doing the grocery shopping on Saturday night. To reward myself for being responsible I stopped and got a tuna sub at Subway - only a 6" this time, but it still cost about the same. I should have gotten a whole one and eaten half of it later, but at least I didn't eat to the point of misery.

I had thought I was doing well with my weight. I was eating (fairly) reasonably, and my weight seemed to be remaining stable despite an occasional treat. Then suddenly last week, about Wednesday, my work pants got tight. All the fat posted at once, which hardly seems fair. And I'm supposed to be getting more rest to treat the Epstein-Barr, so I have no idea how I would exercise at this point.

I felt lonely tonight. It's kind of a downer that no one called and invited me anywhere, although since I should have declined it anyway (and probably wouldn't have at this point) I guess that's a good thing they didn't. I'm lonely for Miss Kat and dana. It took a good bit of willpower not to call them tonight. But I didn't. I stayed home like a good boy, and turned in early. On a Saturday yet. Sigh.

I'm telling myself that I have to take care while I can, or I'll have no life at all. But it's discouraging that work seems to take about all I have these days. Having to nurse myself along just to make it through the forty hours of requirement hardly seems fair.

A post in which I go see Russ

I woke up in the same condition this morning. If I ever make it through this week, I am not doing SHIT on Saturday. I had planned on doing some housework, but I just don't see that happening at this point. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

Work was work. After the never-ending nature of the rest of the week, that was a great improvement.

I really was ready to get my hair cut, and to see Russ and Billy. Again I fortified myself with Ibu and Emercen-C before I went to the shop. If he wanted to do something afterwards, dammit, I was going to do it. I have the rest of the weekend to rest.

When I got there, Russ was finishing up some guy whom he had apparently scheduled purposefully to coincide with my appointment. When he finished, he "had to run to the back". He introduced us and left us "to get acquainted". Yeah, it was about a subtle as a blond on a bar stool with an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. His heart is in the right place, I know, but this guy was (how can I say this nicely?) pretty much personality-free. I made some half-hearted conversation to be polite, but his responses were nothing if not lackluster. He beat a pretty hasty retreat. Russ was apparently fairly impatient with me that things had not gone better.

I'm kind of off men these days. The last two I had at the house were such disasters. Plus I've been feeling so bad lately that I just haven't thought much about sex or dating. Unusual for me. I'm wondering how much of this is my going off my zinc supplement, and how much of it is the usual winter hibernation period for George. There's usually that period between Christmas and sap-rising time in the spring where I get kind of a break from demands. I'm not claiming maturity or better life perspective at this point.

After my haircut, we went to the house, and out to Miyaki for excellent sushi. I really love that place. I had asked Billy to record a movie called Between Two Worlds for me on DVR. It's a great old movie, but hasn't been released on DVD, and they only show it once in a blue moon on TCM. I thought I wasn't going to be able to stay awake for it at first, which aggravated me enough that I woke up pretty well for the second half, when things start happening. It is so frustrating to me that I have so little left over for my real life at this point! I had thought that the movie's conclusion would appeal to Russ's sense of "eye-for-an-eye" justice, but he didn't make it - he fell asleep before the good part started. But it was great to see Russ and Billy and spend some time with them, especially after I had to decline the invitation last Sunday. I went home somewhat mollified.

A post in which work finally settles down a bit

I woke up this morning not feeling too much different than usual. I just took my Ibu and sucked it up.

I got to work with some apprehension today that the Canadian numbers would be rejected yet again, but they were finally, finally accepted. I felt like I'd won a prize or something.

I went on trying to catch up my desk from so much wasted time this week.

After work I went home and dragged myself to bed.