ACHTUNG!

I have a new cell phone number. If you are interested in receiving it, comment here and I shall dish it out.

*squee*

Also, after you get the number...CALL my phone so I can get yours back. My contacts list won't import. D:

FLAWLESS VICTORY.

I am going to start this entry out on a side note: If you notice your doctor has gotten a haircut, you are seeing him too often. Just need to get that out there.

Okay. I've been avoiding blogging about my doctors and my illness because of an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Until today I felt like my doctors didn't believe how sick I was, and the specialists I went to have been continually giving me the run-around. I am being seen by a Physician's Assistant, and making appointments has been a nightmare. After my stomach scope, the doctor was emphatic that I get further testing as soon as possible, but the office itself said they couldn't see me until after New Years.' All of my friends have flown into a near-incoherent rage upon hearing this, but I didn't expect my doctor to do the same.

I caught him up on what had been happening. "So wait. You haven't even seen a doctor?"
"Er...nope."
"Let me call them about those tests. They'll be seeing you next week." He sounded painfully certain.

In the time it took me (well, Madeline. I need to get her a chauffeur cap) to drive ten blocks and walk in our door, an appointment had been made for me this Monday. The office called me, and the receptionist sounded more than slightly harried.

And I am left wondering how these sorts of spats are resolved among doctors. I can't help but think it must be like Tekken-- maybe he presses the right keys on the phone and delivers a roundhouse kick to the receptionist's face, causing her to cave and agree to his demands. Or maybe it's more complex than that. I've been trying to make an appointment, but the receptionist is blocking all my attacks. So he steps in, goes all super-Saiyan on their asses, complete with his fresh haircut, and bombs the motherfucking office with Kamehameha attacks until the enemy doctors fall to the floor a la Anakin Skywalker, cursing at the cosmos that their plot to cause me pain has been thwarted.

My doctor is my hero. :D

I have to say, though, I could do with less of him pressing incessantly on my abdomen and looking worried. Doctors should not look worried. That has to be like, Rule Two of the Bedside Manner Handbook.

Rule 1: Never, ever giggle at the patient's predicament, symptoms, or face.
Rule 2: DO NOT LOOK WORRIED. Even if they are spouting blood from the eyes.

The massive amounts of pain the pressing causes could stop, too. Then again, that's what could be causing the worry. It's been what, three weeks, and my pain hasn't lessened? My revelation that any solid foods at all hurt to consume might have added to this.

"And how are your bowels?" he asked after learning I had decided to boycott solid foods.
"They are very angry."
I have to give him credit for having an active imagination, but at the same time I have to feel a little bit of remorse* that I was responsible for my doctor imagining an Angry Bowel.

*I feel no remorse for you people, though, oh no. Feel my pain, people. We can bond!

Hmph.

I'm getting a little tired of staying up all night.

I have been typing for so long that my *nails* are sore

Me: "You know, I am not as stupid as my GPA says I am."
Maddo: "Well, at least you have health problems as an excuse."
Me: "Yeah. If I'm not sick, I'm making other people sick..."

And the results are in.

Graduate exam 1 of three:

Reading: 294/300
Math: 285/ 300
Writing: 291/300

And thus I have proven that I can work at the level of a high school freshman, without previous exam prep.

Aaand version 3

I'd recommend heading over to Flickr and seeing how everything updated. I'm learning how to mesh so I can fix her glasses and hair, so expect something totally, originally mine soon. XD

I have gone insane.

I really need to stop creating custom characters on Sims II. (Then again, I am a little bit manic, and there are worse ways to spend my time.) Here's my most recent work in progress-- Agatha Clay, the heroine of Girl Genius.



Click the photo to head over to Flickr and see the entire set. I have the basic creation process outlined over there already.

Ah, now that's out of my head, maybe I can sleep and then focus on homework.

It really looks like this is what they were listening to. D:

I don't listen to Sims music when I play anymore, so imagine my surprise when I saw them dancing to Loose Ends. Nabbed a vid because I am learning how to use their video capture function, posted it here because I was bored.

And weirded out. I mean look at them! o.o

I just spent six hours researching Spore

...and while that may have been an enormous mistake, it did allow me to stumble across this video. (Yes, I am aware it is an hour and thirty minutes long. I was entranced the entire time. Then again, I am still on narcotics.)

Really interesting stuff! I'd never really thought about generating seemingly complex structures so simply. But the instant he compared it to DNA, my brain went *bing* and it all made perfect sense. (Also, Brian Eno rules.)

Yeah, I broke down and pre-ordered it. I am already designing characters in my head, and the damn thing is still three months away.

I think we're out of the woods.

S.T. is drinking water of his own volition again. And lots of it.

I cannot really explain how happy I am right now.

Flood of cute

I am hopped up on Vicodin and sorting through my photos! Here is a visual representation of how I feel. (HINT: WARM AND FUZZY.)













:D I sleep now.

Another S.T. Update

I'm letting myself hope that he's going to make it. I wasn't so sure after work yesterday. I got home, dosed him, and tried to get him to eat or drink something, but he refused everything. So I gave him a clean nap area and went to bed. Woke up, dosed him, tried to get him to eat or drink, nothing. Woke up, fed the girls. He walked over to the food bowl and expressed an interest in the food, but didn't eat any of it.

Before work, I took him out, and offered him some applesauce baby food. He got a whiff of it and lunged for it like a ravenous cat, lapping frantically at it. (Side note: I can never be a mom. Seeing him down the applesauce like that made me start to tear up. It was so sad!) Ate for a minute before losing interest again. I try a Yogie, nothing. I try a piece of dried apple, and he takes it, but it is too chewy for him to get through. I ponder for a moment, then have an epiphany and offer him some apple juice. He drinks a cap-and-a-half-ful of it, then grooms a little bit.

It's the grooming that really got me. It's the first time I've seen him do it in days. He still looks as sick as can be. Porphyrin has coated his eyes and nose so much that his entire face looks bloody, and he's still taking shallow breaths, but he's not twitching anymore, and the clicking noise he was making when he breathed is nearly gone. He's also starting to struggle more when I dose him, which is a good sign, but also bad because it's more stressful for us both to get him his meds.

I think as long as we can keep convincing him to eat and drink that he'll be okay. I just want to see him eat something solid! D:

O RLY (aka I am already bored at work)

You Are A Romantic Realist

You tend to be grounded when it comes to romance. Sure, you can fall hard... but only for someone you've gotten to know. And once you're in love, you can be a total romantic goofball... But you'd never admit it to your friends!

Are You Romantic or Realistic?

Coherence is returning.

I've been meaning to share this little incident for a few days, but am only now coherent enough to post it. I've been off painkillers for 16 hours now. I'm fine, as long as I don't move. >>

Was at the specialist's on Monday. She decides she's going to schedule me for an endoscopy, and I express my glee (I think getting my throat/stomach scoped is really cool because I AM WEIRD.) She is slightly taken aback, and informs me that I will be asleep for the procedure. I ask if there is any way for me to remain awake so I can watch. She blinks, and says "well, they're going to run a scope down your throat..."

"I know," I reply.
"SHE DOESN'T HAVE A GAG REFLEX! I HAVE SEEN HER BRUSH HER THROAT WITH A TOOTHBRUSH." shrieks Maddo, from the other end of the room. I do the mature thing and *facepalm.*

The specialist pauses, then forges onward bravely. "Well, in that case...I'd ask the doctor performing the procedure?"

One and a half more hours.

The best part about working a grave shift is crawling into bed at the end of it. SUCH A GOOD FEELING.

better news

Maddo and I took S.T. to the vet this morning. He was looking a little perkier last night, and we managed to get him to drink some Ensure, so we decided that if he was willing to fight, we'd help out.

The vet listened to him and said his heart sounded good, but his lungs were quite crackly. We're supposed to give him antibiotics twice a day until he's had them all. In the meantime, we've bought a ton of Ensure and baby food and wet dog food and anything else we can think of to tempt him to eat.

So...there may still be hope. Wish him luck, everyone.

S.T. Strange is dying.

You know how sick people think you are when your ex, who has not been online since the breakup, frantically IMs you asking if you're okay.

The hospital just needs to admit me already.

One of these things is not like the other...

Me: "I've been in the ER three times in five days."
Comic House: NOOO D:
Professors: !!! D:
Maddo's Mother: I MAKE IT BETTER WITH MATERIAL GOODS D:
People I Barely Know: D:
My Doctors: o.O;; "What the shit is up with this girl's stomach?"


My Aunt and Uncle: "Are you sure it's not just a bladder infection?"

. . .yes.

Walking through rain on vicodin is the most amazing experience I've ever had

Okay, digestive tract? We need to talk.

I have done everything. I have given you painkillers, anti-nausea meds, anti-spasmodics, anti-acid reflux. I have stopped giving you food. I have continued eating normally. I have fed you only chicken soup and Jello. I am currently at home, bundled up on my bed, with a heated pillow mooshed up against my abdomen in a desperate attempt to get you to shut the fuck up.

But no. You keep hurting, you keep making me dry heave, you keep twitching, and you keep damaging yourself. No food makes you grumpy, regular food makes you nauseous, and bland food makes you dry heave. You don't even have any opinion of the warm pillow, which Maddo's parents bought me just. for. you, you ungrateful cluster of organs!

I am running out of vicodin. I have two pills to get me until 2:30 tomorrow, and I swear that if I am in as much pain as this tomorrow and they deny me painkillers, I WILL HURT SOMEONE.

Do you really want to be an accomplice to murder, intestines? Do you want to be interrogaed by the police and get 25-to-life, stomach? No?

THEN STOP FUCKING HURTING! D:

No love,
the girl who has mastered the art of fetal-position-beanbag-naps