"From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, going where I list, my own master total and absolute, Listening to others, considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me."
Walt Whitman (1819-92)
"When I look back now over my life and call to mind what I might have had simply for taking and did not take, my heart is like to break."
Akhenaton (d. c.1354 BC)
And now, the current weather, from some random person we pulled off the street:
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
mis-for-tune Function: noun 1 a : an event or conjunction of events that causes an unfortunate or distressing result : bad luck 2 : things that have been happening to me
She rubbed the goop all over me and played slip and slide up and down my recently oddly expanding belly.
Oh wait, that line comes later. First things first.
I mentioned the esophagus spasm problem I have been having. Well, there's more now.
If I was a horse, they would have shot me for glue and dog food long ago. But I'm not, so we get to keep throwing expensive pills and machines at me. Having your body decide to start breaking down is so much fun, believe me.
Anyway, I finally got to see a GI doc. For those of you who are medically challenged, that means "gastro-intestinal." In other words, a doc that specializes in all the swallowy and, well, poopy parts. All of my problems, so far, are centered in ther swallowy parts. Thank God.
He gave me a quick exam and said he wanted to do an endoscopy and an ultrasound. Ultrasound is nothing; essentially they they plop some goopy gel on your gut and tell you to hold your breath, breathe, etc. while they run a magical wand over you that sees the insides. Piece of cake.
Now, the endoscopy, that's gonna be a little more unpleasant. That's when they run a TV crew down your throat and have a look see. The earliest date for that was October, so I went ahead and scheduled it. Ultrasound I could get quicker, and I had it done last Wednesday.
She rubbed the goop all over me and played slip and slide up and down my recently oddly expanding belly. (Yeah, you have to admit that line makes a LOT more sense here!)
I told her if she could find a baby we'd both be filthy rich. Believe me, she looked.
Then she started concentrating on one area, a lot.
"What's in that spot?" I asked.
"Right there? That's your gall bladder. Does that hurt?"
I had to admit that it was, indeed, uncomfortable. She went over and over it.
"Is, um, does it not look right?" I asked.
"I'm not allowed to tell you," she said.
Now, you have probably noticed, as I have, that statements like that only happen when the answer is something like "it looks like a chunk of rotten Swiss cheese." When everything is OK they are usually fine with saying so.
She didn't tell me that everything was OK.
Last Friday, the GI doc calls me. Something is wrong on my ultrasound.
And it's not gall bladder.
Apparently, I have an enlarged liver. Now, this is a symptom, not a disease in itself. And none of the reasons for it are petty. Some of them, actually the majority of them, can be quite fatal.
So he sets me up for a cat scan. On Monday, the next business day, not months in the future. They also reschedule the endoscopy for next week instead of October. Nobody's playing now.
That night I made the mistake of looking up "enlarged liver" on the internet. Bad, bad move. I began to feel, well, afraid. And tired, more tired than you can imagine. How many "something else's" can there possibly be? I mean, how far until I reach the "everything is broken" point?
Tomorrow maybe I will get the results of the cat scan. What keeps bothering me is that the docs keep finding the "what" and not the "why" with me. If we could ever find the "why" then maybe we could fix me. If not...well, we won't go there. It's bad enough with just me on that train.
So here I sit. I have to take a slug from a bottle of Lidocaine and antispasm stuff every so often to keep my throat from making me feel like I'm having a major coronary. Bending over sets it off. Picking stuff up sets it off. Walking in the heat sets it off, and it's been in the upper 90's. Then when I take the med, it paralyzes my esophagus, which helps, but I can't lay down or everything in my stomach tries to explore the path it took to get in there in the first place.
Oh, and did I mention we had to sell the house? Yeah, seeing as how it's impossible for me to work at the moment, there wasn't enough money. Our daughter bought the house to use as a fixer-upper or a rental, so we can at least stay for a bit until we find another place.
My mood disorder isn't making things easier, of course.
The bright side is, we think we might have found a really good house that we can afford. More on that as it progresses.
My friends have been wonderful through this. So many have volunteered to help. I'm quite honored, and humbled. Until tomorrow, fingers crossed...
As long as you can savor the humorous aspect of misery and misfortune, you can overcome anything. --John Candy, "Laughing on the Inside" (John Candy's Biography)