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I've been on this stuff for many months now, and I think it's still doing it's job. Sometimes it's been hard to tell, but I think that's my own fault. My sleep schedule is extremely sensitive, and if it's thrown off by more than a couple hours, then my head goes out of wack. I also have to be very careful with my caffeine intake. For a while there, I thought the medicine was losing its effectiveness, but I feel good right now. Worldcon and couple other things threw me off hard, and I'm only just now recovering.
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So shortly after my last post, in which I gleefully considered the possibilities of relaxation and productivity for today, I started to have abdominal cramps. At first I thought it was food poisoning, and who knows, maybe it is. Soon I was shaking and sweating and feverish. I managed to make myself puke a couple of times, which made things a tad better. Soon, it became clear that my old friend, The Appendix, was acting up.
It was a long time ago, but I think the first time wasn't too bad, just scary in it's mystery.
Part One: February 1, 2002
It was during midterms in college. Like every time, it started suddenly, during my poli sci exam. It ended in the emergency room, where the school nurse had sent me just in case my appendix was exploding, even though she wasn't sure. Two CAT scans and a huge bill later, the doctors had no idea what was wrong with me, just that I had a thick appendix, which might be how mine normally is. And thus I had my one and only emergency room adventure. I still remember everything vividly. The triage nurse--a harpist named Karen Hardy. My blood flowing out as a thick sludge because I'd been avoiding food and water in case of surgery. The IV to hydrate me. The first doctor, who had an EMT in training with him, and demonstrated where the appendix was (halfway between the belly button and hip bone.) The guy who took me to the CAT scan ("You're the first person with abdominal cramps I've seen be able to walk under their own power!") My roommate Claire, who stuck with me the whole time. They didn't remove my appendix, and I went home.

Part 2: September 26, 2002

My mother had just made her second illicit journey to Washington DC, and this time, it was my turn to go back there to get her. This time, she was safe in a hospital. I was spending the night before leaving in my parents' motor home, and it was there that the cramps started. I remember getting up several times to puke on the lawn by the back tires, too weak to run inside the house. I didn't bother with the emergency room that time, and the next evening, I was descending over the light-limned outline of Chesapeake Bay, feeling the final cramps fading.

Part 3: This afternoon

Today will be remembered for kneeling on my tiled bathroom floor, sticking a finger down my throat to puke and relieve the pressure. The strangely pleasant taste--chocolate and berries from the Cliff Bar and sparkling water I'd been drinking. Cursing my broken thermometer and trying to think of who I could call to take me to the emergency room if it came to it. Lying in bed trying to finish A Dance With Dragons, wishing I had a less cumbersome book. When I did finish it, rolling around in a feverish chill, flannel sheets tangled between my legs, moaning involuntarily as I flipped from side to side, and trying to keep my freshly showered hair from sticking to me. Praying that it was just a bit of badly digested food stuck in a corner of my intestines, and not my old friend the appendix.

I'm fine. I'm not going to die from this today. I just hate not knowing what causes it. And will, someday, my appendix finally explode?

I thought maybe it was stress that caused it. Certainly the September incident is one of the more stressful events of my entire life, but saying that midterms were stressful enough to anger my appendix was stretching it. Still, I held onto that hypothesis until now. There have been so many times I've kept a careful eye on my wayward organ, thinking that whatever experience was stressful to warrant it. But it never happened. And right now, while my life is hardly stress free, is overall full of joy and literal sunshine.

Anyway, now I'm glad I was lazy and didn't venture out to take the water taxi to West Seattle, like I'd been pondering. Having this happen when I was halfway across town sounds nightmarish. I'm also grateful it didn't happen yesterday while moving Keffy, or tomorrow while I was at work.

Now I'm down to the stage that features nothing but dull pain over the appendix. It'll be like that till morning, probably. And then life will carry on. At the moment, I'm still weak and shaky, but I'm enjoying a hearty meal of dry toast (I'm also grateful I was indulgent last time I bought bread, and got the white stuff, rather than the healthful kind.)

I love you, little appendix. Why do you hate me?
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I'm almost feeling bac to normal. My head's still foggy, and my throat still aches, but not as much as before.

Warning, jargon-filled spirituality talk ahead:
I finally got myself a copy of The Middle Pillar, by Israel Regardie*. (Garden of Pomegranates, too, though I haven't started on that one yet.) I haven't read it since J left, but it influenced me a lot way back when. Now that I'm more mature and focused, I'm able to consider it more deeply. It works as a very good Guide To Understanding Large Swaths Of My Philosophy, so I'm letting myself mark it up with comments and underlines, something I never, ever do. The edition I got has comments by the Ciceros, which I'm grateful for because I agree with them that sometimes Regardie pulls a WTF. It drives me bonkers that he identifies the Freudian id with the highest levels of the Qabalistic soul. Even if I didn't just want to leave Freud out of the picture entirely, I'd say the id=nephesh** and leave it at that.

*Recent occultist who studied Qabala through a Jungian lens. Re-reading him, it looks like he's got the same Catholic slant that I've got.

**to be simplistic, the animal soul. If ever you see the word "ghost" or "corpse" in the Old Testament, the original word may well have been "nephesh." One the reasons I like Qabala is that it gives me a new way of looking at the Bible and faith I grew up with. It's gone a long way to reconciling grown-up me with childhood me.
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I've just started another month-long round of dieting. I think I've successfully ended the decade at the same weight I started it--about 170. In high school, I was 150, and college totally gave me the Freshman Fifteen. By my second year, I'd wandered up to 170, and there I stayed, at least in my head. It wasn't like I owned a scale, so when I drifted all the way up to 195, I was in denial. The revelation of my fatness coincided with my breakup/seizing control of my life. Exercise, and later, these rounds of calorie control have been a good source of discipline and self awareness. When I'm not dieting, I understand my metabolism and know how much I can eat to maintain my weight. By February, I'd like to be, minimum, 165. (I got close back when I was suffering from some kind of Victorian Wasting Disease, but the need to eat to heal eliminated those gains.)
I am happy at 170. I feel pretty and healthy, but I know that as time goes on, I'm going to gain more weight and eventually lack the energy to lose it, so I'd like to have as small a starting point as possible. Besides, it's like a Couples' Retreat for my brain and body, giving them a chance to fight and get closer together.
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We had to teach cats how to swim because the Australian Secret Police was after them. In the dream, "cats naturally suck water into their glands when submerged." However, we were able to overcome this, and proved how naturally fit cat were to underwater living because of the way their noses were shaped. There were many scenes of cats gracefully twirling underwater and poking their noses up to breathe.

Today is the total and complete opposite of last Friday. It's so quiet, I'm terrified I'm missing something. It's also my last day running the department by myself, and I kind of wish it would end soon.

I caught a rejection in my spam folder. I go through phases where I'm good and bad at checking the dang thing. It's got me freaked out that I might miss (might have already missed!) something important.

A pirate walks into a bar, with a steering wheel sticking out of his pants. The bartender notices the oddly placed gadget, and inquires, “Why do you have a steering wheel in the front of your pants?” The pirate replies, “Yarrr, it’s drivin’ me nuts!”

Mental Health:
It's my off week for birth control, so maybe that's why I haven't been freaking out. It's been a pleasant, neutral week. (For those who don't know, my insurance swapped brands on me, and it's doing to me what they steering wheel's doing to the above pirate.)
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Went to the dentist today for the first time in a long time (two parts no insurance, one part just being lazy). They've got a microscope with a video screen, so I totally got to see my mouth bacteria. I've got the bad kind--spirochetes, which twirl around and chomp on plaque and help dissolve bone. Chomp chomp!
But now that I'm off my ass, I'm totally going to go to the dentist regularly, and I'm graced with genetically healthy teeth, so I'm not too worried about the chompy, spiraly bacteria.
nonionay: (Default)
I've been on a diet for exactly three weeks now, and doing well. Way back when, I topped out at nearly 200 pounds, but through exercise and generally watching what I ate, I dropped to 181 and hit a plateau. So now I'm tracking exactly what I eat, and making sure my calorie intake is different each day. I've been paying attention to what the package says a serving size is, and actually eating that. To my surprise, it's usually a substantial amount.
As a result, when I stepped on the scale this morning, I was under 175. In high school, I was 148(according to my ID.)

I've also been sick lately, but I'm hoping that's not a direct result of my diet. I figure it's equal parts: stress at work (co-worker gone to Turkey for two weeks, just got back), new kitten (KITTEN!) driving my allergies crazy, something nasty going around work, and yes, the diet.

So losing weight, but low energy.

But hey, I jut got some turkish delight from my co-worker! He also (at my request) got me a cd of turkish music, with songs whose titles translate into such fun as: "I Ate Your Meal", "You, Stand Wave So I May See Your Stature", "Man With Camel (Camels)", and "Grasshooper". And everyone's favorite, "You're a Flower, I'm a Bee."


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