(This is a summary post about my general health. Not for the faint of heart.)
Scratching the cluster of hairs on my chin
My thoughts divide
1. why are five hairs there now?
2. how do I keep from obsessing
while I wait for test results?
1a. I am of the age where
“unsightly facial hair” blossoms.
Gone are the days of
smooth skin on my chin.
Welcome to the added expense
of five blade lubricated razors.
1b. How long have they been there?
1c. Can everyone see them?
1d. Have I become the lady with the patchy beard?
1e. Why are the hairs on my chin so long and coarse?
2a. The first topic is the best diversion
to avoid the creeping anxiety that
lurks behind my eyeballs,
about as deep as
that spot on my cheekbones
in front of my ear.
Between the left and right
temporal process of the zygomatic bone
a misfire of my fight or flight response
sends my agitation and anxiety into overdrive.
I was going to write about neurons and
neurotransmitters and how mental illness
is the side effect of unbalanced chemical
and electrical impulses, but I have exceeded
my operating RAM, researching all of these issues
this morning. I’ll be an overachiever another day,
or maybe during a different lifetime.
If you want to plow into the topic of the brain
and mental illness here’s a link from the
National Institute of Health, start at
The Working Brain section on Neurotransmitters. Have fun.
2b. Will my ‘yet to be diagnosed’ condition require surgery?
2c. Can the midwives tell my why I’m so defective?
2d. Is this the beginning of the end of my breeding period?
2e. Where’s the manual on “New! Exciting body changes to look forward to after the age of forty-five?”
2f. My body is having a revolt.
Yes, I’m revolting. Not me,
my conscious brain, but my subconscious,
the machine that runs the shop when
I’m dreaming of doing yoga barefoot in
the garden in the fourth week of April
wearing a silky,long white flowing gown
that skims the tops of my feet at I step
into Warrior II/Virabhadrasana II pose.
That freak of nature, the autonomic nervous system.
“It takes a licking, but keeps on ticking!” Just like the old Timex watches.
I remember the abuse that
Timex watches went through
to prove their worth on the commercials.
I’m having a rough patch,
like a drought that kills
the entire farm’s worth of
late season crops, right after
a hurricane washed away the winter crops
then having dust storms blow what soil is left
away before a cold arctic winter.
Am I related in some way to a wristwatch?
Oh yeah, that glorious thing that
people used to wear on their arms
to tell them the time and sometimes the date
if you were lucky because our walkmen and boom boxes
did not come with that feature.
This the pre-historic era.
Pre-VCR,
pre-cable,
pre-iPod,
pre-analog cellphones,
pre-digital smart phones,
pre-internet,
pre-laptop computers,
pre-iHome,
pre-digital radios in cars,
pre-OnStar and satellite radio,
and pre-coffee maker with the alarm
and automatic brewing features.
I am a child of the 1970’s.
Sometimes, I have a phantom sensation
of the slick pale skin that never tanned
under the stainless steel watch backing plate
of my left wrist.
I used to wonder if my wrist
would ever be all the same color.
Or, would I have the geek tan
of the wristwatch for the rest of my life.
Yes, I do run on and on and on.
I feel like I am a walking talking time capsule.
I remember having to call the time on the telephone.
“At the tone the time will be… 8:13am -BEEP!”
I can’t even remember the telephone number
for that service that reported the time.
I had to memorize it 35 years ago, because the clocks
in our house would get out of sync every day.
I couldn’t handle the time distortion of walking
back and forth through time as I walked from my
bedroom into the kitchen +2 minutes,
looked into the living room -4 minutes then
walked to the family room +8 minutes.
My point, I know you thought I’d never get around to it,
is that at the fresh young age of forty-six,
I feel my mortality creeping up on me.
I’m worried about malnutrition, perimenopause, uterine fibroids,
hysteria, the possible need for a hysterectomy,
hormone imbalance, vitamin something deficiency,
and not enough vegetables in my diet
now my garden is under snow.
My bifurcated thoughts have just merged into a
pre-anxiety attack blog post.
Did I put a graphic female warning on this post.
I bet I forgot. Where is my standard disclaimer?
To anyone with a squeamish constitution or
abhorrence of descriptive bodily functions,
“WALK AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER NOW!”
Yes, I meant to yell, in case anyone is power skimming.
I have been on my period for TWENTY-FIVE DAYS!
AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHH!
The first thirteen days of my period was four days
longer than my normal monthly torture.
Oh yeah, ’cause it’s so much fun,
I decided to do it all over
for another twelve days.
Woo-hoo! I know how to party!
I’m just a bundle of wellness
and healthy red blood cells.
I’m being sarcastic.
I know, it’s been a while
since I stood on the rooftop
and screamed, “I hate hormones!”
So, Friday I decided I had had enough.
Yes, I dragged my dizzy, cranky, achy
self to the shower to check that I was
not having a very vivid nightmare.
Well, yes, this is a ‘nightmare,’
but serotonin does some fun things
to me while I sleep, so I wake up screaming
or thinking that my sleeping nightmares
were real because I remember all the
details, cause my life isn’t exciting enough
so my brain decides to play reruns of the
horror channel, every day and all night long,
“Starring Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie!”
Yup, I’m still eating through super plus
cotton feminine hygiene products
in addition to the extra long overnight
two winged variety of a name brand
synthetic fibrous space age absorbent
adult diaper for females during
my “time of the month”
I feel I should live alone in a hut in the forest, but
then that would be a vacation during which time I
could die of dehydration, iron deficiency and
vitamin d deficiency from rolling on the floor
moaning in pain and flailing like a
silent movie female victim, so the audience could
not miss that I was somewhat distraught.
I could throw my shoes into the trees.
The trees won’t mind. My violence
can only harm me after all.
Walking back through the forest barefoot,
through the snow without a coat,
because it was warm when this all started, last month,
but hey, I’m beyond civil at this point,
because I’m wishing I had more clothes
that are three sizes larger in black so
no one can see my accidents which are
happening daily. I’m bloated and have gained
twelve pounds since Thanksgiving.
MY UNDERWEAR DON’T FIT. What? THE? CATAPULT?
FREAKIN’ TIME of my life here.
Okay, enough of that.
———————————————————————-
Here’s my status list:
Depression, check
Anxiety, check
Seasonal Affective Disorder, check
Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, check
There’s really no fun if I go to a hospital
and don’t have seizures. I’m being glib,
so I can keep going with this mess that is my body.
My driver, was aware of my condition,
so he made sure I got my medication mid-episode.
I got rolled to the car in a wheelchair,
but that is better than being rushed
to emergency for five hours.
There’s really nothing they can do other
than make sure that I didn’t hit my head if
I fell, make sure my blood pressure
and oxygen levels are good.
I’ve spent the past year in every emergency ward
of every hospital in two counties and a couple
urgent care centers. I now know a bunch of paramedics.
Not Enough CHOCOLATE, fixed that yesterday
rather than wait for someone to pick out,
“what they thought I might need,”
I went to the hardware store
and bought my chocolate there.
Yummy, home repair supplies and chocolate.”
–Sickle Cell Trait, check
A percentage of the hemoglobin in
my red blood cells can sickle.
I don’t have Sickle Cell Anemia,
so I’m lucky and very happy that
only one of my parents has the trait.
The trait can be passed along to children
if both parents had the trait.
The chance of a child from that union
having Sickle Cell Anemia(SCA) is 25%.
Sickle Cell screening in newborns is routine
and if the child were found to have SCA, there is now
an orientation by the local Sickle Cell Society. None of
my pediatricians were trained in advising patients
who carried the sickle cell trait.
I got to go to one orientation in California and another in Ohio.
It was mandatory in both states. Cool. More information
about genetic disorders and diseases is needed.
–Vitamin D deficiency, pending notification
-Anemia, Low Iron, pending notification
-Erratic Hormone levels, most likely, pending notification
I’m losing the hair on the top of my hair, while growing a beard. ?????
-Extreme blood loss, menorrhagia, check
-Fibroids, pending notification
http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/uterine-fibroids/symptoms-causes/dxc-20212514
-Cramps, Dysmenorraghia, check
————————————————————————————————————————————————-
Treatment
-General Practitioner appointment, completed Friday.
He was concerned and made sure
I got my lab work done the same day.
I like my doctor. If he doesn’t know something,
he sends me to a specialist.
I stopped feeling like I was crying wolf.
The first call I made Friday morning was to the
Midwifery practice I used since 2001. They were
not friendly or sympathetic to my situation.
-Bloodwork, completed Friday. I have to say,
there’s nothing like giving blood
when you’re already a quart low.
–Ultrasound Internal and External, completed Friday
Yeah,’cause it doesn’t get any more fun than this.
Well, being in active labor during a contraction
and having a nurse try to check how far
I had dilated is a close second.
-Midwife appointment, scheduled for Monday.
No, this office must hire prison guards
to be receptionists. I understand the need to
keep the midwives away from the needy patients
who feel like they need an expert to help them,
because unless I’m in labor, which is not considered
to be an urgent call the receptionists don’t let you
speak to anyone. They did not let me speak to a
nurse or midwife, or even call me back.
I’m not having any more children,
so I think this may be my last
adventure with the Midwives
that are forty-five minutes away.
It’s a shame, but I’ll let the partners
in the practice know why I’ve decided to leave.
Maybe it will matter to someone. I’m not
holding my breath.
I’ll let you know my results when I get them.
Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie 