When I got to the psychology clinic at the university, there was no one at the front desk. In fact, the doors for the clinic were locked. I panicked for a few seconds and wondered if I had made a mistake and the offices would be closed for Thanksgiving. But the other clinic next door was open and students were on campus.

It took almost half an hour to finally get someone to let me in. By the time I got in, it was nearly 11:30. My appointment was for eleven. Turns out I was probably the only client scheduled for that day and my therapist had put me down for 1:00 pm instead of 11:00. So there was a¬†communication issue. I kept telling myself that I should have called her Friday to confirm, but I can’t beat myself about something so minute.

****

Afterward, I headed to the hospital with my dad. He can get very naggy but here’s always there to help. We didn’t have to wait too long. Usually it’s about three to four hours, but we only had to wait about an hour-and-a-half.

The doc looked at my jaw and said everything looked like it’s healing up well. I got no follow-up! Unless there’s a problem, then I should call and schedule. ¬†But I don’t think I’ll have to go back to that clinic ever again! Let’s hope not.

The jaw saga is coming to an end! And I have rescheduled with the therapist for tomorrow.

On another note, my jaw is currently hurting really bad. waaaah.

Oh, but here’s a quick sketch I drew of my dad while he fell asleep waiting in the hospital with me. (Forgot to draw his glasses.)

****

(c) paz

addendum: I can’t believe I forgot to mention Carter. I was having a lot of pain and left my purse in the car. That’s where I had my pain med. So my dad went down to the parking lot to get it for me. Since it was such a beautiful day and the doctors were at lunch, I went down with him. I waiting near the tunnel by a construction site on the front of the hospital. And this middle-aged black man comes up to me and asks if I’m waiting for my ride. I said I was waiting on my dad. He kept telling me how blessed he was. Then he said, “I just got out of prison yesterday. Thirty-five years, and I’m not going back”. We chatted for a bit about why we were at the hospital, and I told him to take care. He said he was so very happy to meet me and you could tell he really meant it. ūüôā The end.

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I’ve been feeling rather dizzy lately, albeit “stable”. When I say life’s been better these days, I’m talking about stability–emotional and mental stability. I’ve cried a few times in the last three/four weeks, but it hasn’t been a gut wrenching, shake inducing phenomenon followed by an all-encompassing emptiness and urge to die. In other words, I’m not laughing and jumping ups and down and then wanting to jab a knife into my neck. I want to live! I want life!

A few good things are happening too. Good is such a relative word. But anyway, other than having blogger’s block, I’m keeping busy. Therapy, swimmin’, washing dishes, cleaning up, reading, immigration paperwork, rolling around with Luna, trying to keep her from rolling around on her own poo and then licking me. Shit like that.

This past week was really nice. I mean nice. Just “happy days” where I don’t give a damn about the bullshit in my life, in life. I wasn’t particularly happy about one thing, except for maybe the fact that the immigration situation, the work permit, is becoming a reality despite the hold-ups. (Yeah, I’ll mention those later as I always say I’ll do).

All I have to say is this and you can stop reading the rest of my nonsense:

Fool, I’m feelin’ fresh like fuckin’ Fonzie here! On the plus size, I also feel aaaaaliiiiiive. I’m mostly high on life; not just merely existing.

********

I’ve had one of those weeks where I can laugh at humanity and not be too cynical about it. “Child,” I tell myself, “these are happy days aren’t they?”¬†Yes, yes yes. the Mouse nods in agreement. I have to. This year has been hell–like much of my other twenty-six years– and I’ve finally driven out of hell, or so it seems. I’m always a bit suspicious though. I suppose what matters is that I am presently feeling pleasant, feeling calm. I’m ok.

My mood has just been too good to be true. And I’m not even on drugs… wait, I kinda am. But anyway.

And we all have our quirks, our little weird secrets (though some more than others). Don’t we?

What the hell do I mean? People are strange. That’s what I’m sayin’.

A strange week with (MOSTLY) good feeling. Let me start¬†with Monday–this is last Monday, October first.

*******

The Monday Mentals

Monday began, and as usual, I went to the gym where my mom works to do my daily swim. I’ve been keeping track of how many laps I do. I told the therapist this and she said it’s a great idea to look back on my progress. Chronic pain gets in the way of this sometimes, but anyway. I’d planned on doing some blogging after my swim only I had the bloggin’ block going on in my head. And like Sara Draws says, I think I’m getting the “brain rot”. (Back on Lamotrigine after a week off of it).

I just can’t seem to sketch or play the ukulele or write, except for now. I’m writing now, ain’t I? I don’t know.

My brother and I are building¬†our relationship again, after a major fight involving him saying he wanted me out of his life because of something impulsive I did. I’m glad we’re talking again. And we’re not just talking; we’re “friends” again. He’s been calling me up every couple of days or so and asking if I want him to pick me up to go over his apartment.

Ever since Monkey Man’s death, he’s been there for me,¬†more or less. That’s what I love about my family. Things get crazy between us sometime, like when mama busted my brother’s nose throwing a phone at him (not a cellphone) and then he…or when I… ugh.. I’ll leave the rest for a private post. But what I’m saying is my family is here for me. And I realize that now. I always have, it’s just the depression gets in the way of these things–of FEELING the good things around you. Of feeling the love of those in your life. Of truly absorbing life, takin’ each breath and feeling the oxygen fill your lungs, pumping through your cells, in your blood, in your veins and fueling the engine that is your heart.

****

My brother called me Monday and asked if I’d come over. I said sure, since I’m working on being a little more open. Once we settled in his apartment, we started watching Alien, the original 1979 version. All was good until he asked me to try some wine he’d bought. Well, I said to myself “P, you don’t get a chance to drink fine wine often. You’re doing well. Just half a glass.”

“Only half a glass,” the Mouse¬†whispered. But…Half a glass turned into nearly three-fourths of the bottle and I got drunk. Really drunk. I was still fine though, just enjoying myself. It was a surprise, actually, to feel “happy drunk” because usually I become a somewhat psychotic and “angry drunk” or a very depressed drunk.

My bro went off to bed because he had to work early in the morning and I sat there on the floor with my wine, clicking around Netflix until I saw MAD MAX 2: THE ROAD WARRIOR!¬† Mel Gibson was still a young, sexy actor who wasn’t as¬†misogynistic¬†as he is now. But then again, I don’t know for sure. Shit, I digress.

****

So I was watching Mad Max: Road Warrior with Mel Gibson, getting drunker, lickin’ every last drop. Then I got heavy-eyed and figured I’d go to bed. By then it was probably midnight and my brother was asleep. I went over to my brother’s spare room and then to the restroom to brush my teeth, and that’s when I decide to start reading some blogs instead of curling up on the¬†futon. Around this time is when the mentals hit me like a spear to the spine.

I was reading one of my favorite poet-bloggies and she had a link to this music duo. I dug it, so I looked ’em up on YouTube. I found THIS.¬†It’s the duo singing a cover of Elliott Smith’s “Between the Bars”. This here–this song, Between the Bars— is a song that has an intense affect on me. I was learning how to play it on the uke back in December before I headed to Florida; before I got facial paralysis; before I became¬†increasingly¬†depressed; before I broke my arm; but most importantly, before Monkey Man died. And if you guys have read about what happened to Monkey Man, all those depressing posts I wrote about him… yeah. It’s been six months already!

A song that was once dedicated to Monkey Man–that now rings truer than it did in December–turned on the PLDs and maybe some of the borderline in me came out. I immediately snapped and picked a paperclip from ¬†my brother’s desk. You can imagine what happened next. But the paperclip wasn’t good enough, so I ended up in the kitchen with a bloody knife and a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. I don’t remember much after cleaning up the sink except I wrapped my arm in toilet paper and went to bed (the futon) crying.

Here’s the strange part. The next day, I was fine again. I had to keep my arm from sight when my dad picked me up, but otherwise, I was back to my cheery self.

I found a sketch of a monkey with a guitar that I drewcbefore running into the song and it’s terribly cute. Just above the crooked ears I must’ve drunkenly scribbled. It reads: T.H.L 1984-2012

****

Wonderful Wednesday

Tuesday. I’m not gonna bother recapping Tuesday since it was just a chill day, apart from swimming fourteen laps and hiding a still-bleeding gash on my T-Rex-Duck arm.

Wednesday… Wednesday was wonderful. There’s a happy day.

My friend Sandy came over with her little three-year old boy. I hadn’t seen them in months. I had finished ten laps earlier that day and was feeling like things really are turning up. So Sandy came by with sushi which we ate. We then watched a kiddie movie and talked. I think we were more into the movie than her boy. She’s very different from me, Sandy, but despite that, we get along pretty well.

Sometimes I can only get so much of her though, but I’ve been pretty social lately, so my anxiety about people is subdued a bit and my patience has grown a bit. I’m still a very anxious person; I’m still having lots of anxiety, but as long as I’m not having panic attacks, as long as it’s not crippling I think it’s¬†manageable. I’m good to go.

After she left, B came by and we talked. Here’s where Sandy and B differ. B and I can have very deep conversations: we’re like-minded. He’s a very intelligent fella and he gets my sick sense of humor which is always a plus in a friendship (for me at least).

That was Wednesday. Nice, peaceful and full of camaraderie.

An Old Sketch

August 23, 2012

I’ve been filling out the applications for immigration (USCIS)– well, as much as I can get done on my own–before I see the lawyer at the university next week.

Last night, my dad gave me a folder of some of my old elementary and high school grades/teacher reports since I’ll need proof of records that I studied in the U.S. for many years. It’s required for the DACA (Deferred Action For Childhood Arrivals)¬†application which would give me a work permit. No legal residence, just a work permit (aka SSI#) valid for only two years. So much for citizenship. Twenty-two years in this country and I’ll only have a work permit to show for.¬†Ain’t that a motha–?

Well, somethin’s better than nothin’.

****

There were some funny comments from old teachers. How I had potential and needed to apply myself more.

“P has potential. She does good work when she applies herself!” and “P is receiving an hour tutoring from —-” and “P, remember to finish your homework!” and “P has improved this quarter. She is in ESL Level II [that’s English as a second language]” and “P does really well when she’s able to concentrate” and “P, keep reading every night! Good job [smiley sticker]” are just a few of teacher’s notes from third grade.

What’s funny is my dad kept them but he never really read them due to his limited understanding of English at the time. I’m guessing he saw the smiley stickers and thought, “Ok, she’s good”. I could’ve easily sneaked by with failing grades in high school because my parents never knew when progress reports came out. Good thing I was a damn good student, despite the depression. I could see when I was depressed because my straight As would fall to all As, two or three Bs and an F. Id go from being on the honor roll to being in academic probation. Every time.

****

This got me to snooping around some of my old notebooks I have hidden in my room. ha. And I found this from when I was 16 years old.

God, that was a depressing year.

Jan 2003 (c) paz

********

On the page next to it, I have a sort of poem. It says:

written when high…

These are my snow-covered dreams.
I’d take back all that shit I said to make you feel like that.
I’d give it all to have the thought of me in you again.
These are my snow covered tears.
I try… but I fall apart…
Thwarted tattered imbecile.

I don’t think I was in a very coherent state of mind then, obviously.

********

Note: I think, if I remember correctly, this was written the first time I tried weed. (It would be a while until I’d try it again.) I was out in the backyard all by my lonesome self, freezing my little ass off. I lit a match and accidentally burned a few eyelashes since the wind was howling. When I drove the wheelchair back inside, I ate a whole bag of pretzels and wrote that “poem” and then crashed. I also used to have an eyebrow piercing at the time. I guess that’s what that is on the sketch’s eyebrow.

I jump into the cold water and shiver.

“Ay ma’ hoy si que esta fr√≠a,” I comb my hair back with both hands and I give my mother my black Speedo swimming cap for her to help me with.

Once it’s on, she gets up and says she’ll be back in thirty minutes. She didn’t want to go to the gym today. We’ll be picking up Isa, Elosie’s sister from her dance program for the weekend and my mom went out drinking for my bro’s birthday party last night. She’s tired. But I want to swim, so she decides to go begrudgingly and I’m grateful. I haven’t had a chance to swim since Wednesday.

I adjust my goggles and plunge in for a first lap.

****

I’ve just finished my forth lap and am at the edge of the lane heaving. A young man gets in the lane next to mine. The first thing I notice is he has a beard and big blue eyes. Hey, he’s kind of cute. I pretend not to notice but it’s too late.

“The water’s cold isn’t it,” he does a little jerk with his head.

“Yeah,” I nod, “it’s pretty cold, especially today. But once you get in all the way, you’re good.”

“Yeah–” he adjusts his goggles and just stands there looking at me with a big ‘ole pretty smile. I mean he has teeth and everything!

“What’s your name?”

“Paz. Yours?”

“K, nice to meet you,” he reaches out to shake my hand. I grab it. He’s shivering.

“Thank you… I mean, nice to… meet you… too,” What the hell did I just say? Thank you? P, you are silly.

“Just dive in real quick,” I tell him. This boy here is stalling. “Going in real’ quick is best way. I’m telling you. It’s so much worse when you nudge yourself in slowly. Come on,” I smile back. I’m still hanging on to the ledge. I’m so small that I can’t even touch the floor on a four-foot deep pool. I’m constantly having to tread water. By now my breath is at a normal pace and I’m noticing how anxious I start to feel. Damn it dude, quit taunting me with your beard and just get in so I can swim. This is ruining my flow! I’m getting nervous having you just smiling at me like that! Shit, I’d already managed to lower my anxiety on the third lap and now it’s back up agai…

“–but I’m a wuss.”

“It’s the only way man. One, two, three! Come on!” I call out. He calls out the numbers after me and finally goes in.

Aaaah. I can relax now.

Damn those beards always get to me.

****

I love beards!

I can’t help it. I love ’em on men. I’m not so sure I’d love ’em on women, but hell, I love ’em so much I may as well love ’em on women!

And this white boy here has a nicely trimmed golden beard!

****

I’m swimming and swimming. I do my fifth lap or is it my sixth? Damn, is that bearded fella still next to my lane? Oh yep, I can feel the water being pushed. He’s there for sure.

I’m swimming and swimming some more. I’m trying to focus on my stroke patterns, my breathing, my heartbeat, how the water feels when I do my pushes and pulls, my body’s level–all mindfulness. All of this is such good exercise on mindfulness practice from dialectical behavioral therapy.

But I’m not always so mindful.

Remember to do the S. curve in your pull like that olympic swimmer did in that YouTube video. Michael Phelps does a gorgeous dolphin kick. I wonder what he’s like in bed. Ian Thorpe’s dolphin kick is also lovely. Wonder how’s he’s in bed too. No, I think I’d go with Michael, then again… Shit, is this my eight or ninth lap? I’m getting worn. No, I gotta keep it up. Is that guy still there? Damn, I love Saturdays ’cause NO ONE’S HERE on Saturdays. But that guy’s still there! Yep, I’m feeling his waves.¬†One, two, three, breath. One, two, three, breath. Remember your S curve on the stroke. Your arms are paddles! Even your crooked T-Rex arm! One, two, three, breath.¬†Ohhh, wall is coming up… One…two…three…four…five…hold breath, turn, flip, push-dolphin kick–paddle, ooout. Uggggh. P, that was a horrible flip! At least you made it though; you made it. Good. Good. You made it. You’ll do better on the next run… Is that dude still there? Quit thinking about the bearded boy dammit! And damn you L! You should be here. You should be swimming! Oh, wall…

I keep swimming until my ninth or tenth lap. I’m not sure by this point. I’m worried that when I stop, the guy will be there and sure enough he is, but so is my mom.

“Mamita! Hey!” I look startled.

She looks down at me and shows me her gloves, “Se me olvido esto. Me faltan tres sets.” She’d come back for her gloves. She takes a few steps back and closes my bag which is dangling on the back of my wheelchair.

“Ok ma, entonces que, veinte minutos mas?”

“Si,” she blows a kiss and I blow one back.

Oh yeah, the dude. Yep, he’s still there. Fuck it, I’m going for another lap.

****

I think I just did my eleventh lap, but I’m not sure since I lost track on my sixth, or was it my eight? It was somewhere around there. I usually loose track on the eighth but today a bearded boy is swimming next to me.

I’m hanging on the ledge. I’m panting out of breath.¬†He arrives shortly after, also panting. I’m panting harder. He’s panting harder and heavier still. I think I let out a little moan, but it may have been a cough. And I can’t help thinking how sexual all this heavy breathing seems.

“Don’t make me look bad P.”

“Oh,” I chuckle, “How? Was I going quick?”

“Yeah,” He nods vigorously, “I was noticing that you even do the flip turns!”

“Oh,” I chuckle again, “Yeah, I’ve just started learning how to do those. I tend to do them lop-sided though, but oh well, I get it done somehow.” I think it’s because of my scoliosis.

“Well, you still make me look bad. I wouldn’t know about the turns.”

“Aren’t you a swimmer?” Stupid question P, of course he’s not a swimmer! Look at him!

“No, I try to be,” he laughs.

“My best friend [Eloise] was a¬†competitive¬†swimmer in college and she taught me a few things. When you do the backstroke like I was doing, you’re supposed to do a front flip and then kick back just before you hit the wall. That way you get more momentum on your dolphin kick. And that’s how you get the best push offs, but I can’t seem to get it right half the time,” I gesture with my hand. “Oh here, I’ll show you.”

What the fuck P? Why are you going to show him? Are you trying to show off? ¬†You’re gonna look stupid! Aarggggh.¬†

I plunge myself back and start talking about how you’re supposed to measure how many strokes you do before you hit the wall but since there are no flags in this natatorium here to signal the wall, “I have to guesstimate” I gurgle a little as I talk. “So when I guesstimate about right here–maybe five strokes or so–I flip…”

I’m underwater thinking what a fuckin’ idiot I am. He didn’t ask me to show him. What the fuck are you doing P, seriously? Your flips are terrible! If you’re trying to flirt, this is NOT PRETTY!

“Yeah, that was a pretty bad flip,” I say as soon as I resurface. I’m trying not to cough, so I laugh instead. I’m trying not to laugh so I cough. I feel like such a child.

“It’s hard to do.”

“So you been coming here a while?” I think of the word cum. heheh. I also start to have sexual images in my head.

“No, I just started. I used to go the University _______ pool at the Rec Center but it was even colder there since the swimmers train,” he starts leaning on to his side to face me directly.

“Oh, yeah?! I went there! Yeah, it’s funny ’cause I always told myself I’d go swimming but I never did. Then when I graduated, I actually did finally go thinking I’d have alumni privileges and they said–”

“–you have to pay,” he interjects.

“Yeah, exactly, you have to pay. That sucks. So what’d you take at Uni… I mean what’d you major in?”

“Mechanical engineering,” he replies. Yep, he’s got the nerdy look alright. Definitely a nerdy white boy. A cute, nerdy white boy with a beard! “What about you?”

“Media production,” I reply a little too quick.

“Oh yeah?! My friend did that. He’s teaching music now.”

He tells me more about his musician friend and I tell him that I don’t think I ever knew or met his friend. It’s such a big campus, even if we were in the same program, chances are we never met. And then I tell him that I play the piano, that I had done a two-year audio recording/engineering and music program before going to the University ______.

“But I haven’t played the piano in about three years. I’ve picked up the ukulele though, recently. Since I’m so small, it seems perfect for me.”

By now, this boy’s eyes are lighting up. I can tell. But then again, I’m unsure. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I want them to light up. And then one of the critical Pretty Little Demons starts buggin’: What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Monkey Man just died! You’re fuckin’ awful! Good for nothin’! Are you trying to flirt? hahah. You don’t even know how to flirt! Look at you! Look at you!¬†You’re pathetic. You and your flips. Showing off? HA. You and your crooked arm and your crooked smile. Don’t let him see those scars on your arms, yeah, the fresh ones from last Saturday.

But, but… Monkey Man L and I weren’t together for the last six months before his death… We were in another one of our separation phases, sort of… But I wasn’t with Monkey Man at the time, and, why do… I don’t wanna… Ugh… I’m not trying to… I want to bang my head against the wall! I want to die!

“Yeah, you should definitely get back to playing ukulele. That would be awesome!” he smiles again. I want to touch his beard.

“Yeah. I will. I mean, I plan to, well, I’m a go to the hot tub, I’m kinda… as you can see, I’m… freezing now… Um, good luck on your job applications and congrats on graduating. Was really nice meeting you,” I head for the stairs.

When I’m on the stairs stretching or trying to or pretending to, he says “You forgot your goggles.” Great. He crosses over to the lane I was just in and gets them for me.

“Thank you,” I smile. I’m glad I can smile again¬†literally–after the bell’s palsy– and metaphorically after so many tears.”These are getting on my nerves anyway. Water keeps getting in. Thank you.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” I reply… Only I think I say something else because I was nervous, cold and shivering.

“I’m going to do two more laps and I’ll say by on my way out.”

“Ok, sounds good,” I get up and get on my chair. I stroll myself on over to the hot tub area. I get in. Aaaaah, warmness. About eight or ten minutes later, he calls out and says bye. I want to tell him I’m hard of hearing but I don’t.

“Alright, bye! Nice meeting you! Take care!” I wave.

Well, I kinda rushed that didn’t I?

He waves and walks out. I crouch back in the hot tub and wait for my mom to return.

fuck buddy

This one made me laugh. Terrible. I was thinking about this yesterday after the fam ate dinner for my bro’s birthday and his girlfriend celebrated decided to celebrate at this place called “Drink Houston”. Yeah, I went to the dinner but not to Drink Houston. Avoiding the loud, alcoholic places right now. But I wondered if I missed out on meeting anyone there, ahem, read the caption. Well, I guess I did meet someone today. And I didn’t have to get wasted to act a fool. Nope, not at the gym’s pool!

****

Today has been good thus far. Anxiety’s the same but at least I haven’t had mad-major mood shifts.

Art is my salvation.

May 2, 2012

Today has been a nerve wrecking day. I woke up at six in the morning. I don’t know why I’m still bothering taking that Ambien. I will quit soon, I tell myself. But I’m not sleeping.

I woke up, got a banana, mashed it up with almonds and a Kashi cerial and that was my breakfast. Took my new set of 10mg fluoxetine and two 100mg of tegretol, my B12 and Calcium1200+D600 IU. I got down on the floor and organized some paperwork while listening to Garbage. I’ve been having that song “Stupid Girl” in my head all week. I swear, I’d never thought about it that way, but it’s such a “borderline girl” song. It should be called “Stupid Borderline Girl”. ha. It was one of my teenage girl anthems and I swear it always will be, especially now that I call it my “Stupid Borderline Girl” anthem.

Anyway, I reviewed some of the immigration paperwork I had stacked up. It looks like I’ll be seeing the lawyers again on Friday. YAY! I have the money this time. It’s $420 that has to be paid to the “U.S. Department of Homeland Security” for the I-130 form for petition of relative. My brother paid me that amount for helping with the wedding videos and with his IRS files. I’ll explain more of what that immigration form is later. There’s just too much shit to explain in one sitting. Immigration laws are so ugh, how do you say, always changing and indefinitely unpredictable? Illogical?¬†Aggressive, inward or outward? Difficult to read? They’re worse than a borderline! Actually, I shouldn’t even compare and insult my fellow borderlines. ANY borderline would be more reasonable than these outrageous laws!

****

I eventually got the stacks in order and then pulled out my appointment slip for today. I was scheduled for a 1pm appointment with¬†endocrinology. I eventually went back to sleep until ten. At that time I was going to the living room and my dad called me. His photography “studio” is in a den area right between my room, the kitchen and the living room. So I have to get through there regardless. It sucks when you don’t know clients are over and your hair is a mess and you’re still in pajamas and get called over to do a business deal of all things.

See, I’ve restored photographs since I was a kid. It’s something I learned to do back in the day before Photoshop was so prominent. So you mainly used airbrushes then and all sorts of cool oil and oil pencil techniques. I love Photoshop though. Anyway, my dad calls me over while I’m still squinting from the light and trying to prop myself awake.

Two men introduced themselves and handed me an old damaged photograph. “How much will you do this for?”

“I’ll have to¬†assess¬†the damage and I’ll give you a quote in a minute.” Fuck! I need to go brush my teeth first.

I brushed my teeth, went out to take Luna to pee and then got back in. “This will cost you $130.00” I explained the level of damage and why I’d charged that much. I actually undervalue my work but I don’t know why people that know my dad seem to think I’m overprising it. These men didn’t though. I’m just complaining from past experiences and the fact that I’m a terrible sales person. And my dad sweetens up clients too much! It gets on my nerves. Well, that was eventually over with! ¬†I gots me a fifty buck deposit so that means I’ll have money to pay for my own appointment today! Woohoo!

I made one of the men sign a contract, thanked them. I then excused myself and went to shower and get ready for my doc appointment.

****

The traffic was hell. What was even more hellish was the community hospital’s parking garage. Seven floors and not one damn spot available! Besides, my mom took me today (she hardly ever does) and I have little patience for her low patience. ¬†Well, people fuckin’ honked from behind and from in front. WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE!? We’re all in this together, can’t you see!? Baghaghagh.

Eventually, we were in. And it was crowded! I mean CROWDEDEDEDED. It’s a good thing I control my social anxiety more now. It was like a New York subway station on a Yankies game day.

I eventually got called, two hours later. And when the doc–really sweet girl–told me about the possible reactions I might’ve had with my first biphosphonate infusion last year for my Osteogenesis Imperfecta and what they can do to improve my vitamin¬†D¬†deficiency¬†and my osteoperosis, she looked at the computer chart and then back at me and said, “How’s your chest feeling? You’re being followed by cardiology too, right? I see your aorta is¬†dilated!”

WHAT THA FUCK!? Dear god/universe, why don’t you send Zeus again! Please!? Three months ago when he threw his lightning bolt at our house, he missed me.

“No, I’m not being followed by cardiology. I thought my heart was fine.”

“Oh, you’re not being followed? That’s strange.” She looked back at her computer chart, “Oh, hehe, yes… Oh, I’m so sorry. My mistake, your heart is perfectly fine!” She patted me on the knee, “Sorry about that.”

I felt like I’d just gotten me a Dr. Hibbert moment from the Simpsons, when he gives Homer the worst possible diagnosis only to realize his mistake and just does his signature chuckle. “Oh I’m just teasing, oh hoo hoo. heheh hoo hoo.”¬†Yeah.

simpsons-julius-hibbert-edit

Dr. Julius Hibbert

Then she asked if she could examine my bones. (She just wanted to cop a feel on me guys.)

After feeling up my arms and legs and back, she asked me to lift my shirt and started feeling up on my chest. She asked about the malformed,¬†protruding¬†sternum, “And this one’s from birth?”

“Yes it was a prenatal fracture that never¬†healed¬†properly.”

“Is it more pronounced now? As your bone grew, I’m sure it got more pronounced.”

“Yes, yeah it is. When I was a kid, it was hardly¬†noticeable.” Great, now I feel self conscious.

It went well overall though. And I’ll be getting a call from them about some new treatment that might be available for¬†osteoporosis¬†but that may also be helpful in improving my risk of fractures caused by the Osteogenesis Imperfecta (OI).

****

I got home and not long after popping my shoes off and lazing down to listen to a little more Garbage, I got a call… from… MR. BILL COLLECTOR!

Remember that awful letter I’d gotten from the¬†university? (Click here if you don’t) Well, yep, they’d wanted to know what I’d planned on doing about paying that money I owe. (If any of you have dealt with this and have any advice, please do give me some. Also, if you’ve heard of the Bill Collector Mafia asking for me in Blogland, tell them I’m not here!) He was really good at not being too pushy though. And I didn’t have a panic attack. Now I just have to figure out what the fuck to do about this.

Moral of my post?

I want to do something artsy fartsy now.

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” ~ Pablo Picasso

I found this too and absolutely loved it:

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addendum: You know what really pisses me off? I mean, irks me. It’s seeing all those fuckin’ McDonalds bags everywhere at every hospital. Why do most hospitals (I don’t know how it is overseas) seem to have a McDonalds in the cafeteria?Really? Really, you’re going to capitalize on people’s health? It’s a fuckin’ hospital! Let the drug and insurance companies do that since they’re experts at it! This HOSPITAL should be promoting HEALTH, not food that really WILL dilate your aorta!

addendum 2: Oh god. oh god. There are two things that have me getting nervous. OH OH OH GOD. MY FIRST APPOINTMENT WITH NEW DR. MALE THERAPIST IS TOMORROW! ¬†And the Bell’s Palsy was getting better but these last few days, NO, NO NO. I’LL MENTION IT LATER. IT’S TOO MUCH.