I still feel like crap.
I'm so bored. Daytime television is boring.
The over-the-counter drugs aren't working.
My new thermometer tells me that my temperature is either 97.1 or 101.2 degrees.
My tonsils now look like snowballs.
The doctor said I'd get a call around ten to tell me whether or not I have strep.
I'm still waiting for said call.
And the saddest part of this is that my abs are sore from coughing. I'm not out-of-shape! Not me!
or Why I Hate Going to the Doctor
When I was a junior in high school, I had a lot of trouble with my knee. It swelled up a lot and was always in pain.
My family doctor ran some tests and determined the problem was rheumatoid in nature. So he made an appointment for me with a specialist in Topeka.
Apparently, he's a busy guy. We had to wait months for the appointment. Then we walked in and it was pretty surreal.
I was the youngest patient in the waiting room by at least forty years.
When I finally got into a room, the doctor eventually came through the door and said something along the lines of "So, what brings you here?"
Um . . .
Then Dr. Specialist leaves the room, leaving us baffled. Returning, he looks at my knee, which of course has reduced in swelling within the several months it took for me to get an appointment.
He left the room, yet again, saying he needed to locate my test results. When he finally returned, he tells us the news.
"Your bloodwork shows you're on the verge of having a connective-tissue disorder and you have rheumatoid arthritis."
Disorder? Arthritis? At seventeen? Wait--was that salsa I smelled on his breath???
I waited this long to be his lunch break???
"So, take one ibuprofin everyday and that should help. Thanks for coming!"
I half expected him to say "Adios, muchachos! Off to the Mexicano Fiesta!!!"
My knee still hurts off and on, but has never swollen the way it did back then. But a few years ago it did hurt as bad. Worse.
A few years ago, I couldn't get my knee to bend. I had to drag myself up the stairs to go to the clinic.
Once there, I told the doctor all about the pain and how the Ibuprofin I had been told to take wasn't working. I explained that I'd taken extra Ibuprofin because the pain was so bad, and still it wasn't working.
Dr. Clinic listened, prodded and then gave me a prescription for some drug called Pieceacrapitol or something.
I filled the prescription and went home. I opened the information they give you with the drugs and there's no warnings about how it makes you drowsy so don't take it while operating heavy machinery.
Instead, it told me all about how it's a high dosage of Ibuprofin.
IBUPROFIN!!!
It's not just the poking and prodding that's kept me from going to the doctor lately. It's the frustration, too!
Today, when I went to the clinic, I had to change all my insurance and address information. That took quite awhile. Then there was the waiting for my name to be called which seemed to take forever.
When they finally called my name, I headed in and we did the blood pressure and symptoms thing. Then back out to wait.
A few dozen pages more of Family Circle, and I hear my name again. This time, I actually get to go into a little room. I waited some more and then here comes . . . Dr. Clinic. Great.
He tells me that my strep test came up negative and that "white spots don't always indicate strep throat."
"I understand that. I work at a bank and a couple weeks ago someone told me that strep was going around. That's the only reason I was even looking. But I know that my old roommate had white spots when she had an infection and my brother had them when he got mono . . ."
This is when Dr. Clinic perks up. Like maybe he hadn't thought of that. "Have you ever had mono?"
I haven't, so then it was time for blood work. Which meant waiting for someone from the lab to come poke me.
"It should only be about forty-five minutes for the results. You can just have a seat in the waiting room."
A full Newsweek later, there's my name and back into the room. And some more--can you guess?--waiting.
"Well, the mono test came back negative. So I guess we'll just do a culture on the swab we took earlier and see if it's strep. We'll call you tomorrow."
So I walked out of that place with nothing. I still feel miserable and can't talk and am coughing up my lungs.
Where is Dr. Beverly Crusher when you need her???
As many of you may have heard, I'm dying.
Well, that may be quite an exaggeration, but I sure felt like it might be a reality on Saturday!
I made it through the weekend and even managed to work all day today. Nobody could hear a word I was saying.
"Can I help you? . . . Hello? . . . Was there something I could help you with?"
I kept trying to yell, but it just squeaked more.
It was a rough day.
When I got home, I noticed a new development: white spots. On my tonsils and throat.
So I'm thinking I probably have strep or mono or something. Whoops.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the doctor. Hopefully it's antibiotics and call me in the morning.
Everyone kept telling me the four-wheeling in the cold with no hat, gloves or coat was going to get me sick. Why oh why didn't I listen?
I tried taking some pictures of my white spots for Casey. Click here to view them if you dare. I wouldn't if I were you, though. The inside of a mouth is gross.
This year, we had Thanksgiving at David and Deb's compound. It was the usual display of gluttony, two fried turkeys and one roasted. But this year, we had four-wheelers!
Marcus and I were the last to arrive. We pulled up to the house and who was the first person we saw? Mitch. On a four-wheeler! It's needless to say we were quite scared.
Then, it was BJ's turn. He shuttled everything between the house and the shed.
"Do I look cool?" He would ask.
"No."
"Yes I do!" And then he would peel out, leaving us in his dust.
We were all laughing hysterically, watching BJ speed down the road in his black leather jacket and bright white shoes.
It wasn't the first time we had laughed this hard at Thanksgiving. In fact, the last time we celebrated at Deb and Dave's, I laughed so hard, I didn't think I'd ever breathe again.
Most of my family always ends up in the basement. There's more room to spread out and a person gets sick looking at all the food leftover when you're still so full.
The stairs leading to the basement are pretty steep, so you've got to make sure to maneuver them before the Tryptophan kicks in.
Jill and I were sitting at the "kid's table" and everyone else was sprawled out, watching the television.
We heard someone coming down the stairs, so Jill and I looked up. And it's a good thing we did. Otherwise, we would have missed the entertainment!
The person coming down the stairs was Doll. And somehow, she kind of missed the last step.
She just slowly. Fell. Down. To. Her. Knees. And. Hands.
Everyone was still for a moment. A very brief moment. And then, did we rush to her rescue? Did we hurry to make sure she was okay? Did we get off our butts to go pat her on the back?
No way! We busted out laughing. As poor Doll pulled herself up, we all held our aching stomachs and laughed for what seemed like hours.
Yes, I know, we are horrible, nasty people.
Remember back in the day? Like back in Junior High when you're full of pre-teen angst? Remember?
Remember how much you thought your life sucked? How hard it is? And how much your family sucks?
Why couldn't your parents be rich? Wouldn't it be cool if they let you stay out until the wee hours of the morning? Could your brother be any more annoying? Why can't they be cool?
WARNING: MAJOR CHEESE AHEAD
I don't know if it's just because I'm getting old, or what, but I'm more and more satisfied with my family each year.
Of course, the older I get, the more people I meet and I've heard plenty of family horror stories. I've seen families stop speaking to each other; watched them fall apart for stupid reasons.
For the most part, my family isn't that way. We actually talk to each other. We take an interest in what's going on in everyone's lives. We all get together for the holidays and it's like we've never been apart.
And the laughter. Man, do we know how to laugh!
Sure, we may be poor-ass Midwestern hillbillies and probably just as screwed up as every other family out there (except for me. I'm perfect!), but to me we seem normal and as happy as you're gonna get.
I know it's easy to say and it tops everyone's Thanksgiving gratitude lists, but I truly am thankful for my family and the unconditional love and forgiveness therein.
Oh except for Mitch and Bret. I'm mad at them. They went and saw the new Harry Potter without me!
We're doing "Secret Santa" at work again, this year. Cassie wanted us all to make a list of things we want to make it easier for gift-giving.
I made a great list, so I figured I'd post the list here, too. Just to help anyone who might wonder what to buy for me.
1. Diamonds
2. Pearls
3. Rubies
4. Platinum Jewelry (Can be combined with 1, 2 & 3)
5. A Black Russian Terrier
6. A truckload of Grey Goose
7. A Nikon D2X
8. A Greek Island
It seems like there's more to the list, but I can't remember them all. But that should give you all some good ideas.
Lots of cash in hundred dollar bills works, too. Happy present buying!
This weekend, my momma came for the annual Christmas shopping experience.
I know. It seems really early for Christmas shopping, doesn't it? But have you seen how crowded everyplace is after Thanksgiving?
It was bad enough this weekend! Luckily, we didn't have to deal with it too much. Mom found everything she was looking for in just a few stores.
It's hard not to think about Christmas early, these days. It seems like everyone's in a giant rush to be the first to start celebrating.
All the stores we were in this weekend had the Christmas music blaring and shiny decorations at every turn. Can't we just get through Thanksgiving first?
Even my favorite store ever, SuperTarget, had a few Christmas items for purchase before Halloween.
We even have a store in Wichita that sells all Christmas stuff, all year 'round!
Don't get me wrong, I heart Christmas! I put up my tree and about ten billion lights in the penthouse. I love Christmas music and only have eight hundred Christmas CDs. I love the purchasing and wrapping of gifts, not to mention the receiving and tearing into.
It just seems that the earlier the Christmas season starts, the more burned out and bored by the whole thing I am by December 25.
It feels like the point gets missed. The season loses some of the magic.
Of course, with as much as a gripe, what do I go and do?
At SuperTarget, I'm hanging out with Mom, when my head turns and I zero in on it. I stop in my tracks and say "I'll be right back! I've got to get Evan a Santa hat!"
No, it's not you, it's me.
The changes you've noticed are tweaks I have been doing.
All the picture thumbnails are still there, most have just been moved to the bottom. The sidebar was getting pretty crowded. The links to slideshows should still be on each one. Let me know if you're having trouble.
And that giant mass of red area you'll see if reading post by post, well, you're just going to have to suck it up and deal with it! I can't get it to go away. Maybe someday, I'll do a total redesign and get rid of that and a lot of things. But I'm no web design genius.
In fact, I'm not much of a genius at anything.
Oh except for The Lemonade Stand. I'm totally genius at that one!
So I've been watching re-runs of "Sex and the City."
Don't chicks in New York watch television? Or do they all sit twisted like a pretzel in their underwear on their bed typing away on their laptops? Or stare out the window, in underwear and full makeup, at the building across the street?
Don't they ever eat lunch by themselves in the breakroom watching "Judge Joe Brown" or reading a book? Or are they always lunching with their pals at the coffee shop or meeting for a martini lunch?
Do the women of New York really run down to buy a pack of cigarettes all glammed up? Is there really that many invite-only events for one girl to attend every night? Is everyone always with someone?
I've got to get me a job writing a column for a New York newspaper! Just think of all the things I'd be doing and all the people I'd be hanging out with!
On second thought, I really like just hibernating like a hermit up in the penthouse. So just disregard that fleeting wish!
I love me a good peanut butter sandwich. They're cheap, easy to make, kinda healthy and portable!
And so many varieties! There's your plain, PB&Honey, PB&Banana and the classic PB&J. The PB&J has so many varieties itself, with the giant amount of jellies, jams and marmalades out there.
And there's always the magnificient Peanut Butter and Pickle.
At age twenty, I thought I had tried them all. I was wrong.
I was working in an office filled with cubicles. Jessica worked in the one next to mine and peeked over the partial wall.
"Did you bring your lunch?"
"No, I woke up too late to pack anything." I answered. It was a situation that never happened!1 I always get up crazy early!2 "Wanna head into town with me?"
"No way! I packed me a triple-decker PB&J."
Her face was bright and drooly just mentioning it. But it brought to my mind three sandwiches smashed together. I did what any mature adult would do and wrinkled my nose.
"Don't you wrinkle your nose at me! It's great! It's so bad for you, but it's great!"
She then went on to tell me how it's made. It's three slices of bread, not the six I was imagining, and the middle slice is coated on both sides with butter.
I've always hated butter on my sandwiches, so I wasn't thrilled with the idea. But she assured me it just doesn't work without it, so I headed home and tried it.
As you've probably already guessed, I enjoyed it greatly. The butter is amazing at keeping the peanut butter from sticking to the roof of your mouth. It's a little tall, but it's easily smushed into a more tolerable height.
One warning, though: It's not for the carb-watchers.
1If by never I mean usually.
2If by early, I mean just in time to get a shower before running out the door.
So, today, my eccentricty was put up for debate. And I was flattered!
I mean, I'd always just assumed everyone knew I was downright batty. I've long been prepared for the fact that I'm going to be the crazy lady who lives down the street with the garden gnomes in her yard and keeps trying to give kids peppermints that have been sitting in her pocket all day, gathering lint.
With someone to question my craziness, I began to have hope!
But then I got to thinking about it. My little quirks. It's sad, really.
There's the fact that I could sit around all day sorting paperclips at work. Seriously, I'd be fine.
Instead, I spend my days making sure all my stuff is put in place. And faces the right way. I'm annoying anal about it.
But then you come to my house and it looks like I stuffed everything I own into a cannon and shot it all over my home.
I've already explained some of my crazy eating habits. But there's other weird things about my eating habits; like the way I often eat soup with a fork. I don't really like the soupy part. I really just want the noodles.
When eating at Sumo, I eat the salad and rice course with my fork. I won't use chopsticks, although I'm pretty good at it, until the veggie and meat courses are served. And when I eat my rice, I take a bite, then push down on what's in the bowl to make everything compact and even.
I am obsessed--obsessed times a billion--with the color red. I seriously have to tell myself while shopping "You have enough red! Get that in green!"
Oh and then there's the fact that I talk to myself.
I won't even mention the singing I do.
I only have one cat, now, but at one time I lived with four.
I love taking showers and it's always quite a process. I have a certain order in which I do everything, ending with brushing my teeth. Yes, I brush my teeth in the shower. And not only do I sing in there, I dance, too!
Speaking of the shower, doesn' this picture look scary! Doesn't it look like some crazy guy with a crab chomper on his hands is watching me shower?
Oh, I guess you can add that to the list, too . . .
My hand is fine. You can all rest your worried minds. I know it's really been weighing on you, all that wondering. But what is going on in Paris?
No, seriously, what the hell is going on in Paris?
The other morning, I heard someone say on the radio something to the effect of "Oh yeah. And Paris is burning. Well, the suburbs, anyway."
And that was that. No more information. I wondered for awhile what it was all about then forgot about it.
Then the weekend came, and I was busy doing other things and wasn't paying attention to news.
On Monday, the news had video of the fires in Paris. All I could figure out was there was some sort of rioting?
Could I please just get more than ten seconds of information??? Is it really more important for me to know about Jennifer Aniston or Tom Cruise?
At work, there was a mere mention on the radio.
"What IS going on in Paris? Have you heard about this? There's fires all over the place?"
"Oh," Cassie replied. "I just thought they were talking about Paris Hilton."
When I was in high school, I was on the golf team. I get cooler by the blog entry, huh?
My senior year was my best year, despite the fact a doctor had decided all my aches and pains were from arthritis. Man, am I cool or what?
I medaled at several tournaments, including Regionals and perhaps more importantly, the Emporia Invitational.
Why is the Emporia Invitational so significant? Well, that year, our State Tournament was to be held at the same golf course. So it was kind of expected I would do well at State.
The day before the tourney was beautiful; sunny, not too warm but not too cool and the breeze was light. Perfect for golf!
I had a great practice round and then we all headed to the hotel for a good night's sleep.
Except we were a bunch of girls. Girls aren't good at the good night's sleep thing. Especially if one of those girls is a girl named Becky.
Becky and I managed to turn everything into a giant goofball-fest. Oh the stories I can--and probably will--tell . . . but not today. There's only room for one!
Becky and I were restless and decided we'd head to the pop (Yeah that's right I say pop! Not sodee pop!) machine for a refreshing Dr. Pepper. We walked into the vending machine/video game area and were amazed at what we found!
Dr. Pepper bottles littered the floor and more amazing--some gangly kid had his hand jammed up inside the dispenser of the pop machine.
"Oh! Oh hey girls! Close the door! Close it quick!!!"
We did as we were told and just stared in amazement.
"What? You want one? Grab some! I can't drink it all in one night!"
And we did. We grabbed like four each. What did we think we were going to do with them? I don't know, but I was pretty sure there wasn't any Dr. Pepper left in that machine and that may have been my only chance to get any!
We walked out and saw a bunch of adults hanging out by our only indoor means of escape. So we headed outside and realized the only way we could get to our rooms would be to jump the fence around the pool.
Becky gave me her bottles and started to hop when we saw someone heading our way. The closer he got, we realized he was wearing the hotel uniform. Busted!
"Hey. Did you girls gank the machine?"
"Gank?" we cried in unison. We didn't even know what the word meant! How could we be guilty of it?
"Yeah. That's when you pull pop out of the machine without paying."
So we did what any honest girls would do. We ratted out the GankMaster.
"Yeah. I guess I should go stop him. You girls have a good game tomorrow."
We laughed at what a weird word "gank" was and then Becky hopped the fence. I handed most of the bottles over the fence to her then climbed the fence. I straddled the top and then . . .
. . . fell down on the other side. Yeah that's right. Apparently golfers aren't nimble and graceful.
We laughed a lot, then hopped the other fence--which I cleared thank you very much--and back to the room we ran.
We told everyone of our adventures and showed them our loot. We had tuckered ourselves out and decided we'd better hit the sack.
I woke up the next morning and yawned. Stretched and OW! My elbow didn't want to stretch and hurt like hell! What was this all about???
Thinking it was just my arthritis acting up, I popped a few Ibuprofins and jumped in the shower. This is when I realized I could barely raise my arm above my head, my elbow hurt so bad. How was I supposed to play golf???
Worse yet, it was a cold, rainy day. The worst weather for golf! How could things go so wrong overnight?
I trudged through my day, aching and paining, freezing and sopping wet. Somehow, I finished, but nowhere near the score I had expected.
The pain didn't subside the next day. Nor the next, so off to the doctor I headed.
Limbs were bent this way and that, X-Rays were taken and a determination was made: I had torn ligaments in my elbow. Falling off the fence. Awesome.
So not only had I busted my arm, screwed up my golf game and helped my team place sixth at State, how was I going to be able to dance show choir in a sling???
Oh man, I'm a clumsy nerd.
Today, when I pulled into work, I used my left hand to turn into the parking lot. As I turned the steering wheel, something in my hand popped and twisted and caused great pain.
As the day has gone on, the pain has increased so now I'm a bit worried. And embarrassed.
"So it says on your chart you hurt your hand while driving. Were you in a wreck?"
"No. Um. I was just . . . uh . . . driving."
