Schuyler and I bought these Chuck Taylors over the weekend. Think of it. Shoes with something to say, worn by a little girl who can't say a word. That's some fated footwear right there.
There's one good thing about depression, a great thing, actually, even if it's a little manic. When it finally lifts, you feel fucking awesome, like nothing can beat you. You may not suddenly have all the answers, but you feel like you do, and that's not nothing.
I'm sure there's a chemical element to the passive of a depressive episode. I'm not sure I care so much. It's the other reasons for improvement that interest me more. There's clarity of thought and good advice of smart friends who listen and care, and improved health, too.
And exercise. I've started hitting the treadmill at my apartment complex's workout room for an hour a day, walking at 3.5 mph. Not exactly tearing it up, but compared to the ass-to-couch regimen I've been following, it's a start.
Mostly, however, it involves reaching the point where you're just not going to be down anymore. That's how it works for me. I never know exactly why I go into a down period, other than identifying the things that trigger it on the surface, and likewise I have no idea exactly what makes my mind arrive at "Oh, fuck this", either.
But I feel better, and stronger, and ready for the next few weeks. I need to finish the book, have a productive and successful New York City trip, and turn thirty-nine without stepping in front of a bus.
I can handle that.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
November 20, 2006
October 31, 2006
On second thought...
First of all, I want to thank everyone who has been concerned about my health. I really appreciate it.
I've been thinking about this all morning, however, and I've come to the conclusion that while blogging is by definition a self-indulgent endeavor, writing about my stupid health issues is beginning to feel like it crosses the line. I'm boring everyone with it, particularly my friends and most of all myself.
For those of you have expressed your concern, I am very grateful. Go get some candy. Talk to you soon.
I've been thinking about this all morning, however, and I've come to the conclusion that while blogging is by definition a self-indulgent endeavor, writing about my stupid health issues is beginning to feel like it crosses the line. I'm boring everyone with it, particularly my friends and most of all myself.
For those of you have expressed your concern, I am very grateful. Go get some candy. Talk to you soon.
October 28, 2006
Audience participation
Come on, everyone, chant it with me.
Pee! Pee! Pee that pebble!
Pee! Pee! Pee that pebble!
Pee! Pee! Pee that boulder!
I have to say, I'm just about all funned out with the kidney thing.
Pee! Pee! Pee that pebble!
Pee! Pee! Pee that pebble!
Pee! Pee! Pee that boulder!
I have to say, I'm just about all funned out with the kidney thing.
October 26, 2006
Rock star
So last night I got this massive pain in my left kidney, like I had been kicked hard, and just this once, I was smart enough not to ignore it. I had Julie take me to the hospital, and sure enough, it was a kidney stone.
In addition, however, I apparently have gall stones and a stone in my appendix, something I'd never heard of before. I am full of rocks!
A few hours before, I'd hooked up with my friend Jill to give her a copy of Part One of Schuyler's Monster, which she is going to read for me. We met for Japanese bubble tea, or "boba", which, if you've never had it, can be a little weird. There's no appetizing way to put this, but it is basically tea with balls of tapioca in it. Sarah Vowell refers to it as "tea and dumplings", and while it sounds revolting, it's actually quite tasty. Meeting for boba has become something of a ritual for Jill and me.
When the doctor got a look at my CT scan, he saw, in addition to my belly full of pebbles, the undigested pudding balls in my stomach. He came into the room with a puzzled look on his face.
"Um, did you eat a necklace?"
Before the night was up, all the nurses and doctors in the ER were talking about my CT scan. I was the Freak of the Night. I rather enjoyed the attention.
So I'm home now. They elected not to do any surgery just yet, and sent me home with a script for Vicodin, which I have been taking all day like a good little stoner. As of about 11:00 tonight, my kidney has still not relinquished its prize. I have to say that even with the drugs (and don't let me sell Vicodin short as a drug that will fuck you up and good), this sucks.
The doctor at the ER said that for a man, this is about as close to labor pains as I'm ever going to feel. This made Julie snicker.
"Yeah, at least you got a prize at the end," I said.
As for that prize, Schuyler had to go with us, and we were concerned that she would be traumatized by the hospital. Keep in mind that the last time she was there, she was getting blood drawn for genetic testing, and before that she was being operated on for a bad staph infection, and before THAT was the MRI that was such an awful experience. Schuyler had gotten to the point where she would panic any time we went to a doctor's office of any kind, and I can't say I could really blame her.
Well, I'm happy to report that not only did she not freak out at all, but she seemed to have the time of her life. My nurse was a good-looking guy who flirted with her and gave her stickers and cookies, and she liked looking at photos of boba balls in my belly, along with the rest of the hospital staff.
Well, I'm glad someone had fun.
In addition, however, I apparently have gall stones and a stone in my appendix, something I'd never heard of before. I am full of rocks!
A few hours before, I'd hooked up with my friend Jill to give her a copy of Part One of Schuyler's Monster, which she is going to read for me. We met for Japanese bubble tea, or "boba", which, if you've never had it, can be a little weird. There's no appetizing way to put this, but it is basically tea with balls of tapioca in it. Sarah Vowell refers to it as "tea and dumplings", and while it sounds revolting, it's actually quite tasty. Meeting for boba has become something of a ritual for Jill and me.
When the doctor got a look at my CT scan, he saw, in addition to my belly full of pebbles, the undigested pudding balls in my stomach. He came into the room with a puzzled look on his face.
"Um, did you eat a necklace?"
Before the night was up, all the nurses and doctors in the ER were talking about my CT scan. I was the Freak of the Night. I rather enjoyed the attention.
So I'm home now. They elected not to do any surgery just yet, and sent me home with a script for Vicodin, which I have been taking all day like a good little stoner. As of about 11:00 tonight, my kidney has still not relinquished its prize. I have to say that even with the drugs (and don't let me sell Vicodin short as a drug that will fuck you up and good), this sucks.
The doctor at the ER said that for a man, this is about as close to labor pains as I'm ever going to feel. This made Julie snicker.
"Yeah, at least you got a prize at the end," I said.
As for that prize, Schuyler had to go with us, and we were concerned that she would be traumatized by the hospital. Keep in mind that the last time she was there, she was getting blood drawn for genetic testing, and before that she was being operated on for a bad staph infection, and before THAT was the MRI that was such an awful experience. Schuyler had gotten to the point where she would panic any time we went to a doctor's office of any kind, and I can't say I could really blame her.
Well, I'm happy to report that not only did she not freak out at all, but she seemed to have the time of her life. My nurse was a good-looking guy who flirted with her and gave her stickers and cookies, and she liked looking at photos of boba balls in my belly, along with the rest of the hospital staff.
Well, I'm glad someone had fun.
July 21, 2006
FOMB
That's what I told a friend of mine yesterday that I must have been suffering from. Fat Old Man Belly.
Feeling much better today. Must have been that 24-hour appendicitis.
Thanks to everyone who send me their learned opinions and their fucked up little activities. You people are freaks.
Feeling much better today. Must have been that 24-hour appendicitis.
Thanks to everyone who send me their learned opinions and their fucked up little activities. You people are freaks.
July 20, 2006
So...
What does appendicitis feel like, anyway?
Yeah, this isn't how I wanted to start the day. Well, it also feels like gas, so we'll see. Perhaps I just need to, you know, play a little pants tuba.
I'll let you know. Without a lot of detail, because I love love love you all.
Ow.
Yeah, this isn't how I wanted to start the day. Well, it also feels like gas, so we'll see. Perhaps I just need to, you know, play a little pants tuba.
I'll let you know. Without a lot of detail, because I love love love you all.
Ow.
July 6, 2006
Well, yeah
(Cross posted from Diabetes Notes becaause it's more amusing than anything I am likely to write here today).
In a development sure to be covered in more detail in the next issue of The Journal of Duh, a study of overweight type 2 diabetics has found that increasing the amount of walking they do every day will result in significant improvements in heart and respiratory fitness. The study examined the exercise routine of eight subjects who were already walking more than the recommended 10,000 steps a day.
“The program used simple tools (pedometer and stopwatch) and a simple message to pick up the pace,” said Steven T. Johnson of the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, along with colleagues in the journal Diabetes Care.
The “Pick Up the Pace” program measured the number of steps that test subjects were typically taking and increased them by ten percent. This increase led to improvements in heart rate response to exercise, as well as a decrease in blood sugar levels.
In an earlier study, Johnson and his colleagues found that type 2 diabetics typically walk at a speed that is slower than that necessary to derive health benefits, even when the number of steps taken daily were increased.
There’s no word on whether or not they uncovered any mysterious connection between slow walking and painful feet, but I can only hope that in the near future, these researchers can unlock the secrets of how not smoking or eating donuts can also increase the health of diabetics. Well played, Mister Science!
In a development sure to be covered in more detail in the next issue of The Journal of Duh, a study of overweight type 2 diabetics has found that increasing the amount of walking they do every day will result in significant improvements in heart and respiratory fitness. The study examined the exercise routine of eight subjects who were already walking more than the recommended 10,000 steps a day.
“The program used simple tools (pedometer and stopwatch) and a simple message to pick up the pace,” said Steven T. Johnson of the University of Alberta in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, along with colleagues in the journal Diabetes Care.
The “Pick Up the Pace” program measured the number of steps that test subjects were typically taking and increased them by ten percent. This increase led to improvements in heart rate response to exercise, as well as a decrease in blood sugar levels.
In an earlier study, Johnson and his colleagues found that type 2 diabetics typically walk at a speed that is slower than that necessary to derive health benefits, even when the number of steps taken daily were increased.
There’s no word on whether or not they uncovered any mysterious connection between slow walking and painful feet, but I can only hope that in the near future, these researchers can unlock the secrets of how not smoking or eating donuts can also increase the health of diabetics. Well played, Mister Science!
June 13, 2006
Breakfast with Rob
Good morning, kids! Say, what's for breakfast? Here's what's on the menu today:
Metformin ER. (generic form of Glucophage XR) This is the primary drug addressing high blood sugar for type 2 diabetics. If you know a type 2 diabetic, they are probably taking some form of this, unless they reached their "fuck THIS" stage and gave it up. Each pill is huge; they come in a bottle roughly the size and shape of a Red Bull can.
Potential Side Effects: Good lord. One 500mg pill did nothing to or for me, two made me vaguely nauseous and fatigued. It was when I went up to three that the real fun began. Extreme nausea, diarrhea cha cha cha, and a fun thing where you burp a lot and the burps taste like you have been eating a skunk, ass first. I finally had enough and stopped taking them while I was working over the weekend, and guess what happened? I INSTANTLY felt 100% better.
Actos. This is another drug for high blood sugar. Starting today, I'm taking one of these a day instead of that third Metformin.
Potential Side Effects: A whole new set of possibilities! Shakiness, dizziness, sweating, confusion (beyond my usual level, I assume), nervousness or irritability, mood swings, headache, facial numbness, pale skin, sudden hunger, and my favorite, seizures! Wouldn't it be ironic if I got seizures before Schuyler? I went and read what other patients said about Actos, and a lot of them complain about weight gain. Which is funny, since two of the other drugs I'm taking are supposed to cause weight loss. A war is shaping up inside the Rob!
Lisinopril. Okay, so this is the thing I didn't want to talk about last time. This drug is normally used to address high blood pressure, but my BP is normal. In my case, it is being prescribed to arrest and hopefully reverse early signs of kidney failure. Yeah, that's the thing I didn't and don't so much want to talk about.
Potential Side Effects: Dizziness, headache, fatigue, dry cough, muscle cramps, numbness, nausea and diarrhea (well, of course), and a rash (delightful!).
Phentermine. This is my supermodel diet pill.
Potential Side Effects: Restlessness, nervousness, anxiety, headache, insomnia, cha cha cha, and extreme sexiness! Oh, and it is habit forming.
Cinnamon Bark. This is my new age natural supplement to address high blood sugar. No idea if it works.
Potential Side Effects: No idea. Cinnamon taste will make me a more attractive target for cannibals and vampires. Fucking vampires, man. As if life wasn't hard enough already.
Banana. A tasty treat.
Potential Side Effects: Improper disposal of the peel may result in comical injury.
Metformin ER. (generic form of Glucophage XR) This is the primary drug addressing high blood sugar for type 2 diabetics. If you know a type 2 diabetic, they are probably taking some form of this, unless they reached their "fuck THIS" stage and gave it up. Each pill is huge; they come in a bottle roughly the size and shape of a Red Bull can.
Potential Side Effects: Good lord. One 500mg pill did nothing to or for me, two made me vaguely nauseous and fatigued. It was when I went up to three that the real fun began. Extreme nausea, diarrhea cha cha cha, and a fun thing where you burp a lot and the burps taste like you have been eating a skunk, ass first. I finally had enough and stopped taking them while I was working over the weekend, and guess what happened? I INSTANTLY felt 100% better.
Actos. This is another drug for high blood sugar. Starting today, I'm taking one of these a day instead of that third Metformin.
Potential Side Effects: A whole new set of possibilities! Shakiness, dizziness, sweating, confusion (beyond my usual level, I assume), nervousness or irritability, mood swings, headache, facial numbness, pale skin, sudden hunger, and my favorite, seizures! Wouldn't it be ironic if I got seizures before Schuyler? I went and read what other patients said about Actos, and a lot of them complain about weight gain. Which is funny, since two of the other drugs I'm taking are supposed to cause weight loss. A war is shaping up inside the Rob!
Lisinopril. Okay, so this is the thing I didn't want to talk about last time. This drug is normally used to address high blood pressure, but my BP is normal. In my case, it is being prescribed to arrest and hopefully reverse early signs of kidney failure. Yeah, that's the thing I didn't and don't so much want to talk about.
Potential Side Effects: Dizziness, headache, fatigue, dry cough, muscle cramps, numbness, nausea and diarrhea (well, of course), and a rash (delightful!).
Phentermine. This is my supermodel diet pill.
Potential Side Effects: Restlessness, nervousness, anxiety, headache, insomnia, cha cha cha, and extreme sexiness! Oh, and it is habit forming.
Cinnamon Bark. This is my new age natural supplement to address high blood sugar. No idea if it works.
Potential Side Effects: No idea. Cinnamon taste will make me a more attractive target for cannibals and vampires. Fucking vampires, man. As if life wasn't hard enough already.
Banana. A tasty treat.
Potential Side Effects: Improper disposal of the peel may result in comical injury.
June 9, 2006
I thought drugs were supposed to be fun.
I wonder if I'll get fired from my diabetes blog for what must surely be the very worst blog post ever. It's a very real possibility.
I know I was pretty upbeat last time about my health, but the past two days haven't gone so well. One of the things that Dr. Hottie did was increase my daily dosage of Metformin (the poor man's Glucophage) by another 500mg, and that, possibly along with the Supermodel Diet Pills, has caused my body to reject the very idea of human life in a rather dramatic way. I won't go into a great amount of detail except to say that I'm glad our apartment has two toilets. You figure it out.
I got a call today from Dr. Hottie's office with results from my last round of tests, and it was basically one of those "I've got some bad news and I've got some good news" calls.
Oo, that reminds me of an old favorite joke!
A man has been having serious dental problems, so he goes to see an oral surgeon. The surgeon examines his mouth and then goes off to analyze the results. After a while, he comes back into the office and sits down with his patient. His face is somber.
"Well," he says, "I have some bad news, and then I've got some REALLY bad news. But then I have some good news."
"The bad news," he continues, "is that a rare but serious infection has attacked your teeth. I'm afraid we're going to have to pull every single one of them out."
"Oh my God, that's terrible!" the man cries. "I can't imagine what the REALLY bad news could be!"
"Oh, it's bad," the doctor says. "It turns out that the infection has also moved into your gums. We're going to have to actually go in and file your gums down, all the way to the bone."
By now the man is in tears. "That's horrible," he says. "What good news could you possibly have?"
The doctor looks up at him. "Did you see that good looking receptionist at the front desk when you came in?"
"Yeah?" says the man.
"Well, I'm banging her."
Ha! Anyway.
So the good news is that my blood sugar is actually coming down, slowly but steadily. It's still too high, but not crazy high. More wacky high now.
The bad news, well, just this once I'm going to keep it to myself for a while. I know it sucks to mention something on a blog and then be all "But I can't tell you, tee hee hee!", but we're still processing it and sorting out what it means and what we'll have to do about it. It was unexpected, I'll say that much.
I'm embarking on a crazy weekend where I'm shooting two weddings in two different towns, neither of them local or even all that close, and also working a bridal expo. That's a lot of pretending to be a nice person. This is the first time I've ever been concerned about actually making it through a gig, but I think I'll be okay. The truth is, I feel best when I'm shooting, with all the moving around and thinking on my feet. It's when I'm sitting on the couch watching Battlestar Galactica reruns all day like today that I feel bad.
You know, I'm standing by my assertion that the Diabetes Notes post I mentioned earlier is the worst blog post ever, but now that I look back on it, I think this one maybe runs a close second.
I know I was pretty upbeat last time about my health, but the past two days haven't gone so well. One of the things that Dr. Hottie did was increase my daily dosage of Metformin (the poor man's Glucophage) by another 500mg, and that, possibly along with the Supermodel Diet Pills, has caused my body to reject the very idea of human life in a rather dramatic way. I won't go into a great amount of detail except to say that I'm glad our apartment has two toilets. You figure it out.
I got a call today from Dr. Hottie's office with results from my last round of tests, and it was basically one of those "I've got some bad news and I've got some good news" calls.
Oo, that reminds me of an old favorite joke!
A man has been having serious dental problems, so he goes to see an oral surgeon. The surgeon examines his mouth and then goes off to analyze the results. After a while, he comes back into the office and sits down with his patient. His face is somber.
"Well," he says, "I have some bad news, and then I've got some REALLY bad news. But then I have some good news."
"The bad news," he continues, "is that a rare but serious infection has attacked your teeth. I'm afraid we're going to have to pull every single one of them out."
"Oh my God, that's terrible!" the man cries. "I can't imagine what the REALLY bad news could be!"
"Oh, it's bad," the doctor says. "It turns out that the infection has also moved into your gums. We're going to have to actually go in and file your gums down, all the way to the bone."
By now the man is in tears. "That's horrible," he says. "What good news could you possibly have?"
The doctor looks up at him. "Did you see that good looking receptionist at the front desk when you came in?"
"Yeah?" says the man.
"Well, I'm banging her."
Ha! Anyway.
So the good news is that my blood sugar is actually coming down, slowly but steadily. It's still too high, but not crazy high. More wacky high now.
The bad news, well, just this once I'm going to keep it to myself for a while. I know it sucks to mention something on a blog and then be all "But I can't tell you, tee hee hee!", but we're still processing it and sorting out what it means and what we'll have to do about it. It was unexpected, I'll say that much.
I'm embarking on a crazy weekend where I'm shooting two weddings in two different towns, neither of them local or even all that close, and also working a bridal expo. That's a lot of pretending to be a nice person. This is the first time I've ever been concerned about actually making it through a gig, but I think I'll be okay. The truth is, I feel best when I'm shooting, with all the moving around and thinking on my feet. It's when I'm sitting on the couch watching Battlestar Galactica reruns all day like today that I feel bad.
You know, I'm standing by my assertion that the Diabetes Notes post I mentioned earlier is the worst blog post ever, but now that I look back on it, I think this one maybe runs a close second.
June 6, 2006
Beedies update
I had my monthly visit to Dr. Hottie today, and it went fairly well. I was all prepared to find out that I am even fatter and lazier than I was last month, but I was surprised to learn that I've actually lost three pounds in the past few weeks. I'm still on the wrong side of where I was the day I was diagnosed and was told that I should lose twenty pounds, but considering that I thought the news would be worse, I was happy to hear that I am at the very least not turning into a chud monster at quite the rate I thought I was.
It's hard, losing weight when you've led a free and easy, chocolate-coated, deep-fried existence. I'm proud of some of the changes I've made. I don't find it all that hard to stay away from sugar stuff (although yeah, I miss me some cookies), and what cravings I do have are easily enough satisfied with some items made with Splenda, things like Sugar Free Jell-o Pudding (but not the Jell-o itself, oddly enough) and some fakey-fake chocolate ice cream by Breyers. There are a number of diet soft drinks I can have, but honestly, I mainly end up drinking lots of Propel.
The thing that's hard to fight is carbs. And honestly, I snack more than I should, and I exercise less than I should, and so I lose less weight than I should. This last twenty (okay, shut up, twenty-five now) pounds is going to be a challenge. It's funny, too, because I have lost about, and this is not a lie, seventy pounds since college. Man, I was a treat for the eyes back then.
To help with these last remnants of Jabba the Huttliness, my doctor prescribed Phentermine, a diet pill that I thought was all controversial until I actually started reading about it. Turns out Phentermine was the "phen" part of Fen-phen, and it was the other part, the Fenfluramine, that was messing people up. Phentermine doesn't appear to be a big deal, although it is very tightly controlled and is not intended for the 125-pound purging sorority girl so much as people with a medical reason to lose weight, like the morbidly obese and, well, me.
As for side effects, Phentermine can affect your blood pressure, but my BP is completely, weirdly normal. According to Dr. Hottie and the stuff I'm reading, it also can make you jumpy, and after one short afternoon on it, all I can say is "yep".
So between the Phentermine and a newly invigorated exercise program (I am Bikezilla these days), be ready for the hot new Rob.
Slim. Sexy. And jumpy as fuck.
May 24, 2006
Ten Things
(Originally written for Diabetes Notes, but I thought I'd share.)
Here are some things I've learned from my three months as a diabetic.
1) Aspartame makes my blood sugar go all funky.
2) Splenda makes me feel (in the best possible way) like I'm cheating on my diet, and does not appear to make my blood sugar freak out or my liver turn to stone or my brain explode or whatever I keep reading is supposed to happen to me when I eat it.
3) Because of 1), I am sad to part ways with Diet Dr Pepper, alas. I mean, I'm saying goodbye to most diet drinks, but Diet Dr Pepper is the only one that did not taste like it was made with butt.
4) Because of 2), I am now entering into a beautiful long-term relationship with Diet 7-Up, Diet Big Red (which tastes VERY guilty, and probably not what you'd expect a grownup to drink), Sugar Free Jello Pudding (chocolate and the ever elusive vanilla, which I might actually push over an old person to get to if she was standing in front of the display at the grocery store) and Breyer's Carb Smart fake ice cream (but only chocolate; the other flavors are weird, like what an alien might come up with if he were trying to make ice cream back on Mars).
5) As long as I am on a double dose of Glucophage, I should probably stop scheduling important things in the morning. I need that time to sit and be an 80 year-old man for a while.
6) When buying a bicycle for exercise, getting a big heavy one-speed beach cruiser? Pretty fabulously stupid. I'm going to trade up to something practical.
7) When your bike is big and stupid and impractical and hurts to ride up hills? You tend to find excuses not to ride it.
8) When your ass starts expanding for seemingly no reason, see 7).
9) There are some people out there with some pretty strange ideas about diabetes. Every last one of them has a cure for you, if you'll just listen and follow their bizarre advice.
10) Man, I miss pasta.
Here are some things I've learned from my three months as a diabetic.
1) Aspartame makes my blood sugar go all funky.
2) Splenda makes me feel (in the best possible way) like I'm cheating on my diet, and does not appear to make my blood sugar freak out or my liver turn to stone or my brain explode or whatever I keep reading is supposed to happen to me when I eat it.
3) Because of 1), I am sad to part ways with Diet Dr Pepper, alas. I mean, I'm saying goodbye to most diet drinks, but Diet Dr Pepper is the only one that did not taste like it was made with butt.
4) Because of 2), I am now entering into a beautiful long-term relationship with Diet 7-Up, Diet Big Red (which tastes VERY guilty, and probably not what you'd expect a grownup to drink), Sugar Free Jello Pudding (chocolate and the ever elusive vanilla, which I might actually push over an old person to get to if she was standing in front of the display at the grocery store) and Breyer's Carb Smart fake ice cream (but only chocolate; the other flavors are weird, like what an alien might come up with if he were trying to make ice cream back on Mars).
5) As long as I am on a double dose of Glucophage, I should probably stop scheduling important things in the morning. I need that time to sit and be an 80 year-old man for a while.
6) When buying a bicycle for exercise, getting a big heavy one-speed beach cruiser? Pretty fabulously stupid. I'm going to trade up to something practical.
7) When your bike is big and stupid and impractical and hurts to ride up hills? You tend to find excuses not to ride it.
8) When your ass starts expanding for seemingly no reason, see 7).
9) There are some people out there with some pretty strange ideas about diabetes. Every last one of them has a cure for you, if you'll just listen and follow their bizarre advice.
10) Man, I miss pasta.
May 19, 2006
Could be worse. Could be raining.
So let me just put this out there.
I'm not having a swell week.
I had a blood sugar incident two days ago in which, despite doing everything the right way, my blood glucose level reached a dangerous level. Because of this, I have now had my daily dosage of Glucophage doubled. So far, this horse pill double whammy does not seem to have a very marked impact on my blood sugar, but it does leave me feeling nauseous and wiped out, like a puppet who has just gone from being animated and lively to being discarded in the toybox for the night.
My dental adventure has left us financially... anxious. I think that's a nice way to put it.
We're trying to find an affordable, non-thug-filled program for Schuyler for the summer, but those two criteria don't appear to cross paths very often in North Dallas. She might end up needing that shiv after all.
And Julie got so scared by my blood sugar incident that she cried. Hard. I think it's all starting to weigh down on her, too.
So yeah. Here's to next week.
I'm not having a swell week.
I had a blood sugar incident two days ago in which, despite doing everything the right way, my blood glucose level reached a dangerous level. Because of this, I have now had my daily dosage of Glucophage doubled. So far, this horse pill double whammy does not seem to have a very marked impact on my blood sugar, but it does leave me feeling nauseous and wiped out, like a puppet who has just gone from being animated and lively to being discarded in the toybox for the night.
My dental adventure has left us financially... anxious. I think that's a nice way to put it.
We're trying to find an affordable, non-thug-filled program for Schuyler for the summer, but those two criteria don't appear to cross paths very often in North Dallas. She might end up needing that shiv after all.
And Julie got so scared by my blood sugar incident that she cried. Hard. I think it's all starting to weigh down on her, too.
So yeah. Here's to next week.
May 11, 2006
I want a new drug.
After three month of trying to control my blood sugar and weight with diet and exercise, I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Hottie.
"So, how are you doing?" she asked.
"Well, I'm fat and my blood sugar's too high," I said. "Other than that, I'm swell."
It was true. My blood sugar is down, but not enough, and I actually gained a little weight, which she said was normal. So we moved on to the next step, and that next step is a drug called Glucophage.
It's not a bad one. I don't have to inject anything into my stomach or get bitten by a Gila Monster, for example. It's just a big pill that I take once a day. Glucophage works in three ways. It reduces the amount of glucose produced by the liver, it reduces the amount of glucose absorbed from food through the stomach, and it improves the processing of the body’s naturally produced insulin to reduce the amount of glucose in the blood stream.
It doesn't seem to have many side effects, apart from fucking with my digestive system a little bit. A small number of people can react to it by developing a condition called lactic acidosis, and that can be fatal in about half the people who get it, usually patients with kidney or liver problems. So that's no fun. But so far, I live and breathe.
My eyes are fine, too. You know, aside from their usual state of nearsightedness.
The other thing that Dr. Hottie did was put me on something called the Zone diet. Okay, I admit, that was the day before yesterday, and all I've done so far is buy some of these Zone Perfect bars for my desk drawer at work. Baby steps, you know.
I don't have much else to report, actually. The person who was bitching in my comments about the quality of my writing since I took on my diabetes blog will no doubt be even less thrilled that I am also now writing for a literary blog with my friend Rhys. Yeah, I know. Guess I'll have to start reading now.
This entry might actually be slightly lamer than most, but honestly, I don't have a lot to say today. I'll tell you what. You ask me whatever you want, and perhaps I'll answer your questions in future entries. I promise not to lie unless my true answers are too boring. So get ready to be bullshat.
"So, how are you doing?" she asked.
"Well, I'm fat and my blood sugar's too high," I said. "Other than that, I'm swell."
It was true. My blood sugar is down, but not enough, and I actually gained a little weight, which she said was normal. So we moved on to the next step, and that next step is a drug called Glucophage.
It's not a bad one. I don't have to inject anything into my stomach or get bitten by a Gila Monster, for example. It's just a big pill that I take once a day. Glucophage works in three ways. It reduces the amount of glucose produced by the liver, it reduces the amount of glucose absorbed from food through the stomach, and it improves the processing of the body’s naturally produced insulin to reduce the amount of glucose in the blood stream.
It doesn't seem to have many side effects, apart from fucking with my digestive system a little bit. A small number of people can react to it by developing a condition called lactic acidosis, and that can be fatal in about half the people who get it, usually patients with kidney or liver problems. So that's no fun. But so far, I live and breathe.
My eyes are fine, too. You know, aside from their usual state of nearsightedness.
The other thing that Dr. Hottie did was put me on something called the Zone diet. Okay, I admit, that was the day before yesterday, and all I've done so far is buy some of these Zone Perfect bars for my desk drawer at work. Baby steps, you know.
I don't have much else to report, actually. The person who was bitching in my comments about the quality of my writing since I took on my diabetes blog will no doubt be even less thrilled that I am also now writing for a literary blog with my friend Rhys. Yeah, I know. Guess I'll have to start reading now.
This entry might actually be slightly lamer than most, but honestly, I don't have a lot to say today. I'll tell you what. You ask me whatever you want, and perhaps I'll answer your questions in future entries. I promise not to lie unless my true answers are too boring. So get ready to be bullshat.
May 10, 2006
Living the lush life
I just received a letter from my insurance carrier (whom I won't name, but their initials are MetLife) detailing the recent dental work I had done. It included this interesting line:
Local anasthesia is not a covered expense.
It wasn't a big deal, since in the big scheme of things it wasn't a huge expense. But it made me think, just how tough do they expect you to be, that anasthesia during a root canal is considered a luxury item?
I feel like such a little prince all of a sudden.
Local anasthesia is not a covered expense.
It wasn't a big deal, since in the big scheme of things it wasn't a huge expense. But it made me think, just how tough do they expect you to be, that anasthesia during a root canal is considered a luxury item?
I feel like such a little prince all of a sudden.
May 5, 2006
Buddy & Me
Years ago, I wrote that if I ever got a tumor, I'd call it Buddy and rename my journal "Buddy & Me".
Well, I think Buddy is here. And he's a ghost. In my eye.
In my right eye, to be precise. For about four hours today, I could see a little flickering ghostly blob, just off from the center of my field of vision. It was this shimmery little thing, metallic gold in color, and it just sort of hung out. It was very defined and present, and aside from being a little distracting while I drove, it didn't cause me any discomfort. It was like a tiny little "check engine" light going off, except of course it was warning me that my head was about to explode.
I have no idea what Buddy the Eyeball Ghost was, or if he'll be back. I don't know if he was a result of the Beedies, or some new fun way that my body is betraying me. I have an appointment with Dr, Hottie next week, so perhaps she'll be bale to shed some light on Buddy and his mission in my eyeball.
So there you go. All you armchair doctors can go nuts telling me what sort of hideous eyeball tumor I've got now. Just remember, his name is Buddy. Buddy the Eyeball Ghost.
Well, I think Buddy is here. And he's a ghost. In my eye.
In my right eye, to be precise. For about four hours today, I could see a little flickering ghostly blob, just off from the center of my field of vision. It was this shimmery little thing, metallic gold in color, and it just sort of hung out. It was very defined and present, and aside from being a little distracting while I drove, it didn't cause me any discomfort. It was like a tiny little "check engine" light going off, except of course it was warning me that my head was about to explode.
I have no idea what Buddy the Eyeball Ghost was, or if he'll be back. I don't know if he was a result of the Beedies, or some new fun way that my body is betraying me. I have an appointment with Dr, Hottie next week, so perhaps she'll be bale to shed some light on Buddy and his mission in my eyeball.
So there you go. All you armchair doctors can go nuts telling me what sort of hideous eyeball tumor I've got now. Just remember, his name is Buddy. Buddy the Eyeball Ghost.
April 25, 2006
After...
Holy fuck, that hurt.
Holy fuck, it hurts now.
Holy fuck, that cost a lot of money.
Holy fuck, he gave me Tylenol 3.
Holy fuck, it's not doing a thing.
You know, I try to be all cute about this, but right at this moment, I am in more pain than I think I have ever been in, ever. And he's not even done with it. He did a root canal on the NEW pain, since it was/is the worst, but he wasn't able to finish it because the tooth is apparently a "bad actor". And he could only do the one tooth, because of something having to do with infections that frankly I didn't hear a word of.
So it'll be another WEEK before this is done. And I have no idea how I'll pay for it, but honestly, that's not the bad part of this. I just can't imagine feeling like this until the end of the day, much less another week.
People keep saying it, and it's absolutely true. There is nothing in the world like bad dental pain. It makes it hard to think or talk or do anything at all.
That diabetic coma isn't sounding so bad right now.
-----
UPDATE, AN HOUR LATER:
Well, codeine might not be much of a pain killer, but it sure does improve your mood once it hits your system with both feet.
An hour ago I was in too much pain to drive home to North Dallas. Now? I might just be too stoned.
Whee!
Holy fuck, it hurts now.
Holy fuck, that cost a lot of money.
Holy fuck, he gave me Tylenol 3.
Holy fuck, it's not doing a thing.
You know, I try to be all cute about this, but right at this moment, I am in more pain than I think I have ever been in, ever. And he's not even done with it. He did a root canal on the NEW pain, since it was/is the worst, but he wasn't able to finish it because the tooth is apparently a "bad actor". And he could only do the one tooth, because of something having to do with infections that frankly I didn't hear a word of.
So it'll be another WEEK before this is done. And I have no idea how I'll pay for it, but honestly, that's not the bad part of this. I just can't imagine feeling like this until the end of the day, much less another week.
People keep saying it, and it's absolutely true. There is nothing in the world like bad dental pain. It makes it hard to think or talk or do anything at all.
That diabetic coma isn't sounding so bad right now.
-----
UPDATE, AN HOUR LATER:
Well, codeine might not be much of a pain killer, but it sure does improve your mood once it hits your system with both feet.
An hour ago I was in too much pain to drive home to North Dallas. Now? I might just be too stoned.
Whee!
Pain Merchants, here I come.
I got a speeding ticket this morning, on my way to work. Huh. I don't want to talk about that, though. I haven't even started processing that bullshit on a stick just yet.
I'm leaving in about thirty minutes for my dentist appointment. This is going to be FUN. In addition to the Bad Bad Tooth that will be getting its just desserts today, the troublesome tooth next to it started hurting this morning. Well, of course it did. So one of two things will happen at the dentist's office. Either he'll make another appointment to do the second tooth and stretch this thing out even longer, or he'll sit my ass down and subject me to TWO root canals in one sitting.
Either way, I'm pretty sure you're going to have a better afternoon than I am.
So I'm sitting here having my pre-dentist terrors, which started about half an hour ago, and while I know you, patient reader, are sick of reading about this, it's just about the only thing in my head today. It's funny how something as visceral as dental pain can drown out the other stuff. That's probably for the best.
I have some special powers, in case you never heard. I can identify the composer of a piece of music if I've ever heard that composer before, even if I've never heard that particular piece of music. I can tell if someone is a born-agan Christian the instant I meet them. And I can smell a lie, as surely as if a can of tuna had been opened.
Okay, enough of my cryptic blather. I'm going to the House of Pain now. See you on the other side. Fuck, I hate The Chair.
I'm leaving in about thirty minutes for my dentist appointment. This is going to be FUN. In addition to the Bad Bad Tooth that will be getting its just desserts today, the troublesome tooth next to it started hurting this morning. Well, of course it did. So one of two things will happen at the dentist's office. Either he'll make another appointment to do the second tooth and stretch this thing out even longer, or he'll sit my ass down and subject me to TWO root canals in one sitting.
Either way, I'm pretty sure you're going to have a better afternoon than I am.
So I'm sitting here having my pre-dentist terrors, which started about half an hour ago, and while I know you, patient reader, are sick of reading about this, it's just about the only thing in my head today. It's funny how something as visceral as dental pain can drown out the other stuff. That's probably for the best.
I have some special powers, in case you never heard. I can identify the composer of a piece of music if I've ever heard that composer before, even if I've never heard that particular piece of music. I can tell if someone is a born-agan Christian the instant I meet them. And I can smell a lie, as surely as if a can of tuna had been opened.
Okay, enough of my cryptic blather. I'm going to the House of Pain now. See you on the other side. Fuck, I hate The Chair.
April 24, 2006
Chopper Trouble continued
It was last Thursday, which now feels like a month ago, that I went to the dentist to end the bad bad bad bad bad bad pain in my mouth. He gave me antibiotics that were supposed to kill the infection and relieve the pain, with the help of basic over the counter pain killers, so that I could make it to my root canal appointment next Thursday.
It is now Monday, and the pain never got any better.
For four days, I have been dealing with this. ("Dealing" including being a giant grumpy pain in the ass, I'm sure.) I was out of town over the weekend, shooting a wedding, so even if my dentist was open over the weekend, it wouldn't have mattered. (I keep referring to him as "my dentist", as if he did anything for me other than scare the crap out of me with a big monster proposed bill and give me a prescription for amoxicillin, which I thought was an anthrax treatment. Well, I don't believe I have anthrax, so bully for me.)
Four days, and another three days to go? Fuck that. I called the office this morning and told them my sad tale.
"Have you been taking Ibuprofen with the antibiotic?" the nurse asked.
"Yep."
"Have you been taking double the recommended dosage? Dr. Pain Merchant thinks you might not be taking enough."
"Um, I've been taking a LOT more than it says to." I didn't tell her that I also took a bunch of Tylenol 3 with codeine that a friend gave me, which did no good at all. I might as well have been popping Skittles.
It was as if she read my mind. "Well, he doesn't want to give you Tylenol 3 with codeine, since that will just mask the pain."
(Which it doesn't. I could hear my tooth laughing at the Tylenol 3. A tiny little muffled chortle in my mouth.)
In the end, they bumped some people and got me an appointment for tomorrow. (That should make me feel bad except, you know, fuck 'em. I have needs.) One more sleepless night and then blessed relief.
Anyone who knows my past history in the Chair and is watching me now get excited about getting a root canal must think they've wandered into BizarroBlogWorld.
I hope they'll take a check.
It is now Monday, and the pain never got any better.
For four days, I have been dealing with this. ("Dealing" including being a giant grumpy pain in the ass, I'm sure.) I was out of town over the weekend, shooting a wedding, so even if my dentist was open over the weekend, it wouldn't have mattered. (I keep referring to him as "my dentist", as if he did anything for me other than scare the crap out of me with a big monster proposed bill and give me a prescription for amoxicillin, which I thought was an anthrax treatment. Well, I don't believe I have anthrax, so bully for me.)
Four days, and another three days to go? Fuck that. I called the office this morning and told them my sad tale.
"Have you been taking Ibuprofen with the antibiotic?" the nurse asked.
"Yep."
"Have you been taking double the recommended dosage? Dr. Pain Merchant thinks you might not be taking enough."
"Um, I've been taking a LOT more than it says to." I didn't tell her that I also took a bunch of Tylenol 3 with codeine that a friend gave me, which did no good at all. I might as well have been popping Skittles.
It was as if she read my mind. "Well, he doesn't want to give you Tylenol 3 with codeine, since that will just mask the pain."
(Which it doesn't. I could hear my tooth laughing at the Tylenol 3. A tiny little muffled chortle in my mouth.)
In the end, they bumped some people and got me an appointment for tomorrow. (That should make me feel bad except, you know, fuck 'em. I have needs.) One more sleepless night and then blessed relief.
Anyone who knows my past history in the Chair and is watching me now get excited about getting a root canal must think they've wandered into BizarroBlogWorld.
I hope they'll take a check.
April 22, 2006
Been better, been worse.
Well, it's been a mixed bag of a week. On one hand, people have been slightly more hateful than usual, Schuyler is sick and coughing like a chain smoker, and of course my mouth feels like I've been snacking on glass.
On the other hand, work is going really well, and my pro-blogging career kicked off nicely, by golly. Best of all, I talked to my agent tonight.
And yeah, I still feel like a bit of an asshole when I say that. What are you going to do?
The bad news is that two editors who were very interested in my book changed publishers and are no longer able to publish memoirs. (Imagine, they'd rather change jobs than turn down my agent. I told you she was good.) The good news? Two more editors are looking as we speak, and she's fairly confident that she'll have even better news soon.
I'd be more anxious about it if I actually had a finished book.
We discussed my diabetes diagnosis and whether it should change the direction of my book, and we agreed that it would just be a distraction. Schuyler's monster is both unique and poignant, she said. Diabetes is common and boring.
"No one wants to read about your diabetes, Robert," she said.
Heh. Like I didn't know that already.
On the other hand, work is going really well, and my pro-blogging career kicked off nicely, by golly. Best of all, I talked to my agent tonight.
And yeah, I still feel like a bit of an asshole when I say that. What are you going to do?
The bad news is that two editors who were very interested in my book changed publishers and are no longer able to publish memoirs. (Imagine, they'd rather change jobs than turn down my agent. I told you she was good.) The good news? Two more editors are looking as we speak, and she's fairly confident that she'll have even better news soon.
I'd be more anxious about it if I actually had a finished book.
We discussed my diabetes diagnosis and whether it should change the direction of my book, and we agreed that it would just be a distraction. Schuyler's monster is both unique and poignant, she said. Diabetes is common and boring.
"No one wants to read about your diabetes, Robert," she said.
Heh. Like I didn't know that already.
April 20, 2006
Chopper Trouble
A couple of days ago, I got a toothache.
Now, when I say I got a toothache, I don't want you to imagine me suddenly putting my hand to my cheek and saying "Goodness, that smarts!" Think more of me running to the bathroom mirror and looking in my mouth for the wasp that had clearly snuck into my mouth and was stinging my gum.
After determining that ignoring it was not in fact going to make the pain go away, I went to the dentist today. As some of you know, I hate hate HATE going to the dentist, which is funny since I've had to spend so many delightful hours in the chair. I'm told that I got all my childhood diseases at roughly the same time, at the age of four or five, and I got them bad. I had chicken pox on the bottoms of my feet and inside my mouth, for example. As a result, I was told by my childhood dentist, my permanent teeth developed into little 90 pound weaklings at the beach, constantly having sand kicked in their little teeth faces.
After sitting through a meeting with my boss this morning and smiling happily while resisting the urge to cry, swear or throw myself out the window from the pain, I called 1-800-DENTIST, told them my insurance carrier and where my office was, and they found someone who would take me right then, just run out to the car and go go go.
So I went went went. And like every other time I've gone to the dentist, the news was much worse than I thought it would be.
I was confused because the tooth that was hurting was a crown, and I figured it must have had a root canal at some point. But no, it was a crown on a tooth with a functioning nerve, and thanks to a poorly attached crown when it was originally done, there was decay and infection underneath. To make matters worse, it had spread to the two teeth on either side, one of which DID have a root canal and a crown but would now need a new crown.
So the total required work to Rob's Mouth of Horrors: TWO root canals and THREE crowns. The total cost will be about five grand, and my insurance stops paying after a thousand.
I wish I had a cute, pithy ending to this, but my mouth still hurts. My wallet's feeling sort of woozy too, now that you mention it.
Now, when I say I got a toothache, I don't want you to imagine me suddenly putting my hand to my cheek and saying "Goodness, that smarts!" Think more of me running to the bathroom mirror and looking in my mouth for the wasp that had clearly snuck into my mouth and was stinging my gum.
After determining that ignoring it was not in fact going to make the pain go away, I went to the dentist today. As some of you know, I hate hate HATE going to the dentist, which is funny since I've had to spend so many delightful hours in the chair. I'm told that I got all my childhood diseases at roughly the same time, at the age of four or five, and I got them bad. I had chicken pox on the bottoms of my feet and inside my mouth, for example. As a result, I was told by my childhood dentist, my permanent teeth developed into little 90 pound weaklings at the beach, constantly having sand kicked in their little teeth faces.
After sitting through a meeting with my boss this morning and smiling happily while resisting the urge to cry, swear or throw myself out the window from the pain, I called 1-800-DENTIST, told them my insurance carrier and where my office was, and they found someone who would take me right then, just run out to the car and go go go.
So I went went went. And like every other time I've gone to the dentist, the news was much worse than I thought it would be.
I was confused because the tooth that was hurting was a crown, and I figured it must have had a root canal at some point. But no, it was a crown on a tooth with a functioning nerve, and thanks to a poorly attached crown when it was originally done, there was decay and infection underneath. To make matters worse, it had spread to the two teeth on either side, one of which DID have a root canal and a crown but would now need a new crown.
So the total required work to Rob's Mouth of Horrors: TWO root canals and THREE crowns. The total cost will be about five grand, and my insurance stops paying after a thousand.
I wish I had a cute, pithy ending to this, but my mouth still hurts. My wallet's feeling sort of woozy too, now that you mention it.
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