I've been frequenting a lot of doctor's offices lately. Apparently, having one chronic illness was not enough and I needed to piggy back it with something else. And it couldn't be another mildly inconveniencing illness. It has to be something really lame and worrisome like Degenerative Arthritis and all the fun that comes with it. I just love hearing that I have bone loss. Love, love love it. I also love hearing that I have now an even longer list of foods that I cannot eat. Low Sodium diet AND limit to only soft foods? Bring it baby! I think I specialize in starvation.
So while my tummy grumbles, I just want to let you know that I am the Queen of Bad News. My karma glow must be a muddy green poop color because I receive bad news all the time. This was my week: Jaw doc: 2 hours OB/GYN: 2 1/2 hours Physical Therapist: 3 1/2 hours Chiropractor: 1 hour and Hypno Therapist: 2 3/4 hours (Hypno WHAT? We'll get back to this one, she was fun)
While I am at the Jaw Doc with the No-Bedside Manners Doc, I am in his chair telling him that the drug he put me on gives me the spins. I don't like the spins. I've been trying NOT to spin for months, thanks to Meniere's. I tell him that when I lay down flat, my head does this totally not cool swirly thing. He says "Okay" and reclines his chair all the way flat. He's obviously deaf and I go spinny. He says "how do you feel?" I say "Crappy" but what I really want to say is... You freaking nut job! What did I just tell you!?!?! I'm spinning like a top here!!! (But I don't say it because I am too nice). "Crappy" translated into "Please do it more" in his aging ears because he proceeded to mess with my jaw flat on my back with my head spinning, sat me up and then repeated said torture six times.
It was nearing lunch by the time he finished, but I wasn't thinking about food. I was thinking Knuckle Sandwich.
Next I got to sit in the OB/GYN chair. I blot these visits out of my memory and claim amnesia. A few dark moments creep through the void, like me wondering what happened to my poor boobs. Her "exam" was very thorough and frankly I had no idea I had enough breast mass to squish through, but apparently I do. That visit ended with me giving five vials of blood for her to run tests on and study. I do have to say that I like my new GYN doc. She is fresh enough out of school that every patient is still her top priority and she likes to really get down to the root of things. Literally.
With half my blood supply gone, it's off to the Physical Therapist. All I have to say here is, that for the three and a half hours I spent in the office on the therapy table, I spent 30 minutes of it in actual face time with the PT who made me feel all stretchy. The other three hours? I took a lovely nap and it was very refreshing.
In the middle of all this I go to the Hypno Therapist who is teaching me how to manage the stress of chronic illness along with the pain. I know this sounds hoky, but so far, it's my favorite office to visit. Before we got started, however, she warned me that I should empty my bladder. Hypnosis puts you under deep relaxation and hygenic control is limited. This is all fine and dandy and I did my biz before getting started.
It was great. Like nirvana mixed with morphine but without all the nasty hangover side effects. I was off in happy land where I could forget my throbbing arm where the phlebotomist jabbed me with the needle, forget the spins and my grumbling stomach, forget the incessant pain in my joins and my sore boobs. I could forget it all.... but that wonky smell. That kept getting stronger. And it was ruining my zen.
About the time that the HT is telling me to pull my head out of happy land, I notice that the smell is pretty bad and I am registering that the Therapist isn't breathing with me when she is suggesting to inhale, hold, and exhale.
What is that gosh awful smell???
Well, it was me folks. Bladder was not the only relaxed organ in my body! Hypnosis gives me gas.
And guess what? This was only the first week. I have six MONTHS of this. Woo...hoo.
And to round things off nicely, the OB/GYN called with my blood test and she was not happy about the results. She wants to run more tests. Weekly. For the next four weeks. Yay. Can you tell I am so happy about this?
Can I have more bad news? Please?
Yes, I can.
An e-mail from my editor came in and she is dropping my books. The condensed version of her e-mail was that I have voice and talent, but the books were not a formula romance. I bent the rules a bit and they like to see certain things happen on certain pages. I have a hard time writing purely formulaic (Trust me I TRIED to. Really, I worked it as close as I could without slitting my own wrists). So, no more contract with publisher. I was so close to seeing myself in print that I literally feel ditched at the alter.
Like I said, I have dirty brown, poo colored Karma.