While waiting for my lunch to heat up in the break room today, I overheard some coworkers lamenting how tired they were. One of the IT guys, normally quiet and a fairly positive gentleman, piped up:
"I didn't want to get up this morning. I felt like I was going to jail."
There you have it. Some days, working in our office feels like being in jail. Maybe a visit from Prison Mike will help us remember how good we have it. Sure, we are confined to tiny gray cubicles, and we don't get outdoors time, and the circulation is bad (permanently winter, no matter the weather), and we get yelled at by guards - er, professors - all day, but we do get to wear whatever we want. And I look terrible in orange.
I contributed to Fibromyalgia research today! At least, that's how I'm going to look at it. Without sharing revealing information about an ongoing trial, I was (until 4pm yesterday) part of a study that was looking at how therapeutic doses of a hormone supplement could help with symptoms of fibromyalgia. I experience such weird symptoms on a regular basis that I didn't think much of my increased heart rate that would onset at odd times, as it usually resolved itself fairly quickly, but it got particularly bad on Friday as I was enjoying a bagel at my desk. And worse when I walked to the break room to call the doctor. By my calculation, I was at 150 bpm from walking 25 feet. While waiting for a callback, I started getting woozy, experiencing numbness in my feet, feeling nauseous, and generally about to pass out.
Albert decided to take me to the ER, where I had a very redeeming hospital experience (because believe-you-me, I have some pretty bad medical treatment stories!). I was admitted right away, and taken care of by this great nurse who was amused by how fascinated Albert and I were by everything. It was pretty dramatic - I had an EKG, was taken via gurney to the X-Ray lab, had lots of blood taken for a full workup, had a really hard time balancing well enough to pee in a cup but managed okay, and even had oxygen tubes up my nose. Albert snapped a picture.
On a side note, can anyone explain to me how oxygen bars are fun? I'm sure that it helps when the tubes aren't rubbing against your already allergy-irritated nostrils, and you're not in the ER, but still...
So three-and-a-half hours later (which is pretty fast for all the tests they did, and felt much faster to me since I was so out of it), I was released on the condition that I would get further testing from my regular doctor. I'm not allowed to drive or have caffeine for a while, but have pretty much been sleeping and staring anyway. I should mention that Albert is, as always, basically the best boyfriend in the world. He hung out with me in the ER, sitting on my feet to warm them (which, at his weight, is not a problem, except for the lack of cushion in the flat area between his back and legs), and bought me supplies to last through the weekend, as he had to go home.
It's kinda cool to know that I will be the asterisk in this study in a few months/years, and I truly hope that I am one of those rare cases with side effects. This study team is doing such great work to find out more about Fibromyalgia, and it's encouraging to know that in the coming years and decades, it won't be such a mystery disease anymore. They've been so affirming, too, of what I'm going through physically, and even said that my positive attitude was helpful to them. These are the things that keep you going.
Not what they were singing about. And yes, it's a little awkward for me to write about, but if I really want to go into maternal and child health, I need to start overcoming the stigma.
Ovaries.
I thought maybe my appendix was about to blow on Friday. Severe pain radiating to my belly button, nausea, slight fever - all signs point toward yes. Albert the amazing drove me through rush-hour, 4th-of-July weekend traffic to make it to UCDMC for an ultrasound before the weekend hit, while I downed a giant glass of iced tea to fill my bladder (needs to be transparent so they can better see your organs when they jam the probe up your - well, you get the idea). The sexist technician on duty said, "well, you better pee before you leave here, or you'll make your boyfriend pull over, and demand that he find a CLEAN gas station for you to go at."
"Actually," (and mind you, this is small talk during while a metal probe is taking images of my lower abdominal region), "I spent two summers working in the slums of Calcutta, so I can go pretty much anywhere."
"Oh. Wow."
Sometimes, you need those small victories in the midst of such indignity imposed by being sick for a long, long time.
I was told I'd have to wait a couple of days for results, but if the pain got worse, I could always go spend a couple thousand dollars at the emergency room. I decided that with the help of WebMD, I could do just as good a job at diagnosing myself, especially with the helpful little symptom checker. It's like playing with a paper doll, except that instead of dressing it up in different clothes, you get to assign different diseases to Jane or John Doe.
Ok, the abdominal pain was the most important part. You get to pick the quality you want to assign to your pain - dull, achy, sharp, tingly, feels like fireworks are igniting from a vital organ. But my left big toe had also started hurting quite suddenly along with my left hip, with no apparent external damage. And I had a throbbing headache. And my teeth were itchy. So I plugged all of these symptoms into WebMD, and it gave me the diagnosis: hypochondriac.
Anyway, my appendix is fine, but they found a giant hemorrhagic cyst - in the test results, the doctor wrote that it had basically taken over my right ovary (???). So the right ovary is something like six times bigger than the left and filled with blood. That image creeps me out, especially since I can feel the warmth radiating from the small protrusion from my right side, which did I also mention hurts A LOT? Still waiting to hear what this means, but cysts are a pretty common painful-but-benign ailment.
Why did I decide to tell you all (assuming someone reads this entry) this?
1. If we had talked about hanging out, or if I haven't responded to a message, this is probably why. I'm still trying to make it through the full work day since I am way out of sick leave, and that's about all I have energy for. Thank you for understanding that I still love you!
2. This makes me think: if ovarian cysts are so common and not generally caused by diet, environment, etc, how do women in the community I worked in handle this type of pain without any kind of drugs or the ability to take a break from working so that their kids might be able to have a meal that day?
3. With all of the health issues that have come together for me this year, it can be cathartic to share as an (un)health humorist. Laughing at the ridiculosity of a situation is powerful AND fun, as is making up words.
I’ve always had an active imagination.There are scores of embarrassing stories and pictures to document this fact.I was raised in a family that values kids playing outdoors and in dress-ups, so in my life I’ve swam with the mermaids, joined Belle in a small French village, hosted my own decorating show, delighted the masses with my tasty culinary creations, written novels out of the tiny broom-closet turned office, been several nationalities outside my own, and served as queen over an entire empire known as Secret City, among other things.It follows me in my sleep as I have flown above the fields, traveled to countries I’ve never seen, and saved the world many times over.
But this imagination also has a darker side.I’ve dreamt up murder mysteries, been chased far too many times by a variety of villains, and been party to the worst-case scenario.This, too, has followed me into my everyday life.
For example, this morning.The microwave in our office, seeming so cheery in its red shell, was counting down toward zero.I pressed every button on the screen to turn the timer off, but to no avail.As I waited for my tea to brew, I became more and more anxious as I waited for the microwave-turned-bomb to ignite and destroy our entire office.Heroine that I am, I lunged to unplug the evil machine as was mildly electrocuted in the process.When I go to file for worker’s comp, I will bravely explain, “I was afraid the microwave was actually a bomb, you see.You’re welcome.”
Amber messaged me this morning and said, where’s your snarky gmail status?
I responded, just wait.
It took until 10:30, which might be a new record.
Our office was reorganized about 10 months ago, and it was decided that our number one priority was customer service – customers being department administrators, professors, and sponsors. The world of contracts and grants administration is pretty convoluted, so even the veteran researchers have questions at times regarding agreements, forms that have to be filled out, etc.
I understand that. But if you would read my carefully crafted email, you would see that I’ve already anticipated all of your needs, concerns, and questions, and made you feel like the most important customer in the world. If only you would read it.
So often , I get responses back that essentially tell me that I’m stupid. I already sent you that, why do you need to know this, the University doesn’t care about this detail. Thank you so much, I write back with teeth clenched into a forced grin (employee handbook page 425), I so appreciate you sending me these documents. Please note below that I actually asked you a completely different question, and it is the law, and has been for some time, that you need to fill out this very complicated form that consists of six whole check boxes.
Sometimes I get a sheepish email response. Oh. And begrudgingly they answer my question, or say they’ll send the form. They never apologize for not reading my email, or admit that it was there fault. The most I get is, I’m sorry for the confusion.
But you see, my friend, there was no confusion. You’re simply a dumbass.
Thank goodness for my fifteen minute break to share this with you all. Please comment with kindness.
I saved up a month’s worth of laundry for Sunday. I don’t have 30 pairs of underwear, but I am grateful that my mom got me in the habit of hand washing my delicates at a young age. Wouldn’t you know, it would be so windy that small branches and leaves are whipping around the lawn in front of our apartment complex, wafting the smoke fumes from our neighbors' directly into our open screen door.As the Laundromat is right across the street, I don’t feel justified driving just a few feet.However, the look I receive from the driver of a car waiting patiently as I navigate the crosswalk, checking back to see if I have (once again) dropped my underwear in a public place, perhaps I should have driven after all.
I made it right before the Sunday afternoon rush. The next two hours prove to me that I don’t have to move far out of Davis to find America in all of its diversity and adversity.
As I walk in, two women are scolding a young boy in Spanish, as he turns out to be as rambunctious as he is darling.One of them is extremely pregnant, and I marvel at how her protruding belly does nothing to slow her deft motions as she folds the family laundry.Soon, a very tall white man walks in with a woman who appear to be his mother trailing behind, looking pained as she pushes her walker toward the industrial machines.They both look like they’ve lived a hard life, and they have little patience for the boy who is pushing the cart around and around and around with accompanying screeching.A young African American couple occupies the machines next to them, going in and out of the Dollar Store a few storefronts down as they wait for their laundry.They’re pretty cute together, both tall, and it’s clear who wears the pants in the relationship (she does).A woman walks in from the International Market next door with her two daughters in tow; all three wear colorful salwar kameez, and memories of streetside curry swarm around me as I smile at them.The younger girl is shy, but I catch her looking at me later when she’s not flirting with the little boy.A Chinese-American woman who appears about my age politely asks if she can borrow my cart to transfer her laundry (yes – if you give me that adorable sundress in exchange).Another man enters and circles the machines; I wonder if he was looking for the navy sock I found in my own laundry pile a few minutes later.
And all of us are carefully counting quarters as we look to make it through another week.
duct tape can hold just about anything. And now, you don’t have to choose between function and flare – you can have both! My current favorite is the groovy tie-dye pattern. You can even use it in place of a bra for tricky wardrobe situations
a sharpie It just makes you feel powerful. Useful for sending a message and filling in the scrape on your heels, as well as, you know, general writing.
peanut butter goes with everything and is a delicious form of veggie protein. Also good for removing gum or using as an adhesive.
febreeze Makes you smell good without drawing attention to your perfume. Useful for freshening hair, clothing, work station, car…so I don’t usually wear deodorant since I don’t really produce sweat or odor in that particular body area, but I wasn’t thinking when I put on my dress shirt this morning – it doesn’t really breathe. I’m very into hygiene, so even the slightest scent bugs me. But then I remembered HEY, there’s febreeze in the bathroom! Two squirts and the day was saved. Do they make travel sizes?
chapstick helpful in multiple hydration locations. Also, you can eat it if desperate. Or if you're five years old and allured by the magical cherry scent of Bonnie Bell lip smackers.
Basically, thinking about these things is how I entertain myself during work hours.
