YES, it's all about me...and my wrist.

Frig.

This is going to be long, so you'll have to take breaks and go pee and get lunch and go to bed and work and all that, but it will be well worth it...I think. Hell, I don't know. Only if you like reading about me and my escapades and illnesses.

Whatev.

Ok, so when I barfed up all my rice and V8 soup I made (two wks ago), when I got sick, I was scrambling to get down the stairs, and I fell. I caught myself, but I landed harder on my right wrist.

THEN, the next day, when it was coming out the *ahem* "other end," I had to do the same thing, and guess what?

I FELL, AGAIN!

Yes, on my right wrist. You think I wanted to even it out? Hellz, NO!

Then, this past weekend, I was going to throw Jammy's favorite ball across the room, and when I pitched it with my right arm (stupid), when my arm completely extended, I HEARD and FELT (felt and heard?) an AUDIBLE POP. Yo, let me tell you, that put me on the ground. It hurt so badly, I thought I was going to pass out. So, I crawled back to the bed (I'm having Déjà vu - have I already told you guys this story? Oh, well, sit back and shut up) and palpated (felt around) to see if I had anything broken. When I pushed around on it, it was fine. But, if I extended my arm at all, my hand and wrist were freaking out.
So's, I called my doctor buddy to ask him to take a look at it on Monday, because it was SERIOUSLY hurting, like really, really bad pain, tingling, numbness, etc... In the meantime, though, he said he wanted me to get a wrist x-ray, or more specifically, a scaphoid view. He said it could be fractured, but I told him I didn't feel anything (possibly because of the numbness?).


So, I spent all weekend with my palm on my chest, like I'm doing the friggin' pledge of allegiance or something. Everywhere I went, people are like, "um, can I...help you, or something?" Hell, no, I don't want help! Not from you, Mr. Nice Stranger Who Could Be a Serial Killah! BYAH!!!!

Seriously, though, I kept bumping people off, because I didn't really need help. Seven sacks of groceries will fit nicely into my retarded curved arm, thank you.

Ok, for serious, I really was ok.

Oh, EXCEPT for the horrible pain.


By the way, I'm sorry I've got this weird attitude and "Valley Girl" thing going on ("Ok, ok, like, this one time....."), but I'm just in a great mood today, despite the searing pain. I guess I need to be more in touch with my "Valley Girl" within, and THEN I can get a date.

Somehow, though, the prospect of what I would attract DOES NOT appeal to me at all.

Gross. Now, I have "dumb, fall-for-a-pretty-face, do-anything-for-big-tits, will-hit-that-sweet-ass, only-thinks-with-his-trunk guy" all over me. Ugh. I need some Viraguard or something to bathe in. I feel icky.


ANYWAY, back to my hand. So, weekend goes by...meh, it's ok; no better, no worse. I make it through Monday (and x-ray my hand - no fracture), and it's starting to hurt a little more.

What the crap? Time is passing! It's supposed to be getting better!

&=(

Tuesday rolls around, and I get to hang out with one of my regular surgeons downstairs, *Dr. K*. I tell him about the situation, and he tells me to bring him the x-ray. He looks; no fracture. He pokes and prods, no real biggie. So, he brings me a "thumb immobilizer" and tells me to wear it, that it's going to keep my thumb still enough to heal, because I've probably just bruised a ligament.

Alright, whatev.

(Btw, that thing is a BITCH to work in. Just thought I'd throw that in.)


So, TODAY rolls around, and this sucker is KILLING me. The whole day, I was doing the pledge of allegiance AND wearing the splint. Finally, I started feeling this burning chafe where my hand has been hurting (incidentally, it's on the palm, that whole part under my thumb and INTO my wrist), so I take the brace off. It stops.

Hmm, that's weird...there's no chafing there. It's not even the slightest bit red. So, I move my hand, stretch it, twist my wrist, etc, etc, then I reach for the mouse at my computer.

*BLAM-O*

Burning and pain SHOOT through my hand and into my wrist.

"Oh, my God." I pull my hand up to my chest (pledging). My friend is working today, but not until 2p, so I'll just have to wait.


JEEBUS, was today the longest day in history, or was it just my hand's imagination?

So, my buddy gets to the OR, I run down and show him, he pushes on it, palpates it, "Does this hurt? Does this hurt? Do this. Does this hurt?" No's and yes's, nothing major.

We walk into his OR room, and I stick my hand under the c-arm, just so he can manipulate it under x-ray and see what he can see (oh, say can you see...anyone? Anyone?). The whole time, I'm talking to the people in the room, pushing the button on the hand controller when he tells me to, he's poking it, pushing my CARPAL BONES around (haha, that reminds me of the "carbal ant" - 'nother story). "Turn it over. Push against my hand. Does this hurt? How about this? Straighten your thumb..." I'm not paying the least bit of attention to what he's doing. I'm running my mouth, as usual.

THEN, he says, "Ok, I'm going to (in the slow, deep, scary, movie voice) PULL TRACTION ON IT."

Alright, it was actually in his regular voice, but after what happened, that's all I can remember.

I took my stance, I stretched my arm out, he took me by the wrist, and pulled ONLY SLIGHTLY.



I shot straight through the roof. I screamed, out loud, in a surgery room, slapped him about 10x on his arm, and was jumping around with my wrist in my mouth...all in about the span of 5 seconds. I was actually embarrassed, because it was so loud.


OH...MY CRAP.

Tears started welling up in my eyes, and everyone was like, "Omg, what's wrong??! What happened?!?!!" He told them what happened, and they were all suddenly looking at me like it was my funeral.

"Well," I thought, "this can't be good." My wrist was THROBBING, or as people down here say it, THOBBING. I think it was doing both, I don't quite remember. All I knew is that son hurt, and I was seeing blinking stars. I said, "Omg, I'm SOOOO sorry I hit you!!!!," and he said, "Um, it's ok. I'm going to, um, page *young Dr M*." (I never know if these docs want their names to be used, so I like to be a bit discreet. Btw, you should have SEEN the dump I took the other day...)

"What?!?? What for?!!? What's wrong with it??!"

That doc never called back, so my friend said, "Well, I'm going to go ahead and see if I can get you in for an arthrogram and an MRI," which is part of my department, actually.

But, when he said the word "arthrogram," I almost started to cry.

"An ARTHROGRAM???? WHY??!?! No way. No effing way am I doing that."

To shorten the dialogue (yeah, right), back in the day, when I worked at Kirklin, I had a shoulder arthrogram. It was done by a very professional, very good doctor. But, apparently, since it was being done on an employee, and I had specifically requested him, he was very nervous, and um...let's just say, I've always promised myself I'd never have another arthrogram...in my lifetime...while I was alive...and had an ounce of fight in me.

No offense to the doc or anything, but that was THE worst procedure I've ever gone through. I'd rather have 27 colonoscopies, 18 endoscopes, and 3 more knee surgeries, before I ever did that again (no pilonidal cysts, though: refer to first post ever). It was pretty traumatic. Heather knows. She was there. She was my tech...who put cold cloths on my forehead...stroked my hair...talked to me...and held my puke bucket.


SO.
As much as I fought and begged and almost cried, he said I had to do it, because he thinks I might have torn something important and might have to have surgery (this part I missed the first time around, but he says he said it).

Sweet.


Because I have beaucoups (again, bookoos) of time off. To use popular 90's vernacular - NOT.

I used every bit of it up while my family was here, and I wouldn't take it back for the world. I was so thankful to have them here!


ANYWAY, BACK TO MY WRIST!!


He went and told another doctor about my sich (haha, that's from this decade! Probably yesterday!), an old, crotchety doc that I worked with at TKC, *old Dr. M,* so *old Dr. M" found me in the OR hallway and started poking around on my wrist. I said, "Don't pull it, or I'll slap you."

"Don't worry. I won't.......*poke poke turn poke push poke mash poke ow mash harder I SAID OW*.......but, let's go ahead with the arthrogram and MRI."

"WHAT??! Are all you people just against me?? WHY DO YOU HATE ME????"


Yes, I enjoy my volunteer job as a drama queen, what of it?


And, as he walked away, he said, "You're welcome. Let me know when it's been dictated."

I stood there, mouth agape. &=O



So, I talked to my friend this afternoon:
"Did you talk to him??? Did you put him up to that??" &=(
"Oh! Yeah, good, did he find you?"
"YES. And, he told me I have to do the tests!" &=(
"Well, because you need them."
*mumbles* "No, I don't." &=(
"AND, *Dr M* would be pretty good to do your surgery (I'm flipping out on the other end), if you need it."
"SURGERY??!?!" &=(
"Did you not hear me this afternoon? (apparently I didn't) Jennifer, if you've torn something, it's going to have to be fixed."
*I'm whining and bitching on the other end* &=(
"Of course, if there's no tear on the MRI, he may just put you in a cast."
"WHAT?? A CAST??!?! A PLASTER ONE????? FOR HOW LONG??????"
(This has not boded well for me at all. I'm very disappointed, yet guarded, about my wrist.) &=(
"NO. Not a plaster one. A fiberglass one, and it will probably be for about six weeks."
"SIX WEEKS!?!??! ARE YOU SERIOUS??? Are you serious, or are you just playing with me? Be serious, dude. I'm really scared." &=(
"I am being serious. I really think you've done something. It's bruised, ripped, or torn. It could be your 'blah-blah' ligament or your 'such-n-such' something or another, and it's not going to get any better with you in that splint."

&=(

God, I'm a total fuss-budget today. Even through all that, I managed to have a good day. &=(

And, you know what else? When I got home, I immediately dropped my bag on the floor, my keys on the counter and made myself some STAT s'mores. Because I needed them. &=)

Then, my blood sugar sky-rocketed and everyoneelsediedsotherewasnoarthrogramtheend. &=(




No. I sat down to write this blag. And, I write for you, through the pain of my hand and the throbilization of my wrist, because I know it ain't gettin' any better right now. I'm going to be holding my allegiance to the flag all the rest of this week AND the weekend. Monday afternoon is my test. I made Robbie, our MRI tech (Sharon, I'm sending prayers and good healing your way!!! Come back soon!!!), schedule me with a certain VERY, VERY good radiologist, *Dr. L*, because I am scared shitless to do this again. Seriously. I'm already starting to have diarrhea about it, and you guys know how I am about my nerves. &=(

I mean, having a pain block is one thing. Sure, they stick a needle into your back/ass, but they also give you a cocktail of Versed and God-only-knows what else. You can't even remember your name or to close your mouth because you're drooling. &=P

Having a needle stuck into an extremity, while you're totally awake, looking on?????? Not fun. I'm so scared. I've already started rubbing the skin on the tops of my feet raw, because I've been rubbing my feet together (another cool thing I do when I'm nervous or fidgety). &=(

One doc told me he could write me a scrip for Valium to take before I go in. &=(

You know what? I'm super-claustrophobic (I almost had a come-apart at the Piggly-Wiggly yesterday), but I can deal better in the MRI tube than I think I can this! They know just to put a cloth over my eyes and play some classical music, and I'm cool as a cucumber. Omg. I'll have to remember my CD on Monday. &=(

PLUS, I've got PT on Friday, I've GOT to clean this wreck of an apartment (that I'm not moving out of), and my belly dancing classes start August 8. &=) I AM happy about that. But, I do NOT want to be dancing around with an effing cast on my arm, so &=(. (ew. from here, it looks like I have a zit on my chin.)

Grawr. AND, Slipknot's coming August 12, and I wanted to give that to myself for my birthday, since I'll officially be SUPER-OLD this year, but I'm not sure now. I sure ain't gettin' in the mosh pit with a bright pink cast on my arm. I'm just kidding. I'll get some sort of depressing color, like grey, or vomit, since that's what started this whole mess. Actually, it's Carpeted Stairs fault, but I'm NOT talking to him anymore. Jerk. &=(

I'm still pissed that I'm not getting to go on the road trip to Canada. I wanted to see some hot Canucks, eh! &=)

Still, I would like to have someone petting me and babying me right now. I hate doing it all myself. It feels weird, you know, spooning yourself at night. It's starting to creep out the girls... &=(


ALRIGHTY! I'm done here. It's 10 or 11 something, FAR past my bedtime, my wrist is on fire, I need my meds, my mushy cold pack, South Park and sleepytime, in that specific order. &=\

Damn. I am demanding. Oh well. Someone out there wouldn't have it any other way. *sigh* &=\


Goodnight, my pookies. I'll update as long as I can type.

De gerbil?

Dirigible.

I like that word.

–noun

1.	an airship.

–adjective

2.	designed for or capable of being directed, controlled, or steered.

—Related forms

dir·i·gi·bil·i·ty, noun

You have dirigibility.

And, you're touching me with it. &=(


Dirigible.



Dirigible, dirigible, dirigible.


I wish I had one.

A dirigible.

And a gerbil.

Phil (raises glass), this one's for you

I found an old post that I wanted to do, but for some reason didn't.

Anyway, here it is, unreread, unedited, and apparently uncensored:



June 20, 2008
You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you...



The title of the list was, "Hey, it's ok...."

The last item on the list was, "...to skip the whole 'I hope we can still be friends' charade. You have friends."

I'm glad someone exists out there who is objective enough to justify my feelings.


Stop trying to keep up with me. Stop talking to my best friend. Stop trying to BE my friend. Stop reading my blog, if that's what you're doing. If you don't want to have anything to do with me, then just stop. I wanted you in my life, but you betrayed me, by using any of my verified weaknesses to get what you wanted from me. And, THAT is what makes you an ass.

I loved you. I still do, unfortunately. I was willing to put aside my "ridiculous standards" and just love you for you, but it didn't happen that way.

"Did you think we were going to just fall back into this?"

Yeah, I guess I did, and that's what makes me stupid. I admit it. This was ALL MY FUCKING FAULT, ok? I thought you still had feelings for me. I thought you'd be able to forgive me for some of/all the horrible things I said and did. Yeah, I have an excuse - I was going through a divorce. And, yeah, you DON'T know what you had until it's gone.

Sure, I would have loved to have married you, had kids with you, traveled the world with you. I had actual "fantasies" about it. I remember the time you and I were laying on the bed, and I told you I had decided to join the Peace Corps. Tears were running down your face, and you said, "can I go with you?"

That was one of the sweetest moments I've ever experienced.


(Oh, yeah, and that time you left that sweet card on my car while I was at work...)


Anyway, now I ponder why you must have said that...but I don't think I'd like to reveal my conclusions.

Sure, I have a slight problem that your religious affiliation isn't the same as mine...but I realize now that it doesn't mean that you and I don't share the same morals and ethics. It took me a little bit of time to realize that. THAT, AGAIN, WAS MY ERROR.


You were the sweetest, kindest soul I'd ever met. I enjoyed being with you. You were never mean to me. I fought being in love with you. And, yes, I wanted to fall back into that, with everything in place. I wanted to BE in love with you this time. I wanted to give you everything you deserved.

I'd always been a late bloomer. Once again, in my life, I'm too late.



But that was no reason to use me like that. I could never imagine doing that to you. And, after I said that, your argument would be, "but you used me for ________ (fill in the blank) after your divorce." Yeah, but you know what? I actually LIKED you, and I DID feel a connection. Now that I think about it, it must have just been indigestion from what was to come.

I did come to love you, almost immediately. You were like no one I had ever dated, but I thought you were wonderful. I'm a doomsayer. I'm used to people leaving. I've told you this WHOLE STORY before. I'm afraid for someone to leave, so I try to leave first. I'm always afraid of being used. I'm afraid of being cheated on. And, I tried so many times to talk myself out of you being you.

The fact of the matter is you are you...or at least you were when I knew you. I'm sorry I messed things up. I'm sorry if I fucked YOU up. I fucked up, ok?

HEY, WORLD! I FUCKED UP!!!!!!

You're absolutely right! I SHOULD get "Royal Gigantic Fuck-Up" tattooed on my forehead! It'll go right below the sign over my head that blinks "Only Dates Jerks!," and is visible only to male assholes, because that's all I get!

But, yeah, you're right. You get what you deserve, huh?


Well, I didn't deserve that. And, I hate that you thought I did. Things have changed in a year. A LOT of things. I've grown up. I've mellowed out. All I want now is for someone to love me for me, and let me do the same for him. I want to throw my entire being into another person. But I want it to be someone who loves me.

I know I've made mistakes, and I'm going to KEEP making mistakes. But all I can do is ask for forgiveness and keep from making the same mistakes in the future. You didn't even give me a chance, but I do wish you would have.

I'm sorry for what happened between us. Hell, I'm sorry it ended. I still love you, and I wish I could get that part removed. One day, though, it will go away. Just like it did with Aaron.

Ha - now you ARE my Aaron.

I bet you can't wait for someone else to have to come and clean up after you.

Or, yeah. That's right. You probably just don't care. I don't blame you, though. I tried desperately to move beyond you, but my thoughts always returned to you. So many things I experienced in my life, and I wished you could have been there.

Tell your family I'm sorry. I know I was hateful. And, I am truly remorseful.

And you. I hope you already know that I'm sorry. But I can't make you feel what you don't feel.


Best of luck with your life, and I suggest you be a little more careful with peoples' emotions. I can say that, because I feel as though I was your latest victim. I can also say that, because I used to be a pro at that. Can people change? I don't see why not. I used to be an awesome liar, and now I just can't. I don't want to. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. I just want love. I guess that's all I've ever wanted for a while now, but I still fought it. I wanted someone to emotionally fight for me. I wanted someone to hold me close, even though I fought to get away. I've always been a runner. And, I guess I needed a chaser who was fast enough to catch me...

mitskaes and all

Um, hey.

I haven't written in a really lnog time.

I haven't really wanted to.

Also, Ijhave a splint on my right hand, so I can't type wery well, so I'm just going to leaveall my mistakes, ok>? Because i don't want todo all that backspacing and crap today.

Deal.

My family came to town. Sabrina and greg came from Seattle, and Cressie, Grinell, and Ji Xia came from Cali. We've all been hanging out, we went to the lakehouse (The Perch_), I tried to get internet up there onb my laptop to no avail, and we had Gram's 85th bday party/cookout this past weekend. Omg, I twas killer. As Spongebob wpuld say, "it was the greatest party EVAAAAA!!!!" We had a really good time, and I think she did too, which is all that mattered to me. Oh, and we got to talk to Bob, Alice and Olive on Skypem, wich is also killer.

Anyway, I'mll delve into allov this later. My hand is really tired and hurting, as are my neck and shoulders. I'm running low on funds, and i'm about to sign another six month lease on my place, because i have jn't been able to find another place in the hey that;'s been the summer.

I hope everyone is well. I'm ok. Just lonely, as usual. I know that completely amplifies my depression and pain. And, you know what? That sucks.

*sigh* *as usual*


I'm together. I'm all pulled togehtehr. All my strings aare tied - they're just seriously frayed. God, I'm stired. And, I'm having seirous muscle spasms, adn the skelaxin they gave me DOES NOT WORK. I'm just immune toallmeds and susceptible toall injuries and illnesses. I wish I could agree with everyone that I'm just a hypochondriac, but if you FELT the pain I feel (or was as clumsy as I am), you would seriously be bitching way more than I EVER let on anymore.

I'm just going to have to force myself toput it on God, because I can't do it. But I have tol. And, Iwill. And, I'll be damned if I'm still going to join the Peace Corps or something of a similar nature - pain and suffering be damned. There are people out there who are starving to death or dying because of disease. I think I could manage to help someone else out, coming from my privleged American life.

One rant and I'm out:

This shit is hurting so badly, I feel like I'm going to pass out.



But, don't tell anyone.

*shhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Ever wondered....?

Have you ever seen the inside of a puppy mill?

Me neither, except through pictures:

*Incompleted*