I don't even know where to start.
Yeah, so. Hi. It's been a while since I was here. I know.
Hm.
Okay...where did I leave off? I know I was bitching about my boobs hurting my back.
That has not really changed. Much. I went to the doctor for it twice. The first time, I saw my P.A., who prescribed me something called Flexeril. It turned me into a zombie. A pissed off one. Oh, yeah, and she also prescribed a course of steroids. I did not care so much about not liking the Flexeril, because the steroids helped a whole lot.
And then they wore off.
Along with the horrific back pain, there was the stress of the holidays (we wish you a broke and very blah Christmas! and a working New Year's!) and the person at the massage therapy school who called and called and said you need to put down your application fee of two hundred dollars now now Now Now NOW before the tuition rates go up! Now! HURRY!
AUGH!!
No pressure.
So I looked behind my ear and there was the two hundred dollars. Oh, wait! It wasn't behind my ear! It was off of my credit card.
Then there was the whole am I eligible for financial aid or did my medical bills ruin my credit too much? dance. Also completely stress-free, of course.
Right around the time when I found out that I was approved for the student loan, my back pain hit an all-time high and I started calling doctors (my regular doctor and my shrink), begging for SOMETHING ANYTHING PLEASE GOD JUST MAKE IT STOP.
My shrink was supremely unhelpful. My regular doctor gave me some Vicodin, because he is the BEST. Except I had to go see him and I have never had an appointment with him before, and I had a memory of him being an ass, so I was all tied up in knots over that. But then I saw him and he was very nice and has started a paper trail for me to get breast reduction surgery.
May I just say one thing about that? RAWK.
The fact that I didn't even have to bring it up? Was fabulous. I was so glad about that, I didn't even mind when he started writing, in his doctor-chicken-scratch handwriting, some "Diet Pearls." That is not a new low-cal drink, but rather, Helpful Hints for Fat Loss. And I just nodded and smiled and didn't even roll my eyes once, because what went right over the poor man's head is that I KNOW IT ALL. There is NOT ONE THING you can tell me about how to lose weight that I DON'T KNOW AND/OR HAVE NOT TRIED.
Eat off a salad plate.
(Erm. Okay. A salad plate is a good idea, but I already knew about it.)
It's all about the math!
(Calorie counting. I need a deficit of 500 calories a day to lose one pound a week! Because 3500 calories equals one pound! LIKE I DIDN'T KNOW THAT. Ooh, and I can either eat less or exercise more. I totally didn't know that either. It's good to have choices!)
Walk! Walk! Walk!
(Oh, THANK YOU. What a revelation!)
BAH. Um. Doctor? I know everything about weight loss. The problem is my BRAIN, not my STOMACH. It's all in my head. THAT'S WHY I'M IN THERAPY.
So he prescribed Skelaxin for the back pain, which he said is "less sedating" than Flexeril, but it knocked me out like I'd been hit over the head with a rubber mallet. Since I need something during the DAYTIME, that is actually not so much the answer to my problem. My work doesn't require much of me, but it does require me to be conscious.
Therefore, I decided I do not care if I look stupid. I took a leaf from my sister-in-law's book and bought tennis balls, a softball, and a pack of socks. From this, I created something called Two Tennis Balls In A Sock, and also, Softball In A Sock. I put them behind my back and maneuver them into position where I lean up against them and they mash into the knots in my muscles. And let me tell you something. They have worked better than ANY drug EVER has, and also? I can use them at work. And they don't put me to sleep. They may cause me to moan in complete and absolute ecstasy (seriously), but there is no sleeping involved. I don't even care when people walk through my office and say, "Hey, there's a ball behind your back."
Haw haw. Haw.
So until I have my boobage reduced and lifted, they will be my saving graces. Also, they are cheap. Score.
While all this has been going on, my dad had his fourth angioplasty. He also may have had a small stroke. He is okay--on a lot of medicine, some that makes him cold, and the stroke that he may have had caused no lasting damage. Right now that's all that matters and I don't really want to talk about it.
I know I don't want to end up like that. I don't want heart disease. I don't want any disease. There is already so much about my life that I regret; I don't want to add that to the list of Things You Could Have Prevented If You Had Just Gotten Up Off Your Lazy Ass.
The shrink put me on Adderall. Turns out I really do have A.D.D. Who knew? It does what it's supposed to do, despite the fact that it's a stimulant. I haven't had any anti-anxiety meds in about a month now...and the Adderall is the reason. It doesn't increase anxiety and it doesn't speed me up. It slows down my brain without slowing down the rest of me, so for the first time in my entire life, I am like, "Wow. So THIS is what normal feels like." There's no jumping from one thing to the next, no flashy-flashy slideshow inside my skull. I can concentrate. I have energy. It reduces my appetite, stops my cravings, though I have to be careful and space them out (I take two a day) to where the second pill doesn't wear off around seven and leave me grazing far into the night, but not take it so late that it renders my sleeping pill useless. I normally take it around 3pm on workdays, and that seems to be a good time.
Cymbalta is still working quite well. I took too many Flexeril one night last week and ended up sleeping for sixteen hours straight--didn't take a shower or anything, which is most unlike me--and forgot to take my nightly dose of Cymbalta. The next day I had a 2.5 hour panic attack. It was rad. So the lesson is: Don't take three Flexeril at once, not even if you have just been iced into the hotel where you work for three days straight, because you will forget to take your Cymbalta and then you will have a 2.5 hour panic attack the next day.
I'll bet you didn't see that one coming.
Hm.
Okay...where did I leave off? I know I was bitching about my boobs hurting my back.
That has not really changed. Much. I went to the doctor for it twice. The first time, I saw my P.A., who prescribed me something called Flexeril. It turned me into a zombie. A pissed off one. Oh, yeah, and she also prescribed a course of steroids. I did not care so much about not liking the Flexeril, because the steroids helped a whole lot.
And then they wore off.
Along with the horrific back pain, there was the stress of the holidays (we wish you a broke and very blah Christmas! and a working New Year's!) and the person at the massage therapy school who called and called and said you need to put down your application fee of two hundred dollars now now Now Now NOW before the tuition rates go up! Now! HURRY!
AUGH!!
No pressure.
So I looked behind my ear and there was the two hundred dollars. Oh, wait! It wasn't behind my ear! It was off of my credit card.
Then there was the whole am I eligible for financial aid or did my medical bills ruin my credit too much? dance. Also completely stress-free, of course.
Right around the time when I found out that I was approved for the student loan, my back pain hit an all-time high and I started calling doctors (my regular doctor and my shrink), begging for SOMETHING ANYTHING PLEASE GOD JUST MAKE IT STOP.
My shrink was supremely unhelpful. My regular doctor gave me some Vicodin, because he is the BEST. Except I had to go see him and I have never had an appointment with him before, and I had a memory of him being an ass, so I was all tied up in knots over that. But then I saw him and he was very nice and has started a paper trail for me to get breast reduction surgery.
May I just say one thing about that? RAWK.
The fact that I didn't even have to bring it up? Was fabulous. I was so glad about that, I didn't even mind when he started writing, in his doctor-chicken-scratch handwriting, some "Diet Pearls." That is not a new low-cal drink, but rather, Helpful Hints for Fat Loss. And I just nodded and smiled and didn't even roll my eyes once, because what went right over the poor man's head is that I KNOW IT ALL. There is NOT ONE THING you can tell me about how to lose weight that I DON'T KNOW AND/OR HAVE NOT TRIED.
Eat off a salad plate.
(Erm. Okay. A salad plate is a good idea, but I already knew about it.)
It's all about the math!
(Calorie counting. I need a deficit of 500 calories a day to lose one pound a week! Because 3500 calories equals one pound! LIKE I DIDN'T KNOW THAT. Ooh, and I can either eat less or exercise more. I totally didn't know that either. It's good to have choices!)
Walk! Walk! Walk!
(Oh, THANK YOU. What a revelation!)
BAH. Um. Doctor? I know everything about weight loss. The problem is my BRAIN, not my STOMACH. It's all in my head. THAT'S WHY I'M IN THERAPY.
So he prescribed Skelaxin for the back pain, which he said is "less sedating" than Flexeril, but it knocked me out like I'd been hit over the head with a rubber mallet. Since I need something during the DAYTIME, that is actually not so much the answer to my problem. My work doesn't require much of me, but it does require me to be conscious.
Therefore, I decided I do not care if I look stupid. I took a leaf from my sister-in-law's book and bought tennis balls, a softball, and a pack of socks. From this, I created something called Two Tennis Balls In A Sock, and also, Softball In A Sock. I put them behind my back and maneuver them into position where I lean up against them and they mash into the knots in my muscles. And let me tell you something. They have worked better than ANY drug EVER has, and also? I can use them at work. And they don't put me to sleep. They may cause me to moan in complete and absolute ecstasy (seriously), but there is no sleeping involved. I don't even care when people walk through my office and say, "Hey, there's a ball behind your back."
Haw haw. Haw.
So until I have my boobage reduced and lifted, they will be my saving graces. Also, they are cheap. Score.
While all this has been going on, my dad had his fourth angioplasty. He also may have had a small stroke. He is okay--on a lot of medicine, some that makes him cold, and the stroke that he may have had caused no lasting damage. Right now that's all that matters and I don't really want to talk about it.
I know I don't want to end up like that. I don't want heart disease. I don't want any disease. There is already so much about my life that I regret; I don't want to add that to the list of Things You Could Have Prevented If You Had Just Gotten Up Off Your Lazy Ass.
The shrink put me on Adderall. Turns out I really do have A.D.D. Who knew? It does what it's supposed to do, despite the fact that it's a stimulant. I haven't had any anti-anxiety meds in about a month now...and the Adderall is the reason. It doesn't increase anxiety and it doesn't speed me up. It slows down my brain without slowing down the rest of me, so for the first time in my entire life, I am like, "Wow. So THIS is what normal feels like." There's no jumping from one thing to the next, no flashy-flashy slideshow inside my skull. I can concentrate. I have energy. It reduces my appetite, stops my cravings, though I have to be careful and space them out (I take two a day) to where the second pill doesn't wear off around seven and leave me grazing far into the night, but not take it so late that it renders my sleeping pill useless. I normally take it around 3pm on workdays, and that seems to be a good time.
Cymbalta is still working quite well. I took too many Flexeril one night last week and ended up sleeping for sixteen hours straight--didn't take a shower or anything, which is most unlike me--and forgot to take my nightly dose of Cymbalta. The next day I had a 2.5 hour panic attack. It was rad. So the lesson is: Don't take three Flexeril at once, not even if you have just been iced into the hotel where you work for three days straight, because you will forget to take your Cymbalta and then you will have a 2.5 hour panic attack the next day.
I'll bet you didn't see that one coming.
posted by Lori at
6:25 PM
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