okay.

so remember back in october, when i thought i kept getting UTIs. but then it turned out to be this terrible, chronic problem? maybe you don't. but i remember it like it was just yesterday. well, last saturday i started to feel like i was getting a UTI again. but now that i have IC, it's common to feel that way when you are "flaring." just to be safe, i went into the doctor on wednesday to leave a sample. the nurse said it looked okay but she sent it off to be cultured. she said she'd call on friday to tell me if i needed an antibiotic. in the meantime, i've been sleeping with a heating pad between my legs (it looks a lot less sexy than it sounds), guzzling water and spending a few nights in tears.

the nurse called today. i do have an infection. time to start 500mg of the antibiotic for five days.

i can't even believe this.

confession.

i ate white chocolate for breakfast.

pissed.

i've been in what is called an 'IC flare" since monday. today is by far the worst day yet. it's hard to even want to eat on days like this, but i was talked into going to this sandwich place i really like. well, it was sort of my idea. but anyway, i like the company of the person who wanted to go there, so i went. i ordered a sandwich the way i can eat it. the way i've ordered it before. four times. in the last two months. specifically, oil but NO vinegar. i ate 1/4 of it before i realized they had poured vinegar all over it. VINEGAR. a word that used to fill me with joy, now sends me into a panic. my bladder can't handle vinegar. even smelling it makes me get in the fetal position.

oh wow, my life has suddenly turned into one i thought i'd have at 95. pretty soon i'll be buying boxes of depends and talking about my hot flashes.

a little banksy for your wednesday.

just another tuesday night.

so i'm sitting on the couch, working. i've been working since 7:30 a.m. that's 13 hours. i'm sitting and i'm editing copy that was translated to english from spanish and i'm slaving and toiling and then, a friend, who shall remain nameless, sends me an instant message to remind me that 'one tree hill' was on. omg, i was totally watching american idol. but, um, screw that. i switched. i'm 'one tree hill' loyal. so, i'm sitting on the couch, eating a salad with my ic-friendly "dressing" of sesame oil, olive oil and ricotta cheese - and i'm watching the cheesiest episode of 'one tree hill' ever. if you saw it, you know what i mean.

speaking of ic-friendly, who knew carrot juice mixed with vanilla vodka was so good.

raising awareness.

this link made my heart sing.

notes to self.

1. only watch "intervention" on A&E if you're in the mood to be depressed.
2. despite its fanfare, westport flea market does not have the best burger in the city.
3. if you are forced to stop running for a week, you'll lose weight. enjoy the time off and quit worrying about what you're eating.
4. physical therapy always causes pain. learn to expect it.
5. sometimes, dinner with dad is the best medicine.
6. especially when he's paying.
7. still, chronic pain disorders suck ass.
8. when it hurts, there is no pretending it away.
9. cherish good days.
10. the person who makes you fried catfish because it's on your IC diet is priceless.
11. if they buy you fresh veggies for nutrients and force you to consume ridiculous amounts of carrot juice, it means they care. a lot.
12. carrot juice is better than you thought.

irony.

i just bought one of those inflatable exercise balls. it's supposed to be good for my physical therapy. um, the act of inflating it was a workout- one that took 20 minutes.

i can't eat anything but hamburgers.

that's right. when i go out to eat it's the only 'ic-safe' food on most menus. so, i'm stuck consuming way too many medium cooked, half-pounds of ground beef. they taste good, but i miss sushi. and until now, pigs would fly before i'd order a hamburger when i was out.

obviously, i ate one today. and last friday. and the week before that. i've become a regular kansas city hamburger connoisseur. so far, 810 zone is winning. houston's burger is flavorless. One 80 has okay sliders, but they don't understand that "medium" means "show me a little blood please."

okay, and randomly, i'm watching american idol again. you're shocked, right? and anyway, paula abdul's new video just premiered. and randy jackson is in it. playing the base guitar or something and um, can i just say that there are no words to describe what i just witnessed. okay, maybe there are some words. like, WTF are both of them thinking.

i'm watching american idol and it's boring.

a z-pack full of a few little antibiotic pills is, well, a miracle. totally taking care of the strep. huge. relief.

heating pads are also miracles. for totally different reasons.

and spell check. i thank the lord for spell check. but i'm annoyed. because the spell-check function here on blogger has not been working. for two weeks. so, i'm sure my posts are riddled with errors. because here's the truth - i can't spell.

i know, i'm a writer. it should come with the territory. but it doesn't. not when the writer blood that pumps through me came through an education system that used computers with a spell-check function working in even the oldest version of microsoft works.

yes, microsoft works - not so much a miracle.

and now we've come full circle. sort of.

sleep smiling, internet.

better than mine.

photo credit: crystal baker.

home sick.

i'm home sick today. what does that mean in my world? um, i slept until 9:30. then, i put on some sweats, a wool hat, a coat, brushed my teeth and went to physical therapy. i had to. while there, i promised my physical therapist that i'm not contagious. i'm not sure if that's true. so, i white lied in an effort to keep correcting my IC. i can't miss a week of physical therapy just because of a little (read: a painful, terrible, horrible) case of strep throat.

when i returned home, i cleaned. i shouldn't have, i know. but i can't be stuck at home when home is messy. it makes my head spin. so, i cleaned. then, i made oven fries. because, dear reader, i've lost 6 pounds since last week. and we all know i don't need to be losing any pounds. my pants are hanging off of me and people are noticing. so, i need to force the food past the swollen tonsils - as best as i can at least.

while making said oven fries, i set off the smoke detector in my loft. the piercing sound comes from a vessel that's mounted about 15 feet up, which doesn't allow for sick me to do anything about the loud buzzing. so, i just had to "live with it" until the smoke cleared.

now, i'm watching crappy daytime television. i'd rather be at work.

did i just say that?

and the verdict...

i have strep throat.

envy me.

not because my tonsils are covered in white. or because the doctor told me to go to urgent care because they didn't have any appointments available today. or because i drove all the way to urgent care to discover it doesn't open until 5. no, don't envy me for those things. envy me because i just got tickets to see radiohead.

before i got sick, i won some stuff.

this weekend, i went to the addy's with my team from work. we had some stuff up for awards.

it was a black tie event. but creatives don't really like to dress up in general. this is how some of my team dressed. looking sharp, guys.

and this is how my boss dressed.

this is what it looked like when andy and i won. my dress was a lucky find at marshall's. people asked me if it was vintage. ha.

after we won, we were happy.

throughout the night, andy and i won three together.

i mostly like that the addy is wearing a bowtie.

sick.sick. sick.

i'm sick. sore throat. headache. my body aches.

if this is the flu, i don't remember ever feeling this bad.

better than i can say it, lyrics by david crowder.

I am full of earth
You are heaven’s worth
I am stained with dirt,
prone to depravity
You are everything that is bright and clean
The antonym of me
You are divinity
But a certain sign of grace is this
From a broken earth flowers come up
Pushing through the dirt

You are everything that is bright and clean
And You’re covering me with Your majesty
And the truest sign of grace was this
From wounded hands redemption fell down
Liberating man

You are holy.
I want to be holy like You are
But the harder I try the more clearly can I feel
The depth of our fall and the weight of it all
And so this might could be the most impossible thing
Your grandness in me making me clean

So here I am, all of me
Finally everything
I am wholly Yours
I am full of earth and dirt and You

truth.

how would i know the morning if i knew not midnight?

sleep didn't come.

lyrics from mewithout you.

You might sleep,
but you'll never dream
Onward!
Progress!
Or so it seems.
You might laugh,
but you'll never smile.
Come on in and waste away awhile.
When dreams of rings of flowers fade and blur
Giving way to that familiar ill
come over and part your soft white curtains
Where I'm waiting for you still
If you'd unlatch the window,
If you'd let me lay there on your floor
If you'd give me another chance,
If you'd forget the pain I caused before
No use in saying how I'm sorry
So I'm trying not to speak
I'll sing in silence,
lay beside you
With my face there on your cheek
My stomach swears there's comfort there
In the warmth of the blankets on your bed
My stomach's always been a liar
-I'll believe it's lies again.

dying.

my heart stopped beating
as i sat on baby blue
with my feet dangling above concrete that needed to be cleaned.
it stopped. suddenly.
and so it will remain, i suppose.
abandoned.
longing for obtuse things.
splayed wide, aching.
bleeding .
dropping thick red splats wherever it goes
on concrete
and in parking lots
and down highways and paths lined with brush
– a crumb trail meant for only one.
leading back to this wound that will either
be rubbed with salt
or
stitched with cautious hands.

but this waiting room is empty.
the tables don’t feature magazines
or televisions displaying medical speak.
no, there is only room for one
as the clock ticks onward
but time stands still.

smiling.

i. love. paul flinders. period.

i mean, i love his work.

i don't know him.

p.p.s.

i'm watching american idol. tear. jerker.

also, i have to go to an event this weekend. i tried on the dresses that are in my closet that match the event's dressiness. um, nothing really fit.

wtf.

i HATE this damn IC.

p.s.

this week is giving me zits.

i'm a tool.

i was driving to my physcial therapy appointment today. late morning. in the middle of a client nightmare. and i was stressed and anxious and overwhelmed and i was driving too fast. because i didn't really even have time to leave work. but i had to. and i did. and just as i was regretting leaving, the perfect song came on the radio. i don't even know which tool song it was. but it fit. and for whatever reason, i turned it up as loud as i could. and i sang along. to tool. yeah, i know.

hi.

so today i was watching tv and a boflex commercial came on. and it was all the usual boflex bullshit. about working out only three times a week for these incredible results and you know, it will be the last piece of exercise equipment you'll ever buy. and all that type of stuff. but then, the ridiculously buff star of the commercial actually said, "i gave all of my fat clothes to my fat friends."

and anyway, um. yeah. he said that. someone thought it would be a good idea to write that line into his script. and some director out there coached him how to say it. and then some post production guy was like, "yeah, that is a nugget of genius, let's keep that in!" and then the creator of boflex was like, "this commercial is going to revolutionize my life." and anyway, i know several people who have purchased a boflex. and you know what the boflex does all day long? it collects dust. in garages or attics or basements. and i think those boflex purchasers might be holding onto their "fat clothes." in the event that they can't dedicate the actual time and attention to their very expensive, very large, and extremely complicated piece of mail-ordered equipment.

today, i'd rather be there.

right now.

i'm watching mu suck at basketball. the game may not be over, but it is in my mind. so i'm going to go running. 6 miles. i'm training again. for a race in april. and anyway, it's sunny and warmish outside. perfect running weather for february.

i've been pretty lazy today. but last night, i was not lazy. and i learned that ernie biggs, the dueling piano bar in westport, is totally not my scene. it's also a k-state bar, which makes it worse. i mean, if your all about watching very drunk ex-sorority girls do the adult version of the hokey pokey, then maybe you'd like it there. but i was unamused.

good things.

so i'm down in the dumps. that's obvious. i need a reminder of the good things in my life. so, here it goes...

1. i can still run.
2. i have a new running buddy and can finally run outside at night again.
3. it's been a year since i've had a running injury.
4. i am an aunt.
5. i'm not allergic to my favorite fluffy white cat.
6. i can still eat white chocolate.
7. today is friday.
8. i've been on the weight-gain causing pill for a month and haven't really gained yet.
9. i can still drink vanilla-flavored vodka.
10. i can still eat feta cheese.
11. i ate pizza for the first time in two years and it didn't give me a migraine.
12. i'm learning new truths about god. every day.
13. there is a supply of werther's originals for me almost everywhere i go.
14. i, obviously, like to eat.
15. for the first time after a haircut, it didn't seem too short.
16. did i mention today is friday?

gasping.

So I’m looking at these pictures online. Of bladders with interstitial cystitis. And I’m getting emotional. It’s coming from somewhere deep inside and I’m looking at these photos of other people’s bladders and I’m seeing what I saw on the computer monitor at the doctor’s office on Tuesday. And I’m losing it. You can’t tell by my face or by the way my hair looks nice today. But inside, deep beneath my skin’s protective layer, I’m dying. Absolutely dying. Because those pictures are of sick bladders. And my bladder looks just like those. And here’s the thing — it might not go away. Ever. And I’m in denial. I mean, thick denial. I acknowledge the disease with my lips, but in my heart I try to feel normal. I convince myself that I can have that piece of chocolate or that I should buy a bottle of wine for tomorrow’s dinner. As the weekend approaches I start to daydream about what restaurants I want to grace with my presence. I think about the sushi and soy sauce I’m craving and about how having one too many dirty martinis sounds appealing. But I don’t even know how I’ll feel tomorrow. Will my bladder be flaring or will I feel an unnerving calm. A calm that always tricks me into pretending this condition away. But I saw the pictures. There's is no more pretending.

to love.

there is a room i remember
in dreams on lucid nights
and during the day
when my mind wanders
to places i used to go.

...drifting to sunnier spots
colored in hues of coral
and eggshell -
carpeted in burnt red;
a choice that never made sense
to my descerning 6-year-old eye.

the furniture didn't match either.
dark couch
old television stand
wooden rocker in the corner draped in
that sky blue afgan grandma made
for the arrival of baby sister.

the sister i prayed for and then
grew jealous of
when the room we shared was too full of teddy bears
and pink
because all i wanted was a "teenager" room -
void of little girl nursery stripes and floral patterns.

oh, if i could have seen past lace pillow shams
and 4-year-old tantrums.
because now, baby sister is my closest friend
and that room with the coral walls
and the television
and the abundance of windows
was beneath the room filled with pastels
and dolls
and barbie houses.

it was neutral ground.
and it's where i learned how to love
and how not to.

and, exhale.

i don't even know what to write about today. i'm still catching my breath from yesterday. i'm in pain today. i think it may be a reaction to the test they did. and i'm also anxious and moody. and i don't think i'm adjusting well to the medication. i feel sort of nothing like myself.

and then part of me is angry. at my bladder. at my body. at my six-week-old self with a double hernia that needed surgery. at the doctor who sewed me up. at the scar tissue that has formed, making my current situation more complicated and strange.

i'm also angry at my urologist who, for years, told me that i was imagining things. and that what i felt was just a normal feeling. i'm angry at my old doctor who kept prescribing me antibiotics to treat urinary tract infections even though the cultures never grew any bacteria. i'm mad at myself for not being as proactive as i needed to be. for eating too many acidic foods. for having too tense muscles. for letting strees get to me physically.

and i'm upset with god, too. i want to trust that i'll be okay. and that everything happens for a reason. i want to jump for joy that i finally have a name for my pain. a diagnosis for this condition. something to hold on to when i feel like shit and i can't even take a step without cringing. but i'm not jumping for anything. not today. today, i'm swaddled in the most comfortable blanket. and i just need to feel its warmth.


.....
and also, blogger spell check is not working. and i'm bleary eyed, so please give me a break in that department.

...okay not sure how to breathe right now.

i had a scope in my bladder today. i was half laying, half sitting in this barbaric-looking chair and to my right was a computer monitor. when i could take just about no more pain, i looked to over to see a sad, sick-looking bladder wall on the screen. a healthy bladder wall looks like the whites of the eye. mine looked like a blood-shot eye. is it ironic that i started to cry when i saw it?

it means that i have IC in my bladder. i also have this muscle problem. the doctor said that 90 percent of my problem is muscle related. and that if i just keep going to physical therapy and taking my medication, i could possibly beat this thing. but the medication isn't easy to take.

one, that acts like a coating for the bladder, is expensive. and it causes hair loss. another, is a muscle relaxer and it causes your metabolism to slow down. and the other is a very low-dose medication to help with the pain and it causes weight gain, too.

i'm not quiet about the fact that in high school, i struggled with anorexia. the last thing i need is to be on a medication that causes weight gain.

on top of all of this, i still need to try to stick to this terribly, boring diet. because 75 percent of IC patients' symptoms are made worse based on the food they consume.

there is a chance i could beat this. that my bladder wall could end up looking normal again. that i could stop having the pain and the discomfort and the constant, nagging anxiety that it's going to start hurting again. but it's not guaranteed. and right now, that scares the hell out of me.

today.

today, i learn how much my bladder is involved in this issue. i figure out if the inside of it looks like hamburger. or if it looks okay. i'll know if i have to stick to this diet, or if i can go out for spicy thai food followed by smoked salmon, chocolate and wine.



it's sorta like i'm discovering my fate. today. at 3:00. and i'm scared for what the future might hold.

truth.

His heart beats our names.

double ugh.

yesterday i bought some pants. when i purchased them, they fit. today, they seem too tight. um, yeah. wtf.

note to self.

don't arrive on the plaza two hours before your haircut because you want to window shop. or maybe call ahead to find out if anthropologie is having a sale. because if they are, you should avoid it. also avoid the home section of urban outfitters. and don't go into victoria's secret either.
your haircut is expensive enough.

got it?

thanks.

missing him.

hiding behind the red pillows.