‘Member the elated feeling I experienced after my tiara wearing doctor’s appointment?  Yeah I’d like to get back to that now.  Oh right, I was denied.  Yeah yeah, we’re going to appeal; blah blah blah.  

Doctor told me the other day (in reference to my back) that I’ll have to learn to live with pain.  I just blinked several times.  While I totally respect my physician and vice versa, well…  I just kept on blinking and staring.  First of all having never dealt with chronic back problems this came as a bit of a shock.  Second, it turns out my own theory of popping my back into place turns out to have been my demise.  

Mother had her legs sawed in half; there a people with rods in their spine and very large screws placed strategically within their bone structure.  How can lower back pain possibly be this debilitating?  I used think I was cold-hearted, kick ass strong.  I suffered through months of gall bladder attacks at 17 until they finally figured out the source.  Then I got to experience gall bladder surgery and let me tell ya:  Laparoscopic surgery wasn’t so easy-breezy eleven years ago while being performed in the Midwest.  I did have six smaller incisions, however one on my lower abdomen wound up being about five inches long.  That same day, a few hours later, I went to the bathroom and wiped my ass all by myself.  The next morning I dressed myself, including bending over and pulling up my pants.  I couldn’t sleep on my stomach for an entire month after that surgery.

Then there was the bounding out of bed just after the bypass surgery; numerous endoscopies while wide awake.  So is this real honest to God pain, or am I just totally wussing out?

Vicodin’s addictive, that’s nothing new.  But non-narcotic painkillers may as well be Tic-Tacs as far as I’m concerned.  If anything they’ve made my condition worse:  I may never shit again and all the oatmeal and Flaxmeal in the world can’t save me now.  Ultram’s only managed to make my head pound.  And even though I’m taking two Protonix a day now, someone is managing to make me nauseous.  So big whoop?  What’s wrong with being addicted to Vicodin if it keeps me functional, happy and pain free?

Insurance has denied my request for a revision.  Funny enough they stated in their letter that they felt the Biliopancreatic Diversion with Duodenal Switch would be much safer than a one hour operation bypassing more intestines.

Actually this letter came two days ago and I was the last one to find out.  This would explain why Mother was cranky and strung out on Ativan last night.

It’s such a conundrum.  I’m absolutely thrilled my revision isn’t going to be some nerve-racking, daunting procedure.  I’m also happy to announce that they won’t be ripping all my teeth out and replacing them with dentures; my gum problem isn’t even remotely as bad as I originally foretold; and the few lil spots on the tops of various teeth are actually just very recent cavities.  (Although the wisdom teeth are gonna have to be yanked, and the sooner the better.)

This is all great news and I can’t wait to get everything fixed, and yet the other part of me is taking a four year-old’s prone position; beating my fists, kicking my legs all the while screaming, “I don’t wanna!”

You go on ahead without me; I’ll catch up to ya later.

I’m too damn hormonal.  My premenstrual symptoms mirror the hormonal changes of a pregnant woman.  Or better yet: Eerily remind you of the Mothers who murdered their own children during a severe bout of post-partum depression.  Seriously, it’s like I’m trapped in someone else’s body and unable to escape for the next week or two.

Throw another medical procedure on the to-do list cuz I’m thisclose to having my uterus removed.