Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Chipping Away

It's really stupid. I chipped both of my front teeth today. The right one worse than the left, and in thinking I'd need crowns, I immediately called my dentist, whom I have not seen in a decade. I'm absolutely petrified of the dentist. It triggers all sorts of PTSD fears in me..being confined in a chair with a giant light on my face, with a man standing above me with instruments of torture, and I can't move. He took X-rays and said the chips weren't bad, and that he could fix them with fillings....on Monday. Today is Wednesday. The right one is very irritating and rubbing up against my inner lip. I was hoping to score some painkillers out of him, but he sent me home with Sensodyne toothpaste. I guess I could get some of that teething gel for babies to numb the area. That might help.

In other stupid news, tomorrow is the ear doctor appointment. I only got off my ditty bag to call for an appointment when I took a nap a couple of days ago in horrific pain in my right ear. The pain is getting worse. It's radiating to when I'm upright instead of just lying down. My GP found me an ENT who takes my insurance, so yay. If all goes well, I'll be doing the Woody Allen skipping and jumping down the street that he's healthy dance. If not, I'll probably die and no one will give a damn.

Strangest thing happened this morning. I was dead ass asleep, and was awakened by my phone ringing. It was 7:20 in the morning. Groggily, I grabbed the phone from under the covers just as the caller hung up. It was the hospital number. It would seem awfully odd that my GP would call me at such an ungodly hour to tell me he did the referral to the ear doctor (which he would email me about anyway), and it wasn't the ENT people, because they have a different phone # and called late this afternoon to confirm my appointment. Either the hospital dialed the wrong number, or someone important was trying to call me, but didn't leave a message. My wildest dreams were that it was Guy.

We haven't spoken in 5 months, other than me emailing him asking him to please refill my heart medication twice. I did, however, recently have Meg either text or email him a certain lyric from Dido's "White Flag." It was "And when we meet, which I'm sure we will, all that was there will be there still. I'll let it pass, and hold my tongue. And you will think that I've moved on." She said it was a message from me.

It's really a rather beautiful and sad song. But it hits the nail on the head. I'm not out to change his life. And I do understand if he can't talk to me anymore. But putting it into a grander perspective, I think it's a) because of his wife's ultimatum and b) because he did, in fact love me too much to keep me in his life and had to let me go. I just wish I knew what the truth was. 

Meg asked me if Guy would be at the hospital that early in the morning. Yes, he would've been. He does some rounds in the morning, and sees patients, and does heart procedures early in the morning. 

I keep having these recurring dreams where Craig (my ex-husband), Luke and I are going on vacation together, pack up and drive to our destination, and they both leave me there and the only one there is Guy. And they leave me a car, but I don't know how to get home. To me, anyway, that means there's unfinished business. These aren't lustful dreams whatsoever. I also had a dream recently that I was texting him my random banterings throughout the day (the ones he used to love to read) and he was responding like there was nothing wrong between us. I must admit I miss that...quite a bit. Rarely, I message POE with such stories on Facebook, but he doesn't even answer, so he's a dead shark. It all enhances my sense of isolation. Thankfully, BMF has been really responsive and charging forward as my partner-in-crime, but he has multiple responsibilities (more than Guy, even) and can't always communicate back immediately, but he always does. That was one of Guy's last points in our farewell conversation..."You'll always have BMF...." And I will. 

School is going ok, but not as well as I'd hoped upon entering Argosy, still with a lot of work to do to finish those fucking Adler classes in which I got incompletes. I'm falling behind at Argosy too. I'm reminded of this Warren Zevon lyric, from "The French Inhaler," which is "How are you gonna make your way in this world when you weren't cut out for workin', and you just can't concentrate? And you always show up late?"

(No, I don't plan on becoming a prostitute.) 

"Loneliness and frustration...we both came down with an acute case." It must be contagious. Thank you, Doctor.

It didn't help that I passed by his apartment building on my way home from Argosy the other night. Hi, trigger!

Yes, I'm still depressed. I wish something would lift me out of it, or give me some type of thoughts other than my son to look forward to. Especially if I have in operable brain tumor! Because that would suck balls! 

The holidays are coming. The most dreaded time of the year for me, I'm afraid. It starts with Thanksgiving and doesn't remit until after the new year. The most I have to look forward to is meeting my nephew's incredible boyfriend, whom I already love and we haven't even met in person. But for the last several years, I've searched high and low to get Guy something or somethings spectacular. I really tried hard to impress him and make him happy. BMF? He's easy to shop for. My girlfriends? Pretty easy. My family gives me a list, so no biggie. But Guy? Le Estrango Mysterioso. I used all my creative energy to get him things nobody else would think to get him. And I'm not used to *not* having that as part of my holidays anymore. 

Still, it ended. Badly, Without closure. I want so much to be his friend again, his buddy. 

Uh oh. Luke's microwaving downstairs. I best see what's going on. Hopefully, I'll dream more peacefully tonight. I can't imagine it getting any more sorrowful than it already is.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Thank you, Dr. Genius. I'll Call In the Morning.

The characters Woody Allen portrays are typically notorious hypochondriacs. He always thinks he's dying from some dreaded illness. And it's usually nothing. But he always thinks he's dying. Oh my, yes.

And then it hit me, suddenly, right after I got off the phone with my doctor just now. See, I've been having these ever-increasing, terrible earaches just in my right ear for like 3 months which wake me up from sleep, whether it's at night or when I'm taking a nap (which is, like, always). It's this sharp, shooting pain. The frequency is increasing to 4-5 times a week. It goes away once I'm upright, But sometimes when I'm waking up in the morning, my vision is like a movie reel. It's shifting up and down quickly, usually when I have these earaches, when I'm looking at my iPhone and cringing that yet again, I'd slept until 11:00 in the morning. Otherwise, it's not throwing off my equilibrium or impairing my vision any worse than it's already impaired.

Such so happened last night, and I was so a) awake and b) aggravated, I emailed my doctor. (The capacity to email doctors with questions has to be THE worst advance in medical technology ever invented for patients like me, who ALWAYS have something wrong with them.) 

I am a Woody Allen character.


In my email, I said this: "I'm getting convinced I either have some type of disgusting, lurking parasite in my head or a brain tumor." 

When, usually, the end result is more like this:

I don't have a cold. I haven't had a cold in a very long time. It's not my allergies. SOMETHING HAS INVADED MY HEAD. The doctor looked in my ear a couple of months ago and said I didn't have an ear infection or a build up of wax. He couldn't figure out why I had these earaches.

I'm all behind in my therapy notes and paperwork, I have a residency weekend at school for a class all weekend, and my depressive, at least....was one of those mixed-mood episodes (ultradian cycling, where you go from one mood to another in a matter of hours) where I either just want to sleep and cry all day, or I literally laugh at everything. EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING.

It's like the maniacal laughter in the background of Pink Floyd's "Brain Damage/Eclipse." I cackle.

To myself.

The lunatic is in my head. Or the brain tumor. Or maybe just a huge chunk of wax. I'll call for an appointment tomorrow.