I'm Working on my Post-Doc

At least, attempting to come to terms with my current life, post-doctor-appointment. I went to see the doctor Tuesday, and after a wonderfully painful exam, recounting the events of the previous day, and explaining that I'm in near-constant pain, she said those magic words: "I have no idea what's wrong."

Neat.

Actually, not so neat. I'm not presenting any outward physical manifestations that lead her to understand what's going on, so as a stop-gap measure, she's prescribed some medication and told me to call back to book another appointment to take place in a couple of weeks.

I understand that, in light of not presenting visible symptoms, she's not sure why I'm in pain. I just wish she'd said something more along the lines of let's schedule some tests to make sure X, Y, and Z are all okay. She didn't say that, however, so I'm still hurting, in spite of the medication. The one hypothesis she did offer was that I'm in a cycle of pain, or in other words, I had a physical reason to be hurting at one point that might have been visible, but it's disappeared. The trauma from that disappeared reason may have affected the tissues around it that are responding by constantly sending pain signals.

Okay, I can buy that.

Maybe.

But I'm not satisfied with it.

On a brighter note, Thursday is the office gift-exchange. Mrs. Robinson introduced us to an interesting concept in gift exchanges: instead of buying gifts for each other, we've all bought gifts for one person - whose name we drew out of the boss' hat - and the gift is something we think that person would have liked as a child.

The toys are going to a charity that provides after-school programs for children that live near Fair Park and that live in poverty. According to the center's director, the children will occasionally wander up around supper time asking if they have any food, because they're hungry and there's no food at home and no parent around to feed them, and in the middle of winter they have no jackets, no sweaters, only short-sleeved T-shirts with holes in them. As a result, I also bought a bunch of clothes that I think Scooter - my giftee - would have liked: jeans, a red shirt with blue stripes, a grey shirt with Marvel superheroes all over it, a sweatshirt, and underwear. I opted not to buy awesome Underoos, but only because there were fewer pairs in a package that cost more than the plain white ones.

I can't wait to see the look on Scooter's face when he pulls out a package of BVDs. Should be priceless.

Busy Busy Bee

This week is hectic, for me. At least, it feels hectic.

Tuesday afternoon, I will be going to a client's home to study the architectural detailing. Her house was built by my employer a couple of years ago, and Oldsmobile considers it to be his "best house." I will be using some of the same details on my current project. I am also supposed to meet with The Boss to discuss the interior architectural details for the project on which I'm working.

Tuesday evening, I am having dinner with some family friends.

Wednesday afternoon, I have a meeting with my current clients, who are by all accounts a family of very tall people. The counters and doors in their houses are all taller than those in average homes for this reason. Apparently, one member of the family cannot walk through a standard 6'8" door without bonking his head. I am intrigued by the giant clients. Yes, that is intended to be a poor rhyme.

Wednesday evening, I intend to scout the locations of some apartments I've found on the Internet. I have a list written up in my purse, just waiting for me to go search them out.

Thursday evening, I am speaking at a charity fundraiser, at which I will be introduced to Brooke Shields. I speak often at events for the charity. As is to be expected, I am now obsessing over what I will wear. Because I am newly re-employed, and because I am trying to save money, I intend to recycle something I already own. I just don't know what I will be recycling, yet. I will also most likely have to change in the bathroom at work before I go, which will be interesting, unless I can get into the unused office space our firm leases to use it for a changing room. I think its blinds are semi-transparent, though.

I always cry when I speak at fundraisers, and I've been an emotional wreck lately, given multiple facts that have recently come to light, so I'll just have to make sure I have a pretty handkerchief with me when I speak. I cut some of the stuff that brings out the waterworks in me (I'm adapting a previously given speech), but I don't really know how to deliver a light-hearted speech about children with cancer and maybe-dying*. The gallows humor I employed to get me through the ordeal of having cancer doesn't play well in front of a crowd that doesn't know me, or my ghastly sense of humor.

I guess I just won't wear mascara on my lower lashes so I don't have to worry about it running.

*In case you didn't know, yeah, I had cancer as a teenager.

(Creative Commons Sharealike Licensed Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons user Ed Uthman may be found at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Chronic_Lymphocytic_Leukemia.jpg)