For the past 10 years, or so, my neurologists have treated my migraines with the front-line medications in the war on migraines: anti-depressants.

About 2 years ago, my neurologist referred me to a psychiatrist to manage the anti-depressant prescriptions, because he knows more about them than she does. It's a common thing to do with patients who have intractable, daily migraines.

My "shrink" put me through a few different regimens of medications, depending on the side-effects the drugs caused. Oh, that one causes me to have tremors, so I can no longer needlepoint?

Next.

Oh, this one is causing constipation, which happens to be a migraine trigger for me?

Next.

Oh, that one obliterates any interest you have in physical intimacy?

Next.

It's a process, and at times can be a very frustrating one.

And then, back in January, the side effects became overwhelming.

I was the most depressed I'd ever been in my life: I had no desire for intimacy, which caused feelings of guilt; I'd gained 30 pounds since my wedding and hated the way I looked; I felt like my presence on earth was really just a burden to everyone, but particularly to my husband, who had to deal with the brunt of my migraines and their effect on my moods.

It was bad, folks.

As a teenager, I sometimes self-harmed - cutting myself when I was particularly anxious or depressed, because the sight of the blood calmed me, somehow. It was a physical manifestation of what I was feeling. Following my cancer diagnosis, I stopped completely, and hadn't ever had the urge to do it again. Until January of 2018. Fortunately, a card from my niece on the refrigerator declaring "I love you SO SO MUCH!" caught my eye as I made for the knife block, and I turned around and went back to bed, skin intact.

Whenever you see ads for anti-depressants on TV, there's always a disclaimer about how they can, in some patients, cause suicidal thoughts.

Yeah, that disclaimer is aimed at me.

My psychiatrist realized how depressed I was and took me off the drug I'd been taking, without success, for about 6 months, and he gave me another drug to try out. I had an allergic reaction to the new drug, and stopped taking it, meaning that I was 100% off anti-depressants when I went back to see him a month later.

I was an entirely different person: happier, more cheerful in outlook, and able to take a step back from all of the horrible thoughts I'd been having and to realize that things aren't so awful, after all. In fact, they're pretty wonderful, despite the migraines.

My migraines aren't as debilitating as they were while I was on anti-depressants. I still have them, but I'm still able to function to some degree, meaning I can usually still make a healthy dinner for my husband and me despite the migraine.

I've also lost all the weight I gained since meeting my husband, which amounts to about 45 pounds. If I tried on my wedding dress, today, it would probably just fall off.

The last drugs we tried before I quit taking any had weight gain as a side-effect, and without them in my system, I no longer have the urge to eat as many sweets, or to binge on snacks. I'd tried to lose the weight while I was still on anti-depressants, not realizing that it would be nigh on impossible.

So now, we're trying to manage my migraines by being more careful about what I eat and practicing healthier sleeping habits: I wear a sleep mask at night, try to go to sleep at the same time every day, and have an evening "ritual" that I follow, which involves a warm bath, reading, taking melatonin, etc., though we joke that there's a goat slaughtered in there, somewhere, too.

I'm still having more days with migraine than not, but the migraines aren't weighing so heavily on me, now. Add to that the fact that my leather pants fit again, and things are looking up.

Sometimes, the best drug for what ails you is no drug at all.

Like an 18th Century Invalid

About 3 months ago, I decided to hang an IKEA shelving system in one of our Guest Room closets.

No problem, I thought, I've done this many times before. How could anything possibly go wrong?

After climbing up and down a stepladder all day, I went to bed, and awoke the next morning with a terrible pain in my left foot.

I considered going to the ER - you don't mess around with feet! - but was dissuaded from going by my husband. "Maybe it's just a sprain, or something, or a cramped muscle. Just keep off it for a couple of days, and it will get better, I bet," he said.

I didn't go to the ER. I waited a week, and then went to a doc-in-a-box clinic, where they took some X-rays.

Nothing showed up on the X-rays, so the doctor told me it was probably a sprain, and - like my husband suggested - told me to ice it and not walk around too much.

I like to be busy. If I feel well enough to be up and about, then I will be up and about, damn it, because days where I feel great are not ones to be wasted.

I went to IKEA the next day.

My foot hurt horribly that night. And for the next week.

I waited another week, and made an appointment with a podiatrist, because "walking it off" was obviously not working.

I chose a podiatrist whose website stressed conservative care, versus the ones I saw whose home pages discussed their cutting edge surgical skills. Surgery should be a last resort, in my not-so-humble opinion.

The podiatrist took X-rays, and nothing was visible. After quizzing me about my activities, and hearing that I'd been climbing a stepladder, he said that he thought it was a stress fracture.

He, being a foot expert, told me that if it was a stress fracture, it might not show up on an X-ray film for a few weeks, if ever, which explains why the doc-in-a-box didn't see a break. He gave me a choice: he could either give me a boot/cast to wear for 3-4 weeks, and we could see what happened, or he could have me get an MRI of my foot to determine 100% if it was a stress fracture.

I went for the boot. Sure, 70% of the MRI would be covered by insurance, but that's still possibly a few hundred dollars, and the boot cost $30 (after insurance).

After three weeks, I walked around without my boot/cast and felt great. No foot pain!

At least, while I was walking around sans boot, there wasn't any pain. That night, however, I was in a lot of pain.

I hadn't worn shoes while walking around. The doctor had neglected to mention that I have to always wear padded shoes while walking on hard surfaces, like our wood and tile floors.

Oh.

I re-fractured my foot.

Ow.

Another 6 weeks passed, and I felt secure enough to go sans-boot, again. I wore some comfortable, sensible-heeled boots for a day, and felt fine.

Then, I wore my adorable leopard-print ballet flats, and all (foot) hell broke loose.

I immediately put the boot back on, and called the podiatrist again.

A second round of X-rays showed that there was definite healing where I'd fractured my metatarsal - the bone there is thicker, now - but there were no visible breaks.

"Maybe there's just a spot that hasn't healed yet," he said. "It's been 10 weeks since I first saw you; insurance won't cover a bone growth stimulator until 3 months, give or take a few days. Let's give you a new boot" (mine was worn out, and the cushioning air bladder no longer held air) "and see you back in two weeks. Also, you might want to try to completely stay off of it, if possible. If you have to be up and around a lot, try using crutches or a knee walker."

Determined to be careful, I rented a knee walker, and I've been using it if I have to walk a long distance. Mostly, though, I've been camped out on the living room sofa, with my foot elevated and an ice pack strapped to my foot, trying to keep it from swelling too much.

Meanwhile, my poor, wonderful husband is doing what he always does: stripping old latex paint off the woodwork throughout the house, patching cracks in walls, and generally slaving away to make our house a home.

While I lie on the sofa. Drinking La Croix and playing games on my phone.

Yes, I feel guilty.

But, you know.

Doctor's orders.

Drying Out

Houston has recently been inundated by sever storms, leaving parts of the city flooded. Three days ago, I watched on TV as civilians rescued their fellow Houstonians using their duck-hunting pirogues (flat-bottomed boats, for those not raised in the South).

I also saw the "most cowboy" thing possible for a cowboy to cowboy: roping a calf that was swimming desperately in deep water, pulling the calf into a boat, and hog-tying it so it wouldn't flail and capsize the boat. I tried to find video of the most amazingly cowboy thing ever, but failed. I have failed not only you, Dear Reader, but all the cowboys in the Houston area who spent the last several days roping cattle and horses in an effort to save them. They deserve to be viewed online and admired for their sheer... cowboyness.

Which is now a word.

Really.

I'm sure the OED will add it any day, now.

As the city of Houston attempts to dry out (hampered by the thunderstorm raging outside my house as I type), I'm also drying out, in a number of ways.

I'm drying out literally, because I had to take all of 6 steps from the car door to our front door in the pouring rain, after I went out for breakfast.

I'm also drying out metaphorically, because I've stopped taking the narcotic pain killers that have kept me going for the past few years.

About a year ago, I began thinking about it. I have a wonderful sister who is unable to take opiates (which we discovered after an emergency appendectomy back in 2008). They make her incredibly nauseated and ill. See as we have a lot of the same intolerances to foods, I began to wonder if, perhaps, we shared an intolerance to opiate pain medications.

"But, Ms. StrainedConsciousness," you say, "if you began considering this a year ago, why are you just now quitting the medicine?"

That's a good question, Dear Reader, and the answer is: fear.

I've been taking them because I feared pain, and was scared that quitting the pills would lead to an automatic resurgence in pain.

After a full year battling migraines, sciatica, and neuropathy stemming from the chemotherapy I had as a teenager, I decided to suck it up, and I found myself discussing the idea of quitting pain pills with my Pain Management doctor a week ago.

As a result of our discussion, she wrote me a prescription for 10 pills (as opposed to the usual scrip for 84), and told me how to wean myself off of them.

For the past week, I've decreased the amount taken: 1 pill per day for 3 days, then a half pill for 4 days, and finally, Tuesday night, no pills at all that day.

Before quitting the narcotics, I was typically taking a full pill every night before bed, and then sleeping for 9-11 hours. I'd wake up groggy, and usually fall back asleep for a couple of hours after 30-45 minutes of perusing the internet.

For the past two days, after not taking any pain medication the night before, I've awakened after 7-8 hours of sleep feeling refreshed and awake.

It's amazing.

I feel more lucid during the day, and I fall asleep more easily at night.

I'm still using muscle relaxants to help with spasms in my neck, shoulders, and piriformis, but mostly extended-release ones that don't make me groggy. Before I go to sleep at night - and if I have a migraine during the day - I'll take 1-2 of the "acute" muscle relaxants my doctor still prescribes (these render me unable to drive, as I'm considered impaired, so I try not to take them during the day, if I can help it).

The weather this past week has been a real challenge to my migraines, since rainy weather and high humidity tend to set them off. Despite the pain (and the fact that there isn't an acute migraine medication out there that works for me), I've managed to survive without taking pain meds during the day.

So far, so good.

There's the possibility that the withdrawal symptoms can continue to rear their ugly heads for the next two months, but I'm being vigilant, and also listening when my body says, "You know what? I know you really want to go for a walk with your husband and dog, but you can't. You're dizzy and your blood pressure just dropped. Go home, while you still can."

So for now, I'm waiting for my body and the weather to stop freaking out.

Hopefully sooner, rather than later.

Wide Awake

It's a little before 1:00 am on a Saturday morning, and I can't sleep.

I've never been "a good sleeper." As I've aged, the insomnia has only worsened. In theory, there's a physiological reason for it: a calcified pineal gland, preventing my body from properly synthesizing melatonin. So I take melatonin at night, so I can sleep.

Tonight, however, my insomnia is super awful. I'm wired. I need to be making, or doing, or something, but I don't know what I want to make.

I tried reading, but I'm not 100% into the book I'm reading, and I couldn't force myself to continue slogging through it in my current frame of mind.

I tried writing, but I've been bogged down lately on that, and am having trouble pushing myself forwards in my story. I don't know how George R.R. Martin does it, frankly.

I tried to order wedding photos online, but had trouble with my account, so that failed, too.

And I'd love to be organizing our office, re-styling the bookshelves and cleaning out the boxes of wedding ephemera that will go in our album (once I succeed in ordering photos), but that would be noisy, and my exhausted husband has long gone to sleep.

In all probability, the insomnia is a forewarning of a migraine to come. It's common for me to have a night of awful, restless insomnia, and to have a full-blown migraine, next day.

Or, the inability to settle myself down is a symptom of my anxiety and depression, which can also cause migraines, which then cause anxiety and depression and insomnia, and...

I'm still having migraines and am unable to work, and I've made a decision about my treatment: I want to cleanse myself.

I've been on so many drugs for so long that I no longer have any idea what it's like to just feel like myself. Back in 2010 - or possibly 2009 - my neurologist/best friend took me off of everything, so we would know what my baseline was. Since then, I've been on oodles of medications for various reasons: antidepressants and antipsychotics to prevent migraines, pain medicine for sciatic pain, muscle relaxants for muscle tension due to migraines.

I no longer know what it feels like to be me, without any chemical alterations.

For years, between the end of my chemotherapy and 2011, when a doctor put me back on antidepressants, I had very strong emotions. When I was happy, I was amazingly happy. When I was sad, I was completely devastated. But my emotions were true, and they were mine. I feel, these days, like I'm completely numb. I don't really feel, anymore. I try to, but really the only thing that gets through is sadness and anxiety.

I don't know if taking myself off of my medications* will make a difference. I don't know if I'll feel happier again. I don't know if my migraines will grow worse, or better, or stay the same.

But I do know that I'm tired of not feeling.

*taking myself off of my medications under doctor supervision and with their blessing, because some of this stuff will f*&$ you up if you just stop taking it

Oops

Can we just go ahead and agree that I'm contrite for not having blogged in so long?

Okay. Good.

Now that that's over, let's get down to the reason for my absence: migraines.

Okay, so migraines, layered with work and school, but still: migraines.

They started back at the end of June. Up until that point, I'd had maybe 2 or 3 migraines per month. For most people, that would be a catastrophic amount of migrainage, but for me, it was pretty darn good.

And then... I don't know what happened. I began having multiple migraines per week, first on Tuesdays, then on Tuesdays and Fridays (so I missed work on Tuesdays, but "fortunately", my second migraine was on a day off). And, eventually, pretty much every day whenever my brain felt like it. Except for Thursdays. Usually not Thursdays.

Long story short(ish): I ended up having about 4 migraines per week. Something had to give, what with starting back to school (and missing school) and having to work, and not being able to control the migraines (and nausea. OH MY GOSH the nausea!). So I quit my job.

I had decided that I would be cool, just explain to my boss, give my two weeks' notice. I practiced so I wouldn't cry.

Of course, I cried. But they were nice and didn't make me finish out the two weeks, since it was for a health problem.

The migraine situation is still kind of dicey (I haven't had one since Friday, and it's a Thursday, so there's hope!). I'm seeing a new neurologist in Houston who I like, and he confessed that he had no idea what to tell me, since I seemed to be doing everything properly: no gluten, limited processed foods and refined sugar, minimal caffeine, no HFCS, if I can help it. I'm monitoring my sleep habits, computer time, what I eat each day, what I drink, and any symptoms I have. I take magnesium and a Vitamin B complex and Vitamin D and iodine (because I don't cook with iodized salt). I even take cod liver oil after dinner (lemon flavored to cut the fishiness, naturally).

So, yeah, he had no idea what was causing the migraines. I hypothesized that it might have been increased dairy intake, since my latte and ice cream consumption was off the charts for a while, there. As a result, prior to my first appointment with my new neurologist/best friend, I had already abandoned the consumption of milk, including a painful parting with the ice cream aisle at Whole Foods, and sacrificing my morning mocha latte.

Hopefully, along with my abandonment of dairy will come a return to what I consider to be my "normal size."

Ahem.

See, I gained weight after I stopped working (really, before I stopped working, but after the migraines started and I was less willing to push furniture and constantly pace the sales floor). Because I don't eat gluten, the places I gain my weight have changed.

I used to gain weight "like a boy": in my stomach and love handles.

Post-gluten, however, I tend to gain weight where women are stereotypically supposed to gain it: hips, bum, and - ahem - boobies.

For some unaccountable reason, I still don't gain much weight in my legs.

For my 30th birthday (this coming Sunday!), my parents gave me the funds to purchase a suit for job interviews, come March. I found a suit shape I really liked.

I bought the jacket in-store - where I discovered that I am a size 2 suit jacket at J. Crew.

The pants aren't sold in-store, however, so after a bit of a run-around, I finally got the new pants today.

Because of my lovely womanly derrier, I am a size 6 in the pants. But my thighs are still a size 4.

I know, silly to complain. But this means that I am going to have to have the pants altered to fit properly (not surprising). I would have taken the pants to the tailor, regardless, because pockets on slim-fitting pants are always visible, so I have them removed on pants and skirts that I wear for work. My tailors - a slew of them from Dallas, and now my Houston tailor - are used to the request.

This time, however, there will be the added requirement of taking in the thighs and, possibly, the calves of my new suit pants.

Because, you know...

Leave It to the Experts

I just got off the phone with my pharmacist (one of the grossly incompetent ones) because of a little snafu with my medicines.

Earlier this week, I went to pick up a couple of prescriptions from the pharmacy, and was told that my insurance company was requesting information from my neurologist/best friend in regards to a (wildly expensive) migraine medicine she prescribed.

In the past three years, I've tried everything: Relpax (no effect, and also expensive), Midrin (cheap, worked like a charm, but no longer manufactured), Imitrex (made the migraines worse), Maxalt (worked for a month... then stopped), Migranal (worked for a week back in November, then stopped). These are just the medicines I've tried for acute migraines; they don't include the ones I take every day to help prevent migraines.

The pharmacist never called me back about what happened with the faxed forms, etc., so I had to call her.

My insurance company refuses to cover the medication prescribed (Cambia) because it's too expensive. They suggested Celebrex.

Celebrex reacts with two other medications I'm on, and could kill me. I get your logic, Cigna: You're tired of paying for me, so you plan to just off me via medication interactions.

Until I can get in to see my neurologist, I'm stuck paying $180 for my prescription, at $20 per dose.

What strikes me as somewhat absurd is that the insurance company will have to pay for two doctors' visits (at an expense for them of roughly $150 per visit). They're only going to be covering me for another month, or so. Which means my having to go to the doctor for a prescription refill will cost them more money than just filling the damned prescription.

I'm more than just slightly miffed. I'm furious. I'm so angry, I'm chewing gum to keep myself from clenching my jaw (if you know me, you know that I never chew gum).

It's only slightly working.

Not Off to a Good Start

How was your first day (back) at work, Ms. Strainedconsciousness?

So sweet of you to ask! It was...

Crap...

See, the thing is, my alarm didn't go off this morning. And I didn't fall asleep until about 3 a.m. because, despite the sleepless night Saturday, I had insomnia (again).

So I was 2 hours and 15 minutes late to my first day of work.

Yeah, so that's where the "crap" comes in.

I called the office, left them a message, ran into the bathroom while screaming obscenities (I probably sounded like a rhinoceros running around), and was dressed - in make-up! - in 20 minutes flat.

I didn't take a lunch break, so I ended up working about 7 hours, and everything was okay. The employers weren't upset, so that's all good.

But it was still embarrassing.

And now I'm trying to navigate the murky waters of health insurance for people who have pre-existing conditions.

It's not fun.

In order to apply to the State of Texas' Health Insurance Pool, I have to have at least one insurance company refuse to insure me. So I just spent the past two hours applying for health insurance for one company that will undoubtedly thumb their nose at me while blowing a raspberry.

They try to trip you up by asking questions about varying health conditions twice, so I just threw everything in there that I could think of that they could ever possibly want to know about, so if they found something out after I was diagnosed, they can't cancel it because I withheld information (a common ploy of individual plan insurers).

So that bronchitis I had in 2001? Yup, it's on there.

The sinusitis from 2001? Yup, it's on there.

Whoever looks at my application will know more about my digestive system, my neurological functions, and my emotional state of health than they could ever need to know.

And then I had to pay $164 "in case" I'm accepted to their plan (it's refunded if/when I'm rejected with a slap to the face).

But it doesn't matter, because they'll refuse to cover me.

Because I'm "uninsurable."

Neat how the people who need insurance the most can't get it, isn't it?

And before anyone starts railing against the tax-payer funded health pool I'm going to apply to after my rejection: It's not tax-payer funded.

The people who pay the insurance premiums (which are high) foot the bill for the health plan, along with the insurance providers, who are required to pay a tax to the state government. And no, it isn't part of "Obamacare," it's been in place for several years.

Hell Hath No Fury

Like a woman referred to a collections company when she should not have been.

I wrote earlier about my being granted charitable assistance from Texas Health Resources Presbyterian Hospital in Plano. They granted me my assistance on February 14 (but did not send the letter until February 18).

They had my paperwork for a month before they reviewed it.

A week after I am mailed the letter, stating that my application for charitable assistance has been granted, I receive another letter from a credit collections agency - with the new lower amount posted - stating that I am past due and must pay immediately.

Whether or not this has been reported to a credit reporting agency, I don't know, but if they screwed up my 810 credit rating, I'll be one pissed off unemployed architect.

I had already vowed to myself that I would not return to their emergency room, because their visits end up costing in the range of $700 after my insurance has paid, and I can't afford that even when I am employed. So my neurologist can tell me to go to the ER at her home-hospital, but I can't.

I haven't told her, yet, about the impossibility of using her ER, but it's sure to come up at some point.

Needless to say, right now - running on 30 minutes of sleep - I'm about to explode with anger.

Texas Health Resources: you are dead to me.

When It Rains...

In my universe, when it rains, it generally rains dog turds, and lots of them.

After being kind-of-sort-of-but-not-really fired (so I can't claim unemployment, but I also don't get a paycheck), my car's blinker quit working.

I thought it was just a bulb that was out - even though it didn't work on either the right or the left side - or a fuse that needed to be replaced. My car was also past-due for an oil change, and it needed to be inspected.

In the end, yes, I did need new turn signal bulbs, but I also had to have the whole turn signal assembly on my steering column replaced. What with the oil change and the inspection, I ended up forking out $475 at the mechanic's shop.

I was miffed.

In addition, my dentist gave me a little lecture about grinding my teeth, and how my grinding my teeth when I have a migraine (or in my sleep) can exacerbate the problem. I need a night guard to prevent teeth grinding (in addition to a filling for a brand-spanking-new cavity), which is going to run me about $400... on top of whatever the filling will cost.

And then, there's the hospital bill I received today, for that three day stretch I spent lying in a hospital bed getting pumped full of drugs to try to combat the migraines I was having. That's another $575. Granted, without insurance, it would have been more like $10,500, but that's pretty cold comfort to this gal.

And I have no way of earning money, right now. Except for that entrepreneurial spirit I was talking about a while back, for which I now have a website, and am awaiting my logo (being designed by a friend) before I start publicizing it and, hopefully, earning a bit of extra cash, too.

I still have a couple of other tricks up my sleeve, so I'm not ready to commit seppuku just yet (I am kidding! Totally kidding!) but the next 24 hours - at the end of which I find out if this trick is an ace or a deuce - seems to be dragging by horribly.

I think I'm going to start accessorizing with umbrellas.

An Intimate Dinner

For one.

I had planned to go to Happy Hour, this evening, to watch the baseball game and pretend to be a Rangers fan along with the rest of the normally apathetic architects, but when I checked my account balance - it was pay day, after all, and I needed to make sure my money was deposited - I discovered that I'd paid more on my credit card bill this month than I realized.

Quite a bit more.

On what? Well, replacing the clothes that fell apart (and which I will be paying off for a couple of months, it seems), but mostly on... you guessed it: Doctors' bills. $600 worth.

Woohoo! Yes! $600 in one month! So I stayed home and watched "North by Northwest" on the DVD and ate a meal comprised of random food from my refrigerator, cobbled into a "wholesome meal."

Awesome!

Almost as awesome as being accused of "ganging up" with the contractors against Oldsmobile, today. Who accused me? Oldsmobile. My cohorts in this gang? Pacman and Connie.

Hmmmm.... Neither Pacman nor I like Connie. We both have a low opinion of him.

Why was I accused of "ganging up" against Oldsmobile? Well, the contractor ordered the wrong stone, we think, for the house. The contractor pointed to the mock-up of the stone and said, "But it's the same color under all that dirt. The mock-up's just dirty."

During a discussion with Connie - at which Oldsmobile was not present, because he had to leave - Pacman and I requested that the mock-up be power-washed. But only half of it should be power-washed. Then, we could compare the stones properly.

We - Pacman and I - were attempting to explain the logic of this to Oldsmobile, and he began accusing us of colluding with the contractor to prove that the stone on the site was the correct stone.

He would not let us explain ourselves.

He left for an appointment in a snit, as he is wont to do, and returned later, even angrier, because his appointment was delayed by a lax employee at the City of Dallas, and he started in on us again. When we tried to explain, he cut us off, accusing us of colluding.

We finally stopped trying to explain.

We let him tire himself out roaring at us, accusing us of deception, trying to change his opinion, conspiring with the contractor (who we don't like or trust, mind you) against him.

And then when he was good and out of breath, we explained.

We are somewhat back in his good graces.

I have a feeling, however, that I am no longer seen as an innocuous presence in the office; that I have become "one of the guys" at last, meaning that I am finally to be subject to the same fits of temper they are subject to regularly.

I'm used to high maintenance employers. I excel at high maintenance employers. But they're usually of the benevolent kind, who are high maintenance in a "I carry granola bars and spare pens and pads of paper in my bag to keep them fed/supplied" kind of way. The kind who expect you to wipe Wite-Out off their face before meetings.

That kind of high maintenance. Not yelling, accusing high maintenance.

Maybe I'll keep my head down for a few days. Beginning Tuesday. Because Monday, we go look at the stone again.

Which brings me back to my original point: I don't get paid enough for this job.

Deranged Over Derian

I awoke this morning (okay, afternoon) and set about accomplishing even more fun things. I mailed a bunch of paperwork to my insurance company in order to get reimbursed a pittance for a provider who doesn't do insurance paperwork herself, and I mail that certified mail, so that required a trip to the post office.

But the post office is closed on Sundays! you cry.

Never fear, for I have discovered the joys of the Automated Postal Center, open 24 hours per day, 7 days per week. If you have a credit card, you too can send mail whenever you want. It's amazing.

Then I got an iced tea from Sonic, because I can't perform errands without iced tea. It's impossible. It's my anti-kryptonite. Or something like that. I don't go in for comic books.

Next was a trip to the office to print off the email I forgot to get yesterday. Ahem. We have a new printer in the office, and it isn't networked to our computers, yet. So I jotted down the info, and left. I was, so far as I could tell, the only person in the building, which left me with a decidedly unsettled feeling.

And off I flew to Target in Plano (a quick detour en route to visit Major Tom). I wanted to buy a cannister for my flax seed and some Dr. Pepper for my apartment and to see what they had left in the John Derian for Target line that went on sale today.

It was slim pickins, folks, and the products were scattered all over the store. I found some bowls and plates and things, but I don't need any more kitchen goods (except for cannisters. For flax seed). So I trotted over to the home office section to see if they had his papergoods over there. I was in luck! The boxes I'd seen online were there, in all their blue and brown faux marbled glory! Huzzah!

As I stood, leafing through the notebooks (soft back, so worthless for my needs) and opening every single box on the shelf, an elderly woman with a bandaid across her nose and a beautiful brooch on her pseudo-Chanel jacket approached and said, "Oh, these are lovely!" She saw the honeycomb patterned box - similar to the two blue/brown boxes I had in my cart - and exclaimed about how pretty it was! Oh, but it was marred by a spot of white!

"There's another one," I reassured her, crouching down and getting it for her from the back of the shelf. She was very grateful, as her mobility was limited. She was leaning heavily on her cart. That's when I noticed that her cart was FULL of John Derian for Target.

"You haven't seen the boxes like this with the lids, have you?" she asked (our boxes have a flap that ties shut).

"No! Are they sold out already?"

"I'm afraid so," she sighed. "I've been all over the store. I thought, surely, if I got here on the first day, they'd have some. But the website says they're sold out, and none of the store associates can find them."

I laughed and replied, "It's good to know I'm not the only one here on the first day."

"Oh, no!" she said. "There's tons of us crazy ladies running around! You're in excellent company."

I wanted to whisk her off for coffee, but instead we just stood and chatted for a little while longer before I headed to the checkout line. I decided not to tempt fate and my checkbook by going to the other areas of the store where there were more products to be found (she had, it seemed, hobbled around until she found all of them).

I might go get coffee by myself, though, and pretend there's a crazy old lady rabidly hunting John Derian with me. I know she'd be there in spirit, anyway.

Day of (No) Rest

I decided to put my long weekend to good use by accomplishing as much as possible in a short amount of time. So far, I have done almost everything I intended to do.

1) I went to Container Store - it was torture I tell you! - and bought a cannister for cereal (which gets soggy as soon as I open the box) and a cannister for epsom salts (in which I am supposed to soak every night). I then proceeded to buy a lovely plyboo shelf for my monster 11x17 printer, so I can keep my little 8.5x11 printer underneath it. They seem very happy in this arrangement. I also bought a binder for a later task...

2) I went to Fry's Electronics and bought a DVD player so I can get back to my pilates-lite and a new shredder, because all the medical crud I've shredded this past year did my old one in.

3) I went to Design Within Reach and pretended that I would buy an Aeron chair from the nice guy, David, who waited on me and helped me choose between multiple chairs. I will most likely buy a chair from someone else (gently used if she has the right size for me) after I get her contact info, which is on my computer at work, but not at home.

4) I took the electronic part of my old shredder to Best Buy. They recycle electronics - including small appliances - FOR FREE. Sweet. And I didn't have to drive through a sketchy neighborhood like I would have had to do if I went to the City of Dallas' e-cycling center that's open late on Saturdays.

5) I cleaned house. I sneezed a lot. This part is only about 1/3 finished. Okay, okay, 1/4 finished. I might need to find a housekeeper.

6) Laundry. Laundry. Laundry. Laundry. Laundry. Dear God, where does it all come from?

7) I began organizing medical invoices and paperwork from the past year. This took about two hours. It's why I bought the binder from Container Store. So all my bills are organized by date of service with their receipts - if I have them - stapled to the invoices, and the Explanations of Benefits right alongside the doctors' bills and receipts for MRIs and CT Scans and surgery.

8) I got a jump on my income taxes. Say what? Yes, because I have so far spent 1/7 of my projected income on medical expenses, and I didn't want to wait until January or February or something before I started making my yearly spreadsheet. In previous years, I haven't had enough expenses to warrant claiming them on my taxes - I was always just under the minimum you can claim for medical expenses. This year, however, I appear to be well on my way to outstripping that minimum, so I decided to go ahead and start the spreadsheet so it won't be quite so huge come February. I have a couple of receipts that are missing their explanation of benefits, but I'm thinking I can hunt those down on my insurance company's website.

Numbers 7 & 8 are essentially how I am spending my Saturday night. Woohoo! Party!

I am officially old. Heck, I take Centrum Silver (doctor's recommendation, because I need the extra oomph), so I'm practically a senior citizen, right? Right...

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

Best of Times

I am an aunt. My 8 lb. 3 oz. niece was born on July 25 at 1:29 pm. I'm overjoyed at the prospect of getting to spoil her rotten for the next 18 years of her life (and then some). My mom and I drove down to Houston as soon as we heard and met her Sunday evening, and I got to hold her.

Of course, as soon as she was put into my arms, I burst into tears.

That's how I roll, Dawg.

Right.

She's an incredibly lively baby, opening her eyes and looking around within hours of being born, kicking her little legs and moving her arms, amidst the motionless babies of the nursery born shortly before her. Amazing. The nurses all seemed as flabbergasted as my mom and I were. But then again, being the daughter of my sister, she's bound to be an over-achiever.

I kid! I kid!

As an aside, she was born at a hospital dedicated solely to women, so there were pregnant women everywhere. It was kind of... creepy. Something sci-fi about it, although I can quite pin down what it was. They moved around in big packs, too, with their mates alongside them. They give tours of the hospital to expectant moms on weekends. Crazy.

I also found out today that I am receiving a bonus on either Friday or Monday, which should be about the size of one of my paychecks (I hope).

Worst of Times

I have been placed on furlough. Without pay. My bonus and this next paycheck are the last ones I will receive until I am able to return to the office full-time, which is looking to be 2-1/2 or 3 weeks from now. Radio talked to me about it when I went into the office for an hour this afternoon (he caught me on the way out the door).

Then I talked to our book keeper, this afternoon, who informed me that I still had 60 hours of vacation left for the year (I have no idea how, unless I made up more hours than I realized for doctor visits) and about 30 hours of sick leave left.

I guess I underestimated the amount of work I've done during the past month I've been at home.

She told me I could use all that time towards the next couple of weeks I'll be out, if I need to. I think I won't, though, and I'll just live off the bonus and this next/last paycheck (I'm not going out, and not eating much in general, so expenditures are low, right now, with the exception of medical bills). God only knows what might happen post-op, and I want to be prepared in case I have to miss more work.

She also told me that they're going to go ahead and reimburse me the full amount that I paid towards the CT Scans (even though the whole amount might not be applied to the deductible at this time) because with the surgery, at least that much will be applied at some point, and they'll just figure it out from there. She was under the impression that I hadn't paid anything yet for the CT scans, so didn't realize I was already out almost $1000 that I'd have sitting on my credit card until the whole insurance debacle gets sorted out. So I'll get a check from the company next week, since I have to pay my credit card bill. She was much more understanding about the whole thing than I thought she would be, honestly.

At least the furlough won't change my insurance status, since I'm still technically employed. And the bonus will cover living expenses while I'm not getting paid. And I'll be able to pay off my credit card instead of racking up $130 in interest for the next month.

Always look on the bright side of life.

(Whistling) De-do. De-do-di-do-do-do.

Insert Curse Words Here

That's pretty much how my day is going, today.

Wednesday, I started feeling slightly icky, and today, that ickiness became unbearable. No, we're not talking "reason for having surgery" icky, we're talking "completely new kind of icky that probably requires a dose of antibiotics." After a quick confab with Dr. W's lovely nurse, she suggested I go to the nearest Doc-In-A-Box to get some antibiotics, because we want me to be all healthy and ick-free for my surgery, now scheduled for August 5.

August 5, people. If you need an address for sending flowers, just let me know.

Heh.

It was the longest Doc-In-A-Box visit of my life, since I'm apparently a fascinating specimen with oodles and oodles of problems, any of which, honestly, could have presented symptoms similar to the ickiness now pervading. But I know ickiness from yuckiness, and this was definitely ickiness, so I convinced the doctor it was ickiness, that I know what I'm talking about, and he prescribed a couple of medicines to help make the icks go away.

My insurance rejected one of the medicines, because I had the same medicine prescribed and that prescription filled less than 25 days ago. Nevermind that my body has chosen to need the same effing medicine again (and that I'm allergic to its over-the-counter alternatives), my insurance company refuses to pay for any part of it. The crossed their arms, frowned, and turned their disapproving backs on me.

I went ahead and paid for the (generic) medicine, because I have to have it, regardless of whether my insurance wants to pay for it.

In other words, I was already in a bad mood when I arrived home and discovered that they had refused one of my claims for a CT Scan; or, rather, their third party consultant had refused one f my claims. Not both of them, mind you, just one.

Abdominal: okay, you can have that one.

Pelvic: Oh no. That's asking too much.

I was angry, I was furious, I started crying. Then I opened the rest of my mail.

FOUR DAYS PRIOR THEY HAD AUTHORIZED BOTH OF THE CT SCANS.

Riddle me this, dear reader: What the... duck?

I called the "We're open 24/7 call us with questions" number on the second letter (the one authorizing both procedures) and the young lady on the phone said that one of them had been approved, but not both.

"Except I have a letter stating otherwise," I replied.

"I have no idea why we approved it, and then they denied the claim, and they're not open right now, but if you call back Monday, we can call to find out."

Yeah, I'm sure that will really help. So I'll call Dr. L's business office on Monday to see if they've received the same letter (they're supposed to) and then I'll call the bast... the not nice people who denied my claim.

Now I'm freaking out, because I'm scared to death that they're going to deny my surgery claim, and that I might have to pay more than the $1000 out of pocket that I've already paid because we have a ginormous deductible.

The surgery to take place on August 5. I like calla lilies.

Dr. W's nurse said their business office will begin the pre-approval process on Monday so I should be all set for August 5, and hopefully all will go well. My dad will be taking me to have surgery, and he will stay home with me all day Friday. If required, we will find someone to stay with me on Saturday, or at least to drop me lunch or something, depending on how my recovery is coming along.

On the upside, I've officially, according to a doctor's scale, lost 10 pounds, which is more than I'd wanted to lose (about 5 pounds), but I'm not going to complain.

Looking really hard for that silver lining, right now...