On faith

It's still January, but our tulips are coming up. WTF?

I went out to mail something at the beginning of the week and right by the front door, there they were, these happy little green leaves poking their way up, fully confident that winter had ended. I hope they don't get disappointed by a sudden cold snap before spring really arrives. I know, it's not too far off -- everything greens up fairly early here. But there isn't exactly a way for these guys to retract or change course now that they've committed to putting themselves out there.

I kind of wish I could be that confident.

Monday, I went to my GI doctor for follow-up. I finally had that long-awaited blood draw last week, so the plan was for me to get my results from him and talk about the plan going forward after the developments from December.

Well, the results were so-so. One of the liver function tests actually came back with results in the normal range, which is great. The other one, however, was still outside of normal. It did come down, but not far enough. So we'll recheck those in three months.

This isn't what's making me feel a want for mettle, though.

Back in December, when Troubadour Dad decided to push for a consult from a specialist at Almost Dr. Sis's medical school, it wasn't just a "why don't you get a second opinion?" sort of conversation. Troubadour Dad is very opinionated, shall we say. My responses to his questions about what I'd had done so far in my workup were all met with some kind of editorial comment. "Those GI guys just like to do procedures," he said with a knowing nod when he found out I'd had the endoscopy. "That's all they're interested in."

"He did find some erosions in my stomach lining," I said meekly. "I mean, that's good that he caught those early --"

"Yeah, sure," Troubadour Dad said. "That's his way of justifying doing that procedure so you'll feel like it was worth it. That's where they make their money, you know."*

I didn't say anything more at that point. But the damage was done.

On Monday, my GI doctor said that the symptoms I'd been getting since December were still not indicative of something specific. "Basically, you're still an unknown," he said. "We can either let it hang for now, or if you're not totally, totally happy, my next step would be a colonoscopy."

Well, I can't say I want one of those, but before that conversation with Troubadour Dad, I wouldn't have questioned that treatment plan. Instead, I've got this little voice in my head now that keeps whispering my father's words over and over. Talk about crazy-making. Add to this my worries that my GI guy knows I've had my records sent to the other specialist -- and therefore has reason to believe I don't trust him -- and I start to wonder if he's suggesting we "let it hang" because he doesn't see a point in putting further effort into a diagnosis if someone else is going to do it.

Okay, that last idea was probably a bit nutty, but I do know that doctors aren't immune to their own egos. Troubadour Dad's a prime example of that. What intensifies that problem is the father-knows-best mentality he brings out whenever he doctors his own kids. This is why I don't talk about my health with him if I can avoid it. Unfortunately, I couldn't really give him any other explanation but the truth when I wasn't drinking over the holidays. He knows me too well to think I'd just stop because I felt like it.

Anyway, about confidence. I just want to feel that it's okay to trust whom I've chosen to trust while we're figuring out what in the world is wrong with me. It's no help at all to doubt those people. But that voice, my father's voice. It's dogged me since I was a child, has told me I'm not wise enough -- will never be wise enough -- to know what's best for me, in my health, my career, my life. Most days, I work pretty hard to ignore it. But during times like these, I just can't seem to shut it up.

* GI doctors, please don't take what Troubadour Dad says personally; he's not out to insult you alone. He's got plenty more to say about folks in other specialties that are also not his own.

And now, we celebrate

Yep, the endoscopy went smoothly -- I have no memory of the procedure, and there were no unexpected allergic reactions. So now, we wait for the results from the biopsies.

In the meantime, D and I are having a party -- a housewarming, to be precise. It's slightly belated because of our hectic summer (couldn't find a large enough window between family visits and weddings to throw a proper shindig). But no matter. We've finally managed to pull together plans for a fun evening celebrating our move to our new place and our long-awaited reunion.

In keeping with this, the theme for our party is East Meets West: we're honoring traditions from Oktoberfest and the Mid-Autumn Festival as an homage to our heritage. (Even though D's family name is Dutch, he's a good part German from his mother's side.) This means there will be many a German beer, all kinds of wurst, and pretzels the size of your head, to be served alongside a variety of Chinese dumplings and, of course, mooncakes. In the spirit of true fusion, we're also making Asian cole slaw and serving a fine Riesling by Pacific Rim.

We are hoping the German province flags that D ordered will arrive in time for the celebration. For now, we've got Chinese lanterns already in place:


(It took some creativity to get the two to hang between the lights in the background of the photo with just fishing line and no nails; I think that was our biggest accomplishment this week.)

So I'm off to finish doing what I can ahead of time to prepare for 30 guests (thus far -- there are still some RSVPs that haven't come in yet!). More on how it all turns out very, very soon.

Good news!

Avoiding this stuff is paying off.

I went to see my endocrinologist today, and he says my blood work looks terrific. The cholesterol (LDL) levels are continuing to come down (87 now, with the goal of 70 or under) and my oxalates are finally within spitting range of normal (34 now, with the goal of 30 or under). So in his book, I'm in fine shape. "Don't change a thing!" he said at the end of my appointment. "This is exactly where I want you to be."

It is so nice to hear that I'm doing things right. It may not mean that I get my pancreas back to its normal function, but I'm maintaining the status quo, and that means no drugs. Just diet and exercise as usual.

The picture above is from my trip to visit Almost Dr. Sis -- this is like her version of Pike Place Market, and it had so many tempting tasty things at each stand. We steered clear of the bad-for-you items and got some fresh salmon, which Almost Dr. Sis grilled up for dinner. Amazing stuff, especially with fresh asparagus and Mom's recipe for wild rice pilaf and stir-fried mushrooms:


Speaking of which, it's time to start dinner. I'm turning in early after that -- the endoscopy is tomorrow at 7 a.m. Looking forward to having that over with! If all goes well, I'm treating myself to sugar-free molten chocolate cake for dessert afterward.

When is something worth fixing?

I asked myself that question a lot over the last two days while I was trying to get my work in better shape for my advisor. After 24 hours had gone by without significant improvement, I decided I'd better start putting editorial notes into the draft with my thoughts on everything just as it was -- and hope that that would show my advisor what my intentions for the piece were and where I was having trouble making it do what I wanted.

Sigh.

It was all going so well while I was visiting Almost Dr. Sis -- every day, I camped out with my draft for a few hours, and by bedtime, I'd have measurable progress: maybe a new section of a scene or a much more fleshed-out revision of a previously written part. But once I got back to Seattle, the whole thing bogged down and sentences began to sound labored and I was reading paragraphs over and over without actually remembering a word. That was what told me that I needed to get some space from the piece. So I sent it off.

My advisor sent me her feedback today with reassurances that she thinks it's going well -- the scenes I'm sketching out are not meant to be perfect and we're going to reexamine everything I write this semester when the new term starts in January. That's definitely a relief. I have my doubts about this particular set of pages, though. Sometimes it really is easier to start a piece over from scratch than to try to take apart and reassemble a badly mangled draft. Guess we'll see what happens ...

In other news, my gastroenterologist got back to me yesterday (via his nurse) about my CT results. The good news: on the pancreatic front, there's nothing visibly wrong. We'll still do the endoscopy next week to see what there is to see and then go from there. The not-so-good news: certain lady parts looked abnormal on the film, so now I have to go get all that checked out by yet another specialist.

Where does this end??? I just want to figure out what's wrong so I can do something about it sooner rather than later. It would be nice if new issues didn't keep cropping up.

Drink and be wary

I meant to blog last week, really. But I didn’t bank on a minor medical mess getting in the way of that.

As I mentioned earlier, my gastroenterologist had me schedule some more tests after my unfortunate GI problems didn’t clear up. One of those tests, just a regular old CT scan to look at my pancreas, was Wednesday morning. It meant getting up at 5 a.m. to start drinking the barium shake (foul-tasting stuff, see photo) so my insides would show up nicely on the x-ray. No problem, I thought; I’ll chug it, sleep a little more, then head to the hospital to get the scan over with.

I arrived on time, did my paperwork, changed into hospital scrubs, and got my IV put in for the contrast dye that, when injected during the scan, reacts with the barium to produce all the fun images on the film. That went fine. You get a very warm sensation as it’s happening, but it’s nothing particularly uncomfortable. When it was all over, the CT technician asked me if I was experiencing any tightness in my throat or itching. And at that time, I wasn’t. So he sent me off to change back into my own clothes.

It’s a good thing there was a mirror in the dressing room. As I was pulling my shirt on, I noticed that my face was slowly turning bright pink. As in the color it takes on after I’ve had a drink (yes, I’m one of those Asians without the enzyme that breaks down alcohol) but more so. As I peered into the mirror, I watched the pink stain spread down my neck toward my chest. Uh oh, I thought. Not good.

I went back to find the CT technician, who took one look at me and said, “Well, I think we’re going to have to keep you here a little longer.” He showed me to a large chair and handed me a very tall glass of water. “Drink this,” he said. “Sometimes people have a little reaction to the dye. We’ll just get your kidneys kick-started so they’ll pull it out of your bloodstream. Just sit tight, and I’ll check on you in five minutes.”

Now I know what an allergic reaction looks and feels like. My sisters and I each have our allergens that produce full-body swelling when we get exposed. So the feeling creeping down my body as I obediently downed the water was very familiar -- and it wasn’t going to go away without proper antihistamines. By the time the CT tech returned, the hives were progressing down my arms. “Hmm, I’m going to go get the doctor,” he said.

Sigh.

They kept me for another thirty minutes to “monitor my reaction,” asking me to drink even more water. By the time they were ready to release me, I’d had nearly a quart of it, to no avail -- the hives were all the way to my knees. So they sent me home with two tabs of Benadryl with strict instructions to call 911 if I “experienced any shortness of breath, increased swelling, or other symptoms.”

Of course, since I had to drive myself, I couldn’t take the Benadryl until I got home. It worked very quickly, but it also knocked me out -- for six hours. I think I fell asleep on the couch around 10 a.m., dozed intermittently, and woke up after 4 with a massive headache. And a first thesis installment deadline 24 hours away. I had a good number of pages written, but they needed serious attention. So, no blogging until I got that done.

The installment has been sent, and I’m happy to say I’m back to normal (no more hives, headache, or haziness). Can’t say I quite feel great about the writing, but more on that later. Feedback from my advisor is forthcoming. As for the CT results, I’m hoping to have them before my endoscopy, which is in just over two weeks. So much to look forward to …

At the end of a rough day

... you can't be that down if you have a kitty in your lap.

Jada has been a bit skittish about being picked up or held in any way for the first week here, so we've tried to limit our contact with her to petting and scratching around her neck or under her jaw (she makes cranky noises otherwise). We'll offer our hands to her so she can sniff them, and when she's feeling friendly, she'll thrust her head into our fingers and rub it around.

So today I had my follow-up appointment with the doctor who put me on Pancrecarb back in July. On his instructions, I stopped taking it at the end of August, but my symptoms (I'll spare you the details) came back with a vengeance within a week and a half. Which means that the problem hasn't resolved itself. Sometimes a bacterial infection can throw the whole system out of whack temporarily, and Pancrecarb can help your body do what it's supposed to while its inner workings return to normal over a few months; since that didn't happen, we need to do some tests to look for other causes. Not what I hoped would be the outcome of this trial, but it is what it is.

I came home pretty unhappy about the tests that are now in my near future, among them, an endoscopy with some biopsies. That in particular shouldn't be a difficult procedure, according to the nice little information packet the nurse gave me after the doctor and I had talked -- I'll be sedated -- but it is unsettling all the same. Of course, we've got company at home right now (D's brother and the brother's fiancée, who've just gone to bed) so I haven't had the chance to sit with the thoughts in my head until this moment.

When I did finally get to plop down on the couch, Jada appeared. And she put her front paws on my knees and asked with a little meow to be picked up -- a first for her since she's been so reluctant to be touched. I lifted her into my lap and let her stand there, looking around from her new vantage point. Then she arranged herself very deliberately over my knees and cuddled down for a nap. I've been typing as carefully as I can so as not to disturb her -- it's such a nice feeling to have her so close.

So like I said, you can't be that down at the end of a rough day if you have a kitty in your lap. Especially one that gives you her trust as a present when you most need something to comfort you. Too bad she can't come with me for the procedure!

Photo by Marketing Sis