So, some of you know exactly what's going on, and others have just heard me talk about the things at the new job going all pear-shaped as of last week. For reasons that should be obvious (given that this is the internet), I'm not going to go into detail here, but I will say that things are Officially Not Good.
On top of (1) family stress and (2) health stress, I now have (3) job stress.
Is it any wonder that I'm not sleeping nights?
I have no trouble falling asleep once I go to bed, but I wake up about every two hours. And while I generally fall asleep not quite right away but soon enough, it's the constant waking up that's annoying. And the fact that the last time I wake up tends to be around 4:40 a.m. when my alarm is set for 5:35 a.m. is EXTREMELY annoying.
Equally annoying is that Felix doesn't understand the difference between "time to get up, Mom!" and "no! Mommy is still trying to sleep. I love you a lot but GO. AWAY." There have been a couple of nights where I've nearly locked him out of the bedroom. He tries to burrow under the blanket, which means that he digs at my neck and arms, to get under the RIGHT layer, but this is annoying because I KNOW (from prior experience) that this will end with him getting under the blanking, turning a few circles, crawling over my body, then deciding this is at all what he wanted, and then coming back up for air (by crawling back over my head). So I'm trying to nip this in the bud by just not letting it start. Blech.
Then I end up going to work feeling like I got next to no sleep.
Fun times.
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
20 October 2011
28 September 2011
Medical Update
I saw my most excellent doctor today. She suggested that my next step be a sleep study. At this point, she (and the rest of my medical team) have identified and fixed all of the obvious, known causes of fatigue (my thyroid, my Vitamin D deficiency), so it's on to finding new and more interesting things. There's still the possibility of this mystery thing that I keep alluding to (I've told a scant few of you about it in person), but she wants to rule out sleep disorders first, because she thinks the first question the specialist she wants me to see about the potential mystery cause will be whether I've had a sleep study done.
She said it's possible that fatigue COULD be stress-related (as the NP had suggested), but that this has been ongoing for so long, she thinks we're beyond that at this point. That's when I told her about Orin, which is when I started crying. I seem to do a lot of crying in her office lately.
She and I had a really wonderful talk. She told me that it's been her experience that people who are facing death don't change (I kind of figured that - that only happens in the movies) and that they often cling more rigidly to their behaviour. She said when she worked with cancer patients in the hospital (in rotations and such), she heard a lot of near-deathbed confessions and regrets, and she often wanted to shake the person and say, "Why are you telling ME this? Call your mother/ex-wife/ex-husband/daughter/son/brother/sister and tell THEM this! You just met me!" But since the person never got the tools to handle these things, they won't suddenly get them just because they're dying.
She also advised me to think about the fact that I don't want to live with regret - and not in the "you need to be nice to him because you'll regret it if you don't" kind of way, but her advice was more "his pain is going to end - the physical pain and the emotional pain. And it's going to end soon. But this cross will be yours to bear, so do what you need to do for yourself, not for him, because you'll regret it if you act for him."
We had a really good talk, and she made sure that I've been talking to my therapist and that my therapist is aware of everything that's going on. She asked me if I wanted some Xanax or Ativan, because she thought that it might be a good thing for me right now, but it's not something I'm ready for. While I can see that it might be helpful, at this point, it feels like admitting defeat - like I've somehow let life's pressures get to me or something.
She said it's possible that fatigue COULD be stress-related (as the NP had suggested), but that this has been ongoing for so long, she thinks we're beyond that at this point. That's when I told her about Orin, which is when I started crying. I seem to do a lot of crying in her office lately.
She and I had a really wonderful talk. She told me that it's been her experience that people who are facing death don't change (I kind of figured that - that only happens in the movies) and that they often cling more rigidly to their behaviour. She said when she worked with cancer patients in the hospital (in rotations and such), she heard a lot of near-deathbed confessions and regrets, and she often wanted to shake the person and say, "Why are you telling ME this? Call your mother/ex-wife/ex-husband/daughter/son/brother/sister and tell THEM this! You just met me!" But since the person never got the tools to handle these things, they won't suddenly get them just because they're dying.
She also advised me to think about the fact that I don't want to live with regret - and not in the "you need to be nice to him because you'll regret it if you don't" kind of way, but her advice was more "his pain is going to end - the physical pain and the emotional pain. And it's going to end soon. But this cross will be yours to bear, so do what you need to do for yourself, not for him, because you'll regret it if you act for him."
We had a really good talk, and she made sure that I've been talking to my therapist and that my therapist is aware of everything that's going on. She asked me if I wanted some Xanax or Ativan, because she thought that it might be a good thing for me right now, but it's not something I'm ready for. While I can see that it might be helpful, at this point, it feels like admitting defeat - like I've somehow let life's pressures get to me or something.
27 September 2011
In the past week
I found out that my father is dying, a friend of mine hurt my feelings by calling me petty, I found that good friends of mine are moving across the country, and the first question my new physiotherapist asked me was whether my doctor has discussed surgical options with me.
There are only a few days left to September, and I'm rather thankful for that.
There are only a few days left to September, and I'm rather thankful for that.
24 September 2011
The Decision (Sorry LeBron)
I've decided to send Orin a card letting him know that I know about his situation, I'm sorry to hear about it, he's in my prayers, and that if he wants to talk, he has my phone number.
I'm hoping to accomplish a few things this way: he'll figure out that it was never my intention to cut him out of my life (which I never said anyway), so it's fine for him to call me; it puts the ball in his court, and if he wants to talk, he still has to find his balls and pick up the phone and call me (rather than keep putting other people in the middle); it will let him know that I care about what he's going through; and it will give him a chance to think about what he wants to say before he calls (I hope), rather than him merely reacting when he hears my voice on the phone if I were to call him, which could lead to who knows what.
I'm hoping to accomplish a few things this way: he'll figure out that it was never my intention to cut him out of my life (which I never said anyway), so it's fine for him to call me; it puts the ball in his court, and if he wants to talk, he still has to find his balls and pick up the phone and call me (rather than keep putting other people in the middle); it will let him know that I care about what he's going through; and it will give him a chance to think about what he wants to say before he calls (I hope), rather than him merely reacting when he hears my voice on the phone if I were to call him, which could lead to who knows what.
22 September 2011
My Big News: Orin
On Tuesday, after the debacle with PGW ended, I was talking to my mom. Somewhere in the middle, she tells me that she needs my father's phone number. For those of you not in the know, she and my father divorced when I was two (that's well over 30 years ago). It was NOT an amicable split, and things have happened since that validated my mom's decision to leave him.
So, this was rather odd. I asked her if I was allowed to ask why she need it. She said I was. Apparently, Orin had called and left a message with her husband Dale. He said he has cancer and wanted to talk to her. Dale asked Orin for his number, and Orin told Dale that Mom could get it from me. So Mom and I really think that this is really just Orin's way of letting me know what's going on; he doesn't ACTUALLY want to talk to Mom (or he does, but just to ask her to tell me).
I'll cut to the chase here - through a series of events, I have found out that Orin has cancer of the lungs, which has metastasised to his brain. I still haven't spoken to Orin, so that's really all I know, except that when he spoke to one of his oldest friends Denny (who is the brother of my mom's best friend Juliah), Orin was apparently crying so hard he couldn't speak.
Now, those of you who don't know me well or who haven't known me long might be asking why Orin and I aren't communicating directly. Well, we've been through several periods of estrangement, and this is the latest. Two years ago, I asked him to stop sending me racist emails because I got tired of it. He continued. I thought "maybe he doesn't understand what's racist and what isn't." So I simplified the directive and asked him to limit his email communication to only personal correspondence, such as talking about each other's lives, what the family is doing, what's going on, etc. But he continued to send hateful things. I told him if he sent anything else, I would change my email address. When he sent something else, I reminded him of my earlier message (telling him that I would change my email address and he would no longer be able to contact me via email), and his reply was "I have a delete button - don't you?" which told me that he didn't care at all about my feelings about the issues (let alone about the larger issue that he's sending racist emails to his daughter who happens to a minority member).
Since then, I've never heard from him. Bear in mind that I haven't moved and my phone number remains the same. At no time did I say that I wanted him out of my life completely. I only wanted to stop receiving racist bullshit from him. He's the one who didn't call me the next month at Thanksgiving, the month after that at Christmas, or the month after that on my birthday. But now he's telling Juliah that she or Mom need to let me know that he's sick because I cut him out of my life. I don't respect the way he's trying to put people in the middle of our crap, for one thing. I feel like he needs to stop being a coward, man-up, and pick up and phone.
He's proven (not just by these recent incidents, but throughout his entire life) that he's selfish, he's abusive, and he's incapable of processing how others feel about a given situation. I've also come to realise (as an adult) that part of this is due to his alcoholism. So I'm stressed and confused because while I DO care about him and what he's going through, I also NEED to maintain some healthy boundaries to protect myself. How do I do this while showing some compassion for his situation? How can I handle this situation as a good Christian, but not blindly be pulled back into drama-land?
So, this was rather odd. I asked her if I was allowed to ask why she need it. She said I was. Apparently, Orin had called and left a message with her husband Dale. He said he has cancer and wanted to talk to her. Dale asked Orin for his number, and Orin told Dale that Mom could get it from me. So Mom and I really think that this is really just Orin's way of letting me know what's going on; he doesn't ACTUALLY want to talk to Mom (or he does, but just to ask her to tell me).
I'll cut to the chase here - through a series of events, I have found out that Orin has cancer of the lungs, which has metastasised to his brain. I still haven't spoken to Orin, so that's really all I know, except that when he spoke to one of his oldest friends Denny (who is the brother of my mom's best friend Juliah), Orin was apparently crying so hard he couldn't speak.
Now, those of you who don't know me well or who haven't known me long might be asking why Orin and I aren't communicating directly. Well, we've been through several periods of estrangement, and this is the latest. Two years ago, I asked him to stop sending me racist emails because I got tired of it. He continued. I thought "maybe he doesn't understand what's racist and what isn't." So I simplified the directive and asked him to limit his email communication to only personal correspondence, such as talking about each other's lives, what the family is doing, what's going on, etc. But he continued to send hateful things. I told him if he sent anything else, I would change my email address. When he sent something else, I reminded him of my earlier message (telling him that I would change my email address and he would no longer be able to contact me via email), and his reply was "I have a delete button - don't you?" which told me that he didn't care at all about my feelings about the issues (let alone about the larger issue that he's sending racist emails to his daughter who happens to a minority member).
Since then, I've never heard from him. Bear in mind that I haven't moved and my phone number remains the same. At no time did I say that I wanted him out of my life completely. I only wanted to stop receiving racist bullshit from him. He's the one who didn't call me the next month at Thanksgiving, the month after that at Christmas, or the month after that on my birthday. But now he's telling Juliah that she or Mom need to let me know that he's sick because I cut him out of my life. I don't respect the way he's trying to put people in the middle of our crap, for one thing. I feel like he needs to stop being a coward, man-up, and pick up and phone.
He's proven (not just by these recent incidents, but throughout his entire life) that he's selfish, he's abusive, and he's incapable of processing how others feel about a given situation. I've also come to realise (as an adult) that part of this is due to his alcoholism. So I'm stressed and confused because while I DO care about him and what he's going through, I also NEED to maintain some healthy boundaries to protect myself. How do I do this while showing some compassion for his situation? How can I handle this situation as a good Christian, but not blindly be pulled back into drama-land?
21 September 2011
A hell of a day
Last night was a hell of a day. It started out fine.
The middle was me getting accused of knowingly stealing gas from Philadelphia Gas Works for the past three works.
And the end... well, more on that later. And, I'll apologise in advance, because you'll probably be hearing a LOT about it in the coming weeks/months.
The middle was me getting accused of knowingly stealing gas from Philadelphia Gas Works for the past three works.
And the end... well, more on that later. And, I'll apologise in advance, because you'll probably be hearing a LOT about it in the coming weeks/months.
17 September 2011
My Latest Medical Issue
Beginning last Saturday (a week ago today), I began having left upper quadrant pain. It was a sharp, stabbing pain directly under my ribs, not unlike the pain I got with my pancreatitis/gall bladder episodes, but the pain never moved to where my gall bladder (right upper quadrant), and it wasn't related to when I ate. Since it continued throughout Monday, I called my doctor and described my other symptoms (extreme fatigue and headache).
Now, I expected that once I started work, I would be tired, but this wasn't getting any better as time went by. If anything, it may have been getting worse. And I kept getting obnoxious headaches from not eating. But it wasn't that I was intentionally not eating - I just wasn't hungry or I'd go to eat and then I'd just pick at it because food wasn't tempting.
I got a call back from my doctor that I should see her NP that day for an urgent care appointment. I was able to see the NP that I prefer, and I got an appointment for right after work. I went in, talked to the NP, and we talked for a little while. She said, "From what it sounds like, you've been out of work for awhile. It's not that you just switched jobs, right?" "Right." "Well, I think you have a kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on. Let me explain. I'm guessing that when you were out of work, you were pretty stressed and anxious."
And I said, "Yeah," and then I just started crying. And not just a regular cry, but one of those mortifying, messy, snot cries. She handed me some tissues, and said, "See, that's what I mean. You're obviously still carrying all that stress and anxiety and negative energy around." At first, I thought she was a whack-a-doodle, and I was going to take back every positive thing I'd ever said about her. Or I thought maybe she'd misunderstood me and thought I'd just LOST my job or something.
But she explained that she sometimes sees this when people have been out of work for a LONG time and then return to work. The brain is all "Yay! I'm relieved and don't have to worry anymore!" but it takes awhile for the body to get the memo. And I explained to her the whole thing with me thinking I might have to move to Missouri, etc. So she said that all kind of furthered her theory. PLUS, the added stress (even though it's the good kind of stress) of starting a new job, training, meeting new people, etc.
She still scheduled me for a few tests for the next day, just to rule out a few of the more obvious things. But in the meantime, she wanted me to "be more forgiving of myself." Nap after work if I felt exhausted, even though I typically hate to nap on a work day because then I won't sleep well that night and will be cranky at work the next day. She told me to not feel pressured to eat regular meals, but do try to nibble throughout the day so I can at least get some calories in me. So we talked about my nutritional needs since I'm SUPPOSED to be low-gluten, low-carb, and sugar-free. She said that she wanted to me to still be conscious of those things, but JUST FOR NOW I could have a bit of a flyer on those because she really wanted me to just make sure I ate.
She also recommended Mylanta for when the pain bothers me. She thinks that my acid reflux is just acting up since my stomach is mostly empty, but instead of being all heartburn-y like usual, it's hurting me in my stomach. Then since I feel like I'm being stabbed, I don't feel like eating, and it becomes a vicious cycle. Plus, the headache doesn't help.
I called my therapist that night to make sure this all sounded right to her. She confirmed that from a therapeutic standpoint, it did. Although, technically, she said it would be more of an acute stress disorder, not PTSD, but that was just a technicality on her part. She recommended a massage and an occasional milkshake.
I seem to be doing BETTER food-wise, but I've got a ways to go. I made my veal parmigiana left-overs from Thursday last two meals -- lunch on Friday and supper Friday. I had a granola bar for breakfast, and some snack crackers for an evening snack. Today, I had some more snack crackers for a morning snack, I noshed on a Godiva bar all day, and I managed to get down an entire box of mac and cheese throughout the day. I'll probably have some cheese and crackers for my evening snack. I'm getting there!
Now, I expected that once I started work, I would be tired, but this wasn't getting any better as time went by. If anything, it may have been getting worse. And I kept getting obnoxious headaches from not eating. But it wasn't that I was intentionally not eating - I just wasn't hungry or I'd go to eat and then I'd just pick at it because food wasn't tempting.
I got a call back from my doctor that I should see her NP that day for an urgent care appointment. I was able to see the NP that I prefer, and I got an appointment for right after work. I went in, talked to the NP, and we talked for a little while. She said, "From what it sounds like, you've been out of work for awhile. It's not that you just switched jobs, right?" "Right." "Well, I think you have a kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on. Let me explain. I'm guessing that when you were out of work, you were pretty stressed and anxious."
And I said, "Yeah," and then I just started crying. And not just a regular cry, but one of those mortifying, messy, snot cries. She handed me some tissues, and said, "See, that's what I mean. You're obviously still carrying all that stress and anxiety and negative energy around." At first, I thought she was a whack-a-doodle, and I was going to take back every positive thing I'd ever said about her. Or I thought maybe she'd misunderstood me and thought I'd just LOST my job or something.
But she explained that she sometimes sees this when people have been out of work for a LONG time and then return to work. The brain is all "Yay! I'm relieved and don't have to worry anymore!" but it takes awhile for the body to get the memo. And I explained to her the whole thing with me thinking I might have to move to Missouri, etc. So she said that all kind of furthered her theory. PLUS, the added stress (even though it's the good kind of stress) of starting a new job, training, meeting new people, etc.
She still scheduled me for a few tests for the next day, just to rule out a few of the more obvious things. But in the meantime, she wanted me to "be more forgiving of myself." Nap after work if I felt exhausted, even though I typically hate to nap on a work day because then I won't sleep well that night and will be cranky at work the next day. She told me to not feel pressured to eat regular meals, but do try to nibble throughout the day so I can at least get some calories in me. So we talked about my nutritional needs since I'm SUPPOSED to be low-gluten, low-carb, and sugar-free. She said that she wanted to me to still be conscious of those things, but JUST FOR NOW I could have a bit of a flyer on those because she really wanted me to just make sure I ate.
She also recommended Mylanta for when the pain bothers me. She thinks that my acid reflux is just acting up since my stomach is mostly empty, but instead of being all heartburn-y like usual, it's hurting me in my stomach. Then since I feel like I'm being stabbed, I don't feel like eating, and it becomes a vicious cycle. Plus, the headache doesn't help.
I called my therapist that night to make sure this all sounded right to her. She confirmed that from a therapeutic standpoint, it did. Although, technically, she said it would be more of an acute stress disorder, not PTSD, but that was just a technicality on her part. She recommended a massage and an occasional milkshake.
I seem to be doing BETTER food-wise, but I've got a ways to go. I made my veal parmigiana left-overs from Thursday last two meals -- lunch on Friday and supper Friday. I had a granola bar for breakfast, and some snack crackers for an evening snack. Today, I had some more snack crackers for a morning snack, I noshed on a Godiva bar all day, and I managed to get down an entire box of mac and cheese throughout the day. I'll probably have some cheese and crackers for my evening snack. I'm getting there!
13 April 2011
About last night...
Technically, it was in the wee hours of the morning, but just barely.
If you read my Twitter feed, you know I called 911 just after midnight and Philly PD responded by sending not one, not two, not three, but FOUR (count 'em, four) RMPs (cop-speak for "not unmarked cars," or radio motor patrol vehicles, if you want to get technical - the things you learn being raised by a cop!) to my house with lights and sirens.
So, what prompted all this? (Before you get worried, I'm fine.)
There I was, sitting on my couch, watching television and reading an e-book on my laptop (cause I'm not fancy enough to have an actual e-reader). Since the weather in Philly has been in the fifties and rainy, I've had the living room windows open. Suddenly, I hear a woman outside let loose with a SCREAM. I wait a second, but it wasn't followed with laughter, which sometimes happens when friends sneak up on a person and scare her. And this wasn't the kind of girlish yell that sometimes comes from the frat house across the street when they're horsing around "Oooh, the boys are threatening to spill their beer on me!!!" or some bullshit nonsense.
No, this was a from-the-gut, I-mean-business, full-of-terror SCREAM.
I looked out the windows, but all I saw was the guy across the street coming out of his house and on to the porch to look around. It was obvious he had heard it, too. I didn't see anything that looked amiss, but I wasn't messing around. I grabbed my phone and called 911. I told dispatch, "I don't know if there's anything y'all can do...? But I have my windows open and I live at [address], and I just heard a woman scream." He told me he would send someone out to look around.
When the officers rolled up (two cars from each direction!), I ran downstairs to meet them, and I explained that I pretty much had nothing else to tell them other than "I heard a woman scream." And with the wind and rain, I couldn't even be positive about the direction of the scream. One of the officers took my information and said they'd look around the neighbourhood, and if they found anything, he'd give me a call, but his best guess was that someone was probably a purse-snatching victim (since they'd received no other calls by then). I never heard back, so I'm assuming they didn't find anything.
If you read my Twitter feed, you know I called 911 just after midnight and Philly PD responded by sending not one, not two, not three, but FOUR (count 'em, four) RMPs (cop-speak for "not unmarked cars," or radio motor patrol vehicles, if you want to get technical - the things you learn being raised by a cop!) to my house with lights and sirens.
So, what prompted all this? (Before you get worried, I'm fine.)
There I was, sitting on my couch, watching television and reading an e-book on my laptop (cause I'm not fancy enough to have an actual e-reader). Since the weather in Philly has been in the fifties and rainy, I've had the living room windows open. Suddenly, I hear a woman outside let loose with a SCREAM. I wait a second, but it wasn't followed with laughter, which sometimes happens when friends sneak up on a person and scare her. And this wasn't the kind of girlish yell that sometimes comes from the frat house across the street when they're horsing around "Oooh, the boys are threatening to spill their beer on me!!!" or some bullshit nonsense.
No, this was a from-the-gut, I-mean-business, full-of-terror SCREAM.
I looked out the windows, but all I saw was the guy across the street coming out of his house and on to the porch to look around. It was obvious he had heard it, too. I didn't see anything that looked amiss, but I wasn't messing around. I grabbed my phone and called 911. I told dispatch, "I don't know if there's anything y'all can do...? But I have my windows open and I live at [address], and I just heard a woman scream." He told me he would send someone out to look around.
When the officers rolled up (two cars from each direction!), I ran downstairs to meet them, and I explained that I pretty much had nothing else to tell them other than "I heard a woman scream." And with the wind and rain, I couldn't even be positive about the direction of the scream. One of the officers took my information and said they'd look around the neighbourhood, and if they found anything, he'd give me a call, but his best guess was that someone was probably a purse-snatching victim (since they'd received no other calls by then). I never heard back, so I'm assuming they didn't find anything.
16 March 2010
Breathing again
Sorry I've been so quiet lately.
Last week, JUST as I was getting my essay wrapped up I called the admissions people just to make sure I would be DONE. Nope. They also needed a writing sample. WHAT? Yeah, a writing sample. Anything that was 5-30 pages would do. It could be anything that had been submitted while I did my Master's work. Okaaaaay. Deep breath.
I decided to just turn in my thesis. Then I decided on a paper I'd turned in for Dennis because I remembered that I had a paper he said he was going to keep as a sample of how to do that assignment. Then I dug it out and realised that the reason he said that was because I'd done the final exam as an outline and he thought it was creative and original and I'd thought outside the box. And if one didn't have the final exam question, the outline really made NO sense. Then I found another paper in the file I'd kept because he'd really liked it. So I decided to use that. Except it was too short. So I decided to turn it into a longer paper.
Then I went out with my friend Rachel to celebrate her birthday. And I caught her up on the Application Debacle. At this point, it's Thursday evening, and the application is due Monday morning. She felt that I should NOT turn in the Dennis paper and that I should turn in my thesis. She was pretty convincing. So I went home, called Mom, discussed it with her (for the THIRD time), woke up on Friday, and sent in my thesis.
DONE.
In the meantime, I've had two doctor appointments and both of my cats have had doctor appointments. They no longer think that I have early onset osteoarthritis of my pelvic joint; the new theory is that I somehow managed to tear my hip labrum (the cartilage on the socket part of the ball-and-socket of the hip joint).
My new PCP (who isn't really all that new since she filled in when my former PCP was sick or on maternity leave or otherwise unavailable) saw me for the first time and we had a great visit. I caught her up on my endo and GI appointments from last month, and the 6-day migraine I had a few weeks ago. She's referred me to someone for that since my former neurologist retired and I haven't found someone since who I like as much as that guy. The nurse practitioner I saw last time wanted me to schedule a physical, but the PCP said she doesn't think it's necessary since her plan is to see me every 3-4 months anyway, and she'll continue to coordinate my specialists, just as Mira did. And my next visit, we get to talk about My First Mammogram. Even though I'm young, since I also don't know my family medical history, she wants me to think about it.
As for the boys... Felix is healthy and Dr. Kurpel was impressed with how healthy his teeth are. We talked a lot about his increasingly aggressive behaviour (both toward me and Ocs), and she was really helpful and understanding, and she gave me a lot of tips on how to deal with him. As for Ocs, his thyroid levels are looking great and we've adjusted his meds slightly. But his new labs showed that he's slightly anemic, which his last month's labs didn't show, so we now need to keep an eye on that, too.
I also talked to Dr. Kurpel about how difficult it is to pill Ocs and how he hates Greenies Pill Pockets, and it doesn't help that I have NO idea what table foods he likes since I don't give them table food. I did figure out that he likes Velveeta, but that wore off in two weeks. Now I'm getting away with dipping the Velveeta in his canned food gravy first, but I can tell the novelty of that is wearing thin, too. So I asked her (pre-emptively) what to try next (cause I bought some hot dogs and he was NOT interested in those). She suggested trying beef or chicken baby food and grinding the pills in that, so we'll be trying that next. Pilling twice a day is getting to be not so much with the fun. Wish us luck!
Last week, JUST as I was getting my essay wrapped up I called the admissions people just to make sure I would be DONE. Nope. They also needed a writing sample. WHAT? Yeah, a writing sample. Anything that was 5-30 pages would do. It could be anything that had been submitted while I did my Master's work. Okaaaaay. Deep breath.
I decided to just turn in my thesis. Then I decided on a paper I'd turned in for Dennis because I remembered that I had a paper he said he was going to keep as a sample of how to do that assignment. Then I dug it out and realised that the reason he said that was because I'd done the final exam as an outline and he thought it was creative and original and I'd thought outside the box. And if one didn't have the final exam question, the outline really made NO sense. Then I found another paper in the file I'd kept because he'd really liked it. So I decided to use that. Except it was too short. So I decided to turn it into a longer paper.
Then I went out with my friend Rachel to celebrate her birthday. And I caught her up on the Application Debacle. At this point, it's Thursday evening, and the application is due Monday morning. She felt that I should NOT turn in the Dennis paper and that I should turn in my thesis. She was pretty convincing. So I went home, called Mom, discussed it with her (for the THIRD time), woke up on Friday, and sent in my thesis.
DONE.
In the meantime, I've had two doctor appointments and both of my cats have had doctor appointments. They no longer think that I have early onset osteoarthritis of my pelvic joint; the new theory is that I somehow managed to tear my hip labrum (the cartilage on the socket part of the ball-and-socket of the hip joint).
My new PCP (who isn't really all that new since she filled in when my former PCP was sick or on maternity leave or otherwise unavailable) saw me for the first time and we had a great visit. I caught her up on my endo and GI appointments from last month, and the 6-day migraine I had a few weeks ago. She's referred me to someone for that since my former neurologist retired and I haven't found someone since who I like as much as that guy. The nurse practitioner I saw last time wanted me to schedule a physical, but the PCP said she doesn't think it's necessary since her plan is to see me every 3-4 months anyway, and she'll continue to coordinate my specialists, just as Mira did. And my next visit, we get to talk about My First Mammogram. Even though I'm young, since I also don't know my family medical history, she wants me to think about it.
As for the boys... Felix is healthy and Dr. Kurpel was impressed with how healthy his teeth are. We talked a lot about his increasingly aggressive behaviour (both toward me and Ocs), and she was really helpful and understanding, and she gave me a lot of tips on how to deal with him. As for Ocs, his thyroid levels are looking great and we've adjusted his meds slightly. But his new labs showed that he's slightly anemic, which his last month's labs didn't show, so we now need to keep an eye on that, too.
I also talked to Dr. Kurpel about how difficult it is to pill Ocs and how he hates Greenies Pill Pockets, and it doesn't help that I have NO idea what table foods he likes since I don't give them table food. I did figure out that he likes Velveeta, but that wore off in two weeks. Now I'm getting away with dipping the Velveeta in his canned food gravy first, but I can tell the novelty of that is wearing thin, too. So I asked her (pre-emptively) what to try next (cause I bought some hot dogs and he was NOT interested in those). She suggested trying beef or chicken baby food and grinding the pills in that, so we'll be trying that next. Pilling twice a day is getting to be not so much with the fun. Wish us luck!
05 March 2010
I Should Be Writing...
but I need to vent.
I tendered my re-write to my friend Kristi last night. I told her that it wasn't COMPLETE, but I wanted to get her thoughts on it before I went completely down one road, only to find out that it was the wrong damn road. About half an hour later, she emailed me back, said my rewrite was much improved, made some suggestions, and had made a few edits.
I made supper, watched some television, and then I sat down to work again. Of the four things Kristi wanted me to work on, I worked on two of them. At 3:00 a.m., I finally called it quits, decided to sleep on the other two and finish them this morning. I figured I could do them today, she could review it today, we could polish over the weekend, and I could send everything in on Monday. Done!
So, right before I went to bed, I looked up the application checklist. And I discovered that the essay question has been changed from when the chair of the programme emailed it to me on 03 November. So... that's exciting. I had a dream about it this morning. In my dream, I went to the school to talk to the chair about it. But I ran into one of the deans instead. And she asked me about the Olympics. And I ranted about Team ROK getting screwed by the judges in speed skating.
Anyway, first thing this morning, I drafted an email to the chair, and then I called Kristi to read her the email. I wanted to make sure it didn't sound hostile or whiny. Basically, I'm just stating that I've nearly finished the answer to the essay question she emailed me, but just last night discovered the new question. So do I need to reposition the essay to fit the new question. I got an immediate response: She'll be out of the office until next Tuesday.
So Kristi said I just need to suck it up and start re-writing. We worked on an outline, and she gave me a deadline of Sunday to get her a good draft. We have a goal of getting this in the mail by Tuesday.
I'll start working when I finish crying. Mostly it's just sheer exhaustion at this point. I asked Kristi if getting the actual doctorate is this difficult every day (yes, I know it's difficult overall - duh), and she said it's different because if you miss on a paper, it's not as if they won't let you back into class the next day. This is to get in; thus, more pressure. Right.
UPDATE: I just received an email back from the chair. "The website is wrong. Please use the question I sent you."
I need a drink.
I tendered my re-write to my friend Kristi last night. I told her that it wasn't COMPLETE, but I wanted to get her thoughts on it before I went completely down one road, only to find out that it was the wrong damn road. About half an hour later, she emailed me back, said my rewrite was much improved, made some suggestions, and had made a few edits.
I made supper, watched some television, and then I sat down to work again. Of the four things Kristi wanted me to work on, I worked on two of them. At 3:00 a.m., I finally called it quits, decided to sleep on the other two and finish them this morning. I figured I could do them today, she could review it today, we could polish over the weekend, and I could send everything in on Monday. Done!
So, right before I went to bed, I looked up the application checklist. And I discovered that the essay question has been changed from when the chair of the programme emailed it to me on 03 November. So... that's exciting. I had a dream about it this morning. In my dream, I went to the school to talk to the chair about it. But I ran into one of the deans instead. And she asked me about the Olympics. And I ranted about Team ROK getting screwed by the judges in speed skating.
Anyway, first thing this morning, I drafted an email to the chair, and then I called Kristi to read her the email. I wanted to make sure it didn't sound hostile or whiny. Basically, I'm just stating that I've nearly finished the answer to the essay question she emailed me, but just last night discovered the new question. So do I need to reposition the essay to fit the new question. I got an immediate response: She'll be out of the office until next Tuesday.
So Kristi said I just need to suck it up and start re-writing. We worked on an outline, and she gave me a deadline of Sunday to get her a good draft. We have a goal of getting this in the mail by Tuesday.
I'll start working when I finish crying. Mostly it's just sheer exhaustion at this point. I asked Kristi if getting the actual doctorate is this difficult every day (yes, I know it's difficult overall - duh), and she said it's different because if you miss on a paper, it's not as if they won't let you back into class the next day. This is to get in; thus, more pressure. Right.
UPDATE: I just received an email back from the chair. "The website is wrong. Please use the question I sent you."
I need a drink.
03 March 2010
Ball o' Stress
Woke up this morning to a strange sound. Turned out that my ceiling was leaking. And Felix was freaking out that water was coming out of the hallway (of course, as I told Cristi, this is the same cat who freaks out about his tail occasionally).
Called the maintenance guy. Haven't heard back yet.
Then, on some random whim, I decided to check on something on my doctoral application. Apparently, at some point in time, the school changed the application deadline from 15 April to 15 March. Did they decide to let us poor applicants know this? No. So those of us with partial application packets are now scrambling. And, of course, I'm one of them.
What does this mean for me? Well, I called the Admissions Office to find out.
After being told that they're experiencing a high volume of calls and that my wait might exceed three minutes, then waiting ten minutes, then being told I could leave a message, I hung up and called back later and got through to someone. He told me that they had only received one of my three letters of recommendation (and told me which one they'd received). But they did have all of my transcripts. They still need my portfolio and my essay.
But I had been planning on re-taking the GRE in about two weeks (Ria can tell you that I've been copiously studying for it lately), and I was actually going to pay for it this Friday with my last severance cheque! Good thing I found out today that I needn't do that! See, even if I took it TOMORROW, the scores wouldn't get to Drexel in time for it to count by the deadline. My current scores are fine, but I'm confident that I could have improved at least the quantitative portion.
As for the essay, I've been working on it for the past couple of weeks, with the idea that I could work on it, let it marinate, have my proofreaders have a go at it, rework it, set it aside, revisit it, lather, rinse, repeat until I was satisfied with the final product. Instead, now I'll have to eat, drink, breathe this until I'm sick of it. I don't have the luxury of setting it aside and knitting on some thoughts and letting things marinate for awhile.
As for my letter writers, I was able to successfully contact both of them today. One of them said he SWORE he sent it in December, but he'd send it again today. The other said he was aware he hadn't sent it yet, but he promised he would on Tuesday. I trust him. He's the Wonder Dennis who some of you might remember from my Master's days.
Speaking of, he's currently getting me through today. I didn't think anyone could make me laugh today, but he did. Here's the email exchange that just took place:
From me to Dennis:
Dennis,
Thank you very much. I remain very appreciative of all that you do for me.
This deadline change threw me for a loop. I had been planning on re-taking the GRE in two weeks, but I guess I won't be doing that now. I was actually going to pay for it this Friday! I'm polishing my essay now; I just got some notes back from my friend Kristi (you met her at my defense). She also sent me a Paul Farmer article to read to enhance my rewrite. She's funny; this is why I like her. Sorry for the babbling; I'm stressed.
Thanks again,
Min
------------------------------------
From Dennis to me:
well, calm down.
------------------------------------
From me to Dennis:
Roger that.
Thanks :)
Called the maintenance guy. Haven't heard back yet.
Then, on some random whim, I decided to check on something on my doctoral application. Apparently, at some point in time, the school changed the application deadline from 15 April to 15 March. Did they decide to let us poor applicants know this? No. So those of us with partial application packets are now scrambling. And, of course, I'm one of them.
What does this mean for me? Well, I called the Admissions Office to find out.
After being told that they're experiencing a high volume of calls and that my wait might exceed three minutes, then waiting ten minutes, then being told I could leave a message, I hung up and called back later and got through to someone. He told me that they had only received one of my three letters of recommendation (and told me which one they'd received). But they did have all of my transcripts. They still need my portfolio and my essay.
But I had been planning on re-taking the GRE in about two weeks (Ria can tell you that I've been copiously studying for it lately), and I was actually going to pay for it this Friday with my last severance cheque! Good thing I found out today that I needn't do that! See, even if I took it TOMORROW, the scores wouldn't get to Drexel in time for it to count by the deadline. My current scores are fine, but I'm confident that I could have improved at least the quantitative portion.
As for the essay, I've been working on it for the past couple of weeks, with the idea that I could work on it, let it marinate, have my proofreaders have a go at it, rework it, set it aside, revisit it, lather, rinse, repeat until I was satisfied with the final product. Instead, now I'll have to eat, drink, breathe this until I'm sick of it. I don't have the luxury of setting it aside and knitting on some thoughts and letting things marinate for awhile.
As for my letter writers, I was able to successfully contact both of them today. One of them said he SWORE he sent it in December, but he'd send it again today. The other said he was aware he hadn't sent it yet, but he promised he would on Tuesday. I trust him. He's the Wonder Dennis who some of you might remember from my Master's days.
Speaking of, he's currently getting me through today. I didn't think anyone could make me laugh today, but he did. Here's the email exchange that just took place:
From me to Dennis:
Dennis,
Thank you very much. I remain very appreciative of all that you do for me.
This deadline change threw me for a loop. I had been planning on re-taking the GRE in two weeks, but I guess I won't be doing that now. I was actually going to pay for it this Friday! I'm polishing my essay now; I just got some notes back from my friend Kristi (you met her at my defense). She also sent me a Paul Farmer article to read to enhance my rewrite. She's funny; this is why I like her. Sorry for the babbling; I'm stressed.
Thanks again,
Min
------------------------------------
From Dennis to me:
well, calm down.
------------------------------------
From me to Dennis:
Roger that.
Thanks :)
19 February 2009
Still off the wagon
I just sat through my entire 1 hour and 50 minutes pre-calc class picking at my lips. It didn't matter that the professor was looking at me. It didn't matter that I sit at the front table to the side and I know most people in the front could see me.
All that mattered was that I needed to pick. And I couldn't stop.
Oh, and bonus. How did I handle the anxiety of getting ready to make a huge presentation at a huge meeting today? Picking. Yep, in front of the Director of Residency Programmes, in front of the Director of Nursing, in front of many directors.
Go me.
All that mattered was that I needed to pick. And I couldn't stop.
Oh, and bonus. How did I handle the anxiety of getting ready to make a huge presentation at a huge meeting today? Picking. Yep, in front of the Director of Residency Programmes, in front of the Director of Nursing, in front of many directors.
Go me.
16 February 2009
Stressed Much? Why, yes, I even have proof.
While several of you know that I have some slight OCD going on, very few (if any) of you know that when I am VERY stressed out, I have a nasty habit. And by VERY stressed out, I mean that I didn't do this particular thing when I was in hospital last year for 15 days, when I was going through Thesis Hell (tm) last year, or when I was unemployed and scared that I would have to move back to Missouri.
However, now with having a job that I love, working with people that I love, and facing the very real possibility of losing my job, combined with the stress of having exactly one full day and either one or two evenings (depending on the week) to myself (as in, no commitments), combined with the stress of hating one of my professors because he's clearly homophobic/biphobic, combined with The Big Project at work putting a ton of pressure on me...
Plus, the universe continues to throw shit at my friends. I have friends who are trying to make major life decisions that aren't easy to make. Friends going through major life adjustments. Friends dealing with illness and death. And while I'M not going through it, what affects my friends affects me. Because I love them. And I want to be there for them.
Yeah.
I'm taking a bit of a leap of faith here because some of you won't understand. And that's okay. Some of you might not even TRY to understand. And I can understand that, too, although it's unfortunate. But I have faith that those of you that are my True Friends will try to understand, even if you don't.
So. When I get VERY stressed, I pick at my skin. Usually the skin on my lips. Think about when someone has chapped lips and they pick the dead skin off. Not a big deal, right? Now think about doing that until the lips are bleeding. And they aren't even chapped. The person just digs into the skin with their nails and picks and picks and picks until there's something to grab onto. And then keeps picking. And won't let it heal.
I had an appointment with my therapist today and I told her that I've been so stressed that I started picking again. When I moved my hand away from my mouth, she could see it from across the room. She was shocked. I haven't done this in YEARS - as in, probably about four years, if not more. I've worked hard to develop other methods of coping with stress, but they've all failed me now.
And the fact that I fell off the wagon in and of itself kind of wigs me out.
But she and I talked and I feel better. We reviewed coping mechanisms. We talked about how to deal with work stress. She gave me ideas for managing my homophobic professor. She helped me brainstorm where to do the job search.
But still...
However, now with having a job that I love, working with people that I love, and facing the very real possibility of losing my job, combined with the stress of having exactly one full day and either one or two evenings (depending on the week) to myself (as in, no commitments), combined with the stress of hating one of my professors because he's clearly homophobic/biphobic, combined with The Big Project at work putting a ton of pressure on me...
Plus, the universe continues to throw shit at my friends. I have friends who are trying to make major life decisions that aren't easy to make. Friends going through major life adjustments. Friends dealing with illness and death. And while I'M not going through it, what affects my friends affects me. Because I love them. And I want to be there for them.
Yeah.
I'm taking a bit of a leap of faith here because some of you won't understand. And that's okay. Some of you might not even TRY to understand. And I can understand that, too, although it's unfortunate. But I have faith that those of you that are my True Friends will try to understand, even if you don't.
So. When I get VERY stressed, I pick at my skin. Usually the skin on my lips. Think about when someone has chapped lips and they pick the dead skin off. Not a big deal, right? Now think about doing that until the lips are bleeding. And they aren't even chapped. The person just digs into the skin with their nails and picks and picks and picks until there's something to grab onto. And then keeps picking. And won't let it heal.
I had an appointment with my therapist today and I told her that I've been so stressed that I started picking again. When I moved my hand away from my mouth, she could see it from across the room. She was shocked. I haven't done this in YEARS - as in, probably about four years, if not more. I've worked hard to develop other methods of coping with stress, but they've all failed me now.
And the fact that I fell off the wagon in and of itself kind of wigs me out.
But she and I talked and I feel better. We reviewed coping mechanisms. We talked about how to deal with work stress. She gave me ideas for managing my homophobic professor. She helped me brainstorm where to do the job search.
But still...
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