CT scan from hell.

I don't know how to even sum up what my journey through gastroenterology has been, but you can see some of it on my Instagram where I have a few videos.  To say it has been a nightmare is an understatement. 

The last failure was pain management, and they sent me back to gastroenterology because my immense pain after injections that should eliminate pain was a signal that hey- something else is wrong with me. Thankfully, my gastroenterologist was a little more fired up at trying to figure this out and was actually kind of angry this wasn't cut and dry, which I'm 100% OK with because I am also angry and I am hoping two angry people can come up with a solution. 

We went over everything again. He decides we are going to do an unbelievable amount of lab work to rule out IBS and Crohn's for good. He's positive it isn't either of those but he definitively wants them ruled out. He said I was going to get an abdominal CT done, easy peasy. It's the nausea though that is a hang up for him because nausea doesn't mean a stomach issue. Nausea is a weird thing that is a symptom of everything. Just because you're feeling like you're going to barf in the middle of Target doesn't mean something is up with your digestive system. A lot of the time it can be a neurological thing, so if my labs are alright and my CT scan is alright, HE is going to order an MRI of my brain and we are going to hope that we see something different in it from my MRI from 2018. 

That's where I'm at: I am actively hoping for something glaringly obvious to be glowing on a screen saying I'M THE PROBLEM because at this point I really just need to know what the hell is going on. I mean, am I dying? Do I have cancer? Is it something I can fight/fix? Is it something I take medication for? Special diet? Am I going to do die in six months, because if so I'd like to know so I can plan it out. I mean, these are all the things going through my head as I wait for my labs. 

Spoiler: my labs were mostly fine. Just a couple of things were slightly low but nothing that signals something really going wrong. So my next hope was the CT scan. 

**** STOP HERE IF YOU GET GROSSED OUT BY STUFF. SERIOUSLY, TMI ALERT.****

I did that on Friday and everyone told me it is like a 5 minute thing, which.... technically, the scan itself WAS a 5 minute thing. The scheduler said I had to be there 90 minutes before to "get set up" which, alright. I figured I would bring a book or something. 

Imagine my shock when the lady comes out with this beverage and a straw and says she'll be back in 20 minutes. Alright, weird but I can do this. The drink itself isn't the worst. It really was like flat Sprite that never had fizz and not sugary at all but more... salty? It really reminded me of the glucose drink when you're pregnant. Here I thought I was done with that horror but nope. 

I got it done in 20 minutes and thought THANK GOD I'M DONE just as the lady is coming out with another one. 

Then she informs me I actually have to drink three of them and I get 20 minutes per bottle. 

You guys. I am not someone who can eat or drink things I don't like, I really struggle. I actually managed to get all three down and the others in the waiting room were whispering "chug it" as motivation but I barely got it down. That last sip I thought for sure was going to be thrown up. 

A more pressing issue was my bowels. They said I could pee (which thank god) and I ran for my life and I had never peed that much in my life. Never. Not only did I pee but I realized that, oh yay, I now am going to have a bout of uncontrollable diarrhea. Isn't this grand? This is exactly why I don't eat/drink much at all outside of my house. Or if I know I won't be going home right after, my intestines cannot be trusted. 

Once I feel like I'll be good for a little while, I go back in just as they are calling me. I go in for my scan, they run an IV so they can do contrast which, alright. I don't know what it is about the techs that do scans but they cannot do IV's on me and this guy tried hard but my arm looks like I'm an intravenous drug user right now. Also, some kind of liquid got sprayed all over my sweatshirt and it's in the wash and I hope it came out otherwise I'm going to be angry, it's new and my new favorite. Anyways. We do the scan and I can feel my bowels waging war and I'm getting legitimately nervous. He tells me the contrast will make me feel like I've peed my pants but nobody ever has and in my head I'm wondering how many people have crapped their pants in here because I really don't want to be the first. 

By the time the scan is done (I did not crap my pants), I literally RAN for the bathroom and spent the next 45 MINUTES typing a strongly worded email over the patient portal to my gastroenterologist that he needs to freaking warn someone that these drinks are basically giant laxatives and MAYBE you should have told me to buy an adult diaper or bring a towel, or SOMETHING. 

After I felt somewhat alright, I go out to my car where again, I wonder if I should go back into the bathroom or try driving and I just want to go home so I decided I would speed home. 

That turns out to be a terrible plan because guess what? Construction. There is a construction project beginning and four lanes of traffic merging into one at the end of the work day on the freeway. 

I actually thought about what my plan would be if I really couldn't hold it, do I get out and just... hope I don't end up on the news? I mean, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? 

After almost 30 minutes barely moving, I get to the Wisconsin exit and literally haul ass. I think I blew a stop sign, for sure a red light, I drove like I stole the car. I got home and I barely made it to the bathroom. And I really mean BARELY. Fast forward twenty minutes of losing my bowels and I go down to get into my pajamas, throw clothes into the wash, and again.... diarrhea. This continues for hours. Oh, but then about two hours into being home I start (wait for it) vomiting! 

Take a guess how great vomiting up flat Sprite is- I'll wait. 

Spoiler: it is awful. It is as awful as you can imagine anything but combine it with diarrhea at the same time. 

This is when I write my second strongly worded email over patient portal because by this point I am angry. I can't remember being this angry in awhile. 

I give up around 8 p.m. and decide the diarrhea is down to like once an hour so I'm going to try to go to bed because now I'm just exhausted. Also, keep in mind that I have Sheehan's Syndrome and secondary adrenal insufficiency so if I start throwing up or have diarrhea I need to take more of my medication because I could easily go into an adrenal crisis and that's bad. So I take more meds and go to bed, hoping I don't crap in the bed. 

I made it through the night but all day Saturday I felt absolutely awful. I was nauseous and I hadn't had stomach pain that bad since the day I had my gall bladder removed. The best part is I got the best call from my doctor's assistant who kind of chuckled at my emails (she is familiar with me, we can laugh together) but then tells me it is usually the IV or the drink, and if it is the drink you only need one. 

ONE, you guys. 

One. 

I had three. 

THREE. 

On the bright side, all of my insides were really expanded or whatever so there is no reason they can't see stuff, right? 

As of right now I have no other information from the scan, but cross your fingers something glaring is on there, OK? I know that sounds odd, but I really need to know what it is because living with pain and nausea all day every day is a bit much at this point. 

Hello lovers. Let's talk about the time I peed my pants.

It feels like forever, doesn't it? I know I've kept you going with book reviews, but the days of me writing about life and lamenting about the latest home improvement projects feels far and few between. Things are busy for everyone and I'm right there with you, and I keep taking notes on things I should be blogging about. I'm hoping I can just get my shit together but folks it's hard. But let's start tonight and see if I can't make you laugh like old times.

So remember how last week I said I was going to a play called Spank that was a parody of the book Fifty Shades of Gray? And I was so super excited because I was going to go with Emily, who I really love and who I really miss, and I was just so excited to get the fuck out of the house? I didn't feel great Monday, Tuesday I was home with a fever, and then Wednesday I felt just fine. Great, actually. I thought for sure I would be good to go to this play which was in Minneapolis so that is about a two and half hour drive from me one way. It makes for a long night, but it's almost always worth it.

Anyways.

So I met her in Forest Lake and we drove into the city together and that drive... I all of a sudden felt off. But then I thought, well I haven't eaten today so obviously my blood sugar is tanking and I'll be fine after I eat. We got to Minneapolis and decided to eat at a place called Brother's Bar, which turned out to be nice and inexpensive and if I were feeling better I probably would have liked my food. I mean, I'll try it again, let's put it that way. I ordered a wrap and literally, as soon as I got it, I felt sick. Like going to lose my shit sick.

I went to the bathroom, and nothing. You know that feeling where you want to puke because you are convinced you'll feel so much better? And you wish you had paid more attention to the bulimia unit in school to learn  how they puke on command? Well that was me, and nothing happened.

We walked over to the venue for the play and Mill City Nights is a bizarre venue. Not only did none of the employees seem to have a clue what was going on, they had on suits and attire that made them look like they were pretend CIA folks who felt grossly important because of their shiny shoes and jackets. But they clearly had no clue.

And the play was alright. It was funny in spots but not really what I was thinking it was going to be? And the male lead was not the guy as advertised and honest to god- this guy looked like a mannequin. Not in a good way either, maybe it was just too much makeup to make him look chiseled on his face? I don't know. What I do know is that shortly before the half way mark I felt like I was going to vomit on the guy in front of me. And bless Emily- she said it was OK if we left and I hope it wasn't because I looked like I was going to vomit all over her. I would have really tried to turn the other way. Because that's what friends do.

So we leave, and I feel terrible for basically wasting our money, and I feel terrible like I'm going to throw up in my car, and it's just a total downer. I know I was a terrible date and I was probably far too quiet and it was only because I was trying really hard to not throw up.

So I drop her off at Forest Lake. I decide to drive to the gas station and get some gas, thinking I would be able to not stop in Hinckley, and get home faster.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA..... nope.

As soon as I got out of my car I knew it was coming. I knew it. I kind of ran into the store and into the bathroom where I promptly vomited enough to necessitate a courtesy flush. Not only that? But I peed my pants.

That's right people, this 31 year old, absolutely stone sober woman, peed her pants in public. Not just a little, but enough to make it clearly obvious that oh hey- remember that sprite and water you drank all night? Yeah, bladder don't care- it's coming out. Proof that all of the kegels in the world can't save you from urine.

The best part about this is that I still had to pump gas. And drive two hours home in urine soaked pants.

After that humiliating bit, I got back into the car, after finding a Target bag to sit on, and started driving. Only realizing that every few miles? I had to pull over and puke. And I don't know if you have ever puked on the side of the highway in the middle of the night but it's pretty fucking scary.

And I ended up stopping in Hinckley anyways to get some water and also to puke again. But that was disorienting because on the other side of this bakery is a night club. Keep in mind, this is a Wednesday, Hinckley is Bible beating farm country, and they are playing music you'd hear at a rave where you would be dancing with Molly. So I've got the "boom, boom, boom" bass thing, and I'm puking and all I can smell is baked goods and it wasn't good. I probably also scared the attendant because my makeup was smeared, I obviously smell like urine and vomit, and my pants are clearly stained.

I got back on the road and from all of the puking? I was exhausted. So exhausted that I started hallucinating animals on the road, and all of the fog was really screwing with me, and I slammed on my brakes for a barrel. Thank god almost nobody ever is on the road with me otherwise I would have totally looked like a drunk driver. I made it home just before 1 a.m. and seriously- I felt rough.

So that was my Wednesday night.

I'll tell you about Thursday and Friday.... tomorrow.

Asphyxiation?

So I've been sick. Normally I don't get sick and if I do it's never to the degree where I need to actually be in bed for the entire day hoping I don't die.

But yesterday that's exactly what happened. I woke up with a raging fever and I just couldn't do life. So I checked out for the day, slept basically all day, and I'm back at it today with a head cold. Which I'll take over a fever and hoping my body does its job and fights those dirty bugs.

During my sick day I opted to take a ridiculously hot shower because I had gotten a headache and sometimes if I take a really hot shower it helps, so I'm in there, showering, and I start coughing. And you know what I'm talking about. You just start coughing and your body does it without your consent and all of a sudden, you can't breath. You have a lump of phlegm half in your throat, doesn't know where to go, you're in the middle of coughing and vomiting, and your body is trying to do you a solid by getting rid of this but forgetting that you can no longer breathe?

It was then that I wondered- how many people die of asphyxiation this way? Surely I'm not the only one that felt like they were going to die in a shower because of phlegm.

But never fear peeps, I'm back. And I have a book review coming today, one Friday, and tomorrow? Well tomorrow I'll tell you about Spank. Oh yes, I'm going to a play called Spank, and it's a parody of Fifty Shades of Gray and it's going to be awesome.

Random Sara and Book Review: ARE YOU THERE VODKA? IT'S ME, CHELSEA by Chelsea Handler

I'm going to be frank. I don't know really what I can say to force you to read this book. This book is a million shades of awesome. I love Chelsea Handler. Chelsea is me in a few years. I am pretty sure that had I not gotten married at 22 and had babies so early this would have been my future. And it would have been amazing. So I am basically going to give a really lame ass review interspersed with quotes from the book.

"...For a woman, being a redhead is a completely acceptable trait. Oftentimes it can be extremely attractive. Conversely, being a redheaded man is pretty much a lose-lose situation. It's incredibly hard to take redheaded men seriously, never mind think of them in any sort of sexual capacity. Obviously, it's not their f...ault that they were born with red hair. However, it is their responsbility to change that hair color once they have access to a convenience store or supermarket. It's one thing to have a harelip, or even a leg that's a couple of inches shorter than the other, but if you're a man with red hair and don't opt to do everything in your power to alter that, then obviously you're not serious about experiencing all life has to offer."

"Red got up and walked out of my bedroom toward the front door. Before he made it out I added one last thing: 'And you might want to think about trimming your bush!' Then I ran back into my room before he could say anything about my beaver.."

This book is hilarious for a lot of reasons other than the fact Chelsea wrote it. First off, she talks about her family's dysfunctional qualities so unabashedly and unapologetically that I only WISH I could do. I have a field of land minds in my family that I could write entire books about. And I'm not even going to touch my in-laws. But what I love about it is when she's interviewed and is blatantly asked how her family feels about this- she's honest when she says they don't care. And that's awesome. Because I'm a firm believer that if you can't make fun of your situation, and see the humor in it, there is something wrong with you. If you can't step back and make fun of yourself or those around you without worrying that you are damaging their self esteem to the point that they may kill themselves, there is something wrong with you. I will tell you if you suck. Sure, I might do it behind your back but if you ask me what my opinion of you is, please be ready for it. It might not be pretty.

Which is what has gone wrong with our society. You wonder why we have people so up in arms about hurting feelings, or being politically correct. Dammit. If you suck you need to know. If you are a rude ass son of a bitch, you need to know. If you are "woe is me" 99% of the time and are driving those around you into alcoholism just to cope with you, you need to know. But don't get it twisted- if you are an awesome person and you are doing kind and great and wonderful things for others, I will tell you that I think you are a million shades of super and I will tell others as well. Because frankly, I'm sick and tired of people being so god damn offended when somebody says something not so nice or points out a flaw of yours. Because guess what? You need to know.

"While looking at a website for liposuction, I learned that it was six- to eight-week recovery period, the clincher being that, during that time, I would under no circumstances be able to use street drugs. Obviously I had to think of a more realistic approach."

The other thing I love about Chelsea and her books is how she openly talks about sex. Now I have not had a ton of sexual partners, only 3 and I'm married to one of them, and so I when I read her books the first thing I think is "Son of a bitch. I just KNEW I should have whored it up." Because I think I'm missing a lot of experience that I really should have. I mean, I have had a lot of whacked out things happen to me with these three men and in my eleven years of sexual activity that I will tell you was NEVER covered in any sex ed, health class, or OB/GYN brochure. Considering I started reading Cosmopolitan a full year after I lost my virginity I was already way behind. And I'm really sorry- but their pictures? Their directions? Maybe I don't have a firm grasp of the English language but NONE of it makes sense to me. Anything super exciting I've ever done in bed has been complete accidents. That thank god I remember how to repeat. But Cosmo has failed me.

"Although I had developed a serious crush on our plumber that year, I wasn't sure that I was ready for penetration. I had seen my very first penis on a porno tape I stole from my brother, and was completely flabbergasted. While I had heard a lot about size and shape of the penis, no one had ever mentioned that there were going to be balls attached to it. Not to mention that there would be two of them, that they would be covered in hair, and that later in life, they would most likely end up smacking you in the face. I'm really glad I got the heads-up when I did, (a) because if I had found myself in bed with someone and see his two little friends headed toward me with no prior warning, I probably would have lodged a formal complaint with Internal Affairs, and (b) because it gave me plenty of time to shop for the perfect-size chin guard".

I also think that Chelsea gives a lot of pertinent, useful and applicable information to men as well in her books.

"...if you're a guy and you pull your pants down, and the girl you're with immediately starts text messaging her friends, you have a small penis."

I encourage you to check out any of her books. This is her second one, but she also has MY HORIZONTAL LIFE (which is hilarious and makes me angry that I've never had a one night stand) and she has a new one out called CHELSEA, CHELSEA- BANG, BANG which I have and am going to read after I finish up the book I'm on now.

Book Review: MY HORIZONTAL LIFE by Chelsea Handler + Truth or Dare (aka Sara TMI)= full circle with a giveaway/contest

Side note: Winnahs to my GIVEAWAY were posted yesterday. Click here to determine if you are a WINNAH or a looooooser. (I love you either way.)

That's right bitches. I have a FABULOUS book for you to read, plus I'm going to give you a heads up on a really fun contest/giveaway going on, and I'm going to give you some Sara TMI so I can win said giveaway and bring it all FULL CIRCLE.

(This is why I'm hot, yo)

For those of you who don't know me in real life (and by this I mean full on, like we hang out, you've witnessed me in action, or have heard me talk a million miles a second about the asshole who just did whatever to me, literally 5 minutes before meeting you for lunch, etc) don't know how much I love Chelsea Handler. Like I want to be her. I want her to be my friend. I want her to be my bestie. Or at least stalk me. Because I would totally be ok with her showing up in my bushes.

This book is FABULOUS. I borrowed it from my friend Lisa's friend Stephanie who I know, but not like super well and frankly- I think if one more crazy joins their group worlds will collide. Nobody would make it out alive. I have to say that this book makes me love Chelsea even more. She's a complete slut and I love it. Like if I were going to be a slut, this is how I'd like to do it. I want a run in with a midget, a gay friend who's hepped up on drugs at the family wedding, a guy coming out in full hardcore sex gear WITH a whip, etc. Yes, this is all in the book.

"He was all emotion all the time, constantly talking about his feelings and his profound love for her. He was minutes from getting his first period. He wrote poems too. It's my personal belief that if men are writing poems, they're making up for something else like a big hair back, or one ball. Not that one ball is a bad thing. Especially since I don't know any females who are dying to their their hands on a set of balls. The way I see it, the less balls, the better."-Chelsea Handler

This is what I had envisioned my 20's would be like. Clearly, I was off. By a husband, house, two kids, and two cats. But I highly recommend this book. The first chapter alone is so hysterical and I decided right then and there (in the back of the tire store my brother works at since I *finally* got new tires...lamest birthday present EVER) that I have clearly taken the wrong path in my life. I could have been her. Shit- I still could be. She's gotta die sometime, right? I'm ready to fill that void when she does. Chelsea's agent- holla. ;)

Anyways. My chicky Danon over at The Insatiable Host is having a giveaway but is making into a Truth or Dare deal. I am lucky because I was the first (and let's be real- you can't be surprised I'm #1) so I have a TRUTH to answer: When was your first time doin the nasty...How old, where, who...deets peeps...deets!!(better make it good - even if it was not!)

Bitch, please. EASY.

October 1999. I was 17. He was 20. It was at his house (which was his parents house. Yes I know how lame this was. Don't judge. I was 17 and thought I was hot shit.) We had been dating since May. We got engaged in August (again...don't judge. I was stupid and my parents hated him so OBVIOUSLY I was going to say yes). He convinced me that because we were going to get married, we may as well have sex. Because being engaged and married are practically the same thing apparently. He told me it was his first time which I thought was weird considering he was 20 and had a lot of other girlfriends before me but whatever. He had a BAG of condoms in his dresser (which yay for being prepared but who the hell is THAT prepared). We lit a candle that smelled horrid. We listened to Nine Inch Nails' The Great Below. It was late afternoon but dark in his room because the curtains were closed.

It was, literally, only 2, maybe 3 minutes long. Like he got in, lots of pain but I knew this after reading the ton of stuff the doctor gave me when my mother got me birth control when I started dating him because she was thinking ahead. (Go mom!) But yeah- it hurt worse than I thought it would. THEN...his brother (a year younger than me) started banging on the door. His parents were home, drunk (again), and so yeah. That was that. I had to hustle to get myself put together and then realized that it hurt to sit. It hurt to stand and walk. So the guy, ever the gentleman, told me to "walk it off" and so we walked around the neighborhood. Which I'm sure I looked real cool hobbling along.

But that was that. I do remember thinking on my drive home, "What the fuck is the big deal with sex? That sucked." And with him it never got any better. For awhile I thought maybe he really was a virgin because it wasn't as fun for me as you see in shows. So then I thought maybe I had some deformity. We broke up at the end of 2001 because it just wasn't going to work out. I had a not so great relationship after him and then I met Matt. And even though after boyfriend #1 and I broke up I started to think that he lied about that (among a lot of other things) but then when I met Matt- I thought "holy jesus--- sex isn't so bad afterall". Maybe that's why I married Matt. Maybe I thought I hit the pinnacle of greatness. Who knows.

Things I learned:

-do not have sex with younger siblings in the same building.

- do not have sex for the first time without advil, lubrication, and some kind of pantyliner. Because you will bleed.

- if you are a slut- just be honest and tell your partner. If you have to lie because you think it'd be bad, then maybe you shouldn't be having sex like a rabbit in heat with everything that walks passed you.

-engaged and married are not the same things. Not even if you are carrying wedding planning magazines in your bag to school and flaunting a ring that the girl after you wore and you're pretty sure belonged to somebody before you.

-communication is KEY to having sex.

SO. Go visit my girl Danon over at The Insatiable Host and tell her I sent you. Specifically mention that I sent you. Also- she runs a panty pyramid. (snicker...) I just joined and so you should join. And then we can all prance around in our new panties and admire the giftbasket I am going to win. And tell dirty stories. Oooh..this is going to be fun.