The Broken Rod in My Back

my sexy spine

i know how dramatic this sounds. i’ve seen enough dropped jaws when i’ve told friends that “my doctor said one of the rods in my back broke” to know i must follow it up immediately with, “but i’m OK. really.” and i am OK. really. 

there is no pain — most of the time. and the pain that i do feel some of the time is no different than the pain most people with bad backs have some of the time. in that sense, the broken rod in my back is a lackluster piece of metal, operating well below its full potential when considering how much damage it can do. the orthopedic surgeon i recently visited assured me that it could be much worse and that i should consider myself lucky. and i do.

i found out a few months ago during a checkup at the Cedars-Sinai Spine Center. i hadn’t had my backed checked in 10 years, which is dumb considering i had my spine fused 15 years ago and probably could have benefited from routine checkups. but orthopedic surgeons are like dentists to me: administrators of childhood pain that produced life-long scars who must be dodged for years with lofty excuses.

i had had scoliosis since puberty, and by the time i entered young adulthood, the curvature reached a 42-degree angle. the surgeon said i would need to correct it eventually, so three days after my 22^nd birthday, he made a 13-inch incision down the center of my back to add titanium rods along my spine that would fuse with bone chips “shaved” off my pelvis.

i was in the hospital for five nights, hooked up to a morphine drip, in a back brace for months and had to undergo intense physical therapy to get mobile again. (read the full story here.) in short, it was hell and a half, the worst physical pain of my life that made me contemplate suicide for the only time in my life. just thinking about that pain now makes me want to vomit and pass out, like i did countless times back then.

fast forward to now and the three rods have become four. maybe three and a half, as the piece is less broken off and free-floating than it is bent and hanging. it never fused with my bone or back, leaving that area unsupported, which could become problematic for me down the road. doc said it didn’t snap violently (i would have felt that), but weakened gradually by years of normal activity. he likened it to breaking a paper clip by bending it repeatedly at a certain point until it eventually gives way.


i am officially part of the “failed fusion” crowd. the surgeon said it happens in about 10% of cases.

so my rod gave way. i don’t know when it happened, probably years ago. no, you can’t feel the broken rod with your hand so quit trying to lift my shirt and touch my back, sicko. however, i can feel the broken rod from time to time. it creates a crunching sensation when i move a certain way that feels like two bones grinding against each other. this is not particularly painful, nor is it pleasant, so i try to minimize its occurrence, but the truth is i feel it several times a week. 

on days when i’ve done a lot of heavy lifting, moving furniture or gardening, i feel a small circle of pain at the broken point of the rod, and when i saw the area on the X-ray, i could locate it easily on my back. i’ve felt this pain for years, but it never reached debilitating levels so i would do a few stretches and carry on.

and i must still carry on as this issue does not have an magic solution. initially, i wanted the rod reattached with an operation. i read about the minimally invasive surgical breakthroughs made since my butcher job 15 years ago and knew they could go in through the belly button with a microscope for a quick procedure that would require only one night in the hospital and a few weeks of recovery.

after i suggested it, the surgeon called me crazy in the nicest way possible and then told me i was the only patient who ever walked into his office asking for an operation. he held up the sheet i had to fill out before every appointment, the one measuring my pain level from a 1 to 10. he pointed to all the 1s, saying “it’s not an issue until it’s an issue.” then he pointed to the waiting room full of 10s, a throng of aching and mangled bodies who looked like they were pulled from a freeway pileup. they always made me uneasy with their walkers, canes and groans, as i springed past them effortlessly, feeling a little guilty but mostly lucky not to be them.

doc said that having a needless surgery could create new pains and problems so i better accept my good fortune and work on maintaining it. and after the (crazy expensive) CT scan that showed more than the standard X-ray, he said the surgery i might need would be like the first one, but far worse.

apparently, the last surgeon (now deceased) should have extended the rods all the way to my neck instead of stopping midway down my back, because the area where he stopped is developing arthritis due to the stress on those upper vertebrae to support the bottom half of my spine. so the best corrective surgery for me at this point would cut my entire back open, remove the old rods and insert new ones from neck to tailbone.

hearing him say it made me shaky and nauseous. not gonna happen again. no fucking way.


CT scan of my back. on the other side of where the rod ends, about midway up my spine, the vertebrae are a little lighter, indicating arthritis. 

with that, i took his prescription for physical therapy and order to “get fit and stay that way” to heart. i would need to lose weight and strengthen my core in an effort to stave away the arthritis and chronic pain that are my certain future. to that end, i joined a gym close to my work and did the unthinkable by actually going.

there, i learned how to use all these nifty core strengthening machines that made my back feel bionic. weirder still is that i actually enjoyed the visits and felt grouchy when i hadn’t exercised in a while. not that i’m close to becoming a gymrat or ms. fitness USA, but i’m happy to spend less time on my couch eating bon-bons and watching soap operas.


taken on my first day of physical therapy. my favorite part was the heat packs and massages from the therapist, which helped me pretend i was in a spa instead of a gym.

Tico and i have also begun playing tennis regularly at our local court. despite its graffiti, i have affectionately renamed it “the country club,” calling Tico “Wellington” while we’re there and asking him to call me “Penelope.” he just rolls his eyes and runs me all over the court. we make sure to drink Perrier after.

in addition, i have been steadfast in my refusal of meat since February, helping to ensure that my diet consists mostly of fresh fish and veggies (and an occasional Twix bar). this has translated into a whopping 10 pounds of weight loss since the start of the year. normally, i would rejoice at this amount as i’ve been trying to lose “that final 10” since birth, but i’ve noticed that the 10 has turned into 20 – and probably 30 if i’m honest with myself, but let me keep the deception going a bit longer.


illustrations of some of my core conditioning exercises, courtesy of Tico

sadly, the weight has been coming off slooooowly, thanks to my aging metabolism and penchant for being lazy, but it will come off this time. having a medical imperative forces me take this seriously. i don’t want to become one of those aching, mangled bodies in my surgeon’s waiting room and i certainly don’t want a repeat of that first surgery.

but don’t worry, i won’t become one of those needy people who tracks her weight loss and food online or checks into the gym weekly on Facebook. nor will there be some big bikini reveal at the end of this, as i don’t know photoshop. what there will be is rather dull: a better diet, more exercise and, hopefully, a healthy back that i’ll be able to use well into old age. 

now if you’ll excuse me, i need to go do some situps.

Things to Do When You're Sick Again

or maybe that should be “still sick,” or perhaps “sick for four fucking weeks.” yep, four fucking weeks of the flu, a sinus infection and then a sinus re-infection. in that time, i went to the doctor twice, missed five days of work, had violent coughing fits that just fell short of vomitting, filled wastebaskets with tissues covered in brown mucus, left ricola wrappers all throughout my house, and spent several days alternating between doses of Dayquil and Nyquil. i engaged in a few other thrilling activities, outlined below, and available for replication as long as they don’t infringe on any copyrights.

• lie in bed certain that you’re going to die alone, because who really wants to take care of the snotty, stuffy, wheezy, unshowered ass you’ve become, you pathetic little sick girl? in between naps, browse a few internet dating sites before closing your browser in digest, suddenly OK with the notion of dying alone.

• convince yourself that you’re healthy enough to attend a friend’s birthday party in Long Beach. go to the party with a box of tissues in your purse and, for god’s sake, don’t cough on people when you talk to them. foolishly finish a second glass of wine that disagrees with the many decongestants you’ve taken that day and makes you feel naseuous and tired. beg the friends you came with to take you back to your car across town immediately, even though they are having a good time. pass out on your friend’s guest bed within seconds of arriving at her house. wake up at 1:30am with mascara smeared down your face to drive yourself home in silence and shame.

• go to work like normal, because you’ve burned through too many sick days and it’s only february. ask your coworkers every day if you’re coughing less today than you were yesterday. wonder if you’re sensing irritation or impending illness in their eyes when they respond to you through clenched teeth with another suggestion that you should go home.

• decide that you will attack the second sinus infection with homeopathic remedies instead of another round of antibiotics for fear of developing a resistance to antibiotics (whoops, too late). spend $80 at Whole Foods on Sinusalia, garlic drops for the ears, and a variety of juices, soups and teas to keep you hydrated. hide the garlic drops after your dogs try to burrow into your ear every time you use them. eat soup while sitting on your couch in your pajamas and catching up on 30 Rock.

• spend your downtime proofreading 400 pages for a freelance client. reread pages numerous times as your head is cloudy and clogged, which has turned your normally eagle eyes into the eyes of a dyslexic toddler. ask the client for an extension.

• go to acupuncture in an effort to remain au naturel in your pursuit of health. hold your breath while needles are inserted into your head and face. feel amazing right after the session ends only to feel like shit later when the lymph nodes in your neck swell to bodybuilder proportions, making it hard to swallow or breathe. endure a hellish sleep that’s punctuated with coughing fits that leave you gasping for air. cry because you’re sick of being sick already and when will it end and why does the universe hate me so much? i’m sorry for whatever i did to deserve this and i promise i won’t ever do it again, whatever it was.

• wonder if this sickness is the result of you deciding to give up meat at the start of 2012 and if these are the elusive toxins entering your bloodstream, which is what all the au naturel folks say happens when you decide to go au naturel. consider having a steak to see if it makes you feel better. have that steak and feel gross afterwards, having added indigestion to your sinus congestion. decide to maintain the meatlessness going forward.

• wake up the morning after your second acupuncture appointment feeling better. get worried that this is only a reprieve before the next relapse. blow your nose and feel almost relieved when you see brown snot in the tissue. confuse yourself with your thoughts.

today, i’m feeling mostly better, mostly healed, though my throat is still sore and my cough is still annoying. i have one more acupuncture appointment next week that will hopefully kick this thing out for good and then i have to get on with the business of packing my lost february into march.

Things to To Do When You're Home Sick

this week, i was taken down by a very nasty flu — and i mean “taken down” the way a sniper’s bullet takes you down. i was sicker than i’ve been in years. i went to work with a scratchy throat one tuesday morning and came home after lunch with chills and body aches. then i spent the next three days in bed with my head in a fog, wallowing in self-pity. i did engage in a few other activities, which i’ve kindly outlined here in case you also find yourself taken down by this unkind plague.

• lie in bed moaning loudly (and for all the wrong reasons). tell yourself to stop moaning loudly because it’s unnecessary and melodramatic. wonder if this is delerium setting in.

• sleep 15 hours during the first night of your flu and awaken with hip and joint pain because you spent too much time lying down. sleep 5 hours the second night of your flu and awaken with a pounding headache because you didn’t sleep long enough. take vicodin.

• refuse the many offers of assistance because you’re worried about getting people sick even though you desperately want people to come over and take pity on you. get a surprise delivery of soup placed on the trunk of your car by one of your favorite friends. realize (again) that your friends are super awesome.

• play Words With Friends nonstop. get impatient when your friends don’t play their turn within 30 seconds of you playing your turn. search for more friends to play with.

• worry your dogs, who begin looking at you as though you were dying. leave your bed, where your dogs are not allowed, to spend some time on the couch, where your dogs are allowed. negotiate the sibling rivalry between your dogs as they climb over each other in an attempt to sit on your chest and lick your face. choke on dog hair and then go back to bed.

• tell your parents (who have begun calling you twice a day) that you will NOT see a doctor because you refuse to waste money to hear a doctor tell you what you already know — that you have the flu. wonder when you turned into an old jewish man.

• wear your pajamas for three days straight without showering or even washing your face. wake up the morning your fever breaks drenched in sweat and realize that it’s time to take a shower. take a 45-minute shower and return to bed.

• remind yourself that even though you’re 35 and without a boyfriend to take care of you doesn’t mean that you’ll die alone and unloved. that’s just the fever talking. consider joining an online dating service once you’re healed.

• catch up on Teen Mom. catch up on Teen Mom 2. be thankful you were never a teen mom.

• eat very little. drink three gallons of water. take no medicine except vicodin for your headache. miss work for three days. avoid doing your dishes. let all calls go to voicemail (except your parents’, who will keep calling back until you answer). bemoan your lack of energy. stand outside in your pajamas to catch sun on your face. cherish your health once it returns.

Rebounding

i’m really starting to come out of the fog now. another week of recuperation has passed and i’m breathing better and feeling brighter. i’ve resumed my old habits of leaping off tall buildings in a single bound and fighting underground street crime. from now on, y’all can call me the Pheonixxx. and damn, it feels goooooood to be back.

i had been sick for so long that i had grown accustomed to the congestion and coughing, forgetting what it’s like to feel healthy. and now i’m doing what i can to forget this summer of sick. to put it behind me, i bit the bullet and bought a bunch of new bedding accoutrements, including allergy protectors for my mattress and pillows, a new sheet set and a new duvet cover.

with sadness (and a bandana tied around my mouth and nose as a mask), i peeled off my old duvet cover from my comforter — a gorgeous, strawberry-colored, shimmery silk cover that i loved dearly. it fell to the ground where i proceeded to stomp on it for causing me so much allergenic agony. then i scooped it up and just threw it in the trash bin, right on top of the watermelon rinds.

half an hour later, my ankles were covered with the most obnoxiously itchy welts, making me wonder whether i should have called a haz-mat team to dispose of the cover instead, lest some homeless man dig it out of my trash for warmth and develop rashes and bronchitis.

but that didn’t ruin my spirits, which were elevated to ultimate heights the following morning after i enjoyed the most restful night of sleep i’ve had in months, lounging as i did on my new softer-than-soft beechwood sheets, with my comforter now wrapped in a still gorgeous copper-colored silk duvet cover.

and more bright sides have begun to emerge. for starters, i’ve conclusively quit smoking — before it was just a theory — which means no more social cigarettes. i haven’t had one since june, and the few recent times i’ve been out and about and been offered a cig i’ve declined, which never happened before. occurrences like these are indicative of a general paradigm shift toward positivity, which is my latest life aim. going forward, my goals are to make healthy choices, live for the long-term and surround myself with positive people, myself notwithstanding. lofty, eh?

the time off also got me exercising regularly and going to bed earlier, making me a happier, more energetic camper during the day. i’m well rested now and focused on the house-hunting adventure that lies ahead. all in all, all is well again.

And Now

i’ve made some serious headway this past week, with regard to that whole health and healing thing that’s been eluding me for many months now. my cough has gone from “accompanying every inhale” to “periodic.” i would normally be overjoyed at such a development if the chronic coughing hadn’t been replaced by snot overproduction. but now, instead of coughing so hard that my eyeballs risk popping out of my skull, it’s been my ears popping daily with the nonstop blowing of my nose.

this has left me in a constant state of irritable. i’ve never been a sickly person. in fact, i’ve always prided myself on having a strong russian constitution. i’ll drink milk past the expiration date if it smells ok, take my steaks medium rare and eat shellfish like it’s going out of style. feathers and cats have been my only serious allergies, and i manage to avoid both with great success. but now, i’m using a friggin inhaler to breathe right.

sadly, the disinfection was less than a raging success. febreeze’s anti-allergen spray may as well have been fragrant water because it didn’t do shit. i worry i’ll need to replace my mattress and bedding, all of which i bought new last year. the air purifier, however, does seem to be improving the air quality in my bedroom — somewhat. still, i need to sleep with a fan blowing in my face to keep the air circulating. otherwise, my sinuses impact with snot, causing me to spend the first hour of each morning being intimate with the tissue box.

also, i’m officially boycotting summer. first off, i’ve always despised the heat. it makes me tired, uncomfortable and, worst of all, sweaty. i don’t subscribe to sweating. aside from the few forms of exercise i enjoy, sex and dancing, there is no reason to sweat. it’s unbecoming. secondly, now that i’ve finished all the schooling i’ll ever need, summers are nothing to look forward to. they don’t provide the lengthy break or possibility for exotic travel like they once did. now, summertime means go to work as usual. no big whoop.

last summer i spent tied up in knots at the thought of turning 30, and the summer before was Angela’s suicide, the first big breakup with Mo and my own cancer scare. crapola. can’t wait to see what calamity is in store for me next summer. oh, that’s right. i won’t be observing summer anymore. i’ll be tucked under my covers, hiding from it, and probably still coughing.

ok, bright side. where you at, where you been hiding? one good piece of news is that i haven’t broken out in hives in many weeks. i’m sure that sleeping in full pajama armor has influenced this outcome. also good is that i’ve been exercising more and hanging out in my gym’s steam room, which make my lungs very happy. energy is also back, making me itchy to leave the house more. and i’ve been far more engaged in my work and generally more enamored with living a healthy life.

there. much better.

Disinfection

recovery has finally made an appearance on the horizon. i can almost taste it. and thankfully it doesn’t taste like a lugee. it tastes more like an ionic breeze, slightly metallic but clean, like distilled water.

also good is that the source of my sickness has been identified. i think this is one of those few occasions where the phrase “i’m allergic to work” can be used both literally and figuratively. ok, it’s a weak pun but let me claim my small victories. i’m still sick. cough cough.

but seriously, i am allergic to my workplace. i guess the bright aura i’ve credited myself with having lately was really a radioactive glow. my mistake for not noticing sooner. what i did notice was that i got sick soon after i moved floors at work in mid-may. i moved to a floor undergoing construction, and although the affected areas are neatly taped off and away from worker bees like myself, those allergens jumped the fence and burrowed into my lungs, causing the bronchitis. cute aryan doctor pieced this together when i mentioned the move, the construction, and that other peeps on the floor have also developed coughs.

he also cautioned that i’ve been bringing the allergens home, as they’re the clingy types that have attached to my clothes and hair, meaning they’re in my house and car, meaning that i need to disinfect pretty much everything in my possession. but here’s the best part: guess where the allergens are most concentrated? wait for it, wait for it.

my bed! awesome, right? guess that will teach me to hang up my clothes every day. at least i finally have an explanation for why i always felt more miserable after crawling into bed to rest. and it’s also nice to have finally isolated the cause of the hives.

yeah, the hives. they’ve popped up several times already, always in the middle of the night. it’s a fun little panic to awaken to. at first, i attributed their appearance to a new marinade, but when they refused to relent long after the marinade had passed through my system, all blame landed on these allergens.

so now i disinfect. the comforter has been dry-cleaned, the mattress febreezed and vacuumed, the sheets boiled, and an air purifier — yes, the Ionic Breeze from Sharper Image — is doing the rest. workwise, my supervisors have kindly agreed to my request to be moved off the floor until construction ends. and no, i’m not suing.

but i am still disinfecting. i have the sanitizing wipes attached to my sleeve so if i see you and insist on wiping you down with bleach before giving you a hug hello, you know why.

Out of Orbit

i’ve spent the past week and a half home from work, recovering from this lovely respiratory infection. the illness itself wouldn’t have taken me so far out of orbit but the antibiotics and other assorted meds i had to ingest for the past ten days leveled me in unanticipated ways. i seriously had so little energy that doing something as simple as laundry felt like a herculean task.

i slept most of the days away, left my house only when necessary and bitched nonstop to anyone who made the mistake of calling me to say hi. i might be a happy drunk, but a sad sick i'm afraid. i hated the forced time off, particularly because i couldn't do a damn thing with it. i laugh when i think of the ambitious list i wrote of all the things i intended to do when i first began my respite. instead, i did the following — and you can too should you ever find yourself in the position of looking for Things to Do While Recovering from Bronchitis:

• promise yourself that you’ll never ever smoke another cigarette for the rest of your life and ask your friends to put out their own cigarettes on your face if you try to bum. decide to buy an air purifier and visit the steam room at the gym more often to help detoxify your lungs.


• bemoan the fact that your medication causes sun sensitivity and that you need to stay indoors and out of the sun’s harmful rays which can now boil you like a lobster. then remember it’s july in los angeles, 90 degrees, and that you hate heat and wouldn’t want to be out there anyway. feel better momentarily.


• enjoy the time with your fantastic dogs who seem happy to have you home so much. apologize to said dogs profusely about being a dead-beat mom all week and promise them numerous trips to the dog park upon your recovery. bond with your new puppy who is finally starting to become affectionate with you. notice that new puppy has a serious gas problem.


• begin work on a freelance project that requires you to proofread an 850-page high school health textbook. find yourself actually learning something. giggle at the chapter on sexual abstinence.


• visit your cutie-patootie Aryan doctor for another checkup where you blather on about your cough. say inappropriate and nonsensical things such as you really like the cough syrup with codeine he prescribed because it gives you “kaleidoscopic” dreams. blush like a school girl when he uses his stethoscope to listen to your lungs, which, by the way, sound clear so no you don’t have pneumonia like you suspect and you didn’t have it last time either, remember? leave quietly and then kick yourself in the head for being an insufferable idiot.


• find one long, dense book to occupy your week. settle on the 625-page autobiography of Katharine Graham. find yourself once again fascinated by the world of journalism. vow to rent “All the President’s Men” as soon as you can.


• become alarmed when your puppy brings in a severed pigeon leg one morning from the yard. carefully dispose of leg and then reluctantly enter your yard to find pigeon feathers scattered throughout, but no carcass. inspect puppy’s mouth, face and body to see if she had an altercation with a pigeon and already ate the evidence. conclude that it was likely a possum who committed the dismemberment the prior night and puppy recovered only sloppy seconds.


• eat like a pig because you’re bored and need comfort. exercise not at all. have your parents come by to drop off food after you complain that your fridge is empty. hear your dad look at you and say, “hmm, i thought being sick would make you drop a few pounds.”


• wish Zsa Zsa Gabor would call you.

nowadays i’m feeling better, though the cough and congestion still linger. but my energy has begun its rebound, and resuming work and rejoining civilization have never sounded better. i’ve spent enough time sitting around cruising myspace and twiddling my medicated thumbs. time to be productive again.

Aggressive Upper Respiratory Infection

a few weeks ago, doc said it was “acute bronchitis aided by bacteria.” next stop on the infirmary train would be pneumonia if i left it untreated, but to me it already feels like pneumonia, or at least its seedling. i’ve been coughing for six weeks. no joke. i also haven’t had a solid night’s rest in six weeks, being that i’m awakened countless times throughout the night to get a good cough out, wet my irritated throat with water and take a few deep breaths to return the oxygen to my brain.

until i saw the doctor earlier in the week, i had convinced myself that i had TB and would need to be quarantined. i feared that i might be arrested if i didn’t do the quarantine like that guy who was in the news a month back for flying with TB. i wondered if i could have crossed paths with him and been exposed. maybe he was that drunken guy from the Knitting Factory in early June who stood too close to me at the bar. i swear that guy breathed on my drink. i even began to prepare for the quarantine, trying to figure out who could watch my dogs and wondering would they have WiFi at the TB clinic?

i’ve begun my second round of antibiotics, with this one being some super strong antibiotic made for horses or something. when i went to fill the prescription, the pharmacist was like, “wow, do you have pneumonia?” i guess the sub par Amoxicillin of the first round just won’t treat such an aggressive infection, one that’s causing my lungs to crawl up my throat in an effort to escape my diseased body. plus there’s the Mucusin that is forcing the — yep, you guessed it — mucus to crawl up along with my lungs, maybe to better lubricate their journey. and there’s also the cough medicine with codeine that is giving me some crazy dreams, including a very surreal semi-nightmare the other night that had me on a roadtrip with all my ex-boyfriends.

i feel dumb, like it’s my fault. even strangers on the street think it’s my fault. a few weeks back as i was walking to Whole Foods, coughing my brains out, i passed an old russian guy on the street who heard my bark, looked right at me, finger pointed and yelled “don’t smoke!!!” in russian. startled, i kept walking, took a moment to process the event before turning around and yelling back, also in russian, “i don’t smoke!!” what a fucker. i haven’t had a cigarette in months. before those months maybe, but that has nothing to do with now. neither does having been a heavy smoker for six years back in the day. i mean, come on.

am i complaining enough? please humor me some more, because that’s what good blog readers do and you guys are the best blog readers in the world. i also have a story about the trip to the doctor’s office, which sadly didn’t include a lollipop or bright sticker at its conclusion like it did when i was a kid.

instead i had to visit the USC Health Sciences campus just north of downtown for a coveted same-day appointment, which means i get to see a different doctor every time as well as the ever-friendly med students who do the intake. the one this time looked younger than me and seemed scared as hell to talk to or touch me. she began by asking why i came in, and i kindly supplied her with a demonstration of the barking cough that has been charming those around me for weeks. i went on for about five minutes rattling off a list of my symptoms only to have her nod vigorously without writing a single thing down.

she then stopped and glanced down at her blank sheet, looking defeated. “i’m a third-year medical student and this is my first day ever working with patients,” she smiled meekly. “and the doctor wanted me to finish your intake in 15 minutes so he could leave by five.”

i had to appreciate her honesty. she seemed so genuine that i tried not to let her inexperience irritate me. but after another five minutes of her looking lost and apologetic, i had no other choice but to grab the clipboard and write down a list of my symptoms, saying, “don’t worry about a thing, sweetie. i’d love to leave by five, too. let’s get this party started.”

she seemed relieved, thanked me for being “cool” and eventually resumed control of her clipboard, but she still managed to prolong the intake to 25 minutes by asking every last question on the sheet, including “are you having homicidal thoughts and is anyone abusing you?”

i wanted to say, “sweetie, is that the intake sheet for teenagers? because i’m here for a cough, so no, my daddy’s not touching me weird. is the doctor free yet?” but instead i smiled politely and showed what i believe to be an alarming amount of self-restraint by breathing out a simple “no and no.”

finally the doctor came in and damn was he ever cute — and in a very not-my-type sort of way, meaning he looked a bit Aryan when i generally prefer them darker. still, i began to entertain the idea that i would need a house call later when i could try on his white coat and test out his bedside manner, heh heh. but i quickly dropped any illusion that our interaction was flirtatious when he began talking about the diarrhea all my new medications could cause.

and so far the only thing the medication has caused is insomnia. note the time stamp. i can’t sleep at all.

Tidings

farking hell, december already. i don’t know why time and its passage still surprise me. the way the days pile on top of each other to turn into months and now, almost, a year. not like i could expect a different outcome. but here i am again with the requisite, “oh, where does the time go? oh, the days move too fast.”

i remember how dreadfully slow time moved during childhood when i would count down the days until winter recess, summer vacation. the school year seemed so long and dreary, like adolescence itself. and though i don’t miss being a kid one bit, i do miss the nervous anticipation that accompanied every new calendar year, which signified the approach of a birthday, one year closer to emancipation at 18, to ultimate freedom.

nowadays, new years signify tax season and the need to put 2007 instead of 2006 on my checks, which will trip me for months. they signify the end of holiday gluttony, with the scattered picked-over party trays and dried-up poinsettias. then come the repercussions in the form of credit card bills, increased gym visits, crusty fruitcakes.

not to scrooge. i’m quite content with the present state of things, which, by all measures, is delightful. i have goodness all around me. i feel stable, secure, loved, in control and... bored.

the days are predictable: wake, work, sleep, rinse and repeat. and next year will be no different. i also feel perpetually sick, having just shaken off a cold that kept me home from work for a few days. i had gnarly sniffles that moved me through a box of tissues a day and left me with tender nostrils. when i went in for a haircut last weekend, my hair guy seemed alarmed by their redness, and asked whether i had a “colombian hangover.” now it feels as though the bug jumped from my nose to lungs, making me wheezy.

while home sick, i roamed around in my polka dot pajamas, looking for low-effort things to do between naps. at some midday point, the phone rang and i went to grab it, checking the caller ID as usual before answering. “Zsa Zsa Gabor,” it read. fuck! “hello! hello?” dial tone. fuck!

it was the highlight of my day.