What ever happened to Sidney?
2005-05-13 10:54 p.m.

Even though I contacted St. Albert's Catholic School and told them they have the wrong person they are still sending me harassing letters about the up and coming reunion. The last one was almost threatening. They want to update my bio and they need the information immediately. This is what I'm sending them: (Hey, don't blame me, I've contacted them numerous times letting them know they have the wrong person.)



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Test anxiety.
2005-05-13 1:55 p.m.

I went to the Rheuma-nurse this morning. He read my medical history notes thoroughly and looked at my leopard porn pictures with awe. He listened to my heart and lungs, poked at the spots on the ankles, palpated my liver and massaged my spleen. He was thorough, thatís for sure. He disappeared for ten minutes to consult with the official rheumatologist on staff and came back at me with seven more blood tests and a urinalysis. He handed me a cute little pamphlet on Sjogrenís Syndrome and told me heíd call me with the test results. So again, itís hurry up and wait. He also told me it could have been a weird virus and I was still recovering.

I dutifully went to the lab and offered up the preferred vein on my right arm. I didnít realize how much blood they were actually taking from me until they were on the fifth vial and there were little white butterflies dancing in front of me. The technician asked me how I was doing. She sounded very far away and it took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. ďOh, Iím just great.Ē I lied and hoped that I didnít pass out in front of everyone.

Then came the fun part. They handed me a big gulp glass and gave me explicit instructions: I was suppose to start peeing, stop, pee into the cup, stop, take cup away, then finish peeing. The technician made it very clear they only wanted the middle pee. Yeah right. Iíve been sort of diagnosed with a disorder that dries me up and they want me to fill up a pint glass on demand.

Once I was locked in the bathroom with my panties around my ankles, I had a little pep talk with my kidneys.

KFK: Come one guys! You can do it. I know you havenít been just sitting around looking all cute, pink and squishy this morning.
KIDNEYS: Leave us alone. You havenít drank anything since ten oíclock last night. Weíve got nothing to work with.
KFK: Please, thereís got to be something you can do. What about all that water and diet coke I drank yesterday?
KIDNEYS: All gone. Now, if youíd taken the time to drink some coffee this morning weíd totally be in business.
KFK: We donít have to fill up the whole thing, how about just half way?
KIDNEYS: Sorry. Weíre going back to sleep.

After completely wringing out my bladder I was able to submit a teaspoon of liquid for them. That included the beginning, middle and end part. I have a feeling Iíll be getting a nasty call from the lab later today.

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Under no circumstances should you ever read the nutritional information on a Haggen-Dazs bar.
2005-05-12 7:16 p.m.

I didn't quite make it into work today, damnit. I hate feeling so sick and weak. It drives me crazy. I slept all morning, watched two episodes of Law and Order and then slept all afternoon, which made me feel a little better. I ate a little something (an icecream bar, shhh) for dinner and am going to do my physical therapy exercises for my back, no matter how much is hurts. My poor thoracic spine has started seizing up and that can't be a good thing. I think the muscles are just trying to compensate for the lower back which have just given up and gone to the movies.

Speaking of movies. I went and saw Kung Fu Hustle on Sunday with some friends. I loved it and have added Steven Chow to the list of men I'd be willing to let impregnate me. Normally I'm a fan of old school kung fu movies with no special effects or wire-fu, but I make an exception for Steven Chow films because the surrealality is such an integral part of the plot. I highly recommend this movie. I give it three backfists and an axe kick.

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Livid.
2005-05-11 8:57 p.m.

I decided to look up the rheumatologist my HMO From Hell is sending to on the AMA Website. I want to know where this guy went to school, where he did his residency, all the articles he's written and what kind of floss he uses on his teeth. I search extensively and he's not there. WTF? So I go to the HMO website and look him up. That's when I find out they're not sending me to a doctor. They're sending me to a fucking Nurse Practitioner. They're basically sending me to someone who has the same educational level that I do (MA). I want to make this perfectly clear:

I FEEL LIKE COMPLETE AND UTTER CRAP. MY BODY IS ATTACKING ITSELF AND I WANT TO SEE A FUCKING SPECLIAST. I WANT TO SEE A PHYSICIAN. YOU KNOW, SOMEONE WHO WENT TO MEDICAL SCHOOL.

I talked with Laurelann who wanted me to kick ass and take names and even offered to do it for me. Here's the problem. If I throw a hissy fit it will be another two weeks to get an appointment. Maybe longer if the HMO From Hell only employs only one or two real live bone fide rheumatologists. So I'm stuck going to see this NP who I'm pretty sure that I know just as much as they do.

Have I let on how mad I am about all of this?

I'm considering booking an appointment with our medical director at work. His curriculum vitae is as impressive as you can get and I know him personally. He also thinks I'm the cat's pajamas. It would be worth paying out of pocket for the office visit. Especially if I can make my HMO do all the lab work.

On the upside I've quit throwing up and have got some work done at home. Let's hear it for water and crackers. Hurrah. I plan on going into the office tomorrow.

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Note above the sink: Do not barf on the fiestaware.
2005-05-10 7:42 p.m.

I wanted to write about something exciting and witty. Something that didn't involve a detailed account of me waking up at 5:00am on Monday morning and barfing my guts out in the kitchen sink for over an hour. I have no idea why I'm throwing up. I'd attribute it to anxiety but I'm also running a 101 fever and I don't think I can worry myself into a fever. Whatever. The steroids I was on warned me to "stay away from contageous persons" and I went to the doctor once and the hospital another time. I basically immersed my damaged immune system in a stew of viruses, bacteria and angry aemoebi. Lord only knows what I've contracted. It could be ebola for all that I know.

I have to go to work tomorrow. I'm afraid if I call in sick again I'll find another blonde haired bimbo answering my phone and doing my files. She'll probably have replaced my tacky shrine with cute dog figurines and replaced the anime wallpaper on my computer with a picture of George Clooney. *shiver*

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