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2006-05-13 10:56 p.m.

Well, I got bored and changed the look of my diary again. Thanks to my bro who spent the last hour on the phone with me tweaking the HTML so it was viewable. I can make pretty images but I do horrible ghastly things to HTML. I'm leaving the link to Francey Designs up since it's 95% her code; it's just my images and links. In other words, if you hate it, it's all my fault. I wanted to change it because I guess the Japanese headlines were about suicides and I don't want any bad mojo. This image represents my current obsession with all things geisha. Pretty pretty.

7 People have tried to sell me Viagra

Not as fun as they promised.

2006-05-12 5:55 p.m.

I was totally tricked. The pharmacy sent me home with thicker gauge needles than the one I practiced with yesterday. I got up this morning thinking "I can totally do this!" I fill the needle with 6cc of methopukesate, wipe down my pudgy little belly with an alcohol wipe, grab a chunk of it and press the needle - press the needle - press the fucking needle - It won't go in. I'm pushing and the tip of the needle is making a big indentation, but it's not breaking the skin. What happened to that divine little tiny elfin needle that sluiced through my skin like a hot knife through butter? Suddenly my skin pops and the needle rams deep inside my flesh. I'm screaming "Omigod omigod omigod omigod that really hurts. Now I have to hold it in there and work the plunger thingy!" I manage to shoot myself full of chemotherapy goodness and pull out the needle which is beginning to look like the size of jousting lance to me. I rub my stomach. I feel like I've been impaled. And not in a good way. Now I have to find out how to get rid of the needles. How much are used needles going for on e-bay these days? I joust jest. I get my own biohazard bin.

1 People have tried to sell me Viagra

In where our heroine plays with sharp objects.

2006-05-11 9:16 p.m.

When we decided that I'd go to a weekly injectible medication I thought I'd go to a nurse once a week and she'd stab me in the arm and I'd get on with my life. wrong.

A nurse came in the room and handed me a needle and some saline solution and taught me how to inject myself. With a needle. In the stomach. I almost felt heroin chic but this stuff is injected subcutaneously which means you stick it into your fat and not your vein. Hence the stomach. I've got plenty 'o fat there. I was a very good girl. I didn't cry. I didn't joke around and ask where the spoon was and where I could buy high grade rubber tubing. Personally, I would have thought I was being hysterical, but they would have locked me up into a treatment center faster than you can say Betty Ford is a Whore.

I must have been turning gray at one point because the nurse said right before I began to push the needle into my tum, "Don't worry, this doesn't hurt!" Uh, you could have said that ten minutes ago, perhaps, after you said "Hi, I'm here to teach you how to inject yourself with a gigantic needle once a week." She was right. It slid in like butter. I pushed the plunger and viola my stomach has .6 ccs of saline in it. Cool. I felt all weird and shaky when I was done. Like I had just pierced myself or cut off a finger. I think I expected it to hurt a lot more and was not expecting to be trained on the spot. I mean, one minute my doctor and I were debating the pros and cons of injectible medicaitons versus the pills I had been taking and the next minute I'm training to home nursalize myself.

I went to the pharmacy to pick up my "kit" and they asked me how many needles I wanted. No one has ever asked me that question before. Do I say 1? 50? 678? I don't fricking know, you're the damn pharmacist. "Uh, four? Enough to match the medication," I say carefully. She nods and walks off. I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I answered correctly. I passed. I ask for alcohol pads. I get 200 of them. I guess you have to buy them by the gross. So hey, if you ever skin you knee, stop by, I've got your covered. I even have Hello Kitty band-aids.

This is all new and strange to me. I have needles. I have inject a chemo agent into me. Utter weirdness.

4 People have tried to sell me Viagra

Oh how I love new products.

2006-05-10 9:11 p.m.

I went grocery shopping this afternoon and purchased some amazing new products. First of all, I purchased some pre-made sugar free jello cups. Only ten calories! However, I'm having the damndest time figuring out how you insert the vodka. I also purchased a new kitty litter for "small spaces." I figure anything that keeps my small house from smelling like I'm the crazy cat lady deserves two paws up and a scratch in a Z formation. So far no one has ever told me that my house stinks like I own 27 feral cats but maybe they were just trying to be polite or get in my pants. 'Cause I'm not going to get it on with someone who tells me my house smells like cat urine. No, I'm going to be too busy scrubbing the entire house in a solution of bleach and ammonia. Yes, I'm aware that's napalm. If my house smells that bad I don't want to live anyway.

I digress.

So, I scrubbed the litter box with detergent, dried it, stuck in a new liner and dumped in the fresh brand spanking new litter. The cats watched the entire process avidly. You see, they have this strange ritual. They have a race to see who gets to "christen" the fresh box. Have you ever seen the expression on a cats face that's trying to poop when they really don't have to? Their ears go flat agains their head, their wiskers spread all out and their brow furrows like their concentrating really really hard. It's like their trying to do calculus. The funniest is when they both get in the litter box together and race to mark the new territory. Talk about a Kodak moment. Nothing warms a mother's heart more than her babies trying to out poop each other. Yeah, that's going on next year's Christmas card.

6 People have tried to sell me Viagra

Did I mention the computers are down?

2006-05-09 9:11 p.m.

What should have been a quickie doctor visit turned into an all day visit at the hospital. I saw my physiatrist who spent a long time reading my medical records. I was undiagnosed when we last met. "Don't you remember me crying all over you and freaking out?" I ask. She laughs. "No, no, I don't and I didn't put that in your exam notes. But wow, you've been through a lot." I tell her my fears of neurosarcoidosis and if the CT scan would have detected a big ole lesion on my spinal cord. After reading Karen Duffy's book I've developed a fear/obsession with lesions. My doctor reassures me that what I have sounds like arthritis which is what sarcoid people tend to get. I haven't had my hips x-rayed and she's concerned about my iliac something-o-rather (read hip joint) as that seems to be where most of my pain is (read left butt cheek).

Then the computers went down.

Pandemonium ensues. Nobody knows what to do. I get a dusty handwritten form in triplicate that looks like it hasn't been used since the 70s. I wander over to X-ray which is beginning to feel like a second home to me. I know more of what my insides look like than my outsides at this point. There is a calm voice over the loudspeakers stating that the computer system is down and everyone should begin back up procedures. I expect to see people running down the halls screaming but the employees seem eerily calm. I slap down my foreign piece of paper on the clerk's desk and she tells me to take a seat. There's sweat on her upper lip and she's got permagrin. I bet she's never had to go more than four minutes without a computer in her life. The radiologist walks her through the forms (My doctor gave me the wrong one, dammit Janet).

Since it's the hospital I have to wait while they x-ray the trauma patients and whiplash folks. Plus the computers are down the disembodied voice calmly reminds everyone. I read an old copy of Allure and the Utne Reader. Then I stare blankly at the other people waiting to be scanned. I eavesdrop on a woman who's mother is getting an angio something and they can't find her. I want to scream "She's getting an angiogram, down the hall to the right" but I don't want her to know that I was listening to her private conversation. I rotate my ankles around and listen to them crackle like a cement mixer. I bend my fingers. They hurt like hell. Then the radiologist calls my full name. He reminds me of the medical examiner on CSI: New York. I find this oddly comforting.

I'm used to the routine. Strip down. Put on two robes. One closes in the back, one closes in the front. Haul your bag into the X-ray room. Climb up onto the bed and flash your ass and girlie bits to the radiologist, because even though you're wearing two robes they're both too short. He pretends not to see, I pretent not to have done it. At least I'm clean, trim and shaved. Nicest putang you'll see today, I whisper under my breath. I pull down the robe as far as it will go and then let myself go into a trance as he pushes me around with foam blocks and pokes at my hip bone for reference. I hold my breath when he tells me to and breathe when I'm allowed. Then I have to sit there with a big foam block pushed under half my back as he develops the films. Just in case we have to do the whole song and dance again. The calm voice continues to tell everyone that the computer system is down. Like they haven't figured it out yet.

The x-rays are developed just fine. (I didn't breathe when I wasn't supposed to). And I can go. finally. I'll get a call this week telling me if I have arthritis or something funky later this week. There's rush hour traffic. I haven't eaten lunch and it's almost time for dinner. What a day.

1 People have tried to sell me Viagra

Cheap hair. No more steroids. Bite me spammers.

2006-05-08 11:18 p.m.

New Hair
Originally uploaded by Kungfukitten.

In order to save money I got a $15 haircut and did another home dye job. It didn't turn out too bad. Let's just say I've done a lot worse to my hair in the past. I like it, kind of sexy, strawberry blondeish. We'll see if the summer brightens it up even more.

New hair that you can't see
Originally uploaded by Kungfukitten.

I love this picture because I have a thin face - no more steroids mean no more chubby cushingoid face. I'm normal looking again. I was wondering if I'd have to use my facelift savings account (don't laugh) to have my huge puffy cheeks removed like Karen Duffy did. Although she was on a helluva lot more steroids than I ever was. She was also a model. I'm currently in pain but at least I look nice.

Le sigh. I had to switch my comments to diaryland members only again. I took a nap this afternoon and when I woke up disscovered that I had been comment spammed 26 times. It took me two hours to clean everything up. I give up. Who uses Halo Scan for their comments? Do you like it? Is it spam resistant? I'm not leaving Diaryland. I'm pro Andrew and have been blogging here since 2001. Can you believe it? Remember offsiters, you can get a diaryland account for free and just use it to comment on diaryland diaries - think about it. Otherwise comment in the guestbook. Send me an e-mail. Call me on the phone. Text message me. Instant message me. Walk up to me and kiss me. Whatever. I'm easy.

9 People have tried to sell me Viagra

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