A sentence.
I told myself if that is all I could write and post, I would do just that. But, instead, I let my own world of pain overwhelm me once more. Well, I've come up for air, determined to turn a corner even if a corner is not there. Can one make her own corner?
Did you know that my right jaw pops out of place? No, of course you don't. I haven't written that. Another agony. I cannot even pursue that. It would not be covered by insurance, I believe. The growth I have on my tongue, it turns out, will be, at a measly 60%. I know, I should be grateful for that much, but when I think down the road to the biopsy and more, because it is growing .... But I digress. The jaw joint is yet another oral surgeon and would not be covered and a first visit would be more than the $100 I paid for the growth on my tongue (two of my medications can cause cancer). Do I even go to find out what the whole shebang would be to repair my jaw??
Daily ... all the day long ... I gently open my jaw to see if I will need to move it over. How long, I wonder. How long can I live like this before I won't be able to push it back in place so I can unlock my jaw? SIGH.
Anyway, I see the new gastroenterologist on the 13th. Another new specialist (my first left the practice). Another problem with my body.
I am going, though, because my stomach has become more and more my enemy than my friend. The nausea has worsened, though I cannot believe that is even possible. That is not enough to bother me. No, I now have pain and cramps and a strange sort of illness and gurgles that sound like they should be coming from a bear or even elephant. Not all at the same time. No rhyme or reason. Though, if I wake up with nausea, it will stay the day even if I take Zofran round the clock.
This summer, when I saw my cardiologist, he suggested that I try focusing on one thing at a time, perhaps because I had been so ill and would be a long time recovering (I still fall asleep at the drop of a hat and poop out after the smallest bit of errand running or puttering out in the yard). He advised that I focus on getting my hands fixed, at the time not even having a date for the surgeries. I liked his advice.
I cannot follow it now, though, because my hands will be a long time recovering, and there are days when I do not believe I will get through the very next second with my stomach. Somehow I do.
I am afraid to be put to sleep again.
Deeply.
I know it needs to be done. Something is different. My reliable, cast iron stomach has failed me. It is crying out for help. I am now on two new medications and have tried a fungal antibiotic and steroids. I think I have an alien. One doctor wonders if I have an ulcer that I cannot feel, since one of my medications took away my sense of hunger years ago. Maybe it took away other stomach sensations. A valid hypothesis. I am on meds, as I wrote, that cause cancer. Two of them. I think I am too bovine for it to be that. Although ... I have lately found myself eating to keep the nausea at bay since it is worse when I am not eating than when I am chewing and swallowing. A poor treatment plan on my part. Another doctor believes it is a massive case of gastritis from the long illness and will take eons to get better with large doses of the Prilosec I am taking. We shall see ... eventually.
There is one anesthesiologist, Dr. Mistric, who is skilled at putting me to sleep and waking me up. She's done it three times, where others have fumbled. I've asked for her whenever I can once I tracked her down. I've already started my pitch. If you pray, you could begin praying for her to be my sleep doctor on this.
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