You know the scene in True Blood when Sookie walks into Merlotte's and gets overwhelmed by hearing everyone's thoughts? That's how I feel when I pop onto Twitter or Facebook now. It's a constant din of thought chatter. I can barely use it anymore; it hurts my head too much.
Prednisone, day 4.
I can rotate my right shoulder!
For like 3 months I've had this disgruntled shoulder problem where reaching backwards or rotating backwards was either painful or flat out undoable. I have no idea what I did to it, but two weeks ago, I realized it wasn't going to get better on its own and I went to the doctor. Actually, I realized that 4 weeks ago, but it took me 2 weeks to get an appointment. Grrr.
The doctor prescribed 9 days of Prednisone (40mgs for 3 days, then taper). Eek. I was kind of terrified to take it because my mom had a really bad time on a much lower dose last year and the internet is overflowing with side effect horror stories. I contemplated the prescription for a week and a half before I finally got brave and took it. And... it's turned out to not be bad at all. I apparently tolerate it well.
I hope my shoulder doesn't get all grumpy again as soon as I'm done with the prescription.
I also hope I can figure out a way to retain all the extra energy these pills are giving me. Case in point: After eating SPAGHETTI for dinner tonight, I wasn't tired, didn't want coffee, didn't want to sit and digest, nope. Instead, I cleared the dishes, grabbed the line trimmer, went outside and did all the yard edging. Then I came in and cleaned up the kitchen. I did eventually sit down and watch TV... Gotham and Better Call Saul (stupid Chuck. I hate chuck).
Yes, I saw it. Of course I saw it. Terminator fan that I am, I had to see it even with the vast majority of reviews warning me not to. Before I go any further and get into movie-shredding spoilery stuff, I'll give you my reaction right after seeing it, before I had time to digest:
Quickie opinion on #Genisys: Starts great, then ok/fun, then headache-inducing, then cheesy. Overall not as bad as expected. Better than T3.— Roxy Bisquaint (@RoxyBisquaint) July 4, 2015
Even after thinking about this movie and getting more annoyed by it, I still feel the same. The first 20 minutes make it worth seeing. The rest, not so much. On a scale of T1 to T4, I give it a T2.9, just ahead of T3 in Terminator fan viewing experience.( Collapse )
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So, what can be done about all this?
Well, I did it. I rewatched all 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls. What started as a temporary feel-good measure turned into a feel-good bender. I feel lost now without more episodes to watch. How can I be done? Waaaaah.
Oh how I love that theme song. I love it so much that I could never bring myself to jump past the opening credits. I had to hear it and I had to sing along... 153 times. It gave me warm, fuzzy feel goods every time. In the world of TV show openings, it's definitely one of the best. I'm so glad they never changed it (aside from a few clip updates along the way). I hate when shows
change ruin their intros.
If you ever find yourself wallowing in the aftermath of miscarriage (yeah, that finally happened*), I highly recommend going back to the beginning of Gilmore Girls to binge-watch your blues away. I don't think I've seen this show since it went off the air, so diving back in all these years later is almost as good as watching it for the first time. It's such sweet, feel-good fun — exactly what I need right now. I doubt I'll rewatch all 7 seasons, but I'm halfway through season 2 and it's still giving me joy. I think I'll keep going for a while.
* So, the miscarriage... That was the most
horrifically painful unpleasant five days of my life. My doctor told me it would be like a heavy period. What a big fat lie that was. Thank God for so many women on pregnancy forums describing every painful, gory detail of their miscarriage experiences or I would've thought I was dying. Am I being dramatic? No. It was brutal. The "death cramps" I used to get in my early years of womanhood would've been a welcomed trade-off.
The first day... holy shit. If there's one day I'd like to remove from my memory forever that'd be the one. It was excrutiating. By the wee hours of the following morning, I was so fatigued and my body so stressed from all the pain that I started having these extreme chills with uncontrollable shaking with every contraction. My temperature dropped to 96.4º! That was a little scary. I think it scared the man too because on more than one occasion since then, he's said, "I'm glad you didn't die."
After that first 24 hours or so, the pain wasn't quite as severe and it mostly came at night. Mostly. There was crampiness during the day, but I mainly just had 2-3 hours of bad pain every night for the next four nights. I really think miscarriages should be like they are on TV: pregnant woman walks into the bathroom one day and declares something's wrong. Cut to next scene and she's fine, just not pregnant anymore. The end. But for me, the whole process ended up taking five days. Five miserable, awful days.
Emotionally, I think I'm doing okay. I'm a little up and down and even though it's now been several days since all this, I still have random weepiness. Aside from a sense of loss over what might've been, I've still got a substantial level of pregnancy hormone coursing through me, so I guess feeling emotional is to be expected. I've got weekly blood tests to monitor my hormone level until it gets back to normal and I've got an ultrasound coming up to make sure all the "products of conception" (gotta love those medical terms) are gone. Fingers crossed they are because if I require medical intervention after going through five days of natural hell, I might just crack.
In the meantime, I'll be hanging with Lorelai, Rory and the rest of the quirky characters of Stars Hollow.
Did you know that when you're over 45, you have less than a 1% chance of conceiving naturally? I didn't. Not until I recently (and rather unexpectedly) found myself as one of the less than 1%. Yep, I got pregnant. It was a shock to say the least, but it's amazing how fast I embraced the idea of having a baby even at my ripe old age. The man seemed excited too.
My doctor was less enthusiastic, practically calling the pregnancy unviable from the moment my blood test came back positive. Her reasons were statistical—miscarriage rates are extremely high for women over 45. I already knew that because in between the time of my 3 positive home pregnancy tests and the blood test results, I'd filled my days obsessively reading everything on the internet about "advanced maternal age" pregnancies. So I tried hard to keep my emotions in check and expect that this pregnancy was unlikely to go anywhere. I wasn't very successful, though.
When I had my first ultrasound a week or so later, they measured the "fetal pole" to be 6 weeks 1 day and no heartbeat was found. With that news, my doctor declared it unviable. There was another ultrasound scheduled for the following week, as well as more blood tests to confirm everything and now that I'm on the other side of all that, it's a done deal that this little sliver of a life never made it beyond 6 weeks. And I'm so sad about this. I'm like crazy sad.
What makes it all worse is that I didn't get pregnant and miscarry, I got pregnant and it died and I didn't miscarry. What kind of mother nature fuckery is that? As I sit here writing this, I've got a teeny tiny dead fetus in my womb that for whatever reason won't come out. "Missed miscarriage", they call it. Fucked up, I call it.
Now I've got 3 options: wait to miscarry naturally (my doctor put a two week limit on that idea because of the risk of infection if it stays in there too long), take some pills to induce a miscarriage (I've read nothing but horrible accounts from women who took that route), or schedule a D&C to have my uterus scraped out. Eep. What I'd like is a 4th option that includes a backwards time jump so I can abstain from sex and prevent all of this from ever happening. But since I can't have that, I've settled on waiting another week to see if I'll miscarry and then schedule a D&C if I don't.
Sarah Connor will soon be pleased with my teeth. Why? Because the metal got an eviction notice. Translation: I'm getting my braces off!!!!!!!!
Wait. Halt. Stop cheering.
Those exclamation points of excitement were a bit premature. See, there's a slight problem with this celebration: I'm not happy with my top front teeth. Just one top front tooth, actually. And the more I look at it, the more I think it's positioned wrong. After staring at it in the mirror for a few days, I asked some family members what they thought.
"Looks great," they said. Augh. So it's just me? It's just my eyes that think this tooth looks funky?
PhotoShop to the rescue! I'm not sure if I hoped to convince myself the tooth was okay or hoped to convince them it wasn't, but I took a picture and did some editing. First, I just "filed" the bottom edges of my front teeth to simulate what I think they'll look when the orthodontist is finished (he said he was going to file them when the braces come off, to even them up). Meh. Even with smoothed edges, that one tooth still looked *off* to me. So I played around a little—pulled the tooth down a tiny bit, turned it a tiny bit, then filed the bottom edges. Aha! Now it looks good to me.
I showed these PhotoShopped pictures to my family, thinking I'd get a consensus of opinion. I got a split vote instead. So this is where you come in.
Gays, you're not helping either. Everyone knows you exist so stop with the "coming out" already! It's just weird. And so 1990s. You remember the '90s — the era of women's music, recycling and celebrating gayness. Well if you didn't come out then, too late. In the 21st century, you're just plain old gay if you're gay. That's how it should be anyway. But it won't be that way until gay people stop turning their sexuality into a thing and everyone else stops acting like it's a thing.
The next time anyone makes a public announcement about whether they prefer penis or vagina, I wish the world would issue a collective yawn and move on to the next trending topic.