It's a slow week.

Not much is happening for me this week. John got all four of his wisdom teeth taken out yesterday so he's got the rest of the week off, and I just don't have any appointments. I would have had therapy yesterday but John cancelled it because he would be too doped up to take me. ha. Anyway, hey, I'm not complaining. It's nice to be able to do whatever without having to think about all my medical bullshit.

A few things I'm keeping tabs on, though. I'm in the process of switching infusion companies, from Amerita to ThriveRx. We have no problems with Amerita, they're great, but ThriveRx just seems much better. I'm also still looking into having my TPN adjusted... I have an appointment on the 20th to see a dietitian/pharmacist/whatever to discuss that. My wheelchair has been approved, waiting to hear about that. That bedge pillow thing? Not approved. I didn't think it would be, considering it's a piece of foam that costs $300... I mean I could easily get something much cheaper at Wal-Mart if I really needed it.

This week was the start of my home care, and we were able to keep the nurse I had last time. She's absolutely incredible. Very professional, nice, funny, down to earth. And she always knows what the fuck she's doing. My dressing change hurt a little, and we're gonna try to get some lidocaine spray. While she was here we talked about what she's missed since she was last here (like November 2012), including my diagnosis, New York, my symptoms, my stupid doctors, etc. She checked my vitals, changed my dressing and needle, checked my supplies. It's so great to have her back.

Kinda sad that I missed therapy this week. I was looking forward to showing Pamela a scrapbook I've been keeping. It has a bunch of old family pictures, my parents, me, my aunt and cousins, sisters. I miss how close my family used to be. And I really miss my Aunt Lynn. It's a shame, how she has to live... but... that's another story, let's not go there.

I've been making bracelets and keychains for people, sending them out. That and watching Doctor Who keeps me busy/entertained. We get paid tomorrow, so I've been planning my bill-paying session, and making a grocery list. Since I don't eat anymore our grocery bill has been cut in half, pretty much. It's the only nice thing about not eating.

I think this Flagyl is working, but I've been running to the bathroom every few minutes it seems. That makes trying to relax or going places very difficult. No matter where I go the very first thing I look for is a bathroom, and I make sure I'm close to it. Isn't that an awesome way of living? Constantly thinking about the bathroom and trying to concentrate on not shitting yourself.

And that, my friends, is where I shall end this post.

Oddly enough today was a pretty okay day. Isn't it terrible that having a good day is odd for me? Really, though. I'm always expecting bad days.

Anyway, therapy went well. We discussed my childhood, and some of John's. It was a nice break from talking about how my disease is making me feel. That topic can get pretty depressing.

This morning was slow. Every day I find myself more and more exhausted and always wanting to not wake up. Like I'm too comfortable to stop sleeping. It seems like I don't get enough sleep at night; my TPN causes me to have to pee every few hours (it used to be much more frequent), so I'm always getting up to go and having to fall back to sleep. Sometimes it's easy and sometimes I end up staring at the ceiling for a while.
I just really really enjoy sleeping now. A lot more than I used to. I constantly feel like I could easily fall asleep right there, no matter where I am. I never want to go anywhere anymore.

I think most of that is because of my energy level, but it's also because I can escape my pain when I sleep. Like I can just slip off to dreamland and forget about everything going on. That sounds kind of morbid, I know. But hey, it's not like there's anything else I can do. The pain is always there. Another option would be to off myself, and we all know that ain't about to happen. Sometimes I wish it was that easy, though, to be honest.

It's 7:43pm right now. I think I may try to go to sleep early tonight. I was going to work on more bracelets, but I don't really feel like it right now. Tomorrow we figure out what to do about my TPN, and I see my GI doctor a few hours later. Not looking forward to it.

Happy Rare Disease Day!

Er... Should it be Merry Rare Disease Day? I dunno.

So this week has definitely had it's ups and downs. Mostly downs. A few highlights:

• Dressing change went terrible. Details below.
• Choked on my own vomit; almost died. Very scary.
• Shared my beads and bracelets with my therapist, that was fun.
• Cooked a HUGE pot of spaghetti and had a breakdown.

All the while dealing with abdominal pain from hell. Not fun.

Mondays are my dressing change days. I go to the hospital, check in at the clinic, and wait for Leo to change my dressing and needle. This was the second time he wasn't there. Okay, so I'll come back on Tuesday, no big deal... A little irritated. Tuesday comes, we call and see if he's back. Nope. Now I'm pissed off. "He should be back tomorrow." Wednesday comes. No Leo. By now I'm blowing up Facebook, surely annoying all my friends, ranting and raving about being pissed and hating Evans and blah blah blah. I need my dressing changed pronto. One of my biggest worries is getting an infection and having to have my line pulled and replaced. I know it'll probably happen eventually, but I've only had this damn thing for a month. So John's head is spinning trying to find someone to change my port. He was waiting on a call back from the cancer center. The Evans ER can't do it, only god knows why. No one at my PCM's clinic can do it. I can't go to Memorial because of insurance reasons. Absolutely ridiculous. Finally, the cancer center calls back and says they can get me in. So we drive the 10 miles to their facility and voila! I get my damn dressing change three days late.

My experience there was incredible. We were only there for maybe 15 minutes, where going to the clinic at Evans would have taken an hour or two (YEAH). The staff was very nice. And even though I had to sit in a room full of elderly sick people who were receiving fluids and chemo and whatnot (reminded me of that movie, 50/50... anyone see that? Love it.), I felt very comfortable being there. The chairs were comfy, too. The nurse who came to change my dressing said my port looked beautiful, no sign of infection, aside from my skin being irritated from the dressing. She asked me like three times how we were on supplies, and gave us more dressings just in case. She changed my dressing in less than 5 minutes, and was even as gentle and sterile as she was supposed to be. My only problem, though, is the dressing she put on isn't really sticking very well, and even though she said it was safe to take a shower, I'm not gonna risk that. I just taped the sides down.

After that was done, we went back to Evans to see my case manager, Johelen. She's an amazing case manager, I can't believe how much she has gotten done for us. Anyway, we had to see her because she needed me to sign a paper for the ECHO program. I took my Palliative Care pamphlets with me to show her, she looked them over, and wrote down the info. I explained what it was and how it would help me, and she mentioned that Tricare may not pay for this if I am also receiving home care (ECHO program). The reason they want me in that is to get me a way to have my dressings changed when the clinic closes. However, I would be totally okay with going to the cancer center for my changes. So if I like the palliative care, I can just forget about ECHO. Did all that make sense? haha. In short, palliative care and cancer center, or ECHO program.

Another thing we talked about was getting me a wheelchair. I can barely walk two yards without having pain somewhere, whether it be back pains, leg pains, abdominal pains, etc. I get winded very easily and have to sit down almost immediately whenever we stop somewhere. Because I can't eat, I don't have the energy during the day that food could provide. Since I can still walk, I would get one of those fold-up wheelchairs to just take places. It's taken me a while to accept the fact that I need one, but I guess the time has come.

We finally got home at around 5, and I gave myself my insulin and started dinner for the guys. I made double the amount of spaghetti I usually make. It was okay, it just really sucked that I wasn't able to eat any. I had an icee in the fridge that John had got for me on the way home, seems like that's all I can handle nowadays, even though they go right through me. I went to take it out so I could go sit down and enjoy it, but I guess my hand slipped and I dropped the cup. Icee went everywhere, all over the kitchen floor and my right foot. John, bless him so, immediately got up and started grabbing napkins, helping me clean it all up. I started to cry, of course; had to sit down and just let the tears flow. The last time something like this happened, I had dropped the roll of paper towels in the sink while the water was running, and it just set me off. After John finished what he was cleaning, he came over and hugged me, asked me what was wrong. Honestly when these things happen, I can never come up with an answer right away. But then I realized that it's the same thing that's been wrong for a few weeks now. I can't do anything anymore. I don't have the energy. I want to clean so badly. I want to sweep and mop the floors, and use PineSol so I can smell the lemony awesomeness. I want to wipe down things with the Lysol wipes and reorganize my area. I want to vacuum the carpet and clean the tables. I feel like people see me as a lazy bum, not even trying to get up and out, but people don't understand. I AM trying. I try very hard. I can't help that I run out of spoons so fast*. One time, before I knew about all this MNGIE crap, and my energy was already starting to go away, one of my "friends" got in my face and called me lazy and boring because I never felt like hanging out. She said, "You're always moping around, doing nothing but sitting at your house online or something. You never DO anything."

I wasn't sure what to say because I didn't know why I didn't feel like doing anything. It's not that I never want to, I do. I would love to be able to go out and have fun like I used to. Go places, goof off, go window shopping, walk around outside, site-seeing. I'd also love to be able to have a damn job, and earn my own money. But the thing is, I can't. I just can't do those things anymore. People don't get that I can't just replenish my energy. It's not like taking your pokemon to Nurse Joy.

Well, I kind of went off topic there for a bit, didn't I? Oh well.

Next week I have a hematology appointment Monday, therapy on Tuesday, and a GI appointment on Wednesday. I'll be bringing up the g-tube situation then.

*For more info on the Spoon Theory, clicky clicky.

Looking for life.

Wednesday, at my therapy session, my therapist suggested we look into Palliative Care, which is medical care provided by physicians, nurses and social workers that specializes in the relief of the pain, symptoms and stress of serious illness. My disease has gotten to the point where I feel like I could benefit from this. No one wants to think about it, but my life's been cut short. I'm going to die sooner rather than later. And I don't want to go uncomfortably. I feel like my doctors are giving up on me, telling me Oh, your MNGIE is progressing, there's nothing we can do, so here's some more therapy and maybe some pills that may or may not work for you. Okay.

I don't have anymore options other than randomly dealing with the symptoms I have. And so far, no one will listen to me about my nausea and vomiting (hopefully my GI doctor will be willing to try what I want), and those are the things that have been getting worse and worse by the day. I can no longer eat. Anything. Period. Zilch, nada, no food whatsoever. I can barely handle a peppermint anymore when I'm nauseous. My weight is continuing to drop. I can't comfortably take a bath because I have to keep my port out of the water, and my bones rubbing against the tub floor is painful. My muscles ache more and more every day. I am not happy or comfortable no matter where I am.

I wish my PCM cared enough to read this blog. Then maybe he'd fucking listen to me.

Anyway, I'm going to look more into this palliative care thing. Hopefully it could provide me with some relief somehow.