Category Archives: I’ve lost my filter

that’s why it’s called ::practicing:: medicine. because they never actually get it right.

Frank and I went to see Frank’s doctor a while back. I insisted on accompanying him, because Frank is one of those people who just says, “Yes, doctor, you’re the doctor, whatever you say, doctor. I trust you.” Me? Not so much. See my gluten bigot category for why. Frank was going to the doctor because 1) he was going gluten-free with me, because that makes life around here a lot simpler. No, I did not ask him to do this; he is just that wonderful, and he told me a couple of weeks before my test that he was going to do it. Made the decision all on his own–I told y’all I was married to Mr. Wonderful. This way I won’t have to worry about him glutening me through a kiss, or eating something glutenous with his hands, then sticking his hands in my bag of chips without thinking about it and contaminating the whole bag of chips. Stuff like that. It’s crazy the ways I can get sick on gluten, and how teeny amounts can hurt me in significant ways. And not just for a day. For the future. 2) During my gluten challenge, Frank was eating exactly what I was been eating. Glutenous foods full of gluten, gluten, and more gluten. Pizza, soy sauce, bread containing wheat flour, glutenous ice cream (like Chubby Hubby), na’an, Nacho Cheese Doritos, etc. And get this. He had some gastric symptoms; his acne got a lot worse, just like mine did (and when we were gluten-free for three months December to February, and the only gluten he had was the sandwich and Doritos I sent him for lunch, his acne was so much better); he had heartburn, and one night it was so bad that it kept him up until 3 a.m.; he had fatigue on the days that I had fatigue; his unexplained blistery rash on his hands was back (it’s not DH, the rash associated with celiac, but it is a form of eczema for which doctors have found no cause. No cause? Get back to me after you know what’s going on, docs, and quit screwing around.). And when we got to the doctor’s office for the appointment, guess what we found out? While I was gaining twelve pounds on the three-month gluten challenge? Frank was losing ten! Eating a bunch of fluorescent orange mac-n-cheese! And then Frank said, “Oh yeah. I’ve never been able to gain weight, ever, until you were cooking gluten-free dinners all the time when you were gluten-free during those three months before. And I gained all that weight when you were losing 12 pounds.” Uhhhh. Can’t believe I didn’t pick up on it, but then again, I was a little preoccupied with how awesome I was feeling off gluten and how awful I felt on gluten.

Alright. So I made the case for the doctor to test Frank for celiac, all written out nice and pretty, just in case he’s one of those boneheads like Dr. Ego who won’t test you for anything unless he comes up with it first because he needs to feel important.

And of course, Frank started off things by saying, “My wife has celiac, so I want to get tested for it.” And he left off the part that he had practiced on his own in the car, because it was early and he was tired and going on one only one cup of coffee, the part where he was going to say, “I understand that her having it has no bearing on whether I would have it.” So I just took over. I mean, come on. The doctor was already looking at us like we were stu.pid. I would have been, too. Like he could catch celiac from me through sex. Good thing we didn’t tell him my test results weren’t even in yet. And seriously, the doctor had already taken that one statement as license to treat us like just any ol’ stupid patient who will buy anything you want to sell them off the back of the discount doctor wagon. Or maybe he truly knows nothing about celiac, because he tried to feed us a load of watery diarrhea later about it, so I’m kinda inclined to believe that he knows pretty much nothing about it except that some people get diarrhea from it.

Anyway, after Frank’s statement that he wants to get tested because I have celiac, I told the doctor, “here’s why we want him to get tested. He’s going gluten-free anyway, he has a history of autoimmunes all over his family [and I had listed every single one of them for him], while I was on the gluten challenge and he was eating the same foods I was eating, he had a lot of the same symptoms I did [he probably has no idea what a gluten challenge is, now that I think of it], and while I was gaining twelve pounds gluten-loading, he was losing at least ten.” By the time I got to “autoimmunes,” he had stopped listening, because I had handed him the piece of paper.

“Is this something you looked up on the internet?”

Attention doctors: Y’all just have no idea how patronizing and infuriating this statement is. Well, you probably do, and you say things like this anyway, just to assert that you’re the doctors and we’re the patients. And the thing is, he seemed like a cluelessly nice doctor. Just completely clueless about pretty much everything except coughs and runny noses. But the whole did I look it up on the internet thing? I wanted to punch him. It was so hard for me to keep my voice calm. “No, this isn’t something I looked up on the internet. I’ve been studying the disease for about seven months.” But I am glad he asked me the internet thing before the next part.

“Well, it looks like we should be testing you for Lupus. Do you want me to test you for that?” Ok, so Frank has a second-degree family member with Lupus and a first-degree family member with Lupus antibodies but no Lupus, but he also has very few Lupus symptoms. Other than the fatigue, which he didn’t have until the gluten challenge, and some muscle aches that are easily attributed to all that painting he’s been doing (I have muscle aches, but even I wasn’t saying that Frank’s were possibly a celiac symptom, since his are all in the shoulder area and tend to go away when there’s not a room to paint, hmm), there’s not much there in the way of Lupus. He has no RA, no joint pains, no kidney issues, no heart troubles, no lung problems, no persistent mouth ulcers, no eye problems, no fevers, no chills. He does have that vague symptom of dizziness about two or three times a year, but that is usually right after I’ve been acting crazy, which might stress him out a little, so Frank likes to chalk that one up to stress. He does have vague symptoms occasionally, I’ll give the doctor that one. And I’m never opposed to any bloodwork.

After the Lupus question, I said, “I don’t really know the symptoms of Lupus, but if you think you should test him for that, fine. As long as you’re also testing him for celiac.” At this, Frank said, “Yeah, I just want to make sure I’m tested for celiac. I’m probably going gluten-free anyway, so I just want to get the test before I change the diet.” The doctor probably doesn’t know the arguments for getting tested before changing the diet. There are lots against, of course, but lots for. Most doctors seem to think that you should get the tests before. And actually, last November, I could have told you anything you wanted to know about Lupus, and in the doctor’s office Tuesday, I was just sitting there thinking, I can’t remember all that stuff I used to know about Lupus, but I do know enough about it to understand that a lot of organ systems would be affected, at least after the disease progresses. Even when he has the flu about once a year, it’s gone within a couple of days.

Ok, so Frank jumped onto the doctor table where they listen to all your organs and make sure you’re breathing, and the doctor said jovially (it was good I was a couple feet away), “Well, unless you get explosive, watery diarrhea right after you eat a Quizno’s sub, you probably don’t have celiac, but I’ll test you for it.” DANGEROUS DOCTOR! I made eye contact and made sure that my eyes had a death grip on his eyes. “Actually, a lot of celiacs have no gastric symptoms at all. That is a huge misconception.” And I wanted to tell him that more than 50% of celiacs have no gastric symptoms, but I didn’t want to give him that figure and be wrong about it, so I just went with “a lot.” I hate it when I have to educate doctors, but Dr. Arrogant broke me of that doctors-are-gods creed we all grew up on, and I ain’t nevah lookin’ back.

I was HOT. What if that had been some patient who read something or heard something about celiac and thought, “Maybe that’s me. Maybe that’s the source of my misery.” And Dr. Can’t Tie His Own Shoes is telling her that she has to have explosive, watery diarrhea or she probably doesn’t have celiac? This is why it takes an average of nine years for a celiac diagnosis (sometimes I even hear eleven). NINE. Because dangerous doctors like this guy are out there, and their patients leave with their IBS diagnoses (heavy on the BS) or their “you just have the flu” pep talks and go on their sad, miserable ways. And then three more years pass by, because after all, doctor knows best, and if he says I don’t have it, I don’t have it, but finally, one day, she eats a Quizno’s sub on rye and drinks a Braum’s malt along with it, and while she’s at it, she has bread pudding for dessert. And then she finally has the explosive, watery diarrhea and feels maybe brave enough to go present her case to the doctor again. “But doctor, I got the explosion. I got the water. Out my butt. All there. Whaddaya think?” Even worse, what if it’s someone who’s never heard of the disease, and she just has a bunch of vague symptoms, and there’s Dr. You Have The Flu giving her meds for IBS. BTW, I used to get really ticked off when I would see those bloaty stomach commercials for IBS (yes, I’m quite happy that Zelnorm is off the market). Really ticked off. I mean, a lot of doctors, I’m sure, because I have experience with a lot of dumb doctors, probably just call it IBS and give them the med from the commercial. Here, have a pill! Who cares what’s causing your IBS? As long as we can cover it up! Bandaids are awesome!

From the Celiac Disease Center at Columbia:

The vast majority of individuals with celiac disease have little in the way of gastrointestinal symptoms or have symptoms that may receive a diagnosis of irritable bowel syndrome. While the classical symptoms include diarrhea, weight loss and edema, other patients may present with constipation, anemia, bone pain or bone loss, chronic fatigue, skin problems, abnormal liver chemistries, dental enamel defects and neurological symptoms such as peripheral neuropathy, ataxia or seizures. Some patients with celiac disease are truly asymptomatic or have symptoms related to an associated autoimmune problem.

Anyway, once the doctor decided Frank was breathing and had a heartbeat, he started to write down all the bloodwork he would send Frank for. When he mentioned the celiac test, I threw in, “Do you want to go ahead and send him for the DQ2/DQ8 test while you’re at?” Hey, why not, right? He said, “The what?” Haha. He deserved it. I know that’s gastro territory, but I was mad at him for prolonging celiac diagnoses in unsuspecting individuals. “It’s the genetic marker test for celiac disease.” Not that I have faith in our blood labs around here, but why not. “Oh, ok, sure. What is it again? That’s really gastroenterologist territory [yep] but sure, let’s just send him for everything.” I think Frank was still in the room. Don’t worry, y’all. Before we went to the appointment, I had asked if I could go with him. I also said, “And can I get obstinate in my SarahK kind of way?” “Sure, Sweetie.” “Because you know you’re never gonna see him again anyway, since we’re moving and all that.” “Okay.” I beat him down, I know.

The doc did send him for all the bloodwork, and it all came back normal… However, considering that his symptoms have all but gone away on the GF diet (except for some problems that seem to pop up after he eats soy — we’re testing that one now), and considering that serologic tests are for crap at most blood labs around the country, I think it’s wonderful that he decided (all on his own) to go off gluten when I did. I’m not gonna lie, it’s awesome knowing that there’s very little chance the food he eats will make me sick (I get sick from eating non-glutenous products made in a facility that also processes wheat, I’m that sensitive), he seems to be getting healthier along with me.

In short, I’m glad I went with him to his appointment. And I’m glad I got to school a doctor. Doctors need schooling.

i call pit bullcrap

This is not suitable for children.

Venomous Kate linked to this story about a family pit bull apparently sexually assaulting the family toddler. VK has something to say on the matter… and pit bull apologist or not, I disagree that the dog should be destroyed right away; I think there should be an investigation, especially since there is so much wrong with this story. I mean, first of all, this just sounds hinky.

Seriously.

I mean, was it really the dog? (Btw, how many times must we say pit bull in the news articles? Had it been a golden retriever, you would have called it a golden retriever once, just to let everyone know that it wasn’t an *evil* pit bull or Rottweiller, and thereafter, you would have called him a DOG. But it’s a pit bull, so you make sure that the breed is repeated and repeated. After all, his pit bull-ness made him do it, right?) Or was it the dad or another male in the family, or a neighbor, and they blamed the dog as a scapegoat so the hospital wouldn’t figure it out and call child services? Or was it the dog, but because the owners were playing out some deviant sexual fantasy involving their child and a dog? Yes, there are sick people in this world, and I’m just saying, this DOES NOT MAKE SENSE. Were neighbors really there helping pull off the dog like the officer said, or is the family just saying that? Or are the neighbor witnesses really good friends of family who would say anything? It just seems really incredible to me that the dog pulled the clothes and the diaper off of the toddler and knew where he was going and everything. I can’t wrap my head around the logic.

No wait. Another link.

Det. Capt. Larry Eggert says the mother was changing the baby’s diaper and briefly left the room.

I’m not going to fault her for leaving the room in the middle of a changing. Whatever. Maybe the phone rang, maybe he peed in her eye, and she forgot the baby wipes. But. Left her neckid baby alone in the room either with her two-year-old (primo hormonal age), apparently intact male DOG, or without knowing where the DOG was?? (That’s if I’m buying this story, which I’m not. I’m *so* not.)

Second, the officer said that the toddler has had surgeries to repair damage caused by the dog, but there were no bites? Really? Ok, first of all, *graphic alert*, how would the dog have turned the boy over (mothers do still change diapers with children lying on their backs, yes?) to mount the boy without putting some kind of bite marks or scratches on the boy? How? I guess we’re to assume that the toddler just got up and started walking around, and the dog knocked him back down for some dominance behavior and promptly mounted him? And put NO OTHER MARKS ON THE BOY? I’m sorry, but if Rowdi hi-fives me too hard and barely misses my hand and hits my arm instead? I end up with a welp on my arm for half the day. So there would have been some kind of marks — maybe not bites, but at least scratches. Come ON. And by the way, I feel most horrible for this little child and do wish him a speedy recovery. His parents? I’d like a word with them.

And then the Det. Capt. says:

“She heard some screams, returned very quickly found the dog in the act of doing what it was doing. She screamed apparently that must have caused the dog to become afraid.” The dog ran outside, still attached to the boy. Neighbors stepped in to help, beating on the dog to get it off the boy. (sic)

And now is where I really get going. IF this story is actually true, I have some questions.

First question. Does the dog still have his balls? If so, why so? There is absolutely NO reason for pit bulls to breed. Or goldens or labs or any of them for that matter. But pit bulls? Even lovers of the breed like me can go down to any pound and find plenty on any given week that are going to be put down for a number of different reasons. Abuse, neglect, family didn’t understand that pit bulls have a lot of energy, too much work to make the dog *actually* behave, and in Rowdi’s case, the excuse the family gave the pound was that they were moving. Moving. “We’re sorry, Family Member, we can’t take you with us, we’re moving, and it’s simply too much work to take you along. Farewell, hope someone else wants you. Otherwise, happy death to you.” We actually learned later from a random person on the street who knew Rowdi that they gave her up because she barked all the time, and the neighbors kept calling the cops on the owners, so they were going to have to move if they *didn’t* give her up. Yeah, funny how we don’t have that problem with her. Discipline does interesting things for a dog. /tangent

Anyway, as I said, no reason for the dog to have his balls, and I’m betting that either he has his balls, or he runs the show around there (probably both). Humping is a dominance thing for dogs. If the dog actually mounted the baby on his own, it means that the dog doesn’t respect his owners. Dogs don’t harm owners’ pups unless the dogs don’t see the owners as being in charge. Am I wrong on this one?

Next question. How in the world do you leave your toddler alone with your two-year-old dog, and I don’t care what kind of dog he is? You don’t. You know where your dog is at all times. And if the dog gets within two feet of your child (or kitty cat, as our case is), or further out with that fixated prowling look on his face, you handle up on your business and OWN YOUR FREAKING DOG.

And having to beat the dog off of the child as the dog is running around outside with the baby dangling from his privates? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Picture it. Pit bulls are not tall dogs. Rowdi is taller than most because she’s also part Shepherd and part Lab. But go to that first link and look at the picture of the dog. That is all pit bull. So I wanna know. Is the child’s head all bashed up from scraping along the ground when the dog ran outside with him?

UPDATE: The second link has updated, and the neighbors are now down to one neighbor who heard the woman screaming?

“The dog had the baby by the front leg. And the baby’s stomach….then I had to beat up on the dog to take him away from the baby.”

And then the dog ran outside. And the baby threw up, and the neighbor saw rectal bleeding.

The family apparently wants it euthanized but that won’t happen until the investigation is finished.

Excellent. Because yeah, I am not so quick to judge the dog in this situation. Parents? Um, yeah. Put them down ASAP. This whole thing reeks.

Oh, and they’re bringing in an animal behaviorist (the 2nd link previously said that it was one from out-of-town, but that 2nd link also keeps mysteriously erasing strange components of itself). I hope it’s Cesar. Also, I really like this SPCA chief, who is adamant about not putting the dog down until the investigation is over.

Whew. Ok, I’m done. I guess y’all know how I feel about it. And apparently I’m not the only one not buying it.

I actually might follow this story. I don’t tend to follow up on things, because I see shiny things and forget, but I haven’t been able to get this one out of my head all day (except during my date with Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes). So stay tuned.

oh, come on, people. get OVER yourselves!

Fox News is driving me INSANE tonight! I first saw this Hillary Clinton campaign video over at Hotair, and I smiled and even mildly giggled at it. I thought it was funny (I don’t agree with Allahpundit that it’s “comedy gold”, but I live in a household where we churn out comedy gold in everyday chats. You can’t expect everyone to understand what true comedy gold is, they can’t all live with comic geniuses like I do.).

But good job, Clinton campaign. I mean, other than the fact that neither Clinton can act for crap, it was creative (at least on a politician’s scale) and timely. For once! Remember when she had that “yes, I just decided to run for President, let’s have a conversation together, blah blah blah” video in the middle of winter, and the trees were all springy? Or she ran the ad in winter, and the trees had no leaves? I don’t remember which. Anyway, finally she’s timely and has a sense of humor about anything, and everyone is alllll twisty-panties over it on Fox! What in the world is wrong with these people? John Gibson was analyzing the video like it was a crime scene and he was Greta on a 2-year-long hunt for a missing teen or something. “Do they really want to be associating themselves with the mob after the whole Whitewater scandal?” I don’t remember what exactly he said, but it was something completely retarded to that effect. “And are they saying that women can’t drive? Shouldn’t women be outraged at this?” I’m sure he said something equally stupid, because I was shouting at the TV the whole time he was on, and believe you me, I am venomously opposed to that socialist Clinton. I’m also not a completely humorless donkeybutt! Shep? In his sensationalist reporter tone that he always has? “You will never in a bazillion years believe what the Clintons are up to this time! They are trying to use humor! Is this the end of their campaign? And will this kill your children at 5 p.m., what the Clintons are doing? Find out tonight at 11!” Dungface. And O’Reilly. Argh. He had to have that Schwartz girl on (who never ever has anything negative to say about Democrats, so what was the point of this?) to ask if this was a bad move for Hillary Clinton. Don’t you have Islamofascists to talk about or something, O’Reilly? Guests to scream over? Isn’t there a war on? Mexicans, South Americans, and terrorists still crossing the borders illegally? And you’re spending a segment on whether this was ok for the Clinton campaign to spoof the Sopranos to let everyone know what the stupid campaign song is gonna be? (BTW, who the heck cares what the song is gonna be? Since when are campaign theme songs important to anyone besides the people on the bus who have to listen to it over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and you get the point?)

I hate to say it, but Greta was the only one who seemed to not be hung up on the Clinton campaign video, and whether this will destroy her chances at winning the White House (she ain’t gonna be president, kiddos, so isn’t this a moot discussion anyway?). But her show is so ear-clawingly inane that I can’t bear for it to be on the TV for more than two seconds. If I wasn’t up to my wrists in tapioca bread dough, I would have flipped her show off the second I heard that she had decided that she is now Greta Van Grissom, CSI. What the heck? Why is she walking through that dead pregnant woman’s house and talking about how “obvious” it is that no one took bleach from the basement in a hurry? And how dumb is that family for letting her? What is wrong with people? Does she even realize how stupid she sounds?

UGH! I need to go to bed and read my Bible and Harry Potter before I punch something.

OH! BUT BEFORE I DO! JUST A LITTLE NOTE ABOUT PARALLEL PARKING! Since everyone seems to be so hung up on it. I’ll just tell y’all how it’s done. Here’s how my dad taught me, and he didn’t even show me. He just told me what to do, and I’ve always been able to do it just from him telling me.

You pull up even with the car in front of the spot you want so that your side mirror is even with the front car’s side mirror. So LINE UP THE SIDE MIRRORS. Your car should only be about a foot away from the front car. Put the car in reverse. Back up, turning toward the curb as you back up. If you have properly lined up your mirrors in step one and are not too far away from the front car, you will pop right in behind that front car. Just check your rearview mirror to make sure you don’t hit the car behind you. Back up a little too much when you back in, then move forward a little, straightening out your tires when you move forward toward the front car so that your car is nice and straight. WHAT IS SO HARD ABOUT PARKING A CAR? So there you go. That’s how you park downtown on a one-way street at a meter. You’re welcome. Now go to bed.

that story i never told y’all about that totally horrible nurse i had when i got my colonoscopy

I mean, I told y’all bits and pieces, but I never told y’all what went down when the doctor… went up. This was back in March, in case y’all really care about details.

Here’s what happened. I thoroughly ticked off the nurse who assisted on the colonoscopy, because as soon as I was under the influence of anaesthesia? Well, first thing, I said, “It just got REALLY LOUD IN HERE. Oh, and look at all the people.” The anaesthesiologist said, “Yeah, it’s like on ER!” I said, “No. Like Scrubs.” He said, “That’s a silly show.” I said, “YOU’RE silly.” They all laughed.

And then the drugs really took effect, because I said, “Are y’all still gonna take care of me, even though I’m an evil conservative?” What the heck, SarahK? I don’t even know where it came from. Too much Glenn Beck, I guess. Well, this one nurse got all kinds of huffy before I was even out cold and said, “WELL! As LONG as you don’t start talking about RELIGION, we’ll be JUST FINE!” Then I said, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna talk about religion. My husband, I love him so much, I’m so proud of him, he is one of the world’s best bloggers and is in the top 100 by traffic and the top 30 by links, and he’s so awesome, and blogs are so cool…” That’s the last I remember. Blogs are so cool. Well, aren’t they?

But when I came out of anaesthesia? Nurse Ratchett was not cordial the slightest bit. So I don’t know if I moved past blogging to politics or religion or what, but when I woke up, I had my eyes closed, but I was still talking. LOUDLY. And Nurse Cranky came in and was so ugly. “Here, drink this.” And pushing me all around, poking, prodding, NOT gently. Huffy. And I was already fighting back in my head, thinking, woman, whatever I said? Yeah, they’re my beliefs, and in polite company, having just met you, I would not have said them, I would have just let you be all huffy and on your period, but step back and remember. I’M UNDER ANAESTHESIA! What the heck? She thinks I’m just deliberately trying to tick her off? Like it’s Thanksgiving, and the turkey just got served, and I brought up how I just don’t understand how Grampa could have voted for Al Gore instead of Dubya, is Grampa off his NUT? [By the way, don't bash my Grampa, he wrote in a different candidate. Haha, it's a funny one, too.] Anyway, she was slinging the curtain around, being all witchy, and I finally said, “Why do you hate me just because I’m a conservative?” She didn’t even answer me. Just kept poking and prodding. And then I said, “Well, I don’t hate you just because you’re a liberal!” and she said, “Who said I’m a liberal?” and I didn’t say this, but I thought it: YOU’RE WEARING TIE-DYE UNDER YOUR SCRUBS! YOUR CLOTHES SAY SO! So then she STOMPED out of my area, slammed the curtain (can you slam a curtain?), and I just started yelling. I was still under the influence, mind you. I was saying to myself, No, SarahK, don’t say that out loud, hold your tongue, but again. Under the influence. I was yelling, “THAT’S THE PROBLEM WITH LIBERALS. THEY’RE ALLLLLL ABOUT PREACHING TOLERANCE UNTIL YOU HAVE A DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEW THAN THEY HAVE, AND THEN THEY’RE THE MOST INTOLERANT PEOPLE.” And then Frank showed up, and my sweet little SarahK voice came back. “Oh hey, Sweetie. That nurse is so mean. I don’t want her back in here.” Frank told me later that he could hear me all the way down the hall, I was so. loud. Hahahahaha.

So then the lady came back, and she was such a cow to me, and finally, I’d had enough. I just started throwing equipment off of me. Threw off the blood pressure cuff that she wanted to keep on me, threw off the pulse monitor, the monitor went nuts like I had no heart rate, several people came through the curtain like I was a code blue or something. Hahahahaha. I relish the scene now. At the time? Neh eh. Nurse Menopause was like, “You can’t take that off of you. You have to be monitored until the doctor releases you.” “Well, I am NOT paying you people to treat me like this, and I refuse to let you treat me like this any longer.” Funny, she got nicer after that. I looked right at her and told her, “I will NEVER forget the way you’ve treated me.”

Later, she was back again. I asked her name. “Linda.” Funny, that’s my mom’s name, but I immediately thought of wRitErsbLock‘s mean sister-in-law, because this lady was so mean. I didn’t think of my mom. That made my mom so happy later. So I decided to be nice. Where WAS that doctor? (Sticking a tube up someone else’s butt, actually.) I thought, well, she hates my politics, I’ll try to move to her politics, because politics are such a nice perfect-stranger subject. Tie-dye, hates evil conservative. Hilary or Obama, right? So I asked, in my nicest, most innocuous voice, though I was still under anaesthetic influence (I know this because I was still under it later when my doctor came in), but Frank attests that I was being very pleasant. “So. Do you like Hillary or Obama in 2008?” Why would I steer it from politics? I didn’t have much brain function! She pursed her lips and spoke through her teeth like I was a child. “I don’t discuss my politics with complete strangers.” Whatever, toolface. I do it all day long on the interwebs, and most of my readers won’t even delurk.

So Dr. Fresh Air finally came around. Nurse NeedsAnEnema went away for a while. I remember asking the doctor, “I definitely also have a corn sensitivity, and do you hate me because I’m conservative, too?” “No, Mrs. Fleming, but I do have other patients to see today.” I was all over the place with him, couldn’t finish a coherent thought. Poor doctor. And he was being so nice and giving me good news, no Crohn’s, no colitis, all that.

Nurse Undersexed wheeled me to the car when it was all over, and I was fully conscious. They don’t let you go until you’re fully conscious. When she wheeled me past the nurses’ station, which is really a table at eye level with wheelchair patients, all the nurses stopped their paperwork and stared at me with huge grins on their faces. Either because they don’t like her either, or because I was Crazy Patient of the Day.Thank you very much, I’ll be here all week. I stopped my mad face and smiled at them briefly.

I even apologized to her outside while we were waiting for Frank to bring the car (it was raining). I figured, I’ll be the bigger person, apologize for things I had no control over, because I don’t care who I offend, my beliefs are my beliefs, I ain’t apologizing to anyone for having them, but whatever. It’s not like I went on a drunken rampage, where I chose to get drunk in the first place and then yelled “I want to murder black people!” (I don’t, by the way, I like them just fine). I was on drugs on doctor’s orders, under doctor supervision! She’s in her 50s, she doesn’t understand the concept of anaesthesia? But hey, I’ll say I’m sorry, and she can say me too and clear her conscience now since she’s never ever gonna see me again, as I will be making sure she is nowhere near any of my future procedures. “Linda, I’m sorry if I was harsh with you.” “Oh, you know what? It doesn’t even bother me anymore. Patients are rude to me, mean to me. I’ve been doing this so many years that I just don’t even pay attention to it.” Oh, no return apology, then? So I said in a very nice tone, not patronizing but also not empty, “Well, Linda, I will never forget the way you treated me today.” She helped me into the car, I thanked her, I left. Evil whore. Well, she’s probably not that, but “she’s a pale-faced, mealy-mouthed ninny, and I hate her!”

My preacher said that when he had shoulder surgery, the doctors were very amused with him when he came out of the daze and told him that as soon as he was under, he was quoting Scripture and preaching sermons the entire time. Me? I start talking politics and blogs. Preacher 1, SarahK 0 at the church potluck.

stuff

*I want to eat as much Helluva Good French Onion Dip as possible until my gluten challenge is over. After it’s over, I might stop being lazy and call the company to ask what “natural flavors” means.
*This would be the perfect time to have money in our budget for Indian food. Garlic na’an and all that. It would also be the perfect time to have enough time to make it at home. If I had six hours, I would just whip us up a batch of chicken tikka masala real quick-like.
*It looks like it will be cheap enough for us to move the pool table to Texas. So that’s good, we won’t have to sell it.
*The Roller Lite people also make teeny rollers!
*My body is one giant pillar of pain. This does not make for a good strong worker. I cry when other people aren’t around and then practically break down when I talk to essay on the phone.
*I’m having a hard time with my anger.
*Vengeance is mine, thus says the Lord.
*I pray for my enemies, for our enemies. This is hard for me to do. But I know I’m supposed to.
*When you’re not sick all the time, and when your body doesn’t feel like it’s eating itself, like your muscles are eating themselves, like your nerves are on fire–you just. don’t. get it. You just have no idea what it feels like.
*The miniblinds lady at Home Depot today looked at me like I was an idiot when I asked if the faux wood blinds they sell came in a top-mounting variety (because I really don’t want to drill into the side of the top of the window frame, because I will drill into metal in this hurricane house, and that will not turn out well). Her look was not, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,” because she didn’t understand at first, so I clarified. After I clarified, I still got the look. Finally, I said in a plain voice, no malice or anger, just plainly, “Is that a stupid question? Because you’re looking at me like I’m asking a stupid question.” She then looked at my ‘NSYNC t-shirt and told me that it’s my choice whether I hang my blinds inside the window frame or outside the window frame. Dear Pete. Let’s try again. Of course I’ll hang them on the inside (I’m not a Backstreet Boys fan, mind you). What I’m saying is, I’ve hung faux wood blinds before, and all the faux wood blinds I’ve hung had brackets that mounted on the side of the window frame, and then the blinds sat in the side mounted brackets and hung from there. She assured me that all of HD’s blinds hang from the top of the window frame. She really did not get me and truly thought I was an idiot. I thanked her and walked off. In my passive-aggressive manner, I, of course, said in slightly raised voice as I walked up the aisle away from her, “Thank you for making me feel like a giant idiot.”
*I shall buy the faux wood blinds at Lowe’s. They’re cheaper there anyway.

i’m home, i’m good

thanks for the concerns, thoughts, and prayers. i really do appreciate them.

*the doctor found no Crohn’s (yay!), no colitis (yay!). and he sounds pretty sure about the celiac disease, because when i told him about my corn sensitivity, he said that’s very common with celiac disease.
*took several pieces for biopsy, results next Friday.
*apparently, when i go under anaesthesia, i just immediately start talking about two things very important to me: politics and blogging. i started with politics, i think. i was commanded by a very intolerant nurse (who then treated me with absolute hostility until such time that she put me in the car) to not talk about religion, or I probably would have started in on that, too. so i talked about blogging instead, and how proud i am of Frank and how much i love him. or maybe i started with the blogging and then ended up at politics. i’m a little hazy on that. after that, i don’t remember until i woke up.
*when they started hooking me up to all the machines, suddenly there were so many people crowded around my face! i said, “wow! so many people all around me!” and one of the nurses said, “yeah! just like on ER!” and i said, “no, just like Scrubs.” and the anaesthesiologist said, “that’s a silly show.” and i said, “YOU’RE silly.” he agreed with me, and i think i made them laugh. and then i talked politics.
*more later on the hostile nurse and how i threw all my monitoring devices off when i became fed up with her hostility and patronization and refusal to let me ask questions. oh, and how she told Frank i should stay off the internet today. is that normal after a colonoscopy? to recommend that your patients stay off the internet? or special just for me? i think i know the answer. :-)

anyway, i’m so happy about the no Crohn’s and no colitis thing.

help! i think i’ve lost my filter!

and my patience for idiotic adults who act like children.

Ugh, it seems that’s all I blog about anymore, no? Me having a run-in with someone stupid and not filtering my sarcasm before it gets to my mouth.

So I take Rowdi to the vet yesterday for her checkup (oh joy of joy, she has fleas!). After we are all done with the vet, I’m standing at the checkout counter waiting for my bill and talking to the vet’s assistant. Rowdi is standing quietly at my side, staring intently and respectfully at this giant St. Bernard at the far end of the the lobby. It was so cute to see her so intrigued with something yet not pulling at the leash–I think she was in awe.

First the vet’s assistant (this cute little college girl) tells me that she’ll never forget the first time I brought Rowdi in for an appointment a year ago and said, “I’ve never owned a dog before and have no idea what I’m doing!” and then she tells me what a great job she thinks we’ve done with Rowdi, and what a great dog Rowdi is. I aww thank her, and then we start talking about the carpet-dog (Australian Shepherd) behind the counter who is staring up at us and is completely still and looks like a statue. The vet’s assistant tells me the carpet-dog is begging for cookies and says, “I’m sorry, but if Rowdi can’t have one, you can’t either.” And we continue to talk about poor Rowdi’s strict diet and make other such small talk while I wait for my bill, the flea pills for Rowdi and the kitties (oh yeah, shoving pills down kitty throats is so much fun), and Rowdi’s flea preventative.

That’s when I realize an increase in loud chatter in the vet’s office, about four feet away from me, in the same direction as the St. Bernard. But I’m thinking it’s just that–loud chatter. You know how it is when a bunch of people start talking at the same time. I continue talking to the assistant (I really should learn her name, it’s the same girl every time and I always recognize her face) and ignore the chatter until it becomes clear that the chatter is alarmingly annoying. I finally turn toward the noise and see this lady–you know the type. Early 40s, cheerleader mom who would kill another cheerleader to make sure her daughter makes captain, boob job, perfect nails, doesn’t leave her house without her makeup perfect, perfect straight black hair, and clutched tightly in her arms is a muppet dog to match her hair. Oh good grief, she is looking at me. And talking to me. Talking at me. With scared eyes. Chatterbox with the muppet hair and the muppet dog and the french manicure sculptured nails is talking at me.

MUPPET: Are you holding onto that dog’s leash?
SARAHK: [Nothing from me, because see, I really am still trying to take it all in, take her all in. She doesn't start with "excuse me" or "pardon the interruption while I ask a most ridiculous question that I already know the answer to", and I am pretty much stunned into silence. Doesn't happen very often.]
MUPPET: Are you holding onto that dog’s leash?
SARAHK: No. I’m just letting her roam around free in the vet’s office with all the other dogs. [Oh, look. I found my voice.]
MUPPET: We’ve been attacked by a dog before is the reason I’m asking. [She's actually pointing to herself and her matching muppet dog while she's saying this, and she's speaking in a very urgent "you understand" tone. And no, I don't understand. You're being a child in a room full of adults.].

This whole time, Rowdi has not even blinked in Muppet & Co.’s general direction, because she is still heavily enthralled with Mr. St. Bernard, who is obviously not a female, because females larger than Rowdi tend to make Rowdi bark. Finally, I just wave Muppet off and turn back around. But not before my mouth starts talking again. “No, I’m not responsible with my dog at all.” What responsible adult human takes their 60 lb. pit bull / German Shepherd / lab mutt to the vet with all the other sick dogs off-leash?

So I turn back and start talking to the vet’s assistant, and she whispers, “Don’t worry about it. It’s not you. It happens all the time in here.” And I’m actually kind of non-plussed, maybe because I’m so used to the muppet’s type, and I’ve received the same kind of treatment in the vet’s lobby before. I just say, “Oh, I’m sure it does,” because really, I’m sure it does, as Rowdi is not the only large dog in the world, and the Muppet is, well… a clone. So the Muppet gets very wide eyes when I turn around and ignore her in my Alpha-dog way and takes a very wide berth around Rowdi and me to walk to the other end of the counter, lest Rowdi jump up and snatch her twin muppet dog right out of her muppet arms.

And of course, I didn’t think to ask Mitzi the Muppet if her little twin was on a leash until I got out to the car. Because the little muppet was not on a leash. And good grief, woman, when you see two adults having a conversation, the very least you can do is say “excuse me” before interrupting to ask your inane questions. If she had bothered to look at my hands, she could have seen that I was holding Rowdi’s leash. She only asked the question in order to say, “Your big dog scares me. Make sure you hold on to her tight so she doesn’t eat my little Fluffy here.” If that is what you mean, then say, “Excuse me, ma’am. Your big dog scares me. Make sure you hold on to her tight so she doesn’t eat my little Fluffy here.”

Maybe next time, I’ll carry an extra leash in my left hand so that when a muppet goggles or asks the inane question, I can just casually flash the leash, all bundled up and not attached to the dog. Like, look at me, my dog is off-leash. Fear her!