Neurology, Neurosis

An hour and a half on the train this morning with temperatures around -3°F not including windchill and I got my car back in time to drive to my neurologist appointment. I held January 11, 2009 as a special date in my heart for some time now, since that was when my "pre-existing condition exclusions" expired on my insurance. Translation: migraine- and depression-related medical shit now gets paid for. And while there's still no new incredible cure for my lame vessel of a head, I'm getting an MRI as soon as I schedule it so we can see pictures of my lame head. It's been about 10 years since my last MRI, but I'm not particularly hopeful that updated photos will say anything new. Maybe there's something that this much better neurologist can see or catch, but from everything he says, I'm an extremely typical severe migraine patient and the best we can do is pain manage with drugs drugs drugs and acupuncture and anything else I find that helps. Because my left eye droops when I'm migrainey, I'm supposed to look in the mirror the next time I'm mid-migraine and see if my left eye and nostril are also runny and if the left side of my face is red and splotchy. If so, I have a very specific type of migraine (definitely probable candidates...I know that's the sinus side that gets cranky) called Paroxysmal Hemicrania. If so, the one and only treatment is an NSAID called that indomethacin that I'd take daily, possibly instead of the gazillion pills I'm on now. Downside: indomethacin does terrible things long-term to your guts, particularly your stomach and kidneys. I'd have to get all of my everything else checked constantly, and if anything started going downhill, I'd have to stop the only medication that's been found do really help that type of headache. My migraines aren't going to kill me, but they can't really be fixed, either. And no birth control pills, like, ever, even with the ovarian cyst thing and the evil clotty crampy periods and my promiscuous unprotected sex. Ok, two out of three. But once again, I'm reminded of how much modern medicine still doesn't know. We think our bodies are supposed to work and when they don't we should be able to fix them or quit whining about it and overcome and Just Do It and No Fear and all those other slogans and mottos and things people say on ESPN and to 9-year-olds in football helmets. But fighting isn't working for me. I should go back to the meditation center, except that felt like a fight with myself, too. I have to stop fighting myself and my body all the time. I'm trying so hard to accept what I am. It's hard and it hurts because I still get mad at myself for not just being ok or at least accepting my not being ok. I've always been much quicker to understand things on an intellectual level than to feel them, and it frustrates the hell out of me that I can't just make myself feel what I think.
I just want to be happy.
I'm taking the steps that are supposed to help all of that (going to therapy, on happy drugs, trying to cultivate new friendships and keep stoking old ones, concentrating on the good things in my life...which I actually do but I use this blog to get my whining and bitching out since I'm spending so much energy the rest of the time trying to put a positive spin on everything).

I always have a hard time in winter. I need to declare a time to drive down to Nashville and romp around with HDS in the warmer and our dogs can try to eat eachother. I wish it was less than an 8 hour drive, but maybe that would help. I don't know. I keep looking for these things to help or cure or fix. That's part of who I am, too, and that needs to be ok, too. More time in the meditation center with the Buddhists, less time in the internal throes of Jewy guilt.

Cysterly Love

As I clung to the shaggy green fibers of my bathmat and tried to concentrate on my fingers and the feeling of the floor instead of the pain in my abdomen, I wondered if I'd ever be able to eat again. I thought about Julie and her four years of tube feedings. I understood the ability to give up all food if this kind of pain was the alternative, but wondered what kind of life one could possibly have without food. Eating is such an important experience for me. I understood having all of your guts transplanted with the hope of being able to eat again. And then I thought about what the transplant did to Julie. How she's been in the ICU, sedated and waving at death ever since. What it's done to her family, with her parents now living month-to-month in Florida in an apartment chosen entirely for its proximity to the hospital and her sister now in charge of everything else back in Michigan. What is life worth? What is pain worth? Will they ever figure out what's wrong with Julie? Would they ever figure out what's wrong with me?

Mine started weeks earlier. I needed to pee even after I'd peed. I wondered if I had an extremely mild urinary tract infection. I've never had one and I'm not a very good candidate for contracting one (since I'm not having The Sex and I'm fairly compulsively clean to the point I use those flushable wipes in addition to regular toilet paper and never go more than 48 hours without showering), but they're so common and easy to deal with, I just drank lots of water and figured it would clear up on its own and if it got bad I'd go to my doctor. No big deal.

I've also been back to More Migraine Than Freedom pretty much since Thanksgiving. Maybe even before. I got stuck at my parents' house for days when my car window decided to randomly fall off its track and after the mechanic out by them fixed it, I was too dead to drive home. Then I went to NBF's house and spent two days there passed out and eating his food and occasionally taking the dogs out but he mostly did that, too.

At the end of January, my health insurance starts paying for my migraine care again. I'm supposed to call my neurologist and make an appointment for then so we can start fixing things again. I don't know why I haven't yet. I think I'm scared it still won't help and I'm sick of getting my hopes up and being a walking pharmacy and new tests and pokings and proddings that result in maybe feeling a little better some of the time but still feeling vaguely awful most of the time.

I go through phases where I do mini-workouts at home, usually including the lame-ass push-ups where you are on your knees, lunges, crunches, and whatever else strikes my fancy. Sunday night I did a lot of crunches including the kind where you lay on your stomach and crunch up backwards. Monday the pressure in my bladder was almost painful, I had to pee all the time (no trouble when I peed and regular good ol' non-smelly almost clear yellow pee came out), and I just kind of hurt in my general low-down inner gut area. I wondered if it was the crunches. Tuesday, it was clearly not the crunches. It still hurt, I still felt like I had an old lady or preggers bladder, and let's just say pooping wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

I called my doctor. She couldn't see me, but her associate could. Fine. Associate at 3:30 PM.

I made NBF drive me. I was feeling pretty gross, though the actuall pain was less bad. More like "significant discomfort." I told the doctor what was wrong. She squished my belly and abdomen. I peed in a cup. I used to have serious issues with that, having to talk myself down from my OCD tendencies almost as much as getting blood drawn. Apparently, I'm much better at dealing with it now. No big deal.
Tentative diagnosis pending urinalisis: bladder infection. The place that was the most uncomfortable when she squished was apparently my bladder, and this was after I'd peed. The instant dipstick test of my urine was positive for traces of blood, too, which would indicate bladder infection. So the doctor gave me antibiotics that were "known to be good on stool" and said she hoped the drugs would clear up the problem before we even got the confirmation from the lab that it truly was a bladder infection.

My doctor's office is on the 11th floor of the Galter Pavilion at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. We dropped off my perscription at the Walgreens on the first floor, got dunch at the Au Bon Pan on the second floor, and went back to the first floor to pick up my perscription and validate the parking ticket.

I dutifully took my pills that night and Wednesday morning and night. I still hurt and didn't feel like eating much, but I mixed ramen noodles with Indian mashed vegetable curry for lunch and finished off the last of my raisin bran for dinner.

I woke up Thursday some time before 6 AM in pain. I had to pee, I had to poop. I did. It hurt my guts to do so, especially the lower right part (higher than the earlier pain, but below my belly button). I still hurt. A lot. It was like the worst gas pain and/or the worst period cramps ever, but in the wrong places. The experience was like having really terrible diarhea, but with regular poop. Running to the bathroom, clutching my guts, hoping it's over, crawling back to bed without the pain subsiding, big sharp stabs, wishing to fall back asleep, back to the bathroom, not wanting to have to sit up any longer, clutching the bathmat, thinking of Julie.

I called my doctor back to say what was going on. To say I was in hell, the worst pain of my life and I get migraines. Migraines aren't so sudden. They are extreme, but at least you can adjust to them. This was sharp and intense and unfamiliar. Help. I don't think this is a bladder infection anymore, since I've been taking my antibiotics. They left a message for the doctor to call me back when she could. I don't know why I knew I wasn't in immediate danger, but I did.

I called my sister. My mom was seeing clients that day and I didn't want to bug her. This was painful, but even if it was something serious, there was no reason to have her around stressing and missing things in the waiting room of the ER or something when I knew my sister wasn't doing anything. I woke my sister up and she said she'd come in a few hours. I figured that would be fine. If I needed more immediate attention, I could call NBF or 911. Until then, I didn't want to leave the comfort of my own bed and bathroom and the run back and forth. Mostly, I wanted someone to come and walk my dog for me and deal with anything else that might arise, since I was completely incapable.

I may be buying a condo very very soon. In Rogers Park, preferably right on the lake. I have the money my grandparents left me that apparently my parents have also been supplimenting over the years, and it's sitting in a nice tust fund that's purpose from the start was to finance education and/or a first home. With the economy in the shitter, the entire housing market looks like Filene's Basement. Part of me is very hesitant to buy something here, since I'm not positive I want to stay in Chicago long-term. I miss many of my friends who live in other states, NBF is moving to San Diego to be all lawyery in a year, and yesterday the temperature hit 8 F not counting windchill.

But I have family here. And I do have friends here.

I wasn't aware that I'd fallen asleep until the phone rang. My sister was downstairs and needed to be let in. The pain was quiet now. She walked my dog, who was desperate enough to go out and familiar enough with her that he didn't do his usual apeshit barky routine. My guts were still uncomfortable, but nothing like earlier. I was afraid to eat but I kept drinking. My sister and I talked about calling various friends we knew in the health professions. My dad is a doctor (former internist turned Insurance Company Health Administration Bad Guy, except he's a good guy...) but he was still in Bermuda for some conference thing. Then my sister mentioned kidney stones. We looked them up on WebMD and I decided that sounded right, since it was right around where the pain was and it came in two big waves and maybe there was a stone hanging out in my bladder. I kept drinking water but was afraid to eat. My sister had oatmeal. We called my doctor back and left the message that maybe it was kidney stones? Just a thought.

I took a long shower and shaved more carefully and completely than I do for bikini season. I figured if people were going to be poking around at me, possibly at my "lady parts," I wanted to be as well-groomed as humanly possible. The shower also felt fabulous, and I had a fear that I would check into the hospital and they would keep me, like Julie, and this might be the last good shower I got for a long time.

The doctor's assistant had called while I was in the shower. They wanted me to come in for a CT scan ASAP, but the soonest they could get me an appointment was the next morning at 6:20 AM. I could go to the ER and hope to be squeezed in some time before that, but there was a solid chance I still wouldn't get in until the next morning and would be stuck in the ER. I called back. 6:20 AM, CT scan it would be. My urinalysis from Tuesday came back with no signs of infection, so it clearly was not a bladder infection after all and I should stop taking the antibiotics. It could very well be kidney stones. Sounded like it. Then I asked about food. Apple sauce, soup, jello. I said I was feeling like eggs. "No eggs."

I had none of these foods in my apartment, so my sister and I had to go grocery shopping. But first we started watching The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, which I enjoyed very much and she fell asleep. I talked to NBF and informed him that I was crashing at his house so he could drive me to the 6:20 AM appointment. He was unthrilled but I knew right away he would do it.

My sister fell asleep and I got restless watching the movie. I hadn't eaten or taken any of my medications all day. We headed out to the grocery store.

I was in a daze and spent twice as long as usual (those of you who've been shopping with me know this is already an annoyingly slow process) picking

By the time we headed to the grocery store, I could barely walk straight. I hadn't eaten all day, which meant I hadn't taken my regular pills, and I felt like total crap. My sister was also hungry, and she's not very good when she's hungry, either. I stocked the cart with both super-bland easy to digest non-food foods and things I needed assuming I would be able to eat like a normal person again. I was really out of it but managed to do a fairly good job with my choices in the end. I also needed quarters so I could do a load of laundry before heading to NBF's house and the hospital. I wanted lots of good clean underwear and my hoodie and other things claimed by my hamper. I handed my sister my credit card so she could get in line and buy the groceries and I headed over to the in-grocery-store bank. No quarters, but customer service had rolls. I went to customer service. I pulled $10 out of the part of my wallet that has my quick-access stuff, like my credit cards, my drivers license, and sometimes cash. The customer service guy informed me that a roll of quarters was $10.25 because they charged a 25 cent service fee, and pointed to a sign. Lame. I complained, decided it was worth it anyway, told the customer service guy I wasn't bitching at him personally, since I knew it wasn't his fault or anything, and went back to find my sister starting to put groceries up on the conveyor belt. We discussed Jello shots with the check-out guy as he scanned watermelon, peach, and strawberry (oh how I wished they were intended for booze) and headed to the car. My sister really wanted to go to the bagel place by my apartment and it was unquestionably cold enough in the car to leave the groceries, so that was our next stop.

By this point, I was beyond stupid. I might as well have been completely drunk, having not eaten in a good 18 hours and going through Effexor withdrawl to boot. I wanted soup, but apparently the bagel place no longer sells soup, so I ordered apple cider. My sister did a make-your-own sandwich (all the ingredients you want for $60) with egg, salami, cream cheese, and sprouts. Weird girl. I went to pay for it and found my credit card was still floating by itself in my purse without the drivers license etc. chunk of my wallet. Where'd my cash go? Where'd that wallet chunk go? I paid with the credit card and started ripping my purse apart. I took everything out. I emptied my pockets. I went back to check in the car, including the grocery bags in case it fell in. Nothing. It was gone. Did I drop it back at the grocery store? I knew I had it when I took out the credit card to give to my sister to buy the groceries. I had to have had it to get the $10 to buy the quarters. That was the last place I knew for sure, customer service. I might have had it at the checkout, but maybe not.

We went back to the grocery store. We searched the parking lot. We asked at customer service. Nothing. We looked around the floor. Nothing. We found the guy who checked us out. He remembered us and tried to help us look. It was a very short amount of time and space between when I knew I had it and when I knew I didn't. No wallet. It contained my drivers license, one credit card, my ATM/debit card, my AAA card, my health insurance card, and probably $40 in cash since I'd just gone to the ATM the day before. I left my name and phone number at customer service in case someone turned it in, since I was sure it went missing right around there.

Back at my apartment, I called the credit card company to cancel the card and make sure no one had charged anything on the card that day. I hadn't used that particular card (it links to my parents' account and is just for emergencies) so it shouldn't have any charges.
The first charge made on the card was at Walgreens, at most 20 minutes after I know for a fact it was in my hand. Five more charges were then made at Target and Best Buy within half an hour. My ATM/debit card was only used to buy gas along the way. We canceled the cards and disputed the charges no problem, but I wished there was a way to instead make the next time they tried to use the card set off all kinds of alarms and have the police show up on the scene. The way things are now, they get to keep whatever they stole from the six transactions, even if we don't have to pay for them.

My sister sat me down and made me eat applesauce and soup. I started to regain my basic brain functions. I did laundry. My sister looked at Facebook and potential three bedroom places for rent in Portland, Oregon. I packed a bag with clean comfy clothes for the next day and enough clean underwear to last a week (I'm not sure why) and she handed me over to NBF by 8:30.


UNFINISHED

remiss

In an email from a friend: "I've missed reading your blog posts - have you given up on Annabell Jo?"

Hell no. Out of the habit. Distracted. That's bad enough, but I'm not giving up.

I'm still migrainy. Nowhere near as bad as they were, but I've had almost zero days with zero pain and symptoms. They're just more livable, and I'm doing a lot more around them, and I'm only really losing maybe a day or two a week instead of only having a day or two a week. I've sold my cards in person more than once now, and my aunt and uncle are hiring me to do some stuff on their website that can be done whenever I'm physically able. I want to take one class in the fall back at school, but I'm not there yet. There's a whole lot of tests and a few doctors' appointments I need to make to hopefully get me to that point, but first I need health insurance.

I still don't have health insurance. On the phone yesterday with the iChip people makes me think I'm really, really close, but I would have said that months ago, too, so I don't want to get too excited. The adjuster from iChip had the exact same problems with the idiots at my last insurance company that I did (it took her EIGHT CALLS to find someone who could give her my policy number, something I was never able to get in writing), so that made me feel a little less crazy.

My car is still "in the shop." It's now done except for a tire, which wasn't the result of the accident (Chicago pothole(s) damaged the tire and wheel itself), so it's out of pocket, so I got a tire for half the price online that has to be shipped from Saturn or something. I'm borrowing my sister's car until I get my own back, which my sister just loves, but my parents are redoing their kitchen which somehow translates to also repaving their garage and outdoor parking space thing, so my sister's car needed a place to stay anyway, and parking is terrible around her summer sublet apartment in the now-cool South Loop.

She and I went to the Taste of Chicago yesterday and had a very nice time. It was as uncrowded as the Taste gets, and I think I was sufficiently distracted by food and being the Person With a Sense of Direction to ignore my persistent mid-grade migraine long enough to have fun. With two strips of tickets (a total of $16) and "Taste sizes" only (each booth offers one of their items as a smaller portion for 3-4 tickets), the two of us had:

• rib tips from Robinsons No. 1 Ribs
• cumin-dusted fries with mango chutney from Vermilion Latin-Indian Cuisine
• jerk chicken with red beans and rice from Vee-Vee's African Cuisine
• chocolate-dipped frozen baby banana from Aunt Diana's Candy Makers
• samosa from Arya Bhavan
• alcapurria (pork filled banana dumpling) from Sabor Latino

Everything was entirely fabulous except for the alcapurria, which was a big fried blob of generic friedness. The jerk chicken was a real stand-out, so my sister and I will have to go to the actual Vee-Vee's sometime, since it's close to my apartment.

My grandma turned 85 yesterday and this past weekend most of my maternal extended family converged on San Diego. That's where NBF is for the summer and I almost didn't see him at all because he is a big fat poo-head. My mom's sister hosted the whole thing (she lives there) and she's pretty fabulous. That side of the family is much easier to deal with in general, since they say what they mean and don't care how much money you make. On the other hand, my grandma can be pretty difficult, but also people have stopped being nice to her and about her. And my siblings were being total schmuck-heads to me in general. Let's just say it was a real test of my Newfound Positivity (thank you therapy...I'm not sure if I'm being sarcastic).

Speaking of therapy, big revelation this week: being less loud and/or obnoxious and/or "annoying*" and generally changing what I say and how I act to fit a situation isn't "giving in," it's more like being a teacher altering your methods until the students understand. My therapist is very good.

That should be enough for now. I need to get my ass back writing again in less than seven weeks.


*My sister thinks I'm annoying. All the time. She tells me so. All the time. It's swell.

I listen to emotional music because I am dead inside

This is a friggin' long entry. Some of it is good, some of it is bad, and very little of it talks about anything I've actually done for the past month. If you only read one part, read the blue text. If you read any more than that, sorry in advance.

I don't know why The Sads are winning now as opposed to some other moment over the last few weeks, but they are. Probably hormone-related and all terribly logical, but I'm still feeling The Sad. I should listen to Emo and wear sweatbands around my wrists.

I called a therapist today and left a message. I've had the business card of said therapist for a month, but my parents decided to give me an ultimatum on Friday that I absolutely HAD to 1) start therapy 2) find a good psychopharmacologist and 3) hire a housekeeper on a weekly basis. They thought I'd be most upset about #3. Mostly I was upset that they were giving me Life Ultimatums, but as we all know, They know best and have not only a right but a duty to tell me what to do because They are right. At the moment it's particularly frustrating because, as I check off month number four of seriously compromised physical wellbeing, I do need some help and I do need to get my ass to the therapist but I've had such a hard time convincing them I'm a grown-up that relinquishing any of that is terrifying. And being my parents, their fucked up shit is ever so close to my fucked up shit, so it all gets more and more fucked up and shitty and I start regressing and now I'm back in my hole avoiding the universe. And I hate myself for getting like this, and it's not nearly as bad as it's gotten in the past, but knowing my cave-dwelling tendency, it freaks me out to watch myself bolting back in that direction. I have an appointment with a new neurologist on Monday, and I've done a lot of the crap to get myself on the state's health insurance thing, but I haven't followed up and I needed to do that today. I didn't. I called the therapist (and my regular doctor to restock my supply of Effexor samples, though my head was being too fussy to drive down there) and that was very good, but I didn't deal with the health insurance. I should have dealt with the health insurance a week ago. And instead of it just being the top priority on my To Do list tomorrow, it's a fucking albatross.

On the other hand, Etsy has been great. I'm actually selling things. Not nearly enough to consider it a job or even a real income, but at least my crafting hobby is paying for itself and it's given me something to do in my state of permanently-semi-dead. It's mostly a feel-good lovey-dovey community and the chatrooms provide a vague sense social interaction, and when I make something and someone likes it enough to pay me money for it, I feel deeply complimented and at least a little bit productive. I think the next step in Living-With-Migraines is to find some sort of work-from-home part-time data entry job.

It all comes back to trying to balance my current life formula. What percentage of my time should be spent doing each of the following to make the most out of my life:

• actively looking for medical and trying out answers and solutions to my migraines (neurologists, headache clinics, clinical trials, etc.)
• actively looking for and trying out "alternative" answers and solutions to my migraines (acupuncture, yoga, howling at the moon, etc.)
• learning to live with my migraines and seeking out new short- and long-term paths (find more lucrative work-from-home strategies, get degree online, join chronic pain support groups)
• nursing my wounds and just trying to do things that make me happy on a basic day-to-day level (sleeping, Etsy, dog snuggles, watching movies, etc.)

I want answers. And now I think my parents are convinced most of my migraines are self-perpetuating from my depression, and that's definitely on my list of possibilities, but my parents are back so deep in my skull I can't tell if that's really just me thinking it, if it's them thinking it and so I think it, or if both they think it and I think it but one is not necessarily dependent on the other. I'd say a lot of my opinions are going through this process right now. It's like back when I was 10 and I realized for the first time that everything I thought I knew was only because I accepted what I'd been told.

If I let myself, I could easily spend my entire life in an epistemological daze/fury.

It's hard when the voice of my own nagging and self-doubt is echoed by my parents, and then their voices echo in my head in an orgy of aphorisms and "shoulds."

A month or two back my whole immediate family was out to dinner at a very good restaurant. As we were all quite stuffed and contented and happy with our meals, we started ranking our favorites to least favorites from each course. I pointed out, half-joking, that we were such a judgmental family we couldn't even get through a meal without judging and ranking everything instead of just talking about how delicious things were and why. Everyone got really quiet. We'd switched to judging ourselves for being too judgmental.

This is why I'm crazy.

Tomorrow, I will deal with the health insurance. Head willing, I will go to the post office. I will also gather the plates and bowls and things that have overflown my garbage can by my desk and put them in the trash and take that trash outside. Baby steps.

"Baby steps" is so something my father would say.

In and Out of the Flow of Life/Mucus

Screw neti pots and their recent surge in popularity thanks to Oprah and the New York Times - my OCD tendencies had me eying those saline nasal irrigation things for years. Normally I want one when I have a cold, since I seem to have been spared the classic runny-nose seasonal allergy crap, but with more evidence and doctors suggesting that perhaps my migraines are sinus-related, I splurged and spent $12 on the NeilMed Sinus Rinse kit. 8 oz of warm water (I did it right from the tap, livin' on the edge, instead of buying distilled water and heating it in the microwave) with the little packet of salty crap to make saline, mixed in the bottle, leaned over the sink, held it up to my nostril, and squeezed.
Gross. But the good kind of gross. Except for the part when it started snotting down the back of my throat and I had to spit out snot. That was mostly the bad kind of gross. But overall, I am pleased. I do feel better able to breathe through my nasal passages and feel they were very well cleaned and irrigated.

I'm a member of this awesome co-ed fraternity now: Alpha Alpha Alpha. They're really into travel, and they'll help you out anywhere if your car dies, and all sorts of places give you discounts if you tell them you're a member. AAA loveeeeee!!!

After spending way too much time and energy insuring my new car (have I mentioned lately I love my new car? I don't think I have. I love my new car.) I was getting renters insurance through AAA because they were significantly cheaper than anywhere else and my dad decided I needed renters insurance. Then the AAA insurance guy asked me about my car insurance and blah blah blah now I am paying a lot less and I trust AAA more than the no-name company I ended up with before. So that was all good insurance news, even though I spent a very long time going through the different quotes and people and things.
After the fiasco with my old health insurance, I decided to get new health insurance. Pay more and make sure everything was covered. I did lots of shopping around for that, filled out the application online, answered more questions over the phone last week when they called to clarify certain things about my health and insurance history, and told my mother every other day that no I hadn't heard back from the health insurance people yet. Well, the same day all my other insurance got happy, I got rejected from the health insurance. Probably because of my migraines (yes, they can do that), in which case I just need the letter to show up here that states they rejected me due to medical history and I can apply for the Illinois Lame People Insurance, but (and here is the moral of the story so I will bold it) Why is it so fucking difficult, expensive, and time-consuming to insure our health and property to a safe, legal, minimal standard?

My migraine has been much better behaved and I was all ready to do an I Love Topamax dance, then the weather shifted and it kicked my ass. Maybe less so, I'm not sure. It was a few days of bad that I first thought were the result of chocolate and didn't know what to do if it turned out chocolate was my trigger, but then I went outside and it was very clearly the weird crazy weather shift shit that normally gets me. Now the weather is back to Standard Chicago Winter and I'm doing better and I want to register for classes and such, but I still don't have this crap figured out and I don't want the same thing to happen again and I don't quite know what to do about it all. My school starts really late, so I have a few weeks, but I don't know what monumental change will happen in those few weeks to make things any clearer.

To end on a positive note: I have an audition for Wheel of Fortune on Tuesday! I got an email saying I'd been selected for an appointment time to audition for the Chicago taping of College Week! So excited!

Monday Revisited

I have to backtrack a touch, since the fire distracted me from other important Monday events.

Monday morning I called my "health insurance company." From the beginning, they made it impossible to get anything concrete with my name, dates, and benefits on it, constantly referring me to their general brochure. Had they not been the insurance through my school, I would have assumed they didn't actually exist and were some sort of scam or money laundering outfit. Well, I should have gotten something writing, because now they say my benefits expired back in July. What? I still can't get a frigging clear answer (customer service keeps feeding me lines from their general BS list and I'm beginning to think they don't actually have access to their own records) , but I have a guess as to what happened and it is partly my fault for not figuring it out sooner (even though they didn't mention my lack of being insured the several times I contacted customer service since July).
So I was extremely frustrated and a little freaked out because a lapse in my insurance means my next provider can consider my migraines a "pre-existing condition" and refuse to pay for their treatment for a year, and that is bad. But it isn't "killed a puppy" bad, as NBF put it, and my parents seemed to think it was "killed a puppy" bad, and I took it as "killed a puppy" bad, and it was all very tragic and "a clear indicator of my problems with basic organization and executive functioning skills that I have to do everything within my power to fix as soon as possible before I ruin my own life." My parents and I feed off of each other when it comes to this sort of intense demanding perfectionism, and it's not healthy. This is why I need to live in another state, some time before the invention of the telephone.

That was the morning. In the afternoon, I saw a neurologist. I printed out an amended version of the Things I Have Tried list for him and we spoke for less than 20 minutes, but still managed to get through the following:

• I have done a shitton in my pursuit of migraine panaceas
• Either my last doctor or my understanding of my last doctor was incorrect, because while Depakote and Topamax are both epilepsy drugs, they are very different and Topamax is absolutely worth trying, even after Depakote failed
• It is strange I have never been given a steroid in injection or "pill pack" form to break my cycle of headaches.

So I started Topamax, which builds up in my system and I take daily forever, and some generic steroid pill pack, which I take less and less of every day for a week until I take none at all.
Monday night was terrible. I was back to my worst level of pain and I gobbled down the Vicodin in desperation at 3 AM.
But since then, things have been much better. I went out for coffee (well, chai lattes) with NBF this evening and even in bright lights and loud music and talking, my head only poked at me a little. Maybe this will finally do it for real and I can get out of this piece of shit mother fucking 5+ week cycle of hell. That would be delightful