Monday, May 30, 2011

Follow me on Twitter

If you aren't following me on twitter, you really should be.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Make me wish upon a star.

I think they should have a make-a-wish for fourty year old men who failed at life.  Why should children who are going to be dead in six months get all the fun? After all people like me will probably live for years more, appreciating the one moment we got in our lives that actually worked.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

It's all dripping out of my ass

My ass has become a mustard factory.  I am producing about two pints of mustard yellow liquid a day.  If there are any takers just bring your containers over to my toilet and partake of the most foul smelling explosion of frothy mixture your fetish will allow.

Now that we have got that out of the way, I am looking forward to Thursday.  I have breakfast with my Caribbean Queen, lunch with the EXGF, and I am celebrating the FRO's birthday with him and married lawyer and the X man.  So it should be a big day for me!

Saturday, May 14, 2011

The pill makes me do it

I float in the clouds.  I am sanitized, baptized in the chemical love of anti-depressants, so I am less anxious. I have less of the strange bodily sensations that have been such an omnipresent part of my life for the last 7 months.

Because of the pill I am making small talk at work.  I am discussing the most inane things with customers.  Sometimes the customers actually grow tired of listening to me.  They walk off when I am telling them how much I love the particular brand of peanut butter they are buying, or I am regaling them with stories I find on the internet about giant boxes of lucky charm marshmallows that can be bought.

I am sorry about all that.

But the LexePro does not make me happy.  It just eases the misery of living.  It allows me to peak my head out from under my shell.  It makes me at times chatty and social, far more than my regular self.  But I guess I that is a price you will just have to pay if you get in my line.

I have noticed that customers seem to respond to my cheery self more.  I seem to perk people up and brighten there day when I ask how they are and seem genuine in my concern.

The pill makes me do it.

I smile and my voice has this sing song gay sounding tune of clerk friendliness which for some reason doesn't annoy me all the time I do it.  It's very strange.  Well not very strange.

It hasn't changed me.  I'm not really that interested in you.  I am able to tolerate your small mindedness if I can make a crack about it, or steer us to a topic that interests me.  Like cell phones, or the like.

I do have to report that I'm still pooping yellow.  I still have week bowel movements.  The recurring diarrhea hasn't gone away.  I've also learned that my triglycerides are 453.  That's like super high.  I have to give up soda and eat whole wheat.  Plan on doing that anyway.  I think my prostate cancer screening went okay.  So no cancer.  I must have some infection in my belly, because I still have bloating, tenderness, cramping and the recurring diarrhea.

Also, Sexual dysfunction is back.  I have a history of not being able to orgasm on  anti-depressants.  I will ask my doctor about Wellbutrin. I have heard that adding it to Lexepro can make your sexual dysfunction  go away.  We will see!

I had some stories about funny customers, but I forgot them.  I had a long post that got erased accidentally, and then blogger went down so that added a lot of time in between me writing anything down.  So, sorry about that.

Well you folks are caught up, except you missed how I wrote a story about the evil physician's assistant and how she was actually a cross-dressing transvestite pedophile and her adventures abducting children for the Bush's.  It was freaking funny.  But it's somewhere in the electronic quantum trash pile that we call blogger.

Much Love and Peace.

Romius T.

Monday, May 09, 2011

I get a prostate exam and Xanax, also meet the doctor girlfriend I have always wanted.

In addition to talking to me about her yoga, she asked me if I though   I was intuitive.  I agreed that I was.  But then again who says they aren't?  She told me a secret about herself that she had never told another patient (I won't reveal it) so I felt like we bonded a bit.  If she hadn't stuck her finger up my ass you could have said it was a great first date.  Actually, come to think of it, that might make a great first date.

I'm going back in few weeks for a general physical and exam from my actual doctor.  I am supposed to get my lab results back as well, I got tested for prostate cancer and other blood work.

I should mention some positive things.  My ingrown toenail is feeling better.  I think the antibiotics were working on it as well as the cellulitis.   The swelling is down and I have stopped bleeding from my toe every day. I need to get that looked at as soon as all this other stuff calms down.  I'd like to be able to go swimming or to the beach (or just wear some flip flops.)

I hope I won't need additional antibiotics for that!

Other than that I feel okay.  I am still having some occasion stomach cramping and pain.  But it is quite light and not so bad.  The only thing left is bladder pain and some difficulty in urinating.  That's been going on for some time.  Since the 26th.  Maybe it has something to do with the squishy things in my testicles.  I am having the M.D. check them on June 1st.

Tomorrow is therapy.  Looking forward to that.  Someone to talk to for 50 minutes that has to listen to my shit and pretend to care. Just like you guys.  Only I don't have to pay you!

Told the ex-internet girlfriend about my diagnosis of Diverticulosis and she was like, "I bet you were excited to hear that you have a real disease to talk about!"

I was like, "Oh please!"  Internet GF is getting marred this week.  Congrats Internet GF.  Not that you read my blog anymore!


To the doctor at the ER that misdiagnosed my rash.  Go suck it.  My  ENTIRE ass is inflamed.  My thighs have some mighty nasty looking shit on them.  This is not just a fat guy rubbing his legs together.  I's take a pic but I don't want to gross you guys out.  If you want to see just Google psoriasis.

Romius T.

Thursday, May 05, 2011

Cinco de Mayo and the curse of humanity

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

I have blogged before about Cinco de Mayo.  If you haven't read that little treat I suggest you do so!

I am going to celebrate Cinco de Mayo tonight with some friends from work.  A bunch of us are getting together at a local Mexican bar and eatery to eat tamales and drink margaritas.

I don't get to drink yet as I am still taking a powerful antibiotic that prohibits me from drinking alcohol.

So I am going out to a bar and not drinking and hanging out with a bunch of people I only know because I work with them.  I think I am turning into my idea of my dad from the 1970's.

I am not even sure I like these people.  Most of them are too young, and too stupid to talk to in anyway that goes beyond shop talk.  Making fun of customers and complaining about our crappy hours, pay, and benefits.

I stopped making friends years ago.  That's not true.  I never really started making friends.  In my whole life I have only made like 6 or 7 friends.

I don't count most of the people that most people count as friends.  I think friendship goes deeper.  Friends are family.  And if you are not family then you are not a friend. You are an acquaintance. Not that there is anything wrong with that.  It's just seems to me that too many people conflate the idea of acquaintances and friends to me.

I'm getting old and making new friends is too hard.  My old friends from high school don't talk anymore.  We've known each other for more that 20 years, but we have all grown apart.  We all live our separate lives.  Some of us have families, others of us have shrunk away from going outside, some of continue on partying like we are 20 year olds. (Sometimes partying with 20 year olds!)

So what happens in ten years when I am too old to party?  When my age starts being the only thing people notice about me.  "Who's that?"  --"Oh, you mean the old guy?"

I'm not sure.  I think as we age we grow apart from the world.  Men at least do.  We have trouble maintaining relationships and nurturing them. Already I feel myself going down this path.  The internet and connectivity of the social networks filling in the gaps, but not providing any real substance of human connection.

I guess it's important to disconnect from the world so that leaving it doesn't seem so painful.

I remember my youth.  When things seemed fresh, new, powerful.  Feeling would rise up in me.  I wanted to conquer the world.  Now I want a comfortable chair and something good to watch on TV.  I want at least one more Super Bowl for the Cowboys.

Is this really all there is?  I am so terrified of dying, but as soon as I feel a bit better the old dread of my life as a stale piece of carpet comes flooding back in.  I remember that I don't enjoy anything anymore.

Oh well.

There is something growing in my testicles.  I guess I will have to have that checked out.  It might be causing all the problems I am having with my bladder, the painful urination, the difficulty in peeing.

I probably have ball cancer, or prostate cancer.  Some kind of cancer.  Because the antibiotics aren't stopping the diarrhea.  They aren't stopping the the crazy colors.  And I forgot how I have had week shits for years.  I forgot how my bowel movements have been changing color with the frequency of a kaleidoscopic.

It won't be just some microbial  infection, because things never work out easy for me.  I'm not complaining, really.  I am resigned to it.  I had a pretty good run.  My life was a hell of a lot better than most who have ever lived.

It's when I think about that I get really depressed for humanity.  My god.  What a curse to be human.

Wednesday, May 04, 2011

Back in the land of the living

I think I finally learned my lesson about getting sick and doing nothing about it.  Like a commenter who said he was "glad I finally started fighting the entropy" I am glad I am finally taking action.

I scheduled a couple of new appointments with my doctor.  I have a physical with my primary coming in June.  (It takes that long to see my primary.)  I was a little disappointed in that. I'm not sure what the point of having a great doctor (so I have been told) if I never get to see him.

I put in another appointment to talk to the PA about my anxiety and panic attacks.  I wanted to talk to the doctor before my next therapy session.  That session is on the 9th.

I still have recurring diarrhea.  I am still taking the Flagly for that.  I am sure I am getting an increase in panic attacks from it.  However I stopped taking the percocets.  I was worried that they could increase the likelihood of seizures.  The antibiotics I am on can do that as well.

The auras around my panic/seizure/anxiety has changed again.  I am still coughing and that starts them, but sometimes I get white floating dots in my vision and then I get even stronger waves of stereotypic reactions, etc.

I should mention that I went back to the ER again on Sunday night.  YeS, AGAIN.

And the ER lady PA was not happy with me.  She was quite dismissive of my concerns.  I was still having the recurring diarrhea and I thought I saw red streak.  The red streak turned out to be nothing but a skin irritation which (she did not say) may have been caused by some mild dehydration.  I am trying to drink more Gatorade, but I am finally getting sick of it.  I think I have Gatorade fatigue.

It was pretty humiliating to sit there and be scorned by a health care professional  for wasting her time.  It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  My panic attacks have taken me to the place where I have become a nuisance to people.

Of course I think the doctor was pretty insensitive.  Instead of taking 5 minutes to discuss with me her concerns over my wasting her time she just rebuffed my questions.

How about tell me why I was wrong, show some clinical concern about why I am doing this...

Either that or hide your contempt a little better, because you chose not to address the fact that you think I am malingering, or an idiot.  Man up and tell me to go to my primary for most of my concerns and stop using ER services.

Not that she should care.  She still got paid.  My insurance company should be the pissed off people in this scenario, not the person benefiting from easy diagnoses and fat paychecks.  And secondly, it was a slow night. I got in to the doctor in under 2 minutes.  There was no one in line.  And the ER was basically dead. So fuck I probably gave you something to do for the first time in an hour.

I could tell she felt a little bad about her behavior because after she left to go through my chart again she explained that none of the tests she could run would alter the course of treatment I was on and she did so with a softer voice and more professional demeanor.

Now that that's over I am still taking the Flagly.  I am getting sharp nerve damage pains every once in a while.  Mostly I am not bothered by it.  The weakness in my lower extremities is better than when I was on cipro, but is still there in my right arm.  I am having a  difficulty in sleeping and I am sluggish and tired.

I went back to work yesterday.

I was hurting in the belly area from all the stretching and standing  think.  I was also really tired around the time to go home.  I am still not eating solid food.  I did have crackers and spaggettios when I got home.   I am drinking Gatorade and meal replacements.  My weight is down to 203 from 220 over the course of the last 15 days.  I guess that part is good.  People have noticed the new slimmer me, it's encouraging me to start a healthy diet when I recover from all this shit.

After I recover from all this I will be close enough to my weight goal that I will be getting bitches left and right.  I can stop blogging about anxiety and doctor visits and start blogging about all the tits that I am sucking on.

Sunday, May 01, 2011

May Day. I talk talk therapy, and my latest ER trip. I type this for you even though I am having a crazy ass anxiety attack. And I explain why I think the underclass needs to rise up.


Is it okay if your therapist thinks you are crazy?  My therapist was like in shock when I told her that I had 3 or 4 panic attacks every week.  She was aghast. "That's a lot."  She said.

But she believed me.  She didn't give the look that I usually get from doctors when I describe my symptoms.  Though she did say that I had been reading on the internet and stuff, because I knew all the terminology of anxiety.

I described how sometimes I depersonalized in the mirror.  That sometimes my hands look small compared to the rest of my body.  That my face dissolves when I stare at it.

"Those are massive panic attacks." I was told.  In other words she said they were on the extreme side of anxiety.  I'm not too certain how much experience my therapist has with such extreme anxiety.  I think she expected that I would have panic attacks every few weeks or something like that.

If I had panic attacks only once a week I wouldn't talk to a doctor about it.  For Christ's sake I was walking around and standing on my feet all day at work for over a week with a god damned flesh eating virus attacking my system, and it took me until my leg had swollen up so far that I couldn't walk on it before I even visited a clinic.

So there would be no way I would go see a shrink just because I had the occasional debilitating anxiety attack.  No.  I have those every day.  I have several every day.  I live with a coat of anxiety attached to me like Food Network TV star Paula Deen had dipped me in buttermilk and dropped me in bread crumbs to fry up some Twinkies in.

I get panic attacks every day baby.  I got one right now.  I'm convinced that I am septic.  I have a low body temp.  I have blue hands.  Blue hands mean I have low blood pressure, another sign of septic infection. Of course the blue hands came after I took a percocet.  I am sure percocets can cause this, though I just looked it up and now I am not sure.

That news has sent me into a near panic.  All I can tell myself is that I would be sicker if I had septic, right?

I mean I am not running a fever, my diarrhea is still here but not as bad as a couple of days ago.  My breathing is normal, I'm not confused, but I am restless I hardly slept last night.

 Again that could just be the anxiety which happens to have the same symptoms of many diseases that are harmful. (kinda fucked up? because it really messes with anxious people like me.)

I'm not feeling much pain either.  I hope I'm okay.  The death rates for septic are crazy.  15% and higher.  That has me really worried.

Everything is not all bad.  My leg is looking better.  Slowly healing up.  
Over all I like my therapist.  She seemed to be fine with adding medication (she's not allowed to prescribe it) and she wants me to get a clean bill of health from the doctor before she says I don't have things like epilepsy.

She wants to have another session soon.  She did not get to know much about me.  We talked the entire session about what I am dealing with right now. She said she'd like to spend the next session finding out more about my background and things.

I feel good about the plan as she set it up for me.  Like she is guiding me through a process rather than mearly reacting to certain symptoms that I show her.  Unlike how I feel when I go to the ER or to the regular doctor.

I feel like I have to be the one to figure out how to find a neurologist, an internist, etc. And I have to be the one to come up with my health regime. Does anyone else feel like that?  Do you feel doctors discount your feelings, symptoms, etc.  Even though you are the only person who knows what if feels like when you are healthy and when you feel off or sick?

Doctors are great.  Modern Science is a miracle of our own making. But we still need to feel like we have a human connection in order to feel safe.

For instance it would have really helped to have my doctor go over my tests with me after he got them back at the ER last time.  Tell me what's wrong, or what's good.  He just said "most of the tests came back ok."  What the fuck does that mean?  I got a X-ray, CT scan, (my third in a week) numerous blood cultures, fecal and urine tests.

The doctor  didn't even wait for the fecal test to come back before he sent me home.  My guess is no one will look it up to see what it is.  I have to call or go down there today or tomorrow to find out my results.  I am left in limbo.  I am still waiting results of  blood culture from my primary.  No one has called back.  It's infuriating to me.

So I sit here and type away trying to ease my fears by writing them down.  I have this horrible panic that I am dying.  That there is doom right around the corner.  I feel like no one understands what it's like to be this terrified all the time.

People want me to just snap out of it.  Suck it up.  but believe me if were at all possible I would.  I hate being like this.  I'm really not that kind of attention whore.  But sometimes I feel like going to the ER and saying I have chest pains just so I get checked out right away and feel the security that several hovering nurses can give.

One of my nurses recognized me.  She said she was going to have to start giving me my own wing or something.  It was funny.  But scary.  I don't want to turn into one of those patients that is seen as a malingerer.

So far, the nurses and doctors have not said that.  The nurse told me it was a good idea to comet to the ER when I ran a fever on antibiotics.  I was also having chills, nausea, stomach pain.  It cost my insurance company more than 3,000.00 for the last visit.  My share was over 100 dollars.  I can't really afford that.

I paid about half of the cost and I am racking up bills.  I have spent 400 dollars this month on medication, doctor and emergency room visits.  I have no idea how I can keep up this pace.  I am flat broke.  My income is shitty.  A fourth of my income goes to the crooks that bought my student loans.

What am I going to do in the future?  When I get old?  How do people pay for surgeries when they make minimum wage?  It's disturbing.

I realize I have made bad choices.  It's pretty late to turn my life around.  So what do we do with people like me?  What about people in my situation that have no IQ or have emotional problems or kids? How the hell do we really expect people to take care of themselves?


The answer is I think we don't.  Mostly we let the underclass suffer and die.  We don't care because mostly they stick to the barrios and ghettos and mostly they shoot themselves and stick needles in their arms and usually take no for an answer when they stop us in front of Target begging for change.

The only way the rich and upper middle class will ever change, will ever consider giving the underclass a real safety net is when we make it uncomfortable for them.

If you got kids take them shirtless and coughing to marches in front of hospitals and congressmen.  Vote.  Rise up.  General strikes are needed.  Take the violence out of Harlem.  Show the rich that our social contract is void.  That the current situation is untenable.  Be DRASTIC!

Otherwise turn on the MMA fights and wait to die.