Monday, April 28, 2014

My Baby's Got A Poopy Diaper

Health update, I guess.  (about 11 minutes in to get to the title track)

I am far healthier than I was just two years ago.  This was not an instant change, even after my stroke.  It took some time.  I've gained some weight back.  I seem to be constantly wavering in my weight like I did before... adding/dropping 10-15 pounds from week to week, but basically staying near 320.  One week my weak leg circulation will kick in, then I lose some weight for whatever reason, and the next week I'll be okay.  My blood pressure seems to be on the high side of good, but still in the Goldilocks zone.  I haven't had another seizure since that one in Dorothy Lane Market, after which I started to be militant in taking my Keppra pills.

My medical bills are nearly paid off.  Within a year I'll be able to be out of credit card debt again, which will be good, then I can look into buying a condo.

One important health update.  I no longer have poo-poo undies.

I thought I was just a fat slob, and that's what caused it.  Well, I am a fat slob, but I thought the fat part was why I always had bacon strips.  Most of my adult life I've had this problem.  I could use half-a-roll and still wake up in the morning with skidmarks.

No.  It was not because I was fat.  It was hemorrhoids. 

I should have had it looked at a long time ago.  I mean, the blood was a clue.  It was a regular occurrence, but occasionally there was some in my stool.  I chalked it up to drinking.  But no, it was hems.  Or rather, one hem, according to my doctor.  That's why I had the colonoscopy.  Granted, I should have done it earlier, given my uncle died from colon cancer and the blood.  I just was too scared about the possibility that my blood wasn't from drinking.

I don't know what the doctor did, but to know I've had this problem all my life and could have had it gone with a simple procedure embarrasses me.  I remember when Ex first moved in, he wanted to do my laundry, and I wouldn't let him, because poo-poo undies.  Like, he wasn't going to find that out anyway, living with me.

(That's how I knew he was going to leave me.  I did my own laundry, but if I did mine first, he'd take my clothes out and hang them up; then one day he made a point of letting my clean laundry sit next to the TV, not touching it.  That was pretty depressing to sit there and look at that basket and have it judge me, but I left it for a few days hoping he'd do them, show me that he still cared and wasn't going to dump me... sounds stupid.   Was stupid.)

Basically, the colonoscopy was the best thing to come out of my stroke.  I can finally wear white undies again.  And I don't have to worry about where my Burt's Bee's Wax has been.

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