Success!

Juli cruised through her weekend at work without any significant problems! By changing the way she thinks about her anxiety at work and looking at it as an opportunity to desensitize herself to the way her body overreacts ("I'm getting paid to feel nervous!"), she was successful in devising her own version of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.

I spent Saturday helping Alex's friends Robert and Raine move out of their apartment. While I can't lift heavy furniture, I can (and did) pack a plethora of boxes. When more helpers showed up after noon, I bowed out and went to the movies.

The household is running smoother now. Juli and I are trading off with dinner cooking, I've got everyone trained to do dishes and laundry before both turn into discouraging mountains, and the trash and recycling are being removed on a regular basis. Tyra has a job, Kerne is starting a new job with his old employer this week at higher pay, and Juli is back to work.

This week we are developing an easy and manageable budget system together. The most usurious creditors will be paid off, and they can start to get back on their financial feet again. It's nice to know that all the mistakes Bill and I have made in our fiscal life now have the benefit of helping them avoid the same pitfalls.

My job here is almost done.

Normal Again!

Juli's U/S showed everything to be normal, as well as all her blood tests. It is not Celiac, Crohn's, hepatitis or other liver impairment, or inflammatory bowel disease of any kind. Normal, normal, normal. Personally, I'm thrilled that it's not a brain tumor or any of the above problems. But now she is again beginning to question whether this is "all in her head," a product of anxiety and/or panic.

Having witnessed her illness first-hand last month, my mother-instinct still says that the anxiety and panic come AFTER the vomiting starts, not before. On our trip to LA, there was no behavioral trigger, nothing but happiness and joy at being able to go visit her Gran. She had a little cold coming on, and then suddenly the vomiting started and everything went to hell in a hurry.

She has been faithfully doing the exercises in the anxiety workbooks and following the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy guidelines, which is one of the only proven successful treatments in psychotherapy.

Here's one gem: "Write down all the things you are fearful of."

Well, let's see...I'll start vomiting and won't be able to stop, I'll get horribly dehydrated and will have to go to the hospital, feel miserable for days, and finally be let go, terribly weak and frail, and be tens of thousands of dollars in debt. Then I'll be fine for X amount of time and it will happen again and again.

The Workbook says: "Now that you see your fears written down, don't they seem a little silly? Isn't it unrealistic that any of your fears will actually happen?"

Actually, no. Experience says that it WILL happen, as it has in the past.

So, the CBT isn't working, because the reality is that she is physically sick and the worst case scenario keeps happening to her over and over again. I'd be panicked too. Any reasonable person would, given the situation.

So we continue on the ruling out of all the possible organic causes of her gastric distress. If everything continues to come back as normal, we are left with...abdominal migraine. It is very, very rare in adults, but Juli's Dr. Casabona brought it up as a possibility at her intake interview. It is a diagnosis of exclusion, (every other possible cause has to be checked and ruled-out), but not a hopeless one--it can be treated and even prevented, using beta-blocker and triptan drugs.

So while Juli gets discouraged, her husband Kerne and I become more convinced that an answer will be found soon, and her problem will be able to be fixed or at least controlled. We'll just keep plugging away until we get some answers.

Early Morning at UW

In about an hour, Juli & I will catch the University Express #45 for her ultrasound this morning. Instead of the hour-long, winding about through Ballard, Wallingford and the U District bus ride we took last week, this baby will whisk us to our destination in a mere 18 minutes. I am starting to feel like a mass-transit snob.

Juli is on the schedule to work this weekend, and so far, is looking forward to it. Yesterday, Kerne's sister (and roommate) Tyra got hired for her very first job, at the Convention Center Subway, and starts training on Thursday. Brother Jerry also begins a new job in Anaheim, California next week. While I don't look at this familial microcosm as evidence of a large-scale economic recovery, things are looking up for my personal peeps.

Birthday Girl MaryAnn reports that it was snowing in TN yesterday. Because this is so unbelievable for March 22, she had to post video on her blog to prove it--complete with soundtrack of the spring peepers' cacophony in the background!

And Bill reports that the one-day sea trial of the OBIS revealed some post-shipyard problems, but that they should be on the briny deep and back to normal operations in the near future. He is enjoying his new job as the First Assistant, likes his new crew, and is dealing with the increased paperwork stoically.

Time to zip...

The Post-Party Search for a Bathroom...The Frye Art Museum...The Health Care Debate...

The Friday night B-day party for moi was a fairly subdued affair. There was beer and food and music and many board games, intelligent conversation and much laughter. Hardly a bacchanal of epic proportions. At least it was until I went to bed at 1 am. Apparently, the party kicked up a notch when I bowed out.

I awoke around 9 am in the "snake room," noodled on the computer for about an hour and then puttered in the kitchen quietly, cleaning up some of the detritus. Around 10:30, I decided to take a quick shower before everyone else got up. Upon exiting the one full bath, it became apparent that there were about a million people in Alex's small house, all waking up with hangovers and full bladders.

First, Sharon slipped in quickly to take her shower. Ben awoke on the couch, and took over the small half-bath off the kitchen. Next, Nick and unnamed girlfriend stumbled into the living room, wandering around aimlessly. Alex appeared in a towel, looking for a spot in line. Then bathrobed-Morgan and Tyra joined the procession, pacing back and forth. Doug woke up, dressed and bleary-eyed, and took over Sharon's spot in the big bathroom by sheer size and will.

By the time I got back from the snake room, after packing the night's dishes, the board games, my clothes and books, they all had dispersed, presumably having worked out the bathroom dance without conflict or disaster. But I wouldn't say that anyone was especially chipper.

Doug offered me a ride downtown, as he, Alex and Ben were headed to their bi-weekly "Nerdhalla" gaming session. I was bound for the Frye Art Museum on First Hill. After a quick stop for everyone at the Taco Time drive-thru, I gobbled my chicken burrito as we drove over the West Seattle bridge and alighted at my destination.

The Frye Museum is a fabulous little gem of a private art museum with rotating exhibits, free to all. I was fascinated to learn of Tim Rollins and his K.O.S. art collaborative from the South Bronx, something I had never heard of. Many of the art pieces were highly political, but the unique visions, based on classical works of literature, and the textural nature of the big canvases were just stunning.

I then took a sunny stroll down to the Seattle Central Library and spent an hour reading in the public room, enjoying the light playing through the weird angles of the unique architecture.

Back on Queen Anne hill, I reconnected with computer-land, and found the most coherent article on the health care debate so far...I only wish that every member of Congress would read this before voting today.

Normal!

Juli and I had an appointment yesterday with her awesome primary doctor. The brain MRI results were back and show only healthy, normal brain inside that skull. We are all very happy, even though it means that the search continues to be one of exclusionary diagnoses.

Tomorrow, Alex is throwing me a birthday bash at his house in West Seattle. Fun, friends, games and food are promised. I will spend the night there, and he has also promised Dim Sum breakfast on Saturday in Chinatown!

This is Juli's last weekend off from work, so we are all looking towards making it possible for her to go back to her job on the 26th. Hopefully with her current medications she will be prepared with a better attitude, less stress, increased stamina, better diet and the more regular sleep schedule she's been on for the last four weeks, to avoid another episode of her illness, whatever is triggering it.

More answers from her blood work and an ultrasound due this week should rule out another collection of possible causes. I am confident that the doctors she has now will eventually figure it out and get her back to good health again.

A Long, Tiring Day At UW Medical Center

Juli and I bussed it to the UW Medical Center for her long-awaited GI consult this morning. History was taken, past test results were poured over, more tests were ordered and blood was drawn. It seems to be a matter of ruling out all the things that haven't been ruled out in the past: Celiac disease, Crohn's disease, IBS, all the different forms of hepatitis, lesions, ulcers, and whatever else they can try to hang their collective hats on. It is still a mystery until proven otherwise.

Jules is now scheduled for a visit to Dr. Casabona tomorrow to discuss her current situation and the results of her brain MRI, an upper GI ultrasound next week, then the neurology consult the following week, then a full upper and lower endoscopy with biopsies in early April.

The day was pretty well shot by the time we got home. We all napped. When Kerne came home from work, everyone went back to bed and napped some more. This medical stuff just wears us all out!

57? How did this happen?

Happy birthday to me. Daughter Juli says that getting old is the BEST one can hope for, so I'll dispense with the whining and be thankful for this milestone. In reality, I'm only one day older than yesterday.

But sometimes the fact that I'm this "old" is a shocker. The other night at dinner, I was relating a story about being 10 years old the day President Kennedy was assassinated and the faces around the table were akin to listening to a first-hand account of the Civil War from a grizzled, ancient veteran. They learned this stuff from history books, for heaven's sake; how could someone be so old as to remember it personally?

And I don't feel all that old. Okay, I've got aches and pains getting out of bed in the morning, memory lapses (that correct themselves, given a few days), gray hair and wrinkles, calluses and age spots. But I lack the wisdom and perspective and grace and kindness that I associate with venerable age. Inside, it still feels like a hungry quest for knowledge and understanding. I have not yet arrived. I'm still trying to figure it all out.

I refuse to join AARP (hate their politics). I'll probably never collect a dime from Social Security, given the spendthrifts in Congress and their asinine fiscal irresponsibility. As long as I stay away from mirrors, I can move through my days thinking I'm about 22 and my whole life is still ahead of me.

Dishes & Laundry

There is a quote from Shakespeare that goes something like "War and lechery, war and lechery, nothing else holds fashion."

Substitute dishes and laundry for war and lechery, and that pretty much sums up everyday life for everyone. I used to mumble this phrase like a mantra as I slogged through housewifery chores for 30+ years.

The fact that we are dealing with the mundane details of running a household is a blessing, instead of fretting hourly about getting enough fluids into Juli. We have progressed so much that now I grouse about the trivial.

It's Saturday, and the dishes are done; the laundry is going round and round downstairs. Later, Juli and I will take a walk up to the drugstore for a few necessities. There's a big week coming up (MRI results and GI consult on Tuesday), but we'll have clean plates and clean clothes. Strange how the normalcy of such things balance the perception of the potentially traumatic stuff.

MRI

No jewelry, check. No deodorant, check. Bus schedule, check. Ink pen, check.

The test-go-round begins today (at last!)

Then lunch and a nap.

Juli gained another 4 pounds!

Life is good.

Back on Track

Everyone enjoyed their weekend--me in Olympia with my brother's family, Juli and Kerne in Seattle, blessedly free of other people.

Juli continues to improve, gaining another 2 pounds this week. Her MRI is scheduled for tomorrow. My niece Angela's freshman drama project opens tomorrow night, and we hope to attend. Friday night, my acupuncture guy (Mr. Smoldering Incense-Man) is holding a Qigong workshop and has invited both Juli and I to learn relaxation techniques "for increased vitality." Who would pass up such an opportunity? Not us. We are all about increasing vitality these days.

Juli and I have also embarked on a purely menial and practical project--painting the bathroom. I think in times of stress it is advantageous to have something mundane to focus on besides one's internal struggles. Painting fits the bill, and boy, does this bathroom need it!

Good times, good times...

A Brief Respite

Since Juli has done so well this week, I decided to give them (and myself) a little break from the presence of Mother and Mother-In-Law.

Yesterday, I hopped the bus downtown and took the light rail to the airport, where Sister-In-Law Kellie picked me up and brought me down to Olympia for the weekend. Brother Jerry is at a conference until tonight, so Kellie and I had plenty of time to catch up and relax. It is great to be in my old stomping grounds from last year's wedding follies.

Niece Bonnie is also here, so I got some Auntie-time too. Kellie and I took a long walk with the dogs. I can't help but think of last year, when Echo used to accompany us on these neighborhood walks. I still miss that furry friend of mine.

Today after church, we will go to Walmart and pick up my prescriptions, shop for essentials and have another beautiful day in suburbia. Tomorrow, Kellie will be going up to Seattle to meet with her younger daughter Angela, so I will have a ride back to the city and dinner with the girls.

A Thoroughly Disgusting Day

Juli and I were up bright and early (or early and surly, depending on your attitude) to venture forth to the Belltown Health & Social Services office. The website promise was that if one appears before 9 am, one can be assured of a live-person interview. Juli gathered together an impressive stack of financial disclosure documents to augment her previously-submitted online application and we bussed downtown.

Our first impression was positive--a clean, empty waiting room; helpful, English-speaking office staff. When she gave them her SSN, she was told that she needed to be in the office upstairs.

Another universe altogether: A very bad-smelling room flanked by glassed in windows; sixty uncomfortable plastic chairs, facing a ceiling-hung 19" television tuned to The Today Show; thirty or so gangsta-panted men of employable age and apparent physical fitness, sprawled in the chairs; little balls of white fluff, rolling lazily across the sticky linoleum floor, escapees from someone's ripped down jacket? Juli took a number from the dispenser: #39.

Occasionally, the loudspeaker would crackle and blare: "Twenty! Number 20. Look at your tickets, people!" "George Smith to Window Eight!" Behind me, a very stoned couple was giggling uncontrollably. In front of me, a hustler sidled up to the only other woman in the room besides us, with the tempting offer, "I'll give you five dollars to trade your number for mine." In the corner, a very obese rent-a-cop cleaned his nails with a file and looked bored. What looked like a drug deal was going down in another corner. Two young men hissed threats at each other. An old Asian man was popping pills out of a blister pack into a paper bag. I was the only person in the room reading a book, an amazing curiosity by the look of the stares I got. Someone slid up to Juli's chair and asked for her cell phone number. She just stared at him wordlessly until he went away.

Juli was finally called to a window. After about 45 minutes she came out to the waiting room and told me to go get something to eat--she anticipated being there another few hours. She had the white spots on her nose that she gets when she is close to being spectacularly angry.

While I walked out to Subway for a sandwich (and a bottle of milk and package of apple slices for Juli--I was worried about her stomach being empty), Juli was experiencing the following:

Her caseworker (name-tagged: "Ababa"), played hunt-and-peck typing with two fingernails, entering into the computer all the information that Juli had already submitted online four days previously. "How much do you pay in rent?" Ababa inquired. Juli pointed to the correct line in the print-out that Ababa was looking at. Tap-tap-tap-tap, backspace, backspace, tap-tap. "How many people live in your household?" Juli again pointed. Etcetera. Occasionally, Ababa would get up suddenly and disappear for ten minutes. At one point, Juli had to show her how to access information on the internet to prove that Kerne was no longer working at Rite-Aid. And so on.

When we met up again back in the bad-smelling cattle-pen of a reception room, Juli was shaking with fury. One more wait for a call to the EBT window, and we were out of there.

"I am so mad, I can't even think up a funny story about this," Juli hissed as we walked to the bus stop.

We went to Pike Place Market, met up with Christy at the Market Street Grill, and I bought her a piece of grilled salmon to calm her down. When in doubt, feed the baby. The upshot of the four-hour ordeal is that she qualifies for nothing but food stamps. Again, because her husband is being responsible and working his butt off at a $10/hour job, they are not "truly needy." Her medical bills don't matter. Their debts don't matter. The fact that she can't work because she's sick doesn't matter--she has to be disabled for a year before she would be eligible for any help at all from Medicaid. The only upside is that the denial letter will help them apply for charity care at the hospital where all her tests are scheduled.

I am again floored by these so-called "social services." Twenty-seven years ago, pregnant with Juli, I went through this same process. Sitting in a room with all these disgusting people, wondering if I was now, "one of them." Feeling completely degraded by the attitudes of the bureaucrats. Outraged by the people who were obviously gaming the system I had paid into, only to find out that when I needed help, it wasn't available to me because I was still trying to work and be responsible for myself.

Nothing has changed.

Finally, Progress!

Things are starting to move on the Great Appointment Quest. Juli is scheduled for a brain MRI on March 11, followed by an appointment with a GI "Fellow" on March 16. The GI specialist that Dr. Casabona wanted her to see can't get her in until the end of May, so the Fellow may actually be the best route to eventual diagnosis and treatment.

Some of the best doctors I saw at UVA were Fellows. In my experience, they are young, energetic, curious, and uncommonly up-to-date on all the latest studies and research. They are still new enough to the medical world to want to interact with patients. And since this Fellow is working under the supervision of the GI specialist, Juli will have the benefit of two doctors working on finding the cause of her tummy problems. I am relieved for the moment.

We are still working on getting a neurological consult, but at least the MRI will provide some clues or rule-outs with regard to her blackouts and seizure-like symptoms.

Progress at last! It's hard to abandon one's native politeness and become a demanding "squeaky wheel," but apparently, that's what it takes to get taken care of these days. I don't really mind if they are getting her seen because they just don't want another phone call from me.

Whatever it takes, I'll do it.

Clumsy in Seattle

On Saturday, Friend Christy and I made a trek to Target, purveyor of underwear and socks, shampoo and conditioner, chicken broth and noodles. I did the bus thing to West Seattle, where Christy met me as I got off the transport, so as to avoid my seeing her supposedly messy house. (I am convinced that I could beat these youngsters in a home-as-hog-wallow contest hands down, but I have to at least admire their shame in showing me their messes).

We first stopped at the local tacqueria for pre-shopping sustenance. I had a chile relleno burrito to die for, while Christy's carnitas and shrimp tacos looked pretty good too. Plus chips and about eight different salsas to try. Yum.

We did our one-stop shopping and had a nice visit, then took the bus back to the center of West Seattle, where Christy alighted and I continued back into downtown. Once there, I spied my #13 bus a block away, and decided to run for it, with my three Target bags in tow. I made it, the driver stopped and opened the door, but in my enthusiasm and joy at making the bus, I slipped at the top of the bus stairs, hit a patch of water on the floor and did an incredible baseball slide into the aisle. I skinned my left knee as my right leg shot out in front of me, heard the collective GASP of the other passengers, something akin to the sound the audience makes when an Olympic skater misses the triple axel - double toe loop and falls on her ass.

I was fine. Really. I gathered my purchases and my dignity and plopped into a seat. After getting back to the apartment, I started putting away my bounty, leaned over and went into a full-on back spasm. Rats.

For the last two days, I've been sitting around with an ice pack in the waistband of my pants. I can walk (if I "glide"), I can sleep if I don't have to turn over, and I can do most everything except put on my socks and shoes.

But today, I decided to seek assistance. I called around and found an acupuncturist two blocks away from the apartment who would take me at 1 pm. I'm not sure why I decided acupuncture instead of chiropractic, I just did.

This treatment was completely different than my Tennessee acupuncture experiences. After explaining why I was there, I disrobed and hoisted myself into a heated bed with flannel sheets. Mr Acupuncture came in and applied pressure to points in my back, then had me sit up while he placed smoking balls of some kind of herb (yes, burning and smoking) to various places on my back and on my wrists. My job was to tell him when it felt hot, so he could pluck the smoldering material off my skin, stick a needle in and quickly remove it!

When he asked how I felt, the only thing I could think to say was "like an incense holder? Like a pincushion?"

Totally, utterly weird. Let me be the first to say, if I wasn't in pain and this silliness didn't actually work, I wouldn't give these people the time of day. There was a lot of blah-de-blah about adjusting my "Qi" and letting my body heal itself, but the bottom line was that I walked away without pain, and am once again moving like a normal person, without having to wear ice in my pants.

***********

We continue our ongoing efforts to get Juli the appointments she needs. She is gradually eating more and has had no further stomach or anxiety problems. (Fingers crossed here).