On a Lighter Note, Swine Flu!

I joke, I joke.  I’m not saying that Veruca has H1N1.  I am saying that she has a 101 degree fever and this is only the third illness that she’s had in almost five years of life.  (The second bout was just a few weeks ago.)  She’s taken to her fainting couch with a serious case of the vapors that seems to only respond to refillable bowls of Cheez-Its and an endless supply of my mother’s love and affection.  We are supposed to take the kids to some fucking Halloween craft-type party thingamajig that 17 billion screaming children will be attending — because I’m embracing life now … remember? — so I hope she’ll be better tomorrow.

What else?  I got $640.00 worth of new tires today!  I ran 2.5 hours worth of errands with Aspie and DD.  We dropped off a fistful of prescriptions for me — and despite last night’s post, I’m happy to report that none of them were for psychotropics — took DD to Burger King for dinner.  Went grocery shopping, picked up drugs, took Aspie to McDonald’s for dinner.  Aspie wanted to eat at home because he’s concerned about the impact fast food has on society’s health, but I talked him into having a chicken McNugget just this once.

A reader made a very generous donation on my site last night.  I can’t be sure, but I think it was intended to go towards Aspie’s Death Star and that is where it is headed.  To that reader:  I was so blown away by your generosity.  Normally, if people donate a buck or two, that helps pay for this site — yes, people … entertainment like you get here isn’t free! — but your gift will be put towards the LDS — Lego Death Star, not the Church of Latter-Day Saints (there are limits to our extravagance) — and your name is going on the card.  I’m not kidding.  If you’re willing to give up an address, you’ll be getting a written thank you note as well.  To everyone else, I hope you didn’t think I was posting the kid’s Christmas lists seeking donations.  Though now that I type it out, it is kind of brilliant …

I had a doctor’s appointment today.  This doc is the one who diagnosed me with Celiac Disease.  I don’t talk about it too much any more because I’m really sick of me and hypochondria seems to be all the rage on those mommy blogs.  I’ve never liked being on trend.  Every time I eat any food, my skin turns red and it starts spontaneously bleeding.  It’s really upsetting, because I eat gluten-free.  If I’m still going to be this sick all the time, just give me a damn Twinkie.

You would have been proud of me though.  Thanks to all your support and encouragement, I applied my new attitude in my appointment today.  When he asked how I was, I didn’t reply “Fine,” which is what I always do.  I was all like, “Well, I’m really fucking miserable.  I’m sick all the time, I react to every food group, my migraines are back, my anxiety is through the roof and I’ve had it.”  The world didn’t come to an end, he didn’t throw me out of his office in a blind rage, and Kenny G. music didn’t queue up out of nowhere.  In other words, none of my worst fears were realized.

So, here’s the new approach:  For two weeks he wants me to eat completely normal.  And by “normal”, I mean “pizza” folks.  Because now he isn’t sure that it’s just gluten that is making me so sick.  He wants to start from scratch and has come up with a plan to try and pinpoint exactly which food group or ingredient is giving me the fucking stigmata.  He put me on three different meds, each designed to block a certain group of allergens.  The theory is that I’ll feel better in a couple of weeks and then we’ll start backing off of the meds one at a time to see how I react.  I’d like to take this opportunity to go on record and say that despite my commitment to life, if I find out that I’m allergic to cheese, all bets are off.  And I don’t care how many of you email me, begging me to reconsider.  Life without cheddar is not going to be happening.

He’s also hooking me up with an allergist, but that’s a long and involved process and he wants me at least feeling better now, hence my fistful of prescriptions.  And now, I’d like to tell you about how God hates me.  So, I ate a hamburger tonight.  On a roll.  It’s the first piece of bread I’ve eaten in a year.  I’m starting these new meds tonight and the good doctor wants me to eat normally.  It can’t be helped — obedience is woven into the very fiber of me.  Ahem.  Anyway, Aspie looked on in horror despite my explanation.  He’s completely choked by this.  All three of my kids use the term “gluten-free” and have been known to utter “Yuck!  Bagels!” in the refrigeration aisle of local grocery retailers.

So, I have my bread and it’s okay but not the porn fest that it was in my mind, and I head over to Walgreens to pick up all my drugs.  The “Senior Pharmacist Tech” informs me that there is a problem with one of my RXs.  My doctor needs to call my health insurance company and confirm with them that he prescribed what he did because it was medically necessary.  It’s Friday night, my skin is blistering in the middle of the drug store and my doctor needs to confirm that he prescribed something to me because it’s something I need to take?  I will never understand why, despite the 100+ pieces of correspondence I’ve received in the past 24 hours, Blue Cross & Blue Shield doesn’t think I’m relevant enough to pay for my $130.00/month medication.  I will never be okay with this.

Someone, get me a cookie.  It’s okay, though.  My doctor said so.