So I'm still alive. Everything went pretty well, I think, and I'm recovering quickly.

( Cutting for details. Lots of details. Possibly TMI. )

I really appreciate everyone's prayers and good thoughts! So far, this has been a (mostly) good experience.

I'm really not dead. Or even seriously injured. Just, between school, work, big bang fic, and getting ready for surgery (OMG MONDAY!!!), I'm not having a lot of time to be all posty. I probably won't have much time to update in the next couple weeks, but I will try to let you all know how the surgery goes (again, OMG MONDAY).

Although I do want to say, real quick, that I got the cutest damn haircut in the world. I might post pictures if I could ever find my digital camera. ;)

ETA: Um, really?

I'm trying really hard to like Stargate SG-1. For one, my dad loves it, and it's always nice to have a show to share with him, considering that television has been our main form of bonding since, like, age 3 when I started watching Star Trek (yes, it's sad, but outside of sci-fi, we have basically no common interests). I got a bunch of episode recommendations from people and watched them, but at the end of the day, I just find it...boring. And annoying. Which is weird, because I am passionately in fandom love with SGA, and I don't know what quality that show has that SG-1 lacks. It's just weird I'm so head over heels for the spinoff when I can't stand the original. Ah, well. Not that it matters, I just think it's funny.

(Although I really like Jack/Daniel fanfic, especially when they're on Atlantis. Happily, I've watched enough SG-1--like homework--to understand the fanfic.)

In wisdom teeth news, mouth is killing me. Somehow, it hurts worse than yesterday. I kind of want to kill myself (although that's the vicodin talking, I know, vicodin makes me sooooo depressed). I am a huge baby. Though my dad did save my teeth for me, which is really cool! I haven't decided what to do with them yet.

A pathetic plea...

Just had my wisdom teeth out and I hurt like crazy. Yeah righ, nice helpful people, it does hurt. I now very much want to punch every single person who said, "It doesn't hurt after it's over! You'll just be a little swollen, and the vicodin takes care of the pain!" I'd rather be prepared for hurting...I wouldn't have made stupid plans, thinking it wasn't going to be a big deal.

ANYWAY.

My family has gone shopping, I'm lonely (vicodin always makes me depressed) and in pain, and I would LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE if people would rec me some happy fic (slash prefered) or come chat with me on Yahoo IM (lizzypaul).

(Plus side to my day...Dad and Mom are seriously thinking about getting me an iphone for Christmas. It's not for sure, but seriously thinking beats laughing in my face any day. I really do have two of the most awesome parents in the word--and not just because they buy me fun toys!)

"Don't get your feet wet!" was a constant refrain during my childhood. My grandmother was convinced that if my feet got wet, I would get pneumonia and die. So I was never allowed to put my feet in streams, or wear canvass shoes in the rain (or, heaven forbid, go barefoot), or run through the morning grass, or let my feet air dry after a shower.

When I was in third or forth grade, I remember telling my teacher that I had a cold because my feet got wet. My teacher patiently explained all about germs and viruses and why it was important to wash your hands. At last! Freedom! I could get my feet wet if I wanted to! (But never around Grandma.)

Except Grandma was right, because I swear, every time I get my feet wet (beyond, like taking a shower or swimming), I come down with a cold or flu. Maybe it's some bizarre self-fulfilling prophecy, or maybe Grandma just knew what she was talking about, microbes be damned.

I'd write it off as just my wet feet dropping my body temperature and lowering my immune system, except I can get really, really cold and be fine, or get other parts of my body wet and be a-okay, but run through dewy morning grass to get the newspaper, and I'll most likely come down with something nasty.

(Yes, I wore really thin tennis shoes two days ago in the rain, my feet got soaking wet, and now I have an awful chest cold. Thanks, Grandma.)

Had the doctor's visit from hell today.

My nurse practitioner (who I loved) retired, so I was put with the new NP. I've been having chest pain, trouble breathing, coughing for the last few weeks. I was pretty sure it was a chest cold, but as I have a history of blood clots in my lungs (which would give the same symptoms), I decided to get looked over. But no, it can't be chest cold or blood clots or something else. According to my NP, it's...

BECAUSE I'M FAT.

So I went through the whole ordeal. I know I'm overweight (no DUH). Yes, I'm trying to do something about it. But it's not the cause of every medical problem I can have. After 15 minutes of weight lecture (no I am not exaggerating, I timed it on the wall clock), she started to end the appointment. Now, old me, shy, unassertive me, would have been embarrassed and just left. But I'm getting better at sticking up for myself, and I told her that while it was nice that she was so concerned about my weight, I still COULDN'T BREATHE, and it would be great if she would maybe do something about that. (At this point, she still hadn't even listened to my chest.) A brief exam, a throat culture, and an x-ray later...

I HAVE BRONCHITIS. NOT FAT.

Will never see that NP again. So irritated. If I hadn't said something, I would have walked out the door without getting treated.

I wonder how many fat folks develop serious complications because of doctors like that?

So I love my mom, but her friends drive me nuts.

Some of the churches in the area had a get-together for pastors and their families. I hate those types of things, but I went because my mom asked me to. Eck.

I ended up sitting next to a total asshat, the pastor of a non-denominational pentecostal church. I'm not exactly sure how we got on the topic, but we started talking about the trinity and the gender of God. He was pontificating about how God has to be male "because He said that He is," and Jesus was male (which, hey, I wasn't arguing that Jesus wasn't). I told him that I didn't believe the trinity was literal, that I felt it was more of a metaphor God gave us in order to understand him better, because there isn't a human equivelent or even human words to fully explain or grasp who God is. He got a weird look and said, "Young lady, that's a heresy," and waited expectantly, like I should immediately have gone, "Oh my gosh! Not a heretic! Thanks for showing me the light!" He turned to my mom and said, in the most condescending tone imaginable, "Your daughter has some interesting ideas." I kind of wanted to hit him, but my mom was sending me major "let it go" vibes. BLEAH.

And, shock of shocks, no one mentioned abortion, evolution or gay marriage the entire time, so I didn't get in any fights or embarrass my mom! (Well, other than the douche above, but he started it, and it was a little thing.)

PS: My brother brought head lice home from school and shared with the entire family (except for Dad, lucky bastard). *insert wailing and gnashing of teeth* Guess it's time for the annual lice infestation...it seems that no matter how careful we are, SOMEONE brings home lice at least once a year.

I'm now trying to decide whether to cut my hair (which I've been growing out for the past year) to make it easier to get rid of the lice, or just tough it out. Leaning towards toughing it out, but we'll see how long it takes for me to get frustrated and just chop it all off. I'm pretty allergic to the lice shampoos (not that they work, most strains of lice are resistant), so the only way to really get rid of them is to douse my head in vinegar (loosens up the eggs) and pull everything out individually with a comb. I have very thick, curly hair, and this takes HOURS. SIGH.

Dad bought Ben & Jerry's to make us feel better, so hey, silver lining.

I wish there was a Spoon Theory for depression.

(If you haven't read the Spoon Theory, go do so. Now. I'll wait.)

The Spoon Theory has worked fairly well for me when I'm trying to explain to family members why I was okay at 4:00, but now it's 7:00, and I can no longer do X. Or why no, I'm not going to do X right now, because I need to do Y later. And how "you were able to do X earlier so you can do Y now" isn't accurate at all. To be fair, I had to learn how to prioritize better, because I'm sure it is frustrating for my mom when I have the energy to go shopping with her but not to do dishes that night. (And to be fair to me, she's learning that she needs to warn me that there are chores I need to do before I use up my spoons.)

However, I still don't have a handy analogy to use with people who just can't seem to understand clinical depression. Take last night. Mom had a list of things she needed me to do. She thought she was being very good about giving me the whole thing ahead of time--and she was. But I looked at the list and burst into tears. I was so overwhelmed, I couldn't think. Well, I could think, but my thought process was something like i'm never going to get that all done/i should be able to do that/what's wrong with me/why should i bother calling the school i'm never going to graduate anyway/i'm such a fucking failure/why does she want me to to do this/i wish i was dead/why does she expect to be able to do this/too much too much too much so it wasn't very helpful.

I needed to go to sleep, I'm feeling better this morning. But my point is, I had no way to explain why a simple list made me feel like playing with oncoming traffic.

Well-meaning people will insist on saying things like, "You're allowing your emotions to control you. Just tell yourself to feel better." Less well meaning people will say things like, "You're just being stupid. There's nothing to be sad about." And I feel like I'm never able to really explain how I'm feeling.

Sigh.

PS: As my efforts to procure anti-depressants are failing miserably, I'm looking at other methods, because I'm tired of feeling like a loon. So. While I'm really really scared of people sticking needles in me, I've heard that acupuncture works well. Anyone here tried it?

I broke down and saw my old psychiatrist and asked for medication, because I am SO tired of the mood swings and severe depression. I'd like a day where I don't contemplate swallowing a bottle of pills, thank you very much. And while I don't like how I feel on drugs, I don't like feeling suicidal and anxious more.

The doctor said than since my psychological problems are caused by PMDD, he feels that he can't help me, and I should see my OB/GYN. Okay. So I saw my OB/GYN, who said that the only treatment she could give me is estrogen, but because of another medical condition, she can't give me any.

::rips hair out::

I understand the difficulty, but OMG I just want to stop feeling this way.

My therapist has been super cool. He gently suggested going to a "facility" for help (read: mental hospital). Which, no. First, because I did the hospital thing and it was the worst experience of my life, and second, because while a hospital stay is confidential during your childhood, I can kiss government service, adoption, and a host of other things goodbye if I go in as an adult.

***

In other news, here is a funny joke:

How many Nazarenes does it take to screw in a light bulb? Six. One woman to screw in the bulb and five men to sit around discussing the church lighting policy.

SO TRUE. Don't know if this works for, say, Baptists, but this is so scarily true for every Nazarene church I've ever been a part of. :) (My mother, after hearing the joke, could name four occasions off the top of her head just like that, except they involved a shed, a doorknob, lemonade, and a felt board.)

I was laying in bed, trying to sleep, and I was all of a sudden struck with overwhelming fear.

I have no clue what the fuck I'm going to do after my grandmother dies.

This is a horrible thing to say, I know. But it's true. Right now, almost all of my energy is being poured into caring for Grandma. I'm not attending school, I'm barely leaving the house. Any sort of life plan that I had tenatively going has been thrown out of the window. I'm in a weird sort of limbo. In some ways, I have a lot of adult responsibility, but considering that a good part of my day is spent sitting around waiting for Grandma to need me, I feel like a lazy child.

Mom just told me that there is no money for school next semester. I've got enough saved to take a couple three unit classes, which will be nice, but that feels like I'm just biding my time. I have no goal; I'm just knocking some gen eds out of the way.

I've always been able to clearly visualize my future. But when I try to look ahead, I see nothing. Part of this is because I have no clue how long this stage of my life is going to last. The doctor was very upfront: I could wake up tomorrow to see that Grandma has passed in her sleep, or she could live another five years. No one knows.

This becomes terrifying (more than simpley unsettling) because I must have a good job by the time I turn 25. 25 is the magic age when my parental medical insurance runs out. Unless something drastically changes, I will need medical care to, you know, survive. And so I have a very limited time to come up with a career, get a degree, and get a job with health benefits. Sigh.

And I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

I thought I wanted to be involved in ministry. I love theology, I love helping people, I love teaching. But it's a very unstable career, especially because I'm a woman. And the medical insurance problem rears its head again. Maybe if I had a burning bush, obviously clear call that I'm supposed to go into ministry it would be easier to be faithful and trust that it will work out, but I'm not that sure. I don't know how much of it is personal desire, how much is family expectations, and how much is a real, actual Call.

Mother says that I should just trust God and everything will work out. She and Dad have always lived very much moment-to-moment. I'm not like that at all...probably because we went through periods of poverty as children. I know that God is good, but I also know that God doesn't magically give you money whenever you need it. My parents trusted God and we all lived, but my brothers also have several scars because we didn't have health insurance and couldn't take them to the hospital for stitches. My mother has two crooked fingers because she couldn't afford to go and get her fingers set, so she had to bind them herself and let them heal as best as they could. I don't want my life to be like that. I don't want to always live in terror that if I get hurt, I would be in debt for the rest of my life. I don't want to go crazy because I can't afford mood stabilizers. I don't want to live in pain because I can't see a gynocologist or get pain meds.

I'm probably turning this into a much bigger deal than it is. I should just go to sleep. I'm just...scared. All of a sudden. I don't like uncertainty, at all.

My grandmother had a doctor's appointment today. Now, my Grandma can hardly walk, and she gets very confused in unfamiliar, loud, crowded areas. It's obvious that somethings wrong, as she clings to me, staggers, mumbles, and looks around anxiously the entire time. Today, as we're walking to the office, this group of teens started pointing at her and loudly laughing at her. What the fuck. Why would you do that to someone? I almost said something, but I was afraid it would make things worse, so I just hustled Grandma away from them as quickly as possible. Grandma hasn't said anything about it, so I'm hoping she was too out of it to notice. :(

In other news, I've completely stopped worrying about dieting. I exercise because it makes me feel good, and I eat relatively well, but I'm not cutting carbs and I'll damn well butter my toast if I want to. And I've lost 10 pounds. That's it. I gain weight when I go on a strict no-carb diet and exercise like a maniac, but I ease off on the exercise (3 times a week as opposed to 6 times a week) and eat what I want, and I lose weight. I don't get it.

Well, that was more anti-climactic than I expected. It was easier, and far less painful, than most other trips to the hospital I've had.

I had a panic attack in the operating room--some male nurse started to force my legs apart without saying a word to me, and it triggered a pretty nasty attack. Luckily the anesthesiologist was there with oxygen and a really soothing nurse held my hand. Fainted in the bathroom (which I pretty much expected...I faint VERY easily) so I had to stay an hour later. Otherwise, it pretty much went off without a hitch. I should hopefully start feeling some improvement in 3-5 months (sigh). The coolest part of the whole this is that now I have pictures of my uterus and vagina. :)

Thanks for your prayers and support! Love you all.

I go under in 13 hours. Not that I'm, you know, nervous or anything. :)

I've been reading a lot of old school Snape/Harry. All stuff I've read before. I'm not interested in writing more HP fanfic--every plot idea ever has been written, and far better than I ever could--but I do like reading it. It's like being with an old friend, wrapped in a blanket of gay porn.

Also, and completely apropos of nothing, I hate Metallica with the burning fire of a thousand suns. Of course, my brothers LOVE Metallica. Guess what's blaring through the house right now? YUCK. Unfortunately, James Hetfield (Metallica frontman) lives fairly close to our house and shops at the grocery store around the corner from us. My brother is like a crazy stalker. Everytime he sees James or his car, he stops whatever he's doing and points like a demented thing, and screams JAMES! OMG IT'S JAMES HETFIELD. OMG OMG!!! It was funny the first time, but now it's just pathetic. Especially because Metallica sucks.

PS: The Dar Williams remake of Comfortably Numb is super awesome. I've been listening to it all day.

This has been a freaky week.

Sunday I was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Tuesday I found out I need surgery. Thursday I was in an accident which totaled our car (we are now a family of eight with one working vehicle). Today we realized my grandmother can no longer live alone, and our last resort is now our only option. Which means, I am now looking for an apartment and will be moving in and caring for my 83 year old grandmother.

Excuse me while I scream.

I don't know how often I will be online. My writing projects are on the back-burner right now, as real life has violently taken over.

Prayers (or whatever) would be most appreciated.