This is the project I just finished. Boring, safe, drab colors but it's warm and soft.
And this is the one I'm working on now. Bright happy colors. This is a first for me. Usually everything I make is dull, earthy, boring, don't-notice-me safe colors. This time I went out on a limb and got all sorts of colors, I'm having a great time with it. I am hoping Connie likes it.
Okay, on to what happened on Monday.
For the past two Mondays I have had to have a bunch of tests done. All to check the progress of the Crohn's, etc. Both of the tests involved purging which involves drinking large amounts of vile stuff and then ... well, it's just nasty. Now, with Crohn's, everything that enters your body immediately hits the expressway and zips right through your body. If you do something to facilitate that action, such as drink that vile nasty stuff, the Cron's get's really, really, mad and does horrible, horrible things to you.
On this past Monday one of the tests involved lying still for two and half hours as they trace a dye and a synthetic hormone going through you liver and things. (My liver doesn't like to store iron any more for some reason and apparently that's a bad thing and they want to find out why.) So, there I was, sitting in the waiting room being my anxiety ridden little self. I hate the hospital, I hate anything to do with the hospital, the clinic, the doctor's office, anything medical in general. It's been my experience that nothing pleasant every happens there and you can not leave until they stick sharp things in you and drain you dry or pump you full of nasty stuff.
In walks this man who does not look like a medical professional to me. He looks as if he would be more at home squatting in his garden tending to his hemp plants and then heading inside for a rousing session of tie-dying. He announces he is going to do my H-Scan. Okay, dokie. Far be it from to judge from appearances. I follow him down a long, dark, hallway expecting him to turn in to one of those nice, high-tech looking x-ray rooms and instead he has me follow him outside to a trailer or mobile office or what ever you want to call it. A little box building in the parking lot. We walk up shaky metal stairs with no railing and into a fake wood panelling hell. The room is narrow, and brown with Wal-Mart art on the walls. He explains to me he is going to run an IV in my arm and inject me with a variety of nasty stuff.
Um... I am not pleased, but he is supposed to be the professional, right? I have to lie on a narrow padded table that looks like it was designed to hold snakes in comfort but not real people. I asked him how fat people use that thing and he said, "They roll off a lot and you have to get out of the way really quick." Uh huh. Okay, I hike my srawny, bony butt up there and lie down and it's actually pretty comfy except there is no place to put your arms until he hooks up these little side table things to the edge of the padded shelf. He takes forever wandering around in the trailer looking for the stuff to start the IV and then grabs my arm and I will swear to you, that was the most painful needle I have ever felt. I've had a lot of IVs and bloodtests and this one will stay with me for awhile. It felt like he was going for bone there. "Ow!" I yelled. He looked totally surprised that I complained and then said, "I think I went through the vein."
"Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised." I answer.
He sighs and tells me he has to do it again. Right. I close my eyes and relax my arm and go through my little happy place mantra and damned if he doesn't do it again! Right through my vein. He says, "You tensed up when I put the needle in and now I can't thread your vein."
"Of course I tensed up, you are stabbing me with a needle," I told him. "It's a natural reaction."
"Well, it makes your veins funny so don't do it." He says.
"Wha?"
Okay, he goes for my right arm and sticks the needle in, I lie there trying not to tense up, he digs around in my arm for about twenty minutes with the damn needle and finally 'threads' it. Then blood starts pouring out of the thing poking out of my arm. "I can't put the dye in if you are bleeding," He says. By now he is acting really annoyed with me. I can't help it if blood is coming out of my veins. It happens to be where I keep my blood, in my veins. Things tend to work better that way.
So... we do it again and this time I concentrate on not tensing or bleeding and finally we get everything all done and he injects me with dye. "This might make you vomit,"He says. "Or feel weird."
Great. Tell me after the fact. Then, after injecting the stuff into me he asks me if I have allergies or are on certain medications because they don't mix well with some of the stuff he is currently injecting into me. Shouldn't that have been done before hand?
Okay, now that is all squared away, he postions a large white, flying saucer shaped disk over me and says, "Lie still. This part will take about 45 minutes." Lots of fun for me, staring at panelling and old ceiling tiles for 45 minutes. After that part of the test we do another series that takes about 15 minutes. Not a problem. Then, we are getting ready for another set of injections and my stomach gives a little lurch. I pause and wait and then decide to ignore it. Then my stomach gives a bit of a rumble and another lurch. Um.... should I tell the guy? No, I figure I am supposed to be emptied out, no problem here, it will pass. No, it won't pass because my body has been busily manufacturing stuff to get rid of out the air or my vital organs or something. My stomach makes an ominous noise, something that sounds like two large bears trying to rip each other's heads off and then lurches, bubbles and heaves.
"We've got a problem." I announce while frantically trying to get off the padded shelf thing. "I need a bathroom and I need it now."
He opens the door to the trailer and leads me back into the hospital where we traverse various hallways until he finds a room with a vacant potty. He's actually pretty nice about the whole thing, too nice really. He keeps coming back, knocking on the door and asking me if I'm okay. "Yes," I tell him, "I'm okay."
I want to stop doing that. What if I make noises and he over-hears? Yuck! My prissy little New England raised self would just die if that happened.
The time for the SBS tests are fast approaching and it turns out that there is no way I can complete the H-scan and get to the other tests on time so I never went back to the trailer and I have to do the test again. And that's how I failed my test, well, actually I got an incomplete.
Read more...
This is the project I just finished. Boring, safe, drab colors but it's warm and soft.
And this is the one I'm working on now. Bright happy colors. This is a first for me. Usually everything I make is dull, earthy, boring, don't-notice-me safe colors. This time I went out on a limb and got all sorts of colors, I'm having a great time with it. I am hoping Connie likes it.
Okay, on to what happened on Monday.
For the past two Mondays I have had to have a bunch of tests done. All to check the progress of the Crohn's, etc. Both of the tests involved purging which involves drinking large amounts of vile stuff and then ... well, it's just nasty. Now, with Crohn's, everything that enters your body immediately hits the expressway and zips right through your body. If you do something to facilitate that action, such as drink that vile nasty stuff, the Cron's get's really, really, mad and does horrible, horrible things to you.
On this past Monday one of the tests involved lying still for two and half hours as they trace a dye and a synthetic hormone going through you liver and things. (My liver doesn't like to store iron any more for some reason and apparently that's a bad thing and they want to find out why.) So, there I was, sitting in the waiting room being my anxiety ridden little self. I hate the hospital, I hate anything to do with the hospital, the clinic, the doctor's office, anything medical in general. It's been my experience that nothing pleasant every happens there and you can not leave until they stick sharp things in you and drain you dry or pump you full of nasty stuff.
In walks this man who does not look like a medical professional to me. He looks as if he would be more at home squatting in his garden tending to his hemp plants and then heading inside for a rousing session of tie-dying. He announces he is going to do my H-Scan. Okay, dokie. Far be it from to judge from appearances. I follow him down a long, dark, hallway expecting him to turn in to one of those nice, high-tech looking x-ray rooms and instead he has me follow him outside to a trailer or mobile office or what ever you want to call it. A little box building in the parking lot. We walk up shaky metal stairs with no railing and into a fake wood panelling hell. The room is narrow, and brown with Wal-Mart art on the walls. He explains to me he is going to run an IV in my arm and inject me with a variety of nasty stuff.
Um... I am not pleased, but he is supposed to be the professional, right? I have to lie on a narrow padded table that looks like it was designed to hold snakes in comfort but not real people. I asked him how fat people use that thing and he said, "They roll off a lot and you have to get out of the way really quick." Uh huh. Okay, I hike my srawny, bony butt up there and lie down and it's actually pretty comfy except there is no place to put your arms until he hooks up these little side table things to the edge of the padded shelf. He takes forever wandering around in the trailer looking for the stuff to start the IV and then grabs my arm and I will swear to you, that was the most painful needle I have ever felt. I've had a lot of IVs and bloodtests and this one will stay with me for awhile. It felt like he was going for bone there. "Ow!" I yelled. He looked totally surprised that I complained and then said, "I think I went through the vein."
"Yeah. I wouldn't be surprised." I answer.
He sighs and tells me he has to do it again. Right. I close my eyes and relax my arm and go through my little happy place mantra and damned if he doesn't do it again! Right through my vein. He says, "You tensed up when I put the needle in and now I can't thread your vein."
"Of course I tensed up, you are stabbing me with a needle," I told him. "It's a natural reaction."
"Well, it makes your veins funny so don't do it." He says.
"Wha?"
Okay, he goes for my right arm and sticks the needle in, I lie there trying not to tense up, he digs around in my arm for about twenty minutes with the damn needle and finally 'threads' it. Then blood starts pouring out of the thing poking out of my arm. "I can't put the dye in if you are bleeding," He says. By now he is acting really annoyed with me. I can't help it if blood is coming out of my veins. It happens to be where I keep my blood, in my veins. Things tend to work better that way.
So... we do it again and this time I concentrate on not tensing or bleeding and finally we get everything all done and he injects me with dye. "This might make you vomit,"He says. "Or feel weird."
Great. Tell me after the fact. Then, after injecting the stuff into me he asks me if I have allergies or are on certain medications because they don't mix well with some of the stuff he is currently injecting into me. Shouldn't that have been done before hand?
Okay, now that is all squared away, he postions a large white, flying saucer shaped disk over me and says, "Lie still. This part will take about 45 minutes." Lots of fun for me, staring at panelling and old ceiling tiles for 45 minutes. After that part of the test we do another series that takes about 15 minutes. Not a problem. Then, we are getting ready for another set of injections and my stomach gives a little lurch. I pause and wait and then decide to ignore it. Then my stomach gives a bit of a rumble and another lurch. Um.... should I tell the guy? No, I figure I am supposed to be emptied out, no problem here, it will pass. No, it won't pass because my body has been busily manufacturing stuff to get rid of out the air or my vital organs or something. My stomach makes an ominous noise, something that sounds like two large bears trying to rip each other's heads off and then lurches, bubbles and heaves.
"We've got a problem." I announce while frantically trying to get off the padded shelf thing. "I need a bathroom and I need it now."
He opens the door to the trailer and leads me back into the hospital where we traverse various hallways until he finds a room with a vacant potty. He's actually pretty nice about the whole thing, too nice really. He keeps coming back, knocking on the door and asking me if I'm okay. "Yes," I tell him, "I'm okay."
Read more...I want to stop doing that. What if I make noises and he over-hears? Yuck! My prissy little New England raised self would just die if that happened.
The time for the SBS tests are fast approaching and it turns out that there is no way I can complete the H-scan and get to the other tests on time so I never went back to the trailer and I have to do the test again. And that's how I failed my test, well, actually I got an incomplete.