Passing Stars & Counting Moons Of Planets
Har Har Har
I have discovered the source of my edema. My kidney is once again on the fritz. Hello, beta blockers. I will fill you in on this short story, in case you don’t know it. In the summer of 2004 I was preparing to move to Vancouver. I don’t move well. I have become progressively better with it, nevertheless, I am still an emotional maladjust when it comes to relocating. It’s just stressful. Anyhow, I was experiencing sharp, stabbing pains in my abdomen (that would come and go without warning) and panic attacks all the time, so my doctor diagnosed me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (which has been true of me, actually, in the past, but I’m working on it) and treated me with an antidepressant for a month. It turns out that the stabbing pain, which was the primary reason for going to the doctor, was actually a kidney infection.
I walked around for a month not knowing, until one day I had pain in my back. We were all out shopping (friends and myself) when the pain slowly got so bad that I couldn’t stand. Couldn’t stand. To even try made me shriek. So I ended up going to see a different doctor for a second opinion and learned that my left kidney had stopped working. They treated me with beta blockers for awhile, hoping to reverse it before I became a candidate for transplant surgery, and it worked, however, the whole thing didn’t go down without causing damage to one of my kidneys. I’m on meds for life for it. I’m told I can go for awhile without them, on and off. Well, I packed those pills. I just found them a few days ago, and that’s what’s causing the edema: my own stupid, neglect. Awesome. Hopefully now that I’ve realized what’s causing the whole thing, it”ll go away once I’ve treated it. Applause for my stupidity! Yaaayyyy! I knew it couldn’t be related to my blood sugar because the diuretics weren’t working. The kidney failure, as I later learned, was my first major indication of diabetes. Apparently it’s super-common for an untreated Type 1 diabetic to experience some sort of organ failure. I am such an idiot.
So fret not! I am perfectly healthy! Thank goodness too, because I just worked a 13 hour day and I’m fucking exhausted. I never would have agreed to it, either. But I got a phone call from Steve (my boss at A&W) asking me if I could work a closing shift today. I couldn’t because I was working a close at Co-Op. Then he says he’ll see me at 9am, which is 2 full hours earlier than I have it written down in about 6 different places. I was there when Angelina made up the schedule, so of course, I’m thinking how in the hell I managed to make that mistake and that perhaps Steve was mistaken. So I called back and got him to double check and he says “Yeah, 9am, it must have been Angelina.” Well, I smelled. I planned to use that 2 hours to finish washing my uniform (which was still wet) and take a shower. I suddenly had absolutely no time. I had to wear one of my dirty work shirts and black pair of yoga pants (that have a huge hole in them) and put on tons of pit stick and body spray, so I smelled like a really flowery onion. Mm, spicy.
I got to work, and of course, someone has erased the ’11-5′ that you could still see, and changed it to ‘9-5’, and the boss who so calculatively conned me into working two additional hours (effectively extending my 10 hour workday into a 12 hour workday) was nowhere to be found. I had an internal fit of rage because I’ve been so concerned about this edema problem that I know I never would have agreed to working an 8 hour shift when I had another 4 hours next door right after that. My legs swelled up so bad that by 3pm I had to sit and do my work. My legs had turned burgundy and were just massive. It was disturbing. I called Angelina and she insisted she had no idea about it, and it would never happen again without my consent. I hate having to sit an employer down that I have explained the delicacy of my situation to, who does not listen. I then have to explain to them again that overworking me means I get sick, and when I get sick I usually get hospitalized. I have had to go to the hospital for every illness I’ve had this year except strep throat. Going to the hospital means taking sick days, and possibly having to take more disability. I dislike all of those possibilities. 2 hours early means I have no clothes, I stink, I have no lunch made and no time between jobs to come home and make one. It is the absolute shits that I have to factor things like that into everything, but I do. That and I still had to run home because I was in such a hurry to not be late for work that I forgot my second insulin cartridge.
I have had a long, long, long day. Fortunately, everyone was patient enough to let me sit, feed me, and not work me on my feet too much when it started to get worse. I’m just really concerned about taking care of myself. I don’t want to feel like I’m falling back into old habits where my job has taken on more importance than my health, because it isn’t more important and it can’t be. I’ll do what it takes and conquer the struggles it requires to make sure that people know that taking care of myself is paramount. I never want to be that sick ever again. It scares me.