My back has been so sore during these past few weeks that it has been borderline "hurting." I have always avoided using any form of the word "hurt" to describe my relationship with my back to doctors; I guess admitting that my back "hurt" would be the same as admitting that this whole "scoliosis thing" was actually pretty serious.
Scratch the "borderline" - it really is hurting now.
And I am scared.
The first question my orthopedic surgeon will ask me when I go in to see him next Wednesday will probably be, "Does your back hurt?"
It is a simple question, but I honestly do not know how I will answer.
Showing posts with label scoliosis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scoliosis. Show all posts
Monday, March 17, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Y Halo Thar, Mr. Elephant
Spilled bottle of clear nail polish = ruined $20 foundation brush. Fuck.
Ruined foundation brush = catalyst for huge online shopping spree.
Staying up until 5 am for no productive reason = deliriously applying (and getting instantly approved) for another credit card with a surprisingly high limit for a college girl without a job.
***
Last quarter, I filled out a wellness survey that the UCSD Wellness Center emailed to me and I was selected again this quarter as one of the follow-up subjects for the survey.
Reading the familiar survey questions and picking completely different answers on the 1-5 scale about three months later opened my eyes to the purple-elephant of a problem that has been growing exponentially in front of my face since the beginning of this quarter: I am not happy.
It does not get any more complicated than those four little words: I AM NOT HAPPY.
I have been a fucking bipolar mess this quarter.
Everything is kind of falling apart now and I am not sure how I am going to deal with all the pieces once they fall. Sometimes I just want to cry.
After a short committee meeting last night, I ran into one of my pledge sisters on the way back to my dorm. What started out as a simple "Hey, what's up?" conversation on a street corner somehow evolved into a FIVE-HOUR long conversation.
I spilled all of the anxieties I had with the fraternity, my line and my family that had been piling up in the back of my mind to her. Now I just really hope that none of the things I said comes back to bite me in the ass.
Spring Break is coming up, which means yet another round of X-Rays, another visit to the orthopedic surgeon's office, and what could quite possibly be one of the hardest decisions I will ever have to make in my life are waiting for me just around the corner. Once I am done worrying and fretting about all this fraternity drama and finals week, thoughts and talk of my spine will basically be consuming my life.
Obviously, I am freaking the fuck out about this... but why have I been subconsciously hiding this HUGE part of my life from everybody in the fraternity as if it were my dirty little secret?
I have mentioned that I had scoliosis to a grand total of two people.
And it was only in passing during an interview party.
And they were two people whom I was certain would not care enough to remember that little detail about me.
Nobody knows about the prospects of major surgery and how the very idea of it is slowly driving me crazy.
I love our pledge class t-shirts, but the American Apparel tees that our S@A chose turned out to be much more form-fitting than the Threadless AA tees I was used to wearing; I was so conscious of my twisted hip and how obviously it could have been seen in my tight shirt that I was very uncomfortable all throughout showcase.
God, I hate my body.
Ruined foundation brush = catalyst for huge online shopping spree.
Staying up until 5 am for no productive reason = deliriously applying (and getting instantly approved) for another credit card with a surprisingly high limit for a college girl without a job.
***
Last quarter, I filled out a wellness survey that the UCSD Wellness Center emailed to me and I was selected again this quarter as one of the follow-up subjects for the survey.
Reading the familiar survey questions and picking completely different answers on the 1-5 scale about three months later opened my eyes to the purple-elephant of a problem that has been growing exponentially in front of my face since the beginning of this quarter: I am not happy.
It does not get any more complicated than those four little words: I AM NOT HAPPY.
I have been a fucking bipolar mess this quarter.
Everything is kind of falling apart now and I am not sure how I am going to deal with all the pieces once they fall. Sometimes I just want to cry.
After a short committee meeting last night, I ran into one of my pledge sisters on the way back to my dorm. What started out as a simple "Hey, what's up?" conversation on a street corner somehow evolved into a FIVE-HOUR long conversation.
I spilled all of the anxieties I had with the fraternity, my line and my family that had been piling up in the back of my mind to her. Now I just really hope that none of the things I said comes back to bite me in the ass.
Spring Break is coming up, which means yet another round of X-Rays, another visit to the orthopedic surgeon's office, and what could quite possibly be one of the hardest decisions I will ever have to make in my life are waiting for me just around the corner. Once I am done worrying and fretting about all this fraternity drama and finals week, thoughts and talk of my spine will basically be consuming my life.
Obviously, I am freaking the fuck out about this... but why have I been subconsciously hiding this HUGE part of my life from everybody in the fraternity as if it were my dirty little secret?
I have mentioned that I had scoliosis to a grand total of two people.
And it was only in passing during an interview party.
And they were two people whom I was certain would not care enough to remember that little detail about me.
Nobody knows about the prospects of major surgery and how the very idea of it is slowly driving me crazy.
I love our pledge class t-shirts, but the American Apparel tees that our S@A chose turned out to be much more form-fitting than the Threadless AA tees I was used to wearing; I was so conscious of my twisted hip and how obviously it could have been seen in my tight shirt that I was very uncomfortable all throughout showcase.
God, I hate my body.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Wonderful World
While passing a gardener mowing a lawn on my way to class early one morning, I breathed in deeply, anticipating the sweet, earthly scent of freshly mowed grass to fill and calm my body.
Instead, I got a strong whiff of suffocating gasoline.
I've been down so low
People look at me and they know
They can tell something is wrong
Like I don't belong
As I walked through the eucalyptus forest toward my dorm to pick up notebooks and grab a snack in between classes this morning, the nagging feeling that my shoes had come untied suddenly began bothering me.
I looked down and remembered that I was wearing flats.
And that I haven't worn shoes with laces in over a year.
Staring through a window
Standing outside, they're just too happy to care tonight
I want to be like them
But I'll mess it up again
My 8 am Yoga/Pilates class started this week. Aside from the short-lived high and sense of overall balance that follows me out of the small, mirror-less studio at 9 am, I have actually started to feel worse about my body since classes began.
God, my arms are awkward.
It kills me that I can't sit up straight with my legs crossed for even thirty seconds without excruciating pain in my back.
And I know that it's a wonderful world
But I can't feel it right now
Did I mention how I can't wait for this quarter to end so I can finally go home?
On the other hand, I am absolutely terrified of the appointment with my orthopedic surgeon that awaits me.
I am so sick of thinking about and answering questions from people about my back and the surgery when it is as clear as day that they do not even begin to understand how hard the topic is for me to discuss.
They can take their fucking insincere sympathy "Oh"s and shove it.
Well I thought that I was doing well
But I just wanna cry now
I hate how I have been forced to find a way to explain my situation to those kind of people so often that I have begun to talk about the prospects of surgery in a very matter-of-fact tone, as if it were "nothing."
Well I thought that I was doing well
But I just wanna cry now
It's not "nothing," but how am I supposed to condense all of the fears and tears into a short sound bite intended for people who don't really give a damn without scripting some kind of dramatic monologue that includes a timely and extremely emotional breakdown into shaking sobs at the end?
James Morrison is amazing. He has been on repeat on my iPod on and off for the past year, but has beat out all other albums for the past few months.
All of the songs off of his album are great, but if I had to choose one song, I would probably pick "Wonderful World" as my favorite.
I can feel my heart break a little every time I hear his voice crack a little on "cry" when he sings the lyric, I thought I was doing well, but I just want to cry now.
(Thank you so much for introducing me to this awesome album way back then, Anna.)
Instead, I got a strong whiff of suffocating gasoline.
I've been down so low
People look at me and they know
They can tell something is wrong
Like I don't belong
As I walked through the eucalyptus forest toward my dorm to pick up notebooks and grab a snack in between classes this morning, the nagging feeling that my shoes had come untied suddenly began bothering me.
I looked down and remembered that I was wearing flats.
And that I haven't worn shoes with laces in over a year.
Staring through a window
Standing outside, they're just too happy to care tonight
I want to be like them
But I'll mess it up again
My 8 am Yoga/Pilates class started this week. Aside from the short-lived high and sense of overall balance that follows me out of the small, mirror-less studio at 9 am, I have actually started to feel worse about my body since classes began.
God, my arms are awkward.
It kills me that I can't sit up straight with my legs crossed for even thirty seconds without excruciating pain in my back.
And I know that it's a wonderful world
But I can't feel it right now
Did I mention how I can't wait for this quarter to end so I can finally go home?
On the other hand, I am absolutely terrified of the appointment with my orthopedic surgeon that awaits me.
I am so sick of thinking about and answering questions from people about my back and the surgery when it is as clear as day that they do not even begin to understand how hard the topic is for me to discuss.
They can take their fucking insincere sympathy "Oh"s and shove it.
Well I thought that I was doing well
But I just wanna cry now
I hate how I have been forced to find a way to explain my situation to those kind of people so often that I have begun to talk about the prospects of surgery in a very matter-of-fact tone, as if it were "nothing."
Well I thought that I was doing well
But I just wanna cry now
It's not "nothing," but how am I supposed to condense all of the fears and tears into a short sound bite intended for people who don't really give a damn without scripting some kind of dramatic monologue that includes a timely and extremely emotional breakdown into shaking sobs at the end?
James Morrison is amazing. He has been on repeat on my iPod on and off for the past year, but has beat out all other albums for the past few months.
All of the songs off of his album are great, but if I had to choose one song, I would probably pick "Wonderful World" as my favorite.
I can feel my heart break a little every time I hear his voice crack a little on "cry" when he sings the lyric, I thought I was doing well, but I just want to cry now.
(Thank you so much for introducing me to this awesome album way back then, Anna.)
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Calling Doctor Gray
Ever since I went home for Thanksgiving three weeks ago, my mom has been nagging me about calling Dr. Gray, my orthopedic surgeon, to make an appointment for my six-month follow-up to the surgery consultation I had back in September. He is only in San Francisco for one day of the week, so appointments go quickly.
Because I try not to think about the current state of my spine and what is to come for it in the following months, calling the receptionist of the man who could very well be cutting me open on an operating table and welding my spine together this coming summer is not exactly on the top of my list of priorities. Logically, that makes no sense whatsoever, but in my mind, "the call" resulting in the set-up of yet another follow-up moves me another step closer to the operating table and the week-long stay in a hospital room (assuming all goes well during the operation, of course), and as calm as I have gotten about the situation after freaking the fuck out this summer, I just can't deal with that symbolic push forward right now.
Since I put off calling my doctor for months last summer (yes, months), I had trouble getting an appointment before move-in day and the receptionist definitely had to pull some strings to fit me into his September schedule. My mom freaked out about how much I procrastinated and how close I came to missing my surgery consultation with Dr. Gray because of it, so she has been calling me almost daily to nag, nag, nag, and nag some more about calling to make an appointment for a follow-up during my week home for Spring Break in March.
"How hard is it to pick up the phone and CALL THE DOCTOR?!" My mom exclaimed out of frustration after I told her I still hadn't called on the eleventh nag-call she made to me during her lunch break.
It's pretty damn hard when the consequences of "the call" - another visit to the radiology department of the hospital to get X-rays done where the technicians who probably recognize me by face (if not solely by the grotesque curvature in my spine that they have seen progress so rapidly over the last few years) will undoubtedly gather around my latest batch X-rays to cluck worrisomely while they shake their heads and ask my mother about the doctor's latest prognosis, another trip to the orthopedic surgeon's office in CPMC where I will watch him measure the new degrees of curvature in my spine and shake his head as he approaches me to further discuss my surgery options in his somber voice, another tense silence that will suffocate us on the car ride home from the doctor's office, another round of curl-up-in-a-ball (which might actually be bad for my spine, now that I think about it) and cry-my-eyes-out breakdowns following the revelation of a new batch of not-so-great information by my doctor, and moving yet another step closer to packing my bags for that week-long hospital stay - are all situations that I would very much prefer not to voluntarily subjugate myself to during my one "week of relaxation" between Winter and Spring quarters.
But the stakes on this next appointment were much higher.
"YOU WON'T HAVE INSURANCE NEXT YEAR. HOW WILL WE PAY FOR THE OPERATION IF YOU DON'T CALL TO GET AN APPOINTMENT WITH YOUR DOCTOR THIS INSTANT?!" My mother yelled at me during her latest nag-call.
No insurance and medical bills from a major invasive surgery plus (at least) a week-long stay in the hospital? Definitely not pleasant to think about.
So I called.
And I made the appointment.
The receptionist is sending the requisition for a new batch of X-rays to my house later this week.
After thinking about it constantly last summer, I think I have come to terms with the possibility of having the back surgery done - it is no longer a question of whether I should or should not go through with it. If the doctor does not have good news about some miraculous realignment of the forty-four fucking degree curve on the bottom of my spine that is the candidate for the operation on my next visit and continues to recommend surgery as a good option for me, I think I am going to agree to do it.
I may be out of that agonizing state of limbo, but that doesn't mean I am any less scared out of my wits about what is to come.
Because I try not to think about the current state of my spine and what is to come for it in the following months, calling the receptionist of the man who could very well be cutting me open on an operating table and welding my spine together this coming summer is not exactly on the top of my list of priorities. Logically, that makes no sense whatsoever, but in my mind, "the call" resulting in the set-up of yet another follow-up moves me another step closer to the operating table and the week-long stay in a hospital room (assuming all goes well during the operation, of course), and as calm as I have gotten about the situation after freaking the fuck out this summer, I just can't deal with that symbolic push forward right now.
Since I put off calling my doctor for months last summer (yes, months), I had trouble getting an appointment before move-in day and the receptionist definitely had to pull some strings to fit me into his September schedule. My mom freaked out about how much I procrastinated and how close I came to missing my surgery consultation with Dr. Gray because of it, so she has been calling me almost daily to nag, nag, nag, and nag some more about calling to make an appointment for a follow-up during my week home for Spring Break in March.
"How hard is it to pick up the phone and CALL THE DOCTOR?!" My mom exclaimed out of frustration after I told her I still hadn't called on the eleventh nag-call she made to me during her lunch break.
It's pretty damn hard when the consequences of "the call" - another visit to the radiology department of the hospital to get X-rays done where the technicians who probably recognize me by face (if not solely by the grotesque curvature in my spine that they have seen progress so rapidly over the last few years) will undoubtedly gather around my latest batch X-rays to cluck worrisomely while they shake their heads and ask my mother about the doctor's latest prognosis, another trip to the orthopedic surgeon's office in CPMC where I will watch him measure the new degrees of curvature in my spine and shake his head as he approaches me to further discuss my surgery options in his somber voice, another tense silence that will suffocate us on the car ride home from the doctor's office, another round of curl-up-in-a-ball (which might actually be bad for my spine, now that I think about it) and cry-my-eyes-out breakdowns following the revelation of a new batch of not-so-great information by my doctor, and moving yet another step closer to packing my bags for that week-long hospital stay - are all situations that I would very much prefer not to voluntarily subjugate myself to during my one "week of relaxation" between Winter and Spring quarters.
But the stakes on this next appointment were much higher.
"YOU WON'T HAVE INSURANCE NEXT YEAR. HOW WILL WE PAY FOR THE OPERATION IF YOU DON'T CALL TO GET AN APPOINTMENT WITH YOUR DOCTOR THIS INSTANT?!" My mother yelled at me during her latest nag-call.
No insurance and medical bills from a major invasive surgery plus (at least) a week-long stay in the hospital? Definitely not pleasant to think about.
So I called.
And I made the appointment.
The receptionist is sending the requisition for a new batch of X-rays to my house later this week.
After thinking about it constantly last summer, I think I have come to terms with the possibility of having the back surgery done - it is no longer a question of whether I should or should not go through with it. If the doctor does not have good news about some miraculous realignment of the forty-four fucking degree curve on the bottom of my spine that is the candidate for the operation on my next visit and continues to recommend surgery as a good option for me, I think I am going to agree to do it.
I may be out of that agonizing state of limbo, but that doesn't mean I am any less scared out of my wits about what is to come.
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