Mental Energy Not Withstanding

Iron infusions (a.k.a. "superhero treatments") seem to be working.  Despite the side effects immediately following each treatment, I do actually feel better!  *knock on wood*

The downside of all of this newfound energy (y'know, what normal people feel like) is that my brain can't keep up.  Meaning:  mentally, the energy (or desire) isn't there.  I don't want to think, process, read, write, analyze.  Before, I was exhausted and in bed by 8 p.m., and my brain was done, no problem.  But now...

Is this why people watch TV?  So they can turn off their brains for a while?  But I can't do that.  When I watch TV or movies, I want to be involved, interested, invested, and engaged.  So far, the boob tube hasn't been allowing me to "tune out."

You know what does?

Wine.

And sometimes vodka.

But I shouldn't be getting liquored up just to douse my brain.  That doesn't seem right.  In fact, I know it's not right -- there's a whole episode of House about it!  (Except the guy in that episode doped up on cough syrup, of all things -- just like one of the first guys I ever date, but that's a different story.)

My Unit helpfully made a list this morning of things I can do to help us since last night I was wondering around our (rental) house saying, "I don't know what to do with myself!"  From here, my desk at work, I've accomplished 3 of the 5 things on the list -- in addition to doing all of my work for the day, editing/proofreading a holiday letter for a business, and sitting in a chair with an IV in my arm for two hours.

Ugh.

Time to find some new (time-consuming) hobbies as I don't have any shows on the books for the foreseeable future.

Episode III: Revenge of the Cysts

"What a horrible, candle-snuffing word [...] 'just.'"

J.M. Barrie (Johnny Depp), Finding Neverland (2004) 

Back when our princess and the pea situation was going on, the nondenominational witch OB/GYN (who I have since fired) said my ovarian cysts were "just a couple of centimeters" big.

And that stuck with me.  Here we are, nearly two years (and two doctors) later, and Leonard is getting a little tired of having medical devices stuck into her orifices.

"But why, Leonard?  Why are you complaining?  They're just a couple of centimeters big."

You know what else is "just a couple of centimeters"?  A penny.  A dime.  A nickel.

Let's try an experiment:  why don't you stick a nickel up your nostril¹.  Oh, you want it removed now?  Why?  It's just a couple of centimeters.  How about swallowing the nickel and letting it ruminate in your stomach for a bit.  No?  How about your ear, your eye, or your colon?  No, that doesn't sound like fun?  "Just a couple of centimeters" doesn't really matter when the object should not be in your body, when your body is not designed to fit said object, when said object is pressing against other parts of your body and causing problems.

Leonard fired that last craptastic doctor.  That last craptastic doctor ignored the pain and the symptoms and tried stuff that didn't work.  Plus, she made me feel bad about myself.  The new doctor (we'll have to give her a name soon) has given Leonard ALL THE INFO.  Leonard could give you the measurements of her uterus should the situation require it!

So, to recollect, in the past five months, Leonard has had:

• 2 blood draws
• 1 X-ray
• 1 endoscopy
• 1 colonoscopy
• 2 ultrasounds

Current diagnoses now include:

• anemia
• Grade A esophagitis
• 1 anal fissure
• 3.2 centimeter cyst on left ovary 
• 7 mm. "hyperdense polypoid lesion"
• 10 mm. thickening of the endometrium

Up next is a thing I still can't type yet, but it involves shooting a saline solution up Leonard's vajayjay.  So, y'know, I've got that goin' for me...

¹ Leonard can fit an entire quarter up her nostril.^2
2 Leonard does not do "the quarter trick" anymore, ever since one got stuck up there.^3
3 While Leonard was at work.^4
4 Leonard was the shift manager at the time.^5
5 Co-workers and underlings called her "Nostril-damus" for some time after.