The Mind of Olivia Drab

I-C U P-N

Oh chortle. I don't really see you peein'.

However, the urologist will come awfully close to that with me, come January.

I had a nice long discussion of my symptoms with my gyno yesterday, and she agreed. I'm farked up. Still. She offered a few possibilities as the source of my new pain:

1. Endo has migrated to the bladder like a flock of geese headed towards warmer climates.
2. Interstitial Cystitis heard about this awesome place to lay down some turf.
3. This is all just a dream, a very, very stupid, pointless dream.

Oh, yeah, it's not #3. Just to make certain, I have added yet another type of doctor to my speed dial, a urologist. I had been concerned about who would fill the slot left vacant when I no longer required an RE. Now I know, a pee-pee doctor.

I am thiiiiiis close to having the full set of Specialist Trading Cards!

Another year older...

My girl bits, that is. 'Tis the night before the gyno annual, and boy do I have a lot to grill the doctor about. For one, why am I still in pain all the time? And also, why do I still have a swollen belly? I mean, for crying out loud, I still look 5 months pregnant. That can't be normal 13 months postpartum, can it?

Also, I think I might be developing interstitial cystitis. You know, because endometriosis wasn't painful enough. I'm working on a pain trifecta. Endo, migraines, IC. Once I collect all three, I will be able to split atoms with my mind or something.

In honor of the 15th anniversary of my annual gyno exams, I am replaying an oldie of mine. I'm going waaay back to 2005 Archives for this one... I present:

The Infertility Game

Hey kids! It's a new, fun game from the makers of EPT Pickup Sticks!

My girl

Sunday mornings, we watch CNN. It's just something we've done for a long time (since we've had a TV in our bedroom). Lauren joins us. Usually she is busy playing with one of my headbands or any random toy that happens to be within arm's reach. However, there is one time when she will stop and stare at the TV without blinking.

When James Carville speaks, Lauren listens.

We aren't sure if it is because he is charismatic and speaks with a "funny" accent (she doesn't hear Louisiana very often here in Colorado). Maybe she likes listening to his opinions and perspective on the election. Or maybe, most likely, it's his resemblance to another animated character she likes.

 

Dumpster Diving

I firmly believe that there is a force in the universe that brings kitties to those who will help them. Certainly it doesn't always happen, but when it does, it's a great thing.

Saturday afternoon, we got home at 6pm. While unloading the car, I heard a loud meowing from the alley. Unable to resist the feline call, I went searching. In a giant black city trash can (the huge plastic mini-dumpster type) was a tiny black kitten. Without a second thought, I scooped her up and snuggled her under my chin. Purrs galore.

Someone, some evil, sick piece of human debris, had tossed a nine week-old kitten into a dumpster with no food, no water, and then shut the lid. This is the kind of evil that makes me like animals more than people. We couldn't fathom why they would have done such a thing. It's inexplicable and horrific.

After making several calls and sending out emails to everyone I knew in our vicinity, we managed to find her a happy home. Oddly, it was with a complete stranger. On a whim, we took the little black ball of furry love to Babies R Us with us. Someone in customer assistance, an obvious cat lover, took her in. I was relieved.

I shudder to think what would have happened if we hadn't been in the alley that evening.