weighing in

I had lost ten pounds between late February and early May.  This isn’t new, thanks to my truculent intestine, from September 2004 to March 2005, I lost 30 pounds while eating nearly everything in sight.  Now that it’s better controlled, I can usually stay around my normal weight, sometimes losing a bit if I’ve had nausea and abdominal pain which makes it harder to eat my usual large amount of food to make up for the loss on the other end.

However, this spring – despite having a very good appetite, I lost a lot.  I called my GI doctor, thinking I’d try to move up my follow up appointment to a little sooner than June 10.  Whoops, no I didn’t even have an appointment on June 10!  So they gave me the first one they had, June 3, and increased my meds.

So this week, I’m premenstrual and tremendously bloated, my appetite’s been insane (I feel dizzy and weak and nauseous if I don’t eat about every two hours), and the gut meds – while not working to slow things down fully every day – have helped.  The end result is I’m back up about 8 pounds.  So I’m going to go in there and she’s going to pronounce me “CURED!”  Ta da!

I probably should just get all that sarcasm out here, now, before the appointment.

Gah.  Anyhow, I need to push on with her though.  The symptoms were bad enough that I was *very* late for work about 6 times in that weight loss period.  This needs to stop.  And I know it might not stop.  I know we could look and look and not find a reason; or look and look and find a reason but not a cure or even a sure fire treatment.  I don’t love those outcomes, but I think I can accept them.  I know I can accept them a whole lot better than I can accept simply not looking.

As I write this, I realize though that there’s no clear reason, a priori-ly speaking, why not looking should trouble me so.  I think it has to do with this:  I have a fundamental problem with wallowing in a shitty situation – with having troubles which lead to complaint, need for accommodations, what seem like extreme limitations.  I guess I’d say I have a problem with “malingering”.  I big, deep problem with it.  Now, what I don’t have a problem with is disability due to circumstances that just can’t be fixed or modified sufficiently to allow for approaching normal function.  Put those together and it means that I absolutely require that all reasonable avenues be exhausted before I am ready to throw my hands up and say “fine.  I give up.  I’m fucked.  Now I can get to work on guiltlessly rearranging my entire life to accommodate this fuckery.”

I think a key element in here is “guiltlessly”.  And the recognition that my entire life includes the people I interact with – obviously the more frequent and/or intimate the interaction, the more need there will be for rearranging and accommodation.  I’m working on this in the meantime.  I don’t assume a diagnosis, treatment, or cure is forthcoming for any of the more debilitating crap.  But I know that I simply will not feel comfortable entirely giving in unless I truly feel that no stone has been left unturned.  To continue with the masonry metaphor, I’m not insisting that a doctor dig out a whole new quarry here – just that s/he use the reasonable tests and tools (which I assume includes their god damned brains and my very thorough medical records) to chip away at what we’ve got.

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