Graphic Content Ahead.

So this blog is mostly dedicated to mah bones, but I have a shitload of other health problems we can talk about while the 'spert is extricating his head from his ass.

Gastroparesis is a fun part of my life. Do ya'll know what that is? The vagus nerve tells the stomach when to empty into the intestines. In patients with gastroparesis, the vagus nerve is damaged and doesn't tell the stomach to move the food through to the intestines. Period. Typically, it's seen in diabetic patients, anorexics (which my ass is clearly NOT), or people with direct trauma to that area. They still haven't figured out why I have it. I had a doctor one time who took great pride in pointing out my case was idiopathic. I'm pretty sure he just liked saying the word.

Basically, I throw up. A lot. And violently. But before I throw up, my stomach expands and I look 6 months pregnant. I have severly painful burps that can wake the dead and generally last longer 15 seconds each. This can go on for hours. When I eat things that make me sick, the food will sit in my stomach for 4-6 hours and then I'll throw it back up. Whole. Completely undigested. I saw an entire pickle a couple of weeks ago. Fun, huh?

So foods I see again: any raw fruit (specifically the skins, which are the best part especially when covered with salt), vegetables (spinach, lettuce, pickles, corn, and cucumbers are the worst), red meat (no matter how it's cooked), and any sort of whole grain or seedy things (this ranges from sesame seeds on buns to the seeds of strawberries). And olives. I'm a Grey Goose martini, extra dirty, extra olives kind of girl. Not being able to enjoy the olives KILLS ME.

So it's safe to assume I'm a chicken/pasta/potato person. If those things are on the menu, that's what I'm eating. However, I've learned to manipulate it. If I know I'm eating a hamburger in the evening, I'll eat something for lunch that I know will digest easily. That way, by the time I eat the hamburger, my stomach will be completely empty. I won't be adding an undigestable item on top of an undigestable item. Days when I eat "bad things" at more that one meal make for sleepless, painful, nasty evenings.

Alcohol makes this condition tons worse. Alcohol paralyzes nerves anyway, so one that is semi-nonfunctioning becomes even more lethargic and ridiculous. I'm not an alcoholic by any means, but I enjoy a good drink (or three) on the weekends, which is also when I tend to eat things that are bad for me.

#2 thinks my gastroparesis plays a large role in my osteoporosis, but he isn't blaming it entirely on my diet (or lack thereof). I guess we'll see. Someday.

Props to #2.

So I'm ridiculously impressed with #2. If anyone in Little Rock needs an internist, may I recommend Dr. Jack Fendley at NLR Diagnostic. He and his nurse, Kathy, are freaking awesome.

Kathy called me today to let me know that she sent the 'spert ALL my records, past scans, and a letter explaining that 'spert had to fill out the insurance pre-authorization forms before they'd cover my next (unnecessary) scan. The frightening thing, Kathy told me not to expect much. Her words about the 'spert, "He's a piece of work, so I wouldn't hold your breath on these pre-auth forms." Dr. Fendley personally called the 'spert to try to explain to him how seldom someone like me comes along. I mean, according to Dr. Fendley, I'm like, medical journal quality. Who the hell would pass that shit up?

So basically, my medical history is the carrot. Isn't that kinda screwed up? They have to dangle something so freakish in front of a 'spert so he'll agree to cooperate.

Gah.

Square 1.

So #2 had no new results. All the blood tests came back normal. He now wants me to go see the 'spert. However, the 'spert will not see me unless I have a diagnosis of osteoporosis, which I do from my first doctor. But the 'spert won't accept bone density scans from outside offices. This means he has to do another on in his office, it has to be positive, and then he'll see me. Guess how many bone density scans insurance will pay for in a year? One. And my one was less than a month ago.

Shoot me now. So. I basically have to pay out of pocket for ANOTHER scan if I want to see the 'spert.

Part of me just says, "Eh. Screw it."
The other part of me says, "You will want kids some day. Figure this shit out now."

I'll let you know which part wins...

What is tenterhook anyway?

Okay peeps. T minus, I don't know...some hours (?) 'til the doctors appointment that could change my life forever. How's that for some unnecessary (probably anti-climactic) drama?

Tomorrow morning we'll see if #2 is smart or not. I know you're all waiting on tenterhooks to hear wtf my deal is.

No fear, babies. Hopefully tomorrow will be the day. #2 will be the man. I have faith. He will give me an answer and a diagnosis. I can feel it in my 87 year old bones.

No news is good news, right?

Monday a week ago, #2 told me the results of my blood tests could take up to 7 business days to come back from the lab. I haven't heard from him yet. Based on that and the fact I have an appointment with him next Thursday to discuss the results, I'm assuming either a.) he doesn't have the results back yet b.) the results show something horrifying and he doesn't want to tell me over the phone or c.) the tests showed nothing and I'll be seeing the 'spert next.

All three options are equally obnoxious and annoying to think about. I can't imagine people who actually have horrible things wrong with them and have to wait on results to tell them if they're dying or not. I cannot imagine.

Pity, party of one. Pity?

I don't usually get too bogged down in my health. Or lack thereof. However, I'm having a pity party tonight. Why can't I just be like other 29 year olds? What the hell did I do to deserve 87 year old bones? Why I can't I be thinking about keeping babies bouncy and happy instead of keeping my damn bones intact?

My Daddy called this afternoon to check on me and to see if I've gotten back any test results. I haven't. I appreciate that he calls, I really really do. I cherish the relationship I have with both he and my Mother. However, I hate the fact that he calls to see if I know why I have osteoporosis. It should be me making that phone call... to my 70 year old grandmother. Not Daddy calling his not quite 30 year old child. I hate to sound ungrateful. I'm so lucky to have parents who care about every detail of my health and life. I wouldn't trade them for anything. But it just sucks to get that phone call. It kind of put things in perspective this afternoon.

And I know this isn't that serious of a health issue. It's not like I'm dying or anything. I don't have some incurable disease that I have to suffer through. I just have bad bones. I can't have kids in the foreseeable future. I can't go do anything too physical, because I run the risk of breaking a hip. I can't act like a normal healthy 29 year old, because I'm not one.

Just a few weeks ago, a older friend of mine told me her doctor diagnosed her with osteopenia. She asked for my advice. Not because I have worse bones than she does, but because of my education and experience keeping older adults healthy and active. I told her this diagnosis isn't a life sentence, that she can slow or reverse the damage. I told her all the right things to do. I suggested to her what supplements to take, how to exercise, what to eat to get the maximum benefit. But am I doing any of these things for myself? No.

This is just ridiculous.

When The Google Attacks.

#2 suggested several things that could be causing my osteoporosis. If your mind works like mine, you'll understand when I say I wish he hadn't told me those possible diseases/syndromes/deficiencies that could be the culprit for my shitty bones.

Me and The Google have found entirely too much information on the interwebs. Every time I look at another possible explanation, I have every one of the symptoms. Literally. Every. Single. Symptom. I even read some of them to The Hubs. Without me saying a word, his response was, "Holy shit. You have all those." And it's always the worst case scenario. Naturally.

I hate The Google sometimes. I can hardly wait for #2 to call with those test results. Until then, no more self-diagnosis. Promise.