I just was battered by my fantastic P.T. (Battered in the way I like. reminded to drink lots of water to remove all the toxins released during the session. I'm toxic. Cool.) My god, does my body have eons to go or what? Everything is tight. I've got every last thing so damned tied up tight into everything else that it would take an army to loosen me up. (You know the rack may be of some medicinal help here. Yes, that rack.)
In a few minutes Chip and I and my stuffed eustachian tubes are off to the ENT to get the verdict to stent or not to stent. Since I feel like there is a fat water balloon in my head, I think the answer is obvious. But I've thought a lot things I assumed obvious for a long time that just fucked me up and good.
Chip was out at a meeting this morning, so he set the alarm for me to make certain I take my medication on time, do all my morning ablutions, and get my ass up in time for Tamar (the best P.T. on the whole goddamned planet). I discovered upon "Gee, let me see what time it is" that Tamar was arriving in 45 minutes and I missed the alarm Chip so carefully set for me, because I was to damned deaf to hear it go off. Shit. Scheduling the ENT appointment for today was finely well chosen.
I made it. With 15 minutes or so to spare. Though I don't know how. All ablutions were abluted. Clothes, clothed. Pills swallowed and inhaler, inhaled. I may have been a tad disoriented, as if struck by lightning but still very much alive and on two feet, but am I not always disoriented for some goddamned reason anyway? (And I was also still in the Cone of Silence. I'll miss it's peacefulness.) Who cares for what reason?
When I see Tamar or now Rachel, the massage therapist, I know very how far I have to go to before I could fit somewhere on the wee edge of the bell curve of humanity. At this very moment, I am downing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Mmmmm. Fuck, I fit on that fucking bell curve for that sandwich alone.
I remain stentless. For now, anyway. I was offered another option that had not been posed to us before. I could try another course of steroid, no way in bloody hell. My poor cousin who was compelled to take high dosages of them for six years, is now in chronic and horrific pain. Steroids and their relatives destroy the liquid in the connective tissue in the entire skeletal system. She is now just bone on bone with nothing in between. This is agonizing and permanent. (As you can well imagine.) We touch base on a regular basis. Only when you've been in hell yourself can you truly understand.
This afternoon, my eustachian tubes were drained. A quick snip, a little suction and whooee! I can hear again! The idea here is to break the cycle of the stuffed tube. If this is only a temporary fix, stent heaven, here I come! So get 'em while they're hot. Unstuffed eustachian tubes, a little fresh ricotta, a nice little provencal sauce, you've got something. But all I can promise is that their availability is limited. Soooeey!