I can’t even remember what I did on Saturday. I really don’t. But I remember Sunday.
Sunday, we went into the city to have lunch with my cousin, which is something we’ve never done. She came up to NYC from Pittsburgh — I thought it was for work, but it turned out to just be taking some time for herself. She texted me a few weeks ago to see if we could meet up, and of course, I said yes. Yes, because I don’t really have much family, and we have never been close. Or, in touch, really. Ever.
She grew up across the street from the house we moved into when I was nine. She’s 5 or 6 years older than me (I think). Anyway, her father was my step-dad’s brother — the house we moved into was the old family homestead. All of the adults around us — my parents, her parents, all the other family parents…batshit crazy. Just so tremendously dysfunctional that there was little-to-no possibility that any of the kids would: 1) be able to interact with each other in a remotely healthy way, and 2) grow up to be functional adults without a lot of work.
I had been living in Canada with my older sister and my mother when my mother sprung our moving back down to the States on me. I wasn’t thrilled. I was already tired of moving around. But, I was assured this would be the last time (it was, at least with my family, but I would still change schools three more times anyway), and I would finally have a “family.” I would have a brother, cousins, aunts, uncles, a grandfather…the works. My maternal aunt and grandmother were with us in Canada, but this was, like, a whole bunch of family, and that was enticing. I thought a big brother would be cool, especially considering that my older sister (by two years) really didn’t like me much (at all).
So, I was all, “Okay.” And then we got there and the adults fucked it all up with the inscrutable bullshit-drama that we, the kids, are still trying to figure out. This particular cousin, who lived just across the street — we barely had any contact, and the adults made sure we knew that we didn’t like each other. Or, at least, we had vague reasons for assuming the other was the problem. Personally, I was told they were racist. And, for me, at that time, everyone was racist, so it wasn’t a surprise. It did, however, suck.
We had lunch, and we talked, and we got to sort out just a little bit more of the garbage we were left with — so many of the “adults” are dead now. Anyway, I was nervous, as I always am with any social encounter. I had no reason to be. We had a good ol’ time, a nice lunch, etc. And I think we might just keep in touch.
Afterward, Hubs and I headed over to Brooklyn to catch a show. Lightning Bolt with Kill Alters opening at Knockdown Center, The Ruins. Apart from inhaling fog-machine fog for roughly four hours, it was great (as usual). I like a lot of music and I go to a fair number of shows, but Lightning Bolt is my very favorite live. Great way to decompress from my self-imposed anxiety from the first half of the day.
Hubs’s cousin met us there and a good time was had by all. He had taken an Uber, but we drove him home, and on that ride he told us about what could be serial killer activity in that area — three men have come up dead in the Newtown Creek; clubbers and show-goers (one that had, apparently, just seen a show at Knockdown). One theory is that it’s an Uber driver. Good thing we, uh, drove him home.
So, that was Sunday. Monday, I had to go sandwich my tits for the mammogram I’ve been avoiding for a couple of years. Last time I did this (which was also the first time), it turned into a nightmare — I think I ended up having three mammograms, a lengthy, uncomfortable ultrasound, another mammogram (for some reason, they wouldn’t adjust it so I wasn’t literally on my tiptoes, which made it probably 20 times more painful that it needed to be…every…time…), and then a needle biopsy. All because I have fibrous ta-tas, which is not uncommon.
Um…that’s a high-anxiety situation. So, this time, I had a whole panic attack just trying to make the appointment, and I couldn’t stop shaking and, honestly, a bit of crying, just getting the thing done. Apparently, medical trauma is a real thing (to be fair, I had a bunch of other equally awful shit going on during the last epic mammogram journey). But, it’s done, and now I wait to see if we have to do all of that, all over again. And, if I’m honest, if we have to…I may never have another mammogram, come what may.
Tomorrow, I have a follow-up with Rheumatology. Dude ordered a lot of tests — I ended up giving them twelve vials of blood to play with, and after a while I stopped paying attention to the test results notifications I was getting. I didn’t know when they’d end, but presumably it’s all done and in now. So, we’ll see what he has to say. A quick, uneducated look at the results seems to indicate that nothing on his end is amiss, but…I am not a professional.
As it stands, I got the hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome diagnosis, which is extremely helpful. I also have very, very high B12 levels, which is a bit of a mystery and Googling isn’t helpful. In fact, it is bad. But I’ll retest again in a couple of months — hopefully it will have gone down. Then of course, there’s my slightly-high cholesterol, which, considering my diet, is probably genetic, which sucks. But I’m going to see what I can do with just diet (I didn’t eat, like, a ton of dairy and fried foods to begin with, but now it’s all right out). And, in about a week and a half, I will see a psychiatrist that specializes in ADHD to see where I can get with that. I have theories and plans. I may get on a medication (and then hope that current events don’t take it away again).
I am hoping that by this time next year, I will have a handle on the variety of issues plaguing me, physically, emotionally, psychologically…and maybe I can live a remotely normal life. Huzzah.
Uh…today, I changed some light bulbs, hung some shelf-things in the downstairs shower, and did a whole twenty minutes on the elliptical, which I haven’t been able to do in, like, six months or so. So…yay.
Lee Harper Oswald 