Two things! Does that make this Random Crap Friday? I don’t think two things is so much “random crap” as it is “neither of these is long enough for an Amy-length blog post on its own.” So…DOUBLE CRAP FRIDAY! Ew, gross.
So first, apparently, I’m dying.
What? What’s this “hypochondria” of which you speak? Surely you can’t mean ME.
Remember I had to have the procedure so my stupid uterus would maybe stop killing me which will, indubitably, lead to ALL THE SEX? Well, apparently what they fail to tell you is that it also leads to ALL THE EXCRUCIATING PAIN. They said I’d be twingey for a couple of days, so fine, whatever, I was all stiff-upper-lippy for a couple of days, close your eyes, think of England, whatever. But then a couple of days turned into a couple of WEEKS and I finally the other day was all “ENOUGH WITH THIS NONSENSE” because I’m pretty sure if you take too many ibuprofen your liver falls out of your nose. What? That might be a thing, you don’t know.
So I called the doctor’s office, and after a session of phone tag SO RIDICULOUS it could have been a sitcom episode ALL ON ITS OWN, I finally got through to the nurse.
Me: So, I’m kind of in the most pain.
Nurse: When did you have the procedure done? Pain is normal.
Me: Pain is…normal? I don’t think that’s…ever…the case…whatever. Over two weeks ago.
Nurse: OVER TWO WEEKS AGO GOOD GRIEF THAT SHOULD NOT STILL BE HAPPENING! I mean, um. Ha ha. Maybe come in, like, IMMEDIATELY, we’ll check you out.
THAT inspired confidence, let me tell you.
So I went in. An actual quote from one of the people checking me out: “Your ovaries are in the right place.” WHAT? Was there a possibility they WEREN’T GOING TO BE? Where might they be? My LUNGS? Good gracious now I’m worried about ovary migration.
Then I got put in a waiting room and seriously, doctor’s office, WHAT IS HAPPENING. You put me in a room, you tell me to take off my pants, and then you DON’T SHOW UP FOR HALF AN HOUR. This is the worst. It’s like a fraternity initiation prank. This time there were magazines, so I read this weird magazine that I think the local college produces. Some of the articles: how to analyze the people you kiss (I wish I could tell you what the answer to the analysis was, but it wanted you to buy some book for further information, I was not impressed at this bait-and-switchery); how to make these totally impossible-looking chocolate cakes with like two pages of instructions (no, thanks, that’s what cake mix is for, I’m not embarrassed) and an interview with someone that supposedly “made it big in Hollywood” but really she had tiny roles in three indie films, and I know about seventeen people LOCALLY who’ve done better than that, so really, if that’s making it big, I know a lot of BIG STAAAHHHHS. Then I finished that magazine so I read a really old People magazine. People magazine makes me sad for the state of the world. It really does. It’s like a step above a tabloid, and not even a big step. A step-let. A baby step. Who reads this, except people forced to in waiting rooms? Also, there were a lot of photos of Bieber with his shirt off frolicking in the water with some underaged chick I didn’t recognize. So I was sitting there semi-nude looking at semi-nude photos of the Biebs and this was all very disturbing on a lot, lot, LOT of levels.
Then the next person who very much wanted to see my cooch came in and I explained the situation and her exact words were, “In very, very, VERY few cases, the pain can last a very long time. There’s no way to tell how long it will last. It really just depends on how long you can stand it before we do something about it.”
WHAT THE HELL. Also, don’t you totally think it’s awesome I won the one in a million pain lottery and am one of the ONLY PEOPLE who has PERSISTENT PAIN from this? I mean, look at those odds I just beat! Ka-pow! I’m like a pain SUPERHERO.
She also made these fakey-fake sad faces. I could have made better sad faces. Yes, I know, I have theater training, but seriously, lady, practice in front of a mirror, or something. Those look like you just bit a lemon. Or you’re reacting how you THINK someone who just bit a lemon would react if you grew up in a closet and never had human interaction.
So then she’s all, “I can’t do anything, I’m just a NP, you’ll have to come back next week and see a doctor.”
This is totally a scam to get my co-pays and you people are all going out dancing with my co-pay money, don’t you even deny it.
She also asked how much ibuprofen I was taking, and when I told her, she said if I wanted, instead of taking 2 every 4 hours, I could take 4 every 8 hours. You know, shake things up a little. Variety is the spice of life. All that jazz. Jazz hands.
So next week I have to go BACK and see Dr. Ernie and explain all OVER again how I’m in total pain and I’m pretty much buying all the ibuprofen the Rite Aid has to offer and I think they think I’m a junkie over there. An IBROPROFEN junkie. How much fun is THAT? The most. THIS IS TOTALLY THE MOST FUN.
AND, quick update, right before I was all, “THIS POST IS WRITTEN AND READY TO POST,” I got home and had a message from the doctor’s office (even though they KNOW to call me at work during business hours) saying to call them urgently at the office. So this is it, folks, my test results came back and my ovaries are really in my lungs after all. It’s been nice knowing you all.
UPDATE THE SECOND. This is even BETTER, no joke. So I called them this morning from work. Left a message. Prepared for kooky phone tag hijinks. They actually called me right back. The test results came back, and I might or might not have some sort of infection. Might or might not? you ask. YES. Because the test results said “there was neither enough nor too little bacteria present to indicate the lack or presence of an infection.” WHAT DOES THIS EVEN MEAN. Was my test slide like this barren wasteland, with a tumbleweed whirling by every once in a while? Did they take the test wrong? IS MY OVARY IN MY LUNG OR NOT? The nurse said I could either come back in today for a re-test (I think because they want to try out that new jazzy dance club that just opened and need my co-pay) or I can wait until Tuesday when I see Dr. Ernie. “Well, am I going to die, or not die, in the next five days, due to bacteria that may, or may not, be present?” I asked her. “No, it’s not the kind of infection that kills you, if you have it,” she said. “Also, don’t be worried. It’s not an STD.” OH THANKS LADY FOR IMPLYING I WAS WORRIED ABOUT THAT. “I wasn’t worried,” I said. “Because if that’s an STD, that’s one wait-and-bide-your-time STD, whoo!” She was silent. This confused her. “I’ll just wait til Tuesday,” I said. She agreed that was a good move and we parted ways.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN. Tune in NEXT WEEK for the next installed of “My ovary might be in my lung (subtitled: Bacteria? Bacteria? Where are you, bacteria?)”
You all know my Science Fellow, right? Right. Andreas! My Science Fellow!
(Are you totally all blown away with the new graphic? Yeah, I can’t take even the slightest bit of credit for this. Andreas made it himself. The last one was the suck.)
Listen, did you all SEE in the COMMENTS the other day that Andreas TOTALLY GOT TO NAME NEW SPECIES?
No, I’m totally serious. THERE IS A BOOK. With his NAME on it. I know! You people thought I was screwing around when I set out to get a science fellow. NO SIRREE BOB! I have a VERY SERIOUS SCIENCE FELLOW!
Here’s his comment when I geeked out when he randomly mentioned that he got to name a new species:
“I did too get to name new species! It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, though. Quite laborious, actually. And no, you don’t name them after yourself – that’s frowned upon.
This was during my time as an evolutionary biologist in Sweden, and I was studying a genus of dark-winged fungus gnats called Pseudozygoneura. That’s ‘Fake bended vein’ in English, referring to the genus Zygoneura with its distorted wing-vein (i.e. Pseudozygoneura looks like Zygoneura but is not, in fact, Zygoneura).
There were only a couple of species of Pseudozygoneura known to science when I started, but we discovered 40-50 new ones from all around the tropics during the next few years. And they all had to be described, illustrated and named (By the way: illustrating 1-2mm long dark-winged fungus gnats is HARD!). So, you try to come up with descriptive names if possible, or perhaps a name referring to the location the species was discovered. Or even a name describing what you felt when discovering it.
So it involves a coming up with a phrase that could be translated to Latin or latinised Greek, and didn’t sound like crap. Ideally, they should be easily understood by other scientists, and not make you look like an ignorant fool. A couple of names I still remember is Pseudozygoneura facilis, Pseudozygoneura consilia and Pseudozygoneura flagelloparva. The work was later published and can be found referred to by Googling ‘Hippa, Vilkamaa & Heinakroon’, although I’ve never actually read the finished article.”
No, seriously, this is just the coolest thing ever, right? How many people do YOU know that got to name new species? He’s totally being all downplayey about it now but that’s because he’s cool like that. This is just about the most exciting thing.
If I got to name a new species, I would be spectacularly bad at it, because I would not be able to stay on task. Like, at all. And I’d SO want my name to be part of it. And I’d want something like “shiny” to be in there. Because if I discovered a new species, no matter what it was, it would totally be shiny to me. Even if it was a new species of leech or bacteria or mosquito or something. Oh, crap, you KNOW I’d name that species “something something ZOMG” right? I think they’d revoke my science license. Also, you DID notice that it says “how you felt when discovering it,” right? That’s the best. “I kind of have to pee”-fly. “The scientist at the desk next to me is just about the cutest I mean just LOOK at his GLASSES”-worm.
Anyway, I’m fairly sure other blogs are going to attempt to woo Andreas from me. I’ve really got to step up my game, here. Twizzlers just aren’t going to cut it. I’ve got to think of a better payment for his services rendered. Andreas? What do you want to assure your continued duties as the coolest science fellow to ever exist? Please bear in mind I’m very poor. But I’m crafty! No, not like a pickpocket. Like, I can make CRAFTS. I mean, they might be out of popsicle sticks, though. I can crochet! I can totally cut shit out of magazines and glue it places! I AM CRAFTY ANDREAS DON’T LEAVE ME!
Seriously, how lost and bereft in a sea of science info would we all be without Andreas? I’d be putting up that fish were mammals or something, you know I would. WE NEED ANDREAS. Without Andreas, this blog is just a BLOG where I am FOOLISH. WITH Andreas, it kind of, if you squint, can maybe be taken seriously on alternate Wednesdays when the moon is full.
So YAY ANDREAS for being TOTALLY THE MOST IMPRESSIVELY SCIENCY!
Happy weekend, everyone! What am I doing? Oh, nothing much, no big, just SEEING THE NEPHEW, that’s all. I KNOW, I KNOW! I got an email late in the day saying The Nephew and his mom were taking a last-minute trip down to visit this weekend and did I have any free time this weekend? DO I HAVE ANY FREE TIME??? Well, no, not really, but hell, I’ll create some out of stardust and unicorn rainbows if it means I get to see my best little guy. I AM SO EXCITED.
Also, I’m going to watch Team America and live-tweet it for Ken and Jim because they said I had to. I’m pretty sure they want to see how embarrassed I’ll get about puppet sex. SPOILER ALERT I’m a total prude. The answer is, probably the most embarrassed. And probably a little grossed out. OH! And also I’m going to the movies with friend C. and also maybe to dinner. We have many choices – I think it’s down to Hugo, Wanderlust, The Artist, or The Descendants. I’ll keep you posted. FUN AWAITS! THE NEPHEWWWWWWWW!