Here’s what I don’t get. I’m a nice person. I pay my rent on time. I leave the places I’ve rented cleaner than when I first moved in. I handle the problems that arise WITHOUT bothering the landlord.

So what exactly have I done to make ANOTHER landlord decide to sell the house that I am living in?

Fortunately we get first dibs, and she’s assured me that our lease supercedes whatever sales agreement she makes.

However, our lease is up in May next year and if we don’t decide to buy it we have to be prepared (though she’ll give me a few hours’ notice) to have people come through and look at the place.

WHAT DID I DO IN MY LIFE? Was I previously a Nazi war criminal or something? Did I starve puppies and kick babies?

For added fun I get to go to see the specialist again today, whereupon he will tell me a) we don’t know what’s wrong with you (surprise, surprise), b) let’s run more tests (whee!) and c) we might never know.

Dandy.

Yesterday I had a liver biopsy.

Billed as a minor surgical procedure, it still required IV sedation, so to me, it seemed a smidge more than minor.

The drugs they gave me were, according to the nurse, “to make you do what we want, but be half-asleep… and they’re slightly amnesic, so you won’t remember much.”

The nurses were great, my IV was in with not much trouble (first time I’ve ever not had a massive bruise on my hand) and they were marking me with a pen when the doctor came in.

Fortunately the drugs weren’t in me yet, because proclaiming that Doogie Howser wasn’t doing my surgery didn’t seem like the best plan.

Instead, I smiled, said, “You look younger than me. You are SO not allowed to do my surgery.”

Fortunately they all laughed and he assured me that one, he was older than me (maybe, but just barely), and two, he would be assisting the other doctor, who, I would be happy to know, was a grandfather.

Here’s the thing. You’re getting a delicate procedure done, one that requires many years of experience because most of it is done by eye from outside of the body. I’m sorry, but I want the oldest person on staff who’s been doing this since before I was born, not the kid who has perfect skin (unbelievable, he said it was genes), blushed when I flirted with him and said he used to watch Doogie Howser too. Uhuh, no way.

The doctor who came in had the perfect balance of wrinkles and white hair and a lovely German accent. The nurses told him that I was pleased he was old enough to do my surgery and as he looked at me over his spectacles, I grinned and said, “Perfect blend of age and beauty.”

He chuckled and said I was cheeky. Then he asked if my dad was old enough to ever do my surgery and I said, “of course, but also, he gets automatic dad points.”

By this point they were starting to drug me, so they pulled aside the gown, draped the area and started the ultrasound to see my liver.

I vaguely remember this part, but basically they numbed my side with Novocaine and used a spring-loaded pressured giant needle to push into my side and take the biopsies. They took four.

The weird thing was I distinctly remember the sound of the pressure releasing and the pain of the needle plunging in. Mainly, I think, because they had to keep me awake to hold my breath every time they put the needle in.

Why, you ask? Well apparently it’s because your liver moves every time you breathe, due to its proximity to your lungs. And that’s a pain, because now every time I breathe it hurts. Lovely, all around.

I was quite lucid when they wheeled me to recovery and aside from the pain when I breathed, was ready to go home. Unfortunately they want to make sure you clot, so they made me lay on the offended side for an hour, then stay there for three more.

My parents and the Porkchop came back to sit with me and whilst we waited I taught my dad how to use his laptop, lol.

They gave me lunch and wanted me to drink liquids, but then neglected to tell me that if I had to pee, I’d need to do it in a bedpan until the allotted time lying down was over. Yeah, I’ll hold it, thanks.

We used to live in the area when my dad was in the military and he and my mom desperately wanted to visit a turkey farm they remembered (for pot pies) and an ice cream stand. Since it was only 30 minutes from the hospital (and we were about two hours from home), I said why not and we ended up spending most of the afternoon having lunch at a diner on the side of the road (they hadn’t eaten), buying pot pies at a turkey farm and going into sugar comas at a huge ice cream stand (gah).

Heading for home, the Porkchop agreed to drive (my dad had been driving and the man is a BAD driver.. he doesn’t pay attention, he hits all the potholes and he slams on brakes.. not good for a person whose side hurts and needs to take shallow breaths to control the pain) and we made it home in an hour and a half.

I went to bed almost immediately and this morning I feel much better. Although my side is still painful, I’m more aware of how to breathe to minimize the discomfort. I can’t twist around, I move quite slowly and can’t lift anything or do anything for the next three days.

The rest of them are still asleep, so I’m padding about the house by myself, trying to decide if it’s been 24 hours since the procedure so I can shower.

It hasn’t, but I’m thinking two hours doesn’t make much difference, lol.

My mom’s dad died when she was young, so I’ve only ever known three of my grandparents.

My nana (my mom’s mom), who was one of my closest friends, died three years ago this month.

My dad’s mom died last May.

This morning my dad’s dad passed away in his sleep.

It’s weird knowing that my parents are now the oldest living relatives I have. And they’re only in their early fifties.

My grandfather.
In my family, good looks and the need for a gun are very prevalent. 😉

I drive through two small towns on my way to work—one main street, five miles, give or take. It’s a quiet, cute little town, full of cape cod-inspired homes, children walking their dogs and old men sitting at sidewalk cafes. It’s a nice drive and it always makes me smile.

A deli who’s sign said “Freash Subs Daily” for three months before they realized it.

A woman who always walks her two terriers at the same time, every morning, without fail.

An old man, a felt hat perched on his head, who sits at the coffee shop and watches the cars drive by… or the women run by, I’ve never quite figured it out. 😉

As summer comes into full swing, new faces pepper the sidewalk. Families on vacation, couples taking a break from work, college students working their summer jobs… you can always tell why these people are here. It’s the perfect summer town.

This morning I watched a couple of young teenagers come around a corner onto Main. They were slim, tan and obviously nervous—she picked at her bag and he hunched his shoulders, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a rugby shirt (you know, the one where it’s all white and then the arms are red? whatever, I call it a rugby shirt.) and it made his slight frame seem taller, his shoulders broader. I wonder if he knows that? Or if his mom bought the shirt for him and he just put it on, not realizing the effect it would have on the girl walking with him.

I considered the plausibility as I slowed down coming into the next small town and I drove past a couple of guys building a fence. I smiled, they smiled, their teeth shining white against dark tans.

Now I sit here at work and I can hear little kids playing in the park one block away and the barber jawboning with his favorite customers.

I love this town.

Argh. One point bloody seven!

Every other number is fine, but since my bili is still up, I’m stuck. Mind you, I’m not surprised at all—I actually thought it’d be at 1.9, .2 less is better than expected.

Completely different note.. has anyone been watching this new show The Unit on CBS? It’s really good.

Well my bili only dropped .9, so unfortunately, it’s still not normal.

On the other hand, all of my other numbers have dropped out of the red.

My dad’s decided that I probably definitely have Gilbert’s, and this cold (and other stress, like work and not going home) will probably keep my bilirubin slightly elevated.

Lovely.

Now I get to go back to work and tell my boss that he can’t stress me out because I’ll turn yellow again. hehehe 😉

For her, I shall explain what the hell I’ve been talking about for two months.

Bilirubin: This number says the quantity of bile salt that’s in your blood. Typically the number is between .2 and 1. As it rises, bile salt backs up in your blood stream and your skin starts taking on a yellow shade. Then you start to itch and the whites of your eyes turn yellow. My dad (and the doctors back here) have never someone with a bilirubin over 15—I hit 29.7 at the peak, which means I was dark yellow and itchy as hell.

ALT and AST: These are liver enzyme numbers. Typically they range between 5 and 50, give or take. Once you start passing 50, there’s something wrong with your liver. These numbers tell the doctors that something is attacking the liver and it needs checked out.

Albumen: This is a protein number. Normally you’re supposed to be between 3.0 and 3.5. My dad calls it the “starvation index,” the lower it is, the more starved your body is for protein. I had hit about 2.1 I think, which was why I dropped so much weight and why I had no energy. I’m at a 4.1 now, which comes from eating a ridiculous quantity of protein and fat—i.e., bacon. 🙂

Does that explain it Le Will?

At least it’s not rising, that’s what I keep telling myself.

My AST dropped to within normal range and my albumen is very high (which means, THANK GOD, I can stop eating bacon)… but my ALT is still high and the bili’s at a 3.8 (normal is .2 to 1). Argh.

I know I should be thankful that it’s dropping, and I am, don’t get me wrong… but I had hoped this would be my first week of normal labs. Two straight weeks of normal and we get to talk about me going home… the insider misses home.

And vodka.

We did labs again today (my new favorite Tuesday activity) and fortunately my bilirubin is still dropping. As slow as molasses… but at least it’s going down. On the other hand, my ALT went up again and my AST stayed elevated. I feel leaps and bounds better than I did a month ago, but honest to god I am so ready for this to be over.

The insider wants to go home. I miss my home. I miss my job (actually I’m still doing my job, but I miss the office). I know, I know, it’s sick, but you don’t understand. I. am. so. bored.

I work, I read books (although now I am out of Terry Pratchett—the Man again with the good taste—and my dad is pressing me to read Bible prophesy books, sigh) and I watch movies with my mom. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I’m no longer sick and I have fun with my mom, but enough’s enough.

So how is the wide world of blogging doing? It’s now March (or will be in six minutes)… do tell how 2006 is treating you. I have decided that 2006 is going to be, shall we say, a bust year. The year I hope to forget. Now I think I have Grampa on this train too, so what about the rest of you? Good year so far, or bad?

Remember, today was Fat Tuesday. If you didn’t party, that’s not a good sign. 🙂

Well my blood test results came in and I’m at an 8.8. Eh. We thought I’d be at a 4 by now. I can deal with an 8.

But… my ALT and AST (liver enzymes that say how healthy your liver is) are elevated again and my albumin (which says how much protein/food/bacon I’m getting) has dropped again. Bugger.

I’m less itchy and I’m off all the meds that made me wacky (like forgetting entire days I’ve lived in the past two months), and I’m really hoping that everything drops back to normal by next week.

Or they might make me get a liver biopsy. Argh.