16 December 2015

SIDS test, Gastroparesis, psych eval. All in a day's work

934: I've been in the valet parking line for 15 minutes! I'm not a self entitled brat, not usually anyway. I just am fully hydrated and really want to be less so. But that ought to be done in a restroom, rather then the driver seat of a car..

1000: whew relief. In a building. With my car safely and freely parked by someone who hopefully won't lose it like I would have!

1005: "hi what are you here for?"
"The annual Christmas party! They said they'd have live koalas to cuddle this year!"
The receptionist looks slightly horrified and also offended that nobody invited her. 
"Um... I don't think that's today..." She was clearly trying to assess my mental health. Get in line, lady. So is everyone else!
"Are you sure? I have the invitation right here!" I replied and pulled my orders for my SMART study. "Oh, you're right. Today is my SMART pill study! I guess the koalas are next week!"

More blank stares.

"No really, Dr. So-and-so ordered this test. I looked it up last night and WebMD knows about it so I know it's a real test! I'm swallowing pills with cameras in them so they can record my guts!"

Alarmed looks, now the lady is poised by what I assume is the panic button. I'm intrigued, will a trap door open in the ceiling and ninja drop in and karate chop my orders in half? I take a half step back (which for visual help, is more like a quarter step back because I have little legs)
"Yes miss. Please go sit down, we'll... Investigate... And call you back up..." 

It's okay, tonight they'll go home and tell heir family about the crazy midget who wanted to cuddle koalas instead of having a photo-op of her guts. You're welcome family.

1050: I'm regretting my shenanigans. But only slightly. Mostly because I think the two receptionists are have a fierce thumb war, then rock, paper, scissors war to see who has to deal with me. I'll make it easier for them, I'll just get back in line. Poor humans.

"We... We don't know anything about this SMART test. But I don't think it's done here." The other receptionist tentatively said. They decided to tag team me. They're both helping me. (Safety in numbers? Buddy system? Who knows.) 

1100: my phone rings. UCI is calling me. Weird. I'm at UCI. I look up to see one of the receptionists in the phone, staring in my general direction. 
"Hello?" (This is much better than the greeting we used to use when we were kids and trying to intercept calls from school trying to report bad grades or bad behavior with "Harry's morgue, you stab 'em, we slab 'em!" That I was tempted to use.)
"Hi, this is J----, I'm the nurse for your doctor. I'm not seeing this test you're talking about. The receptionist felt it would be easier to understand coming from me." She said hesitantly.
"Oh dear. Im sure this is where I'm supposed to go. The lady on the phone told me l was to come to this building, this floor, at this time. She was really secretive about it so maybe she thought I was her drug dealer. I'm not though. A drug dealer. Unless you want some anti puking pills. Except I couldn't sell you much because without them I would barf all over you."

"Really?" She questioned. 

"Well, technically she told me to show up any time Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. So that would have been a terrible drug deal. But otherwise, here, this place." 

"Let me look...." 

I wondered for long it would take me to get kicked out. 
 A moment later she nearly shouted into the phone "OH!! A SIDS test!" 

"Huh? No, I was told it was a SMART study." I told her.

"Yep, that's this! You need to go to the main building, next to the ER!" She said triumphantly.

This seemed like a trap. I was told specifically to come to this building, this suite. They were probably going to send me to the psych building...

"I'm sure I need to be here. That's what the lady told me. And she didn't say anything about a SIDS test. And what's more, why are you trying to test me for a sudden infant death syndrome. I may be short and lack certain mature personality traits, but I'll have you know, I'm taller than my 8 year old niece!" (Barely.) 

She sighed. 

A few minutes later, I found myself in the basement of the main building surrounded by people who had the same birthday as me. Not kidding. How we got to talking about it, I'm unsure. But the madness was put to a stop as I was trying to organize everyone by birth year. True story. 

A tall scrubbed man came in, called me by name and told me to follow him. 

"Okay. But you know, I'm not crazy. This all started because of a joke. I don't actually NEED to see my friends with the white jackets. Although, I wouldn't say no to a hug. But from myself seems a bit selfish."

He stared. "What kind of test are you here for?"

"Well, I came to the other building for a SMART study. But apparently I'm supposed to be here. But now they're saying its for a SIDS test."

"Oh yes. That's us." He said, relieved that I was making some sense to him

Another few minutes later and I was in a hospital gown with this beauty in my hand:

Those are markers that will stay in my guts and tell someone that in fact I DO have gastroparesis. They will not decide if I died suddenly in my infancy. 

An X-ray, a few snarky comments and some concerned looks later, And a peek at the orders to make sure I wasn't going to be kept on a mental health hold (turns out it's called a SITZ test. Similar sounds, total different meaning!) and I finally escaped. I mean, left.

I must return on Sunday, to the ER this time. I made them write down UCI Emergency Room With the date and time I was supposed to be there and sign it. But I left it behind along with a fascinating article about gluten-free diets fads. 

And this ladies and gentlemen is why I shouldn't be allowed in public.

02 December 2015

Dream Dibe is a dirtbag

Some people have alter-egos. Some people claim voices, blame hormones and PMS or mental health difficulties. Some people cite shoulder angels and Devils for their decision making process.

I try to be pretty honest with people. "I'm kind of a dirt bag, I'm just really good at hiding it!" 
It turns out, my dirtbaggery is conditional. On sleep. 

No kidding.

There was a day that I woke up and my feet were covered in grass, my bed room door was locked and the back door was swinging open. 
"Clearly I was abducted by aliens!" I reasoned.
"Or kidnapped and when they realized that holding me for ransom would not only NOT yield a financial gain, but that they'd most likely end up paying to give me back, they snuck me back in bed before I ever woke up!" I was sure some kind of tom foolery had taken place.

Later that morning, as I was climbing the stairs at work, my Fitbit told me that I had accomplished my daily goal of waking 10,000 steps. 
Weird... I've only been awake for about and hour and a half... I checked my GPS, apparently Dream Dibe was feeing a little cooped up, and went for a late night stroll. A 3 mile stroll. Thanks Dream Dibe, getting my exercise whilst asleep.

A week or Two later. I awoke and something was amiss. 
This says: Dear Dibe. Look down! Do you know where your ring and necklace are? I do. Good luck. Game on! Dream Dibe.

Sure enough, when I looked down, my necklace and my ring were missing. I searched everywhere and a few days later, I found my necklace folded up in a pair of socks. The ring is still at large. 

A few nights ago, I dreamed a dream. A dreamt that my arm had been amputated in a horrific accident, after a quick recovery, Dream Dibe was angry. Angry and bitter. Not because of an amputation. No. Dream Dibe was pissed because she had an Arsenal of great one-legged jokes and zero one armed jokes. She was angry that the right limb hadn't been destroyed.

So there you have it. Dream Dibe (much like Awake Dobe) values a good joke over necessities like walking.