1.06.2010

I'm back, bitches.

You may have noticed that Meg hasn't posted an entry since last Wednesday and has been out "sick" all week. Well, I guess it's time to come clean. You may know Meghan McBlogger a little bit better by her real name—Casey Johnson.

BWAHAHA, just kidding. I'm right here. Alive. (Oh. Meg, that is. Not Casey Johnson. I'm pretty sure she actually is dead.) (By the way: Casey Johnson jokes. Too soon? Not soon enough? Yes? No? 17 carat hole in my head courtesy of Tila Tequila? Thought so.) But the Meghan McBlogger/Casey Johnson thing would explain my anonymity and sudden disappearance pretty glamorously though, right? Unfortunately I've just been genuinely sick and overall...out of it. And by "out of it," I clearly mean depressed. But that's ok, it happens to the best of us. And...by "us," I clearly mean people with Depression. People with Depression tend to get depressed; an irritating little fact. So I apologize for my disappearance, but every now and then I need to lock myself in my apartment and sleep for 16 hours a day, waking only to cry and drink Pepto Bismol. And watch a few episodes of Maude on Youtube. Because, you know, viva Bea Arthur. Plus, you really wouldn't want me to blog when I'm depressed. My entries would be like "The 20 Male Poses of Facebook TO KILL YOURSELF BY". And "Ambien & Evie & MORE AMBIEN & WHISKEY". BUT! I'm fine. I'm still here, doin' my thang. In fact, I just made the unique decision of unwinding from work by watching Inglorious Basterds for the first time. Alone. And Jesus Crush do I regret that decision. Don't get me wrong, it was totally badass and I highly recommend it, but I was in no way emotionally prepared for how violent and disturbing it was and I sort of wish I hadn't watched it alone. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. It is, after all, a Quentin Tarantino film about killing Nazis. I knew what I was getting myself into. It's not like I popped in Mary Poppins and SHOCK! it turned out to be Schindler's List. This is like the time Alex called to see if I wanted to come over and watch Jarhead with him. I politely declined because I wasn't really in the mood and he jovially said he'd go ahead and watch it alone. He called back a few hours later and squaked out, "Meg...............Jarhead is not a romantic comedy." No, Alex, Jarhead is not a romantic comedy. And Inglorious Basterds isn't a lighthearted Nazi romp. These are the days of our lives...

MORAL OF THE STORY: I'm not dead. Although to be fair, it totally looks like I tried to slice open my right wrist, which is only slightly embarrassing. To clarify, I didn't try to kill myself. I mean, I'm depressed, but like listen to The Smiths, watch Shopgirl and cry and cry and cry depressed, not playin' the old wrist violins depressed. And more to the point, I didn't even do this to my wrist
my doctor did. Yeah that's right, I actually went to the doctor. And look what happened. Who's the "immature" and "unhealthy" one now, huh??

It all started on New Year's Eve (because of course it did. As discussed, only horrible things happen on New Year's Eve.) I really did get sick, that wasn't just a bullshit cover for being depressed. (Ain't no shame in my game. Lord knows you're not psyched 100% of the time.) After I ate lunch, I had what can only be eloquently described as an "explosive stomach situation." I assumed I had food poisoning because I made the somewhat questionable decision of getting tuna salad from an establishment that shall remain nameless because I can't afford foods that aren't in the gummy family, nevertheless a law suit. Let's just say I don't know what I was thinking when I went to the establishment in Adams Morgan that sells novelty over sized pizza slices to drunk people at 4 o'clock in the morning and thought, "Ooo! I bet they have great seafood!" I assumed I'd be fine after a day or so, but when the explosive part cleared up, the painful stomach situation still lingered. (Yet again, no, you can not have sex with me.) I decided the retching stomach pain might be worth taking a trip to the clinic for, so I hauled my ass in.

First of all, when I was filling out my medical history, there was an empty space for hobbies and I had a personal identity crisis when I couldn't think of anything to put. Although legitimate, "assing around" just never seems like an appropriate answer. Once in the room, the nurse went over my medical history with me. "So are you taking any other medication besides what you listed?" Nope. "...No birth control?" I had conflicting emotions about this question. Part of me wanted to slap him on the back and say, "Well bless your heart for thinking I need it!" while the other was sort of offended. Because Lord knows I alter my body chemistry enough, if I don't want to add anything else to it, that's my prerogative. And shit, maybe I'm a raging Catholic! What does he know? I figured he thinks I either look super: a.) attractive and therefore obviously sexually active; b.) slutty-slutty-two-by-four-can't-get-through-the-condom-door; or c.) Jewish. I made the executive decision to chose A. I take my wins where I can get 'em.

After a little pokin' and prodding by the doctor, she decided that I probably have an ulcer and therefore needed to run some tests and take a blood sample. Which was cool with me. When I had mono I got blood taken pretty much every week so I'm used to it by now. BUT OH NO! It's never that easy, is it? We had old nurse OrthoTriJackass at the helm. And of course he couldn't find my vein with both hands and a map. Seriously, I had weekly blood tests for a month and not once could the tech not find the vein in my arm. OrthoTriJackass, however, could not get over my petite little veins. He told me he was super sorry, but he was going to have to draw my blood from the inside of my wrist, which he totally doesn't like to do because it's painful but geez you must be a Vampire because where are those slutty little veins of yours?! My initial reaction was to ask him to look harder. I mean seriously, if it's that painful, maybe just slap my arm a few more times or tighten the band? Borrow my reading glasses? Phone a friend? Something? Anything? In the end I decided to keep my mouth shut because I figured getting sassy with the person about to stab me with a sharp object was probably not the best idea. He jabbed the needle into my wrist and applied pressure directly on the vein to help move the blood flow along (blood flows so slowly out of your wrist versus your arm, don't you know! LOLZ!) As this went down, I turned the other way and grabbed my scarf with my free hand to relive some tension. Not dramatically or anything. It was casual. Elegant. Jazzy. However, sensing this was not a pleasant experience for me, the nurse tried to make conversation. Which I can appreciate, I really can. However, he chose to lead with: "So Meghan, are you spiritual?" Great. I have a needle sticking out of my wrist and a small Indian man milking blood out of it. Let's bring the Lord in. This can only end well. "Uh...I don't know. Not really, I guess?" "Well it's just I noticed you're wearing a turquoise necklace. They say certain stones relate to the stars and the energy of the heavens." I don't mean to sound like a heinous bitch, but I had zero patience for this conversation. At that moment, I couldn't think of anything else in the world that I wanted to talk about less. What stone relates to not shitting your brains out on New Year's Eve, sir? Because that's the stone I'd like to talk about, and that stone only.

Finally the ordeal was over, the doctor came back in and told me her verdict: She was pretty sure I have an ulcer but some pills and lifestyle changes would take care of it. "What kind of lifestyle changes?" I asked. "Well you're going to have stop the alcohol and caffeine." My response?

LOL!!!1

I looked at her and with a completely straight face said, "Doctor, those are the two main staples of my diet." "...............Well, change your diet," she said with only a hint of horror and judgement in her eyes.

After I crossed-my-heart-and-hoped-to-die that I'd cut down on the alcohol and caffeine and dancin' with the boys and readin' the big city books, I left and immediately called my mom. "MOM!" I shamelessly whined, "I JUST HAD AN OWIE EXPERIENCE!" My mom's breath caught in her throat and she blurted out, "OH MEGHAN. PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE NOT PREGNANT." Ok. First of all, I don't know if I'd describe finding out that I'm pregnant and possibly aborting a child to my mom as an "Owie Experience." Secondly, why does everyone think I'm gettin' some?! Because I will be the first to tell you; I'm not. And again, I guess I'm flattered by the assumption, but in the end it only reminds me that the only person sharing my bed is my laptop and occasionally Evie. "No Mom. I'm not pregnant. Only people who have sex get pregnant." "OH. GOOD. Well, sorry for you. BUT GOOD."

After assuring my mom that she wasn't going to be a Bube in nine months, I went to CVS to drop off my prescription. Unfortunately for me and my stomach, my rickety health insurance plan doesn't cover the medicine I need, so I spent the next 45 minutes passing love notes between my doctor, my insurance company and the surly CVS pharmacist. After being put on hold by my doctor for 20 minutes only to be disconnected (for the second time,) I decided fuck this noise, bought a pack of tums and went to meet Alex for dinner. As I followed Alex up the stairs to his apartment he told me I had to try a new drink he had made. "Eeeesh...I don't know. My doctor told me I should lay off alcohol and caffeine for a while." Alex's reaction:

LOL!!!1

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT I SAID!" Again, these are the days of our lives...

So, despite my stomach still being in knots and still feeling super "out of it," I finally put back on my big girl pants and went back to work yesterday. To cheer myself up, however, I brought in the Antwerp flag mouse pad my sister got me for Chrismukkah. "This way when you're at work and you want to kill yourself, just look down and think about running away to Antwerp!" she told me. (Most thoughtful gift ever, right??) About an hour after I got to work, Russell the Homophobic Co-Worker came in, walked passed my desk, pointed to my mouse pad and with the fear of god in his eyes asked, "Is that a gay pride flag?!"



(Not:)



Sigh. "No Russell. It's Antwerp's province flag." Russell gave out a hearty laugh, shook his head and walked away muttering something, the only word of which I caught being, "shoo." I looked down at my accidentally suicide-y wrist wresting on the Antwerp flag and thought to myself, "Yep. I'm back."

48 comments:

Janet said...

lol...I'm sorry you've been having a rough go of it, but I really needed your humor right now. Maybe OrthoTriJackass wasn't really trying to be OrthoTriJackass...maybe your feeling under the weather (a polite way of saying "like shit") caused your veins to hide and made you into a temporary "blood Nazi" (like the soup Nazi from Seinfeld, only with blood). I hope you get to feeling better. If you can't afford the meds at the pharmacy, maybe try to get some Prilosec OTC (don't try the Prevacid, it's not for actual problem and should not be taken seriously as a stomach medicine). It will take it a while, but while you're waiting for relief, use Gaviscon (do the max dose).

Lydia said...

I'm sorry you were sick, but it's good to have you back and feeling (relatively) better! And I always get stuck with an idiot trying to take my blood too. My favorite part is when they swab my arm with alcohol to sterilize it, and then dry my arm with an unsterile cotton ball, thereby making the whole process worthless. Also, I totally laughed at "not playin' the old wrist violins," and intend to include that in my daily language. :)

AmanDUH said...

You are the funniest thing since sliced bread!

The Realist said...

Sorry about the ulcer. My friend in med school (ironically) had one due to, you know, endless hours of learning how to be healthy.

In other news,

When I was 16 and FAT as all get out in high school and finally wore my mother down enough to have her take me to the dermatologist to get accutane (back when they still prescribed this shit), the doctor wrote me a prescription for birth control because being pregnant and on accutane means disfigured baby with a side order of law suit.

I told them I didn't need it. They said I did.

I said I wasn't having sex.
She nurse said, "well, just in case."

my MOTHER, who was in the room, literally laughed outloud and had to excuse herself from the room.

L said...

welcome to 2010. It can only go up from here.

Elliot said...

God you're awesome

Anonymous said...

2009 sucked everyone's balls. 2010's gonna be better! i promise!

The D said...

I'm not going to lie, I had no idea who Casey Johnson was until now (when I finally looked it up) because, in all honesty, I thought every time I heard the name people were talking about Casey Jones and my reaction was always "Bad ass, people are talking about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles again in day-to-day conversation!"

Depression sucks a fat one, I got off meds for it a while back and I do OK now, but every once in a while there's that week when you don't want to leave bed or see anyone. And the worst part is making up actual illnesses to cover for it so you don't have to admit you're having a solo reenactment of a Cymbalta commercial.

kallaydoscope said...

How is it that docs/nurses always find the MOST inappropriate thing to say when they're doing the most inappropriate things?

I went to my annual swoop & scoop appointment once and whilst spread wide on the table with my feet in the stables, the lady doc says "Wow! Do you wax?"
To which I replied "No! Why?" (looking back this was a bad choice)
"Well, my golly, can you give me some pointers? You did an excellent job!"

(what the fuck lady? what the fuck?)

And then she went on the LONGEST tirade asking questions about what razor I use and "Did I have to sit down?" and "Is there a better shaving cream than the peach scented Gillette?"...tilting her head like a curious child.

Needless to say, I have not been comfortable with women doctors since.

Bren said...

i almost just puked at my desk thinking of getting blood taken from my wrist (it hurts to even type) ahhhhhh hope you feel better!

mozzarellaandmerlot said...

Funny story: my family, Boyfriend, and I (because we're a pretty f*ed up bunch) rented Inglourious Basterds on, um, Christmas Eve. Only when my mom typed the title into Redbox.com, she SPELLED IT CORRECTLY (inglorious bastards) and we wound up with the 1970's version. Which, in case you were wondering, is not at all entertaining. I don't recommend it.

Hallie said...

I am a new reader to the blog, but just wanted to comment to say I LOVE it. Seriously smart and funny stuff. Also, I went to American University, graduating in 2007. Maybe we know each other...?

Last sentence is a little Creepy McCreepster, but- what can you do?

PS: Sorry you were so sick. Glad you're feeling better.

sarah said...

welcome back! i gotta say, my workdays were becoming more productuve for a minute there and i was NOT. LIKING. IT. as for the ulcer... i got some in college (for pretty much the same reasons as you... living solely on a diet of KFC, 100% columbian roast and keystone light. oh, and marlboro reds. which also don't help) and honestly... i hate doctors so i just always kept tums on hand and i'm fine. i used the tums route for 4 years (and then some, since i'm now out of college but still eat and behave like i'm a freshman hellbent on taking more shots of 151 than the male counterparts i'm drinking with) so, don't take 'em too seriously until you start internally bleeding.

Michelle said...

Ahhhhh I totally had an endoscopy the week before new years (they stick a tube down your throat and take pictures of your stomach). These lovely pictures revealed an ulcer and gastritis. After much googling I found that gastritis is caused by prolonged excessive drinking and taking too much advil. Which is really a bitch, because clearly after excessively drinking I'm hungover the next day and I pop excedrins like they are gummy bears. So yeah. My prescription was: AVOID ALL ALCOHOLS, STOP TAKING ASPIRIN. Literally, they wrote this in caps on my prescription (and I got some strong prilosec-type anti-acid.) My response was... ummm like forever? The nurse picking up on my fear/obvious dependence on alcohol says nicely, just try it for a month sweetie. Yay for 2010... ringing in the sober susie.

mrs. darling said...

oh lord. i lived in africa for awhile after college and got an ulcer. so I went in for testing and the nurse who took my blood had to take it from my wrist because he was too stupid to get a vein in my arm to work. I nearly kicked him in the groin, it hurt so bad. there was also the issue of needing a stool sample but the ulcer was causing me to be constipated…so there was that debacle that included laxatives and humiliation.

not sure why I shared all of that with you. guess to say, I’m sorry-ulcers suck. and I second the prilosec recommendation – it’s what I take and works great.

Sarah P said...

You should have kicked the doctor in the nuts and asked him if he saw God now.

RetroTrasher said...

yay for getting sick on new years eve. I went to a doctor whose last name I couldn't pronounce and he hooked me up with tussin with codeine so I couldn't drink and I barely stayed away.
and I've been depressed all week (I'm so good at crying at my desk, not ONE coworker has noticed).

twinsies?

Anonymous said...

Ugh sorry you're sick!

If it makes you feel better 6 months out of the year I go to work with some ridiculous bruises thanks to the fact I play rugby. Last spring I was going through a bad break up and routinely cried at my desk. With both that and the bruising I'm pretty convinced my office thinks I am a battered woman.

emily said...

glad you're back meg, sorry you're feeling lousy!

i have malicious veins. as in, they look like they're nice and easy to stab, but really they like to roll and i have never had blood drawn w/o having to be stuck at least twice. often more. my recommendation: ask for the butterfly needle- it's tiny, easier to maneuver, and generally hurts less than the usual monsters they try and attack you with. good luck!

Lindsay said...

SINCE i work in a hospital, filled with lovely, beautiful nurses AND people just like OrthoTriJackass, I actually laughed out loud and snorted a little while reading this (delightfully long) post. Patients turned and looked at me. Oops!

Welcome back! So glad you're still alive & able to entertain.

Rachel said...

I mean, were always here for you, you ARE my sister wife.

Ashley said...

Glad to have you back Meg.

maggie said...

fuck doctors. the last time i got my blood drawn, my nurse (who resembled a lumberjack in every way, minus the plaid shirt and plus scrubs) assured me right off the bat with "Don't worry, i'm really good at this because i always work with the kids who come in" big smile. so, of course, it took four sticks to find my ridiculously huge vein and as soon as it was in, he turned around, hit the tube and literally yanked it out of my arm the WRONG WAY. he only noticed because i said "uhhh…" as i bled all over everything. his response was "whoopsie daisy!"

glad you're back!! i need this blog's humor in my life

Mona said...

ooo, ulcer, that totally sucks.

the closest I can come to relating is I had conjunctivitus last year, and the doctor had to look intensely into my eyes, I could only think "DOCTOR, ARE WE HAVING A MOMENT HERE?"

he was an old indian man, but it was the closest thing to a romantic situation I've been in for, approximately, ever it seems.

wrapping it up now: you know how twihards have their team jacob or team edward shit? well I might have to make a team russell shirt just because he is SO my favourite character in your life.

haha...okay that was a strong statement.

ashzilla said...

This might cheer you up.


http://www.pcsoweb.com/InmateBooking/SubjectResults.aspx?id=1383979


I dare you to say he doesn't look like Dr. Dre!

Dummy Essentials said...

Dear Meg and Chris,
Heartiest Congratulations on winning the Blogger's Choice Awards 2009 for 2 categories, the "Best Blog of All Time" and the "Best humor blog":)... u guys deserved winning all the way n rightly made it to the top position:)
Pooja and Ankit
Dummy Essentials
http://dummy-essentials.blogspot.com/

Jess said...

Your blog always makes me feel better. Maybe I can do the same for you:

Once upon a time I got sent to a neurologist. I was subjected to a battery of tests that my friends and I now only refer to as "the Rumsfeld torture" (read: needles in places they shouldn't be and electric shocks). At the end of the week o' fun, Neuro-man sent me to a lab an hour away (nobody would take my insurance) for what I thought would be a quick lil' visit. After waiting forever in a dirty room full of hacking gagging people, I heard my name. The lady at the desk hands me this giant day-glow orange container across the counter and tells me I have to pee into it every time I have to pee for the next 48 hours. I actually looked at her and said, "Seriously?" This meant I had to choose between staying home all weekend or carrying my pee in a giant orange container with me to bars, bookstores, etc. Originally I thought I was just getting bloodwork done. I left the lab and screamed, "fuck" at the top of my lungs. (The days of our lives?)

Anonymous said...

What a great resource!

2 Birds, 1 Blog: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

a.) Thanks for the support everyone, I swear I'll stoop being an emo little lamb soon.
AND
b.) Yay for the awards! Couldn't have done it without everyone's support. Very honored!

Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment said...

I went to the ER twice Christmas week myself, with your symptoms exactly. The first time, I got to go to the ER in my grand ol' city of Philadelphia, which was one hell of an adventure. I was greeted by a metal detector as I was doubled over in pain. They actually made me empty out my pockets and go through the damn thing. And, of course, it went off. I had to stand there until every last piece of change and lint and dignity was emptied from my pockets so they could wave that ridiculous wand around. All so I could get inside and thoroughly explain my pains and medical history to one doctor, four residents, and two nurses - most of whom seemed completely uninterested.

I visited the second hospital on Christmas Eve, in my hometown about an hour away from the City of "You look like you're in horrible pain, but empty your pockets just so we know if you're coming here to knife a bitch." There, they had flat screen TVs in the rooms and an awesome dude nurse that I secretly wanted to be my BFF. Moral of the story? Drive an hour outside the city to the ER whenever possible.

Anyways, my tentative diagnosis (that is, until they shove a scope down my throat)? Stomach ulcer.

I spent the majority of Christmas day with relatives and family friends. Of course, my mother had taken the liberty of informing them all that I was not well in advance. I had at least a dozen conversations that went exactly like this:

Relative: "So, your mother said you're not feeling well! What's wrong?"
Me: "Well, it's probably a stomach ulcer. Not 100% sure until I get an endoscopy done, but that's what it seems like."
Relative: "But you're too young to have a stomach ulcer!"
Me: "..."
Relative: "No one gets stomach ulcers in their 20s!"
Me: "..."

Thank you for suffering, Meg, to validate my ulcer. I will be printing this post and carrying it around with me, just in case anyone else thinks that I decided my stomach needed an imaginary ulcer-friend. <3

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