I refute thee, presumptuous Internet lecturers

I do love the ability to connect with old friends via the Internet, despite our widening differences with regards to our opinions on life, health, politics, entertainment, and well, everything.

Unfortunately, that reliable Book of Face sometimes foists too much reconnection on me. One of my old acquaintances posted this jpeg/gif/wtf-ever and it dutifully slotted into my feed.

source unknown: if you find it, please let me know and I'll credit

I often feel this conundrum pretty keenly. I think the problem of drugs and/or vitamins as over treatment or cure-all, instead of healthy living and eating choices, is an old one. But! Considering that I would've long ago bled to death in an embarrassing and unpleasant way without my pharmaceutical band-aids, I think I have to remove myself from any reasoned, logical commentary about how this type of "advertisement" for healthy eating (which I endorse! I love vegetables! I love fruit! I like the idea of poison/pesticide-free living! Utter deliciousness!) misses the point through gross over-generalization.

Instead I'll just give this zingy clever image a nice big middle finger. And now that I'm worn out, I'm moving on.

COINCIDENCE?

I have a lot of issues with taking my medication. While it makes me feel better to take it, obviously, I can't do so without thinking about the side effects. When will I develop lymphoma, my brain whispers as I unscrew the bottle cap. Better steer clear of that coworker who had the flu. What about dysplasia? What about my liver? And by the time I've swallowed all my meds, my default face for the day is Crabby.

Usually I can push the Crabby face over for the No Big Deal Face. Occasionally, though, I push too hard and the Crazy Makin' Shit Up Face peeks out. When this happens, my mind goes thisaway:

1) Imuran is causing random cosmetic defects to my body. Note: I have no medical evidence to back this up, which is why it gets filed under the CMSU Face. If I find a tiny funky double hair on my forearm with a consistency that closer resembles fiber optic spray lighting than human hair, my first thought (after the obligatory Wow, what the hell is this?) is, naturally, COINCIDENCE? OR IMURAN? Naturally. Also, earlier this month I discovered that nose hairs in only one of my nostrils* have suddenly decided they are not happy living a shy and retiring existence in the moist undemanding caverns of my nose. No, these upstarts want to see the daylight. So for the first time ever, I had to trim my nose hairs a la Dan Aykroyd in The Great Outdoors. It was frightening, my friends.

Anyway, all of this is hair-related! COINCIDENCE? I think not. Imuran!

2) I'm tired and antisexual.** Obviously, this is Imuran's fault. Okay, some of this can be accounted to the drug. It tamps down your immune system and when that happens, you're gonna feel a bit worn down. But clearly there can be psychological factors contributing to both (such as, e.g.: I'm unhappy where I live and work, I'm unhappy that A. does not anticipate my every desire, like when I really want him to do the goddamn dishes and clean the house and finish a load of laundry and buy me tacos for dinner and have all these wonderful surprises waiting for me when I get home from work), and physical ones, too (such as, e.g., I don't go to bed before 11 if I can help it, and then I get up at 5 a.m. to take the dog out. Nah. That's too easy. But when's a 9-5 girl supposed to watch her Doctor Who and make pies/divinity/crocheted Christmas presents?), so honestly? I don't know if this can be attributed to Imuran at all. If "fatigue" wasn't present in the possible side effects list, perhaps I wouldn't notice at all.

Oh, who am I kidding? COINCIDENCE? It's totally the Imuran!

3) I have a rash. Yes, Internet. I do. Rashes are in the "uncommon and ominous" section of the side effects list. However, I suspect it is the ringworm hanging on (I still haven't had time to go to the doctor, mostly because my sick time is still dragging itself up from the Pit of Obliteration my flare-up chucked it into) and anyway, Ulcerative Colitis can cause skin rashes, too. But have I ever had one before I started taking Imuran?*** No! Clearly this can't be an accident. I BLAME YOU, IMURAN.

And now my blog will become the number one hit for Imuran-related queries. Sorry, everyone, but hello, too.





* The other nostril hairs? They are content, luckily for them.
** Definition according to Simple English Wikipedia? "A person who thinks sex is always bad." I want a Needlessly Complex English Wikipedia, please, where is it?
*** Er. Six years ago...

Oh, the acne you'll grow!

20 mg of Devil Pred becomes 10 this Saturday! Er, that is, I'll have one more week on the bastard until I'm back to my regular schedule of fun meds. It turns out that four-plus weeks is plenty of time for prednisone to run its usual (for me) gamut of Beautiful Glowy Complexion to Greasy Pimpled Moonface. My chin especially looks like someone threw Ajax on it. And while Colazal and Imuran are no slouches at greasing up my skin, I haven't noticed the same pure dedication and consistency that I get from a good ol' dose of prednisone. Blech. Can't wait to be done with it.

In other news, Gone and Forgotten has been posting scary silly comics in honor of the best month/holiday of the year. This panel from last week's offering, Deathless Mortal, made me crack up at my desk:

At the library of the occult! You know, the one next door to the NYPL. They had to cut their hours recently, the poor economy's really killing them. AHAHAHAAHAHAH, come on, you know you love it.

Fun at the pharmacy

Guess what? When Big Craphole Bogus Schloopface* Insurance refuses to cover your prednisone because you have been taking more than your doctor initially specified on your doctor's orders, it only costs two dollars more to buy it at the cash price! Of course, then you have to wait for the pharmacist to count out the pills, so then you read all about Lindsay Lohan's ankle bracelet in a really outdated Vanity Fair which someone has marked up because it says bad things about Sarah Palin, and then you get really sassy and buy a big bag of candy corn and eat half of it in the car on the way home, saying around mouthfuls of mushy orange paste, "Yeah, take THAT, prednisone, deal with THAT corn syrup, show me what you GOT."

Well, you might not do that. But I still have my crappy candy affinity, and my teeth still feel fuzzy this morning.

Honestly - Devil Pred messes up my head on the best of days. It's a pain to have to be the one who remembers to tell the doctor, hey, if you change my dosage, you need to call in a new scripp, because otherwise Blowhard Cruddy Belligerent Shit insurance will think I'm popping prednisone like a maniac so I can get the saggy moon face that Cosmo told me will Blow His Mind, and then they won't pay for it. Cosmetic reasons, you see. But it's my money, so it's my job. With low-paying jobs come great responsibility, Peter.

At least I didn't cry at the counter. I got excited, sure. But no tears fell. Progress!


*Pseudonym to safeguard their privacy!

Consistency is overrated

Only a few weeks from absolute bloody zero and I'm already forgetting my pills. (Prednisone!) I need Mrs. Featherbottom.



It's frustrating that after all the pain and problems and my increased understanding of how necessary it is, right now, for me to take each and every one of these pills, that I can still forget. Three times a day isn't rocket science. Even when you're breaking up the normal American society three meals-a-day into five or six or seven, it's still not rocket science. I shouldn't need to tie string around my fingers a la Uncle Billy, goddamn it. I can't decide whether it's just forgetfulness, or if it's my brain reverting back to that dangerous La la lala I'm normal again there's nothing wrong with me lala mindset. Argh.

In other news, I received this pretty princess in the mail yesterday:


Death-Day! I may know people involved with this. Well, one of them. Maybe. Or maybe I just get mysterious pretties in the mail. That's a definite possibility.

For more info on Death-Day and/or Sam Hiti, click here. And therein ends my pimping.

"Right next to the dog face boy!"

I had my doctor's appointment. The leg verdict: tendinitis. Hurrah!

In other news:
Medco plays carnival tricks with my prescription prices, and I realize I must be wealthier than I thought.

Yesterday I went to pick up a refill of Colazal, the most immense and (unfortunately) necessary of my medications. I popped in at a busy time and joined the line behind the woman at the counter who possessed a giant red curly bouffant hairstyle. She was staring, dumbfounded, at the checkout clerk.

"But I saw the doctor last week."

The clerk murmured something, her eyes anxious and darting from the woman's face to the red bouffant, as though it might loll off the head and suffocate her.

"Well, I don't know his office hours."

The clerk murmured some more, and this time I caught the word "tomorrow:" that dreaded demoralizer of all scripp hopefuls.

"I can't wait till tomorrow. I CAN'T!" The bouffant wobbled. "What bullshit." She turned to those of us in line and glared Well? Don't stand for this! Join me! Take your business elsewhere, where they will call your doctor at home! She hoisted her purse and stalked off past the analgesics.

The clerk eyed me. "Can I help you?"

"Sure. I need to pick up a prescription for Axxx Xxxxxx, please." I spelled my name.

For some reason, this pharmacy can never find my prescription. It turns up behind the pharmacist's computer, or under the counter, or in a secret dusty bin hidden under the rubber car seat doughnuts. And yet, during the searches, they always ask me the same thing: "Can you spell your name again, please?" Because the spelling, like a talisman, will lure the pills out, or cause them to glow gold, or something.

The clerk put back the dozen bins, wiped the cobwebs off her sleeve and scanned my scripp.

"That's 82.93, please."

"Um. Okay." I did not want to cause an uncomfortable scene like the Bouffant Lady. Also, the line had grown from three to back by the milk and beer coolers. "Is that for a three month supply?"

The clerk checked the labels. "Nope. One month."

Of course it was, I should've known - the bag was smaller than a watermelon. "Ah. Did my insurance cover it?"

The clerk checked the labels again. "Yup. Medco? That's what we have."

"That's it." I paid, confused. If I purchased my pills at the pharmacy instead of their mail-order system, Medco was supposed to pay for about 80%, and my cost per month should've been under ten bucks. I stopped by the front of the store and bought a giant bag of spearmint slices - with real spearmint oil, only ninety-nine cents - to help me mull things over. Then I drove home and hopped on the company's website.

It did not take long to figure out where I had gone wrong.

Medco offers a "price a medication" feature, where you can find your drugs and compare pharmacy prices to mail-order. When you enter in a drug name, the system automatically defaults to the dosage of one pill, once a day. Sure, Colazal would cost me under ten bucks a month, if I just quit taking so damn much of it. I checked all my drugs, and found that, hey, to save cash, all of them will have to come through the mail from now on.

What can I say? I love the cotton candy, the funnel cakes, the house of mirrors. (Or, if you're from where I'm from, a glass of milk - white or chocolate.)

This is clearly a case of the willing sucker. Also, I seem to have an overwhelming fear of being the Entitled Bitch in the store, though the unappetizing display of the Bouffant Lady was clearly only one way to handle a situation. It's hard, though, when you're out of pills and just want to get the fuck out of there, to spend the time asking for a week's or more worth of medication, calling the doctor to get a prescription transfer to Medco, and then waiting, pill-rationing, for the mail-order to come. But it is doable. I wasted money.

At least I had crappy candy to help me deal.

Can you take my pills? Can you take my big horse pills?

Tumeric! Or Turmeric! Either way, this Yellow Dusty Spice will soon be coming to an intestine near you! (and by you I do mean YOU -insert pointy finger graphic here followed by highfalutin diet advice that no one with a hearty chocolate addiction would deign to follow, much less read past the first "Sure, you can eat _____! In moderation-" and I mean me, of course.)

I would be interested to try this, but as I'm in remission and have been for over two years, I don't think I will wholeheartedly. It's hard to be open to new treatments when you can go to the bathroom and afterwards scream in abject, delirious happiness,
"Honey! Come look! It has shape, and density!" In fact, apart from the potentially mind-numbing side effects, I enjoy taking pills. According to my mom, when I was little I'd divvy up fruit snacks into different doses, take them all at once and make terribly solemn faces about my illness.

(Damn you, Genes. Is this how you get your kicks, or was this an early warning system, telling me that fruit would be a fickle friend in the future?)

My sidekick drug is Colazal. It is a sidekick in every sense. When taken alone, it does absolutely nothing for my gut; the big bad immune system ties it to a chair and dangles it off a skyscraper, waiting for the real shit* to show up. It is also the biggest pill, and doesn't quite know what to do with itself if Imuran dawdles. Unfortunately it does enough punching and kicking to help in the alley fight, so I notice if I forget to take it along. It comes in a giant bag (one that pharmacy workers can never find until I slip them some cash for their trouble) because of my 3-3xday dosing schedule. It's all about size, not stamina, with Colazal.

It also likes to melt in the heat of my hand. Like M&Ms, except disgusting and greasy and not chocolatey at all.

But it lets me eat chocolate on a regular basis, which is good for my stress-free lifestyle. If turmeric can offer a similar compromise, we might be in business.

If not, well, suck it up, liver.



*All off-color puns in this blog are purely unintentional and are sponsored by Baritop.

Generically yours.

These are the big ones. Well, not the horse pills, but these are the immuno-modulating-suppressing ones, the ones that do more than sit in your stomach or gut and quietly dissolve; these babies know pharmaceutical kung fu. (Unfortunately they only know the defensive moves, and my immune system is Bruce Lee, right before he breaks Chuck Norris's chicken neck. But still!)

Imuran, or azathioprine as it is generically and so so cheaply known, has been around since the 50s and has a couple other popular uses:

1. Transplant antirejection
2. Severe rheumatoid arthritis

It also can help you out if you have too much bone marrow, or you're just too damn healthy for your own good and need to catch a little pneumonia from time to time. Blood testing on a regular basis is required. I have since come to enjoy the feeling of a needle in the crook of my arm, which is good practice for when the time comes to break out the medical heroin.

Do not take these without food. It is a dry heave death wish, without Charles Bronson for comfort.