 |
| End of week 2 on meds. Good thing I'm not a contender for The Next Top Model, cause I'd so win that show ;) Just look at the splendor of that chin and the energetic twinkle in my eyes... |
Week
3:
Medication: 150mg cytotoxins (Cyclosporin), 64mg cortisone and other assorted goodies.
As I posted
earlier, skin sensitivity is now a factor. Any seam feels like
barbwire, clothes have the texture of sandpaper, and orgasms are
quickly becoming a thing of the past. It's time to make moisturizing
a new habit. If you won't you'll make permanent new best friends with
stretchmarks. If you haven't had a facial, now it's too late. The
skin on my face might look rosy and healthy, but in reality, the
swelling is camouflaging some serious clogging of the pores. The
tweezers are in constant use, because now, excessive hair growth is
one of my companions. I don't mind looking like a freak if I have to,
but I do not intend to find out what the offspring of The Bearded
Lady and Quasimodo would look like. The hair on my head has also
changed texture; it is now as smooth as a baby's bottom, and totally
unmanageable. Hairspray accomplishes nothing. I look like a hobo in
my sweats and unkempt hair, but at least I’m semi comfortable and
without a mustache.
The ever
present swelling has started to affect my throat, and from now on it
will only get harder and harder to breathe. I expect to be sleeping
sitting upright within a few more weeks.
My mind is
being a bitch. It closes down during the day and goes into overdrive
at night. Insomnia is a new acquaintance, and so is chattiness. Talk,
talk, talk... I'm hardly ever quiet around people. Given the chance
I'll talk until hoarse. Once, in band camp... No, really during Round
One, I spent half an hour talking to a stranger in the grocery store.
What about? Well, he was trying to get to the sugar, upon which I was
leaning, so naturally we had to contemplate whether something as
sweet as me would actually fit in to his cart.
You can
either feel dumb and embarrassed about things like that, or just go
with the flow. Me, I go with the flow.
Tip:
Moisturize and shave. Place a notebook and a pen by your bedside
table. If you don't purge you'll never sleep. Clear a space for
yourself somewhere in the house where you can do all the projects you
have thought of, but do not give in to whims with longtime
consequences. Painting the entire house purple might seem like THE
BEST IDEA EVER right now. But trust me, that impression won't last.
Tomorrow it'll be lime green with pink polka dots instead. Take the
advice and hints your friends and family will undoubtedly give you
and calm down, even if it's hard with all the accumulated manic
energy. Do the smaller projects instead, reality is you won't have
the energy to tackle the bigger projects anyway. You're just
mindfucked, that's all.
My doctor
told me to stay away from people who are sick, and especially sick
kids, due to the cytotoxins that finishes off whatever immune system
the cortisone has left you with. I'd like to add: Stay away from
persons that are in plentiful contact with furred animals. They carry
mites, which can give you eye infections. Also, because of the
vanishing immune system, make sure you load up on antiseptics and
that you treat every scratch and cut, no matter how small. Trust me,
I have scars from Round One to back me up on this one. Preventative
antibiotics is a part of my cocktail this Round, but I’m still not
taking any chances.
 |
| A paper cut turned into a infection the size of a tennis ball during Round One. It had to be cut open and drained for months. Hurt like a son of a b*tch, and left me with these "vampire bite marks". I'd rather give birth without painkillers (again) than go through pressing the puss out of something like that once more. |
Sincerely,
Pepsi-Mama
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