Posts Tagged ‘bulgaria’

Sciatica pwned!

Let me just boast here for a minute that I’m a total stud. Pain and crutches can’t keep me the hell down. Of course, it helps to have insurance, money, and someone to drive me around. I lucked out to get my *real* doctor stat, and not the ham-handed Bulgarian who thinks Ibuprofen will give me Reyes Syndrome (??!!) or the crusty-eyed crazy guy who always rants for 10 minutes about the Great Importance of Taking Your Temperature. Neither of them would have done what I wanted without a lot of runaround and weeks of wasted time. No!! Instead, I got my awesome doctor who is a sports medicine person, and so who knows what it means to be injured and yet not want to let it keep you down.

Therefore! I now have awesome physical therapy, Celebrex, some kind of scary muscle relaxant to take at night if I need it. “I don’t really like that stuff…” “Girl, you know what happens at night, you’re not going to rest until you’re crying with pain, that’s what I do, so have this at your back.” “Okay well give me one I can cut in half because I’m a super lightweight and don’t like to be drooling and passing out.” I also have a disabled parking placard thanks to her having the form all there and ready, and thanks to Rook hauling ass to pick me up and bring me to the DMV, and thanks to the DMV people letting us slip in 2 minutes before 5pm and not giving us any hassle.

However, the trip to dr. office plus the DMV has me pretty exhausted and I’m already kinda thinking “Huh, a muscle relaxant might not be so bad, even if it’s called ‘Soma’.” But first some ice and heat and Celebrex. It’s true that I really really hate that passing-out feeling of my brain not being my own.

She offered to MRI me right away but then we talked a bit, I gave her the history, and she said well then maybe wait a week, if it gets better no need, if it doesn’t, then whatever we’d see, we’d still see.

Now, they MRIed it in the past when it was like this and saw nothing, but on the other hand I was at Valley Med and on welfare, so who knows, my whole disk could have been bulging out like a nasty water balloon and they could have missed it in favor of their favorite diagnosis, “crazy lady meds-seeking malingering crack whore.” (Nothing against whores; if anyone in pain needs some meds, it would be crazy malingering crack whores; I don’t know why it’s such a hard thing to help them out with some medical care and pain relief.)

It’s so heartening to go to a doctor and get actual help! And with a nice positive attitude too.

Lying in bed is actually the worst thing for me. It’s depressing, boring, not really that good for your low back, and it hurts me physically — I need to keep as active as possible. SO tomorrow into the fray once more.

If I’m not significantly better by next Monday, the hard bit will be getting to southeast San Jose. I think I can do it, especially with the parking thing, but driving that far might be tough.

The doctor properly admired my awesome duct tape crutch pockets, gratifying my need to see myself as a brave resourceful clever person who is not slayed by a stupid leg that acts like a piece of dead meat.

When I can walk fast again and go bounding up stairs and curbs I’m going to be so appreciative!

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The ham-handed Bulgarian strikes again

This time, the luck of the draw stuck me with the brutal Bulgarian doctor in the pool of available doctors who always have open appointments at the last minute because they’re INSANE.

“I don’t hear any wheezing. Do you take any medicine today? You are not sick.”

“Yes… cold meds, Advil, and albuterol inhaler… “


“Well, I’m sure I shouldn’t, they’re bad for your stomach, but… I was feeling really sick and feverish, and my chest hurt, and I had to be able to keep going with my day.”

“You should never keep Advil in the house. “


“It’s poison. If you take it with virus, you can get rare syndrome. Like aspirin and children.”

“You mean Reyes Syndrome? And aspirin? But this is ibuprofen and I’m an adult.”

“It kills all your red blood cells. I know. I have children and I have trained them. And they don’t allow ibuprofen in their house for their children.”

What in hell is she talking about? I’m googling it and can’t find anything of the sort. Oh!!! Tinfoil hat doctor! At least you gave me the antibiotics damn quick.

Writers With Drinks this Saturday night

I won’t be there, but that just means there’s more room for you.   It’s a benefit for other magazine!

Saturday, March 11th
7:30pm-9:30pm, doors open 7:00pm
$3 to $5 sliding scale


Next week the entire Mission District will be transformed into a 
giant spanking machine. This also includes parts of Bernal Heights 
and the Excelsior. If you venture into the Mission after about 5 PM, 
you’ll probably be pretty severely spanked. It’s some kind of Vegan 
thing. The good news is that Writers With Drinks will be a *spanking 
free zone*, except for the pool table. There will, however, be some 
mandatory coolant baptism going on, because of a deal we made with 
that noisy church next door and the auto parts place down the street.

Reading at this week’s Writers With Drinks will be:

San Francisco Chronicle columnist Mark Morford, who has special 
poison sacs under his saliva glands — they can be an aphrodisiac in 
small doses.

Outlaw Bible of American Poetry editor and Matches: A Novel author 
Alan Kaufman, who can levitate half an inch when he’s sleepy.

Louisville Review-published poet Greg Kimura, who wears his skates to  

Best Women’s Erotica and Fourteen Hills contributor Marianna Cherry,  
who dubs all her own dialogue from the original Bulgarian.

50 Mason-headlining comedian Ali Wong, who invented her own cyber  
dance and can blog while spinning on her head.

"Periodic table mysteries" author Camille Minichino, who has a bionic  


partyhopping wild life of the suburban slacker moms

From that title you’d think I was about to launch into a lurid description of toilet training and being puked on, right?

I got to go to squid’s big party – suprise party for Seymour – for about an hour. I love her parties! As the kids get bigger, everything’s more civilized. But it’s so nice to be in her house & on her deck with the kids swirling around us. I ate jelly donuts, watched the cakewalk, measured the height of the hill with eliz and my GPS (50 feet). Moomin was excited about jumping out and & yelling “surprise!” – and made Seymour a butterfly birthday card. I curled the antennae for him with scissors.

jo & manny & I left the kids at the party… and sent Marroqui to hang out and pick them up and bring them back here eventually! we totally threw her to the wolves… When I got home she was giggling and trying to say how “the three kids together are very funny” but I didn’t get to gossip with her about the party… yet…!

So – I donned the Pilot’s wonderful velvet prom dress from 1988 (or whenever it was) and we were off to Writers With Drinks. In the car Jo made us listen to a very strange funny “song” or spoken word thing of fabulous nonsense. “It’s not the pineapple CHUNKS, it’s the pineapple RINGS. ” WWD was great as usual – in fact this time was unusually great, all the writers were good, Chula was brilliantly funny at her comedy things and introductions of the 6 readers. The rapid-fire opening thing about the subaltern and superaltern, literature, and the bulgarian felching machine, or whatever the fuck… it was dazzlingly funny but can I remember it? No. and the butt-scooting wonder cats. ha! Dotty came, and whump and cyn, and a ton of people… I had a great time. The comedian was especially good – Blake, who read really hot, well-written erotica – the literary/mystery writer, very lyrical – and jewelle g0mez who was funny and great – and the processed world dude, I enjoyed his ranty Thing and wanted to go up to him and blather excitedly about work, unions, housework, patriarchy, etc. Jo and me looking at each other while he talked and probably thinking the same-ish things about feminist theory, feminist economics, and perhaps also about a certain other person’s complex feelings about life, work, etc.

We wished that squid were there! Maybe we can lure her for next time! And I was so happy to have lured Jo. “Doesn’t it seem to you like unusually good quality writing? And don’t you just sit there and think, hey, wait a minute, this person with a bazillion novels published and a fair amount of legitimacy behind them, my writing is certainly at least that good, so wtf am I doing.” “Yup.” I hope she is charged up with confidence and inspiration for her conference! Also, i felt like i was getting to show her off to C. and vice versa.

By dinnertime afterwards, the enormous pink bow on my dress was beginning to bug me – the way it is annoying to have your tits pushed up in your face if you’re wearing a corset, or wearing a clown nose and always being over-aware of it interfering with your vision… We all had indian food…. I had some funny moments of listening to Dotty and C. have a conversation about obscure elizabethan plays so it was like the ghost of cambridge having a sumo wrestling match with the ghost of bryn mawr. C. describing the plots of bad-king-gets-punished plays is still making me laugh and I feel a strange urge to read that one about Cambyses. Oh, my god, C. makes me float up into the sky in a nerdy, nerd-worshipping swoon. I was embarrassed to have not read richard II – i mean, I did read it, but when I was 12 and read all of shakespeare just for the sake of my own pride, and this means I never can say i read it because i dont’ remember any of them very well and they all blur together since i slurped them all in one huge gulp from my mom’s riverside shkspr, which I was absolutely forbidden to read in the bathtub but did anyway. There’s some wavy page edges on that book!

Watching Dotty cruise the erotica writer, B., was entertaining.. she was smooth as silk and extracted the phone number while displaying her peacock feathers of brainy, sleazy interestingness, in about 2 minutes in a crowded bar. I poked Jo so she could observe Dotty in action, but I’m not sure if she groked what was going on. It was the work of a master with a lifetime of experience!!!

I have to say one more time how insanely cute C.’s dress was. stockings with calla lillies on the back seams, and it was a pink chinese style dress with shiny black vinyl or pvc insets and safety pins. and it just barely came down to cover her ass. I wish I had a picture of how damn cute she was!

the Womble genome

Another haunting thought. How do wombles breed? Clearly Great-Uncle Bulgaria was around in… 1898? And now it’s 1930-something. In 1914 or so Cousin Yosemite left home (and he knew Bulgaria as “Uncle Bulgaria”.) This seems to imply that only two generations of wombles have passed in 35-40 years.

and yet… and YET! The three young wombles (Bungo, Orinoco, and Alderney) had only been born that year and grew to relative maturity in only a few months. They were not very tall, so maybe not at full maturity, but they were old enough to go out and work. I’ve been trying to extrapolate all the rest of Womble physiology and societal organization from this…

And let’s not forget how they eat grass and trash and do all the cleaning up. I am developing a hypothesis that they’re the escaped slaves of visiting aliens.


Perlllongher’s “Amelia” gets my vote as the MOST CONFUSING POEM EVER. I don’t care how well I know the language – I mean, I look up the words in the dictionary and I’m still no wiser since the words in English are just as obscure and cryptic and non-going-togethery. Wow and yikes. I refuse to admit I have bitten off more than I can chew. I must consult my friend Norah!!! I have an idea of the poem – okay, given the context of the book it’s probably some historic figure who was captured and tortured and killed or something by the soldiers of Gen. Rosas (which is all a very very thinly veiled way to talk about the 70s and 80s dirty war) and … gah… these weird axles that meanings rotate around, so that we have a Thing of “snail/labyrinth/inner ear/spiral/prancing horse/dancing” and a thing of “death/graves/horticulture/transplantedness/suddenness of flowering/inexplicably bloody penis”. And there is some implication going on of violence and sexuality, and a tie between sexuality and nation or statelessness (hungarian/bulgarian/albanian) Yargh! I kind of get it, but it’s really hard and I have a feeling I’m going to make mistakes or leap to wrong conclusions.

But then I realized driving home some things about another “axis” :
– chalet books in the Tyrol
– “Sound of Music”
– think of the scenes from Buchan (was it Greensleeves? 39 steps? no, the book in the middle) where he is in the Tyrol and what it means to be there
– Perlllongher’s poems from “Austria-Hungary”

a bet. any takers?

I’m feeling a little bit dumb for not calling the GYN in the first place. Dammit. I’m not really officially their patient yet… arrrgh.

What do you want to bet, the Bulgarian ordered the wrong kind of blood test? i.e. not an hcG one?

dammit dammit

I forsee an annoying week of having my blood drawn all the time and more waffling.

When I was preg. with Moomin they did my hcG like every 2 days in early pregnancy. it is supposed to double every day or 2, or every day and a half or something. I forget. In retrospect I wonder how I had any blood left at all…

omg. does anyone want to watch Moomin tomorrow morning? Chefily will have him after 4 and maybe a little earlier. I will be okay as long as he peacefully watches tv all day, i think, but… i can’t drag him to the gynecologist and defnintely dont want him in the room for some sort of painful pelvic exam. maybe i shoudl call one of the mom-club recommended nannys and get definite commitment of someone to come and help…

possibly that was a useless ordeal…

I got the ham-handed bulgarian doctor, the luck of the draw of last-minute appointments. At least it wasn’t the horrid incompetent rheumy-eyed guy who thinks that knowing one’s exact temperature is very important. The Bulgarian decided right away that I was too uncertain about rebound tenderness and that I must have appendicitis. “But, um, wouldn’t it hurt more… and it started yesterday… so by now…? and wouldn’t I have a fever?” But no. She didn’t even do a pelvic exam. She is a dork. “Is appendix. Radiology will look at your ovary but is no point. Is appendix.”

I was okay walking over to the hospital but once I got there the Thing hurt horribly and I wanted to lie down. god. During the walking I was on the edge of deciding i was just fine and should go home. But then, pain…. Some extremely nice nurse laid me on a gurney and put warm blankets on me. I shoud have tipped him 20 bucks because it was amazingly much nicer. That hospital rocks!!!

Radiology couldn’t find my appendix. Then they decided to look at my kidneys. “Um. The pain feels exactly like when i’ve had ovarian cysts or ectopic pregnancy… what about if you look at my ovaries…” No. More rib and kidney and bladder poking. I’m now covered in blue jelly over my entire abdomen and have to pee so bad I’m about to scream.

Finally the tech looked at my ovaries. The Mr. Microphone up my no-no place was okay on left side. Then she measured my uterus for 20 minutes. Is anyone going to care? christ. Then… drum roll… she poked the thingie to the right. AAAAAAAAAA! after she peeled me off the ceiling… “I guess you DO hurt. Did you tell your doctor yet?” “Yes I did and if she had DONE A PELVIC EXAM she might have seen that.” “Well you should go to your gynecologist.” “Okay.” “Now, tell me exactly where it hurts the most becausee that’s the area I have to focus on…” “Are you sure? AAAAAAAAAA!”

Dude that sucked.

(I remember how much that hurt when I had PID and was in the hospital. They’d poke in there and I’d just… if you’ve ever felt it… i was just leaping off the table like a dying fish flopping around, or some sort of scene in the movies where they electrocute the torture victim. But back then it was WAY worse then than now. But still this time it took me maybe half an hour to get over it and stop hyperventilating and crying.)

The radiologist was firm, but waffly. “It could be early ectopic. It could be that cyst thing on your ovary but on the other hand it looked pretty normal. But it burst recently. The fluid from it could be causing you pain. But with your history… Why didn’t your dr. get a blood test?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ve been through all this before so you know how it goes. You’re going to be right back in here this week. Talk with your doctor, I’m calling her now. Hang in there. At this stage there’s no way to differentiate cysts from ectopic without a blood test! If you’re pregnant right now, it’s ectopic.” I didn’t tell the nice, smart Radiologist than my breasts are hurting too because he probably would have ripped my tubes out right then and there. I feel dumb for not telling him but…

He sent me back to the Bulgarian. Apparently the radiologist called her to tell her, “Blood test, you idiot” because I was sent back for a blood test for early pregnancy. They are supposedly going to call me tomorrow. But they never do. So I’ll call and bug them starting around 10am. The Bulgarian also acted very contrite about forgetting the blood test and told me to call the gynecologist across the hall tomorrrow morning and beg for an immediate appointment. i have my 1st appt. with them in a few weeks but maybe they’ll work me in.

Probably all for the “perfectly normal cyst” but… well… crap… I’m worried.

The one good thing – none of that would have happened so quickly (in like, 3.5 hours) if the Bulgarian hadn’t been shrieking about my appendix. Ovaries and even ectopics are lower on the totem pole. Because they are crazy woman-things, I guess.

I tried not to think about the other time. It was just like this, except they treated me like i was nuts the first couple of dr. visits, “Why do you think you might have an ectopic, ma’am?” and then when it started actually rupturing it was this big emergency. It was still just as hard to decide to go to the hospital, because as I get to be in more pain I get more and more irrational and guilty-feeling, and there was no clear dividing line where it was “too much pain to bear”.

Anyway I think I handled it okay this time. I tried to be very stoic actually and joke around with nurses etc. unless actually white-knuckled with pain.

Here I am in bed at home – quite heavenly.

Without the dizziness things are much better. I can get up and get myself things – I just hurt more if I walk too much. So I’m mostly staying down.

It is very frustrating to hear Moomin and Rook but not be able to participate. I feel left out and just.. frustrated. I just got on Rook’s ass about how he was doing something and he got mad back at me for interfering. Usually I would be doing the afternoon playing and the dinner-feeding and all that and I have my ways of doing it! He’s doing it all wrong! You’d think I would have learned by now that’s the wrong way to think. the Pilot and I were just talking about this a few days ago. But did I take my own advice? Nooooo. Now Rook is pissed off at me right when I’m all needy and irritating. Way to go, self, you are a dumbass! I tried apologizing, but instead just said more about why I think he’s doing it all wrong. Double-dumb. And he said that when he sees me doing dumb parenting he just keeps quiet about it. I’ll stay in bed and keep my mouth shut and be glad Moomin is in the best possible hands. Also, hopefully all the things Rook does differently will balance out all the things I do wrong. Not that I would ever do anything wrong. I’m really really really not at my best when sick. I also think Moomin is worrying about me and acting up a little. I can’t even take him coming in the bed with me as he wiggles around or bounces and then it hurts… and he’s all wistful. I hate being non-functional. hate hate hate.

I’d be so much more optimistic if my breasts weren’t hurting and tender. They very very rarely are for PMS — maybe 2 or 3 times my whole life — and they have been all 3 times I’ve been pregnant, pretty much right away.

I’d love to be wrong…

so incompetent!

It’s amazing how incompetent and irritating people are… it was my day for it as I dutifully like a Roman and a man painted things in the preschool. First of all they declared this whole “day off” thing but did they even have the supplies? were they ready? did they know what they wanted done? noooo. then, passive-aggressive “so clean” bulgarian mom was on my ass all morning. “did you ASK Ananarchi if she wants it white or cream? What do YOU think we shoudl do? What DO you think we should do ? should we tape this? should we tape that? Should we ask Ananarchi if she wants it taped? Or not? Do you think we shoudl bother her?”

I cheerfully told the Bulgarian what to do, every time, but she was always unhappy with my decisions.

“You know, Bulgy, when I ask Ananarchi things, she is kinda too busy thinking of other things to answer. And I think she would be happy with anything that gets improved, and would rather we didn’t bother her every 5 minutes. And I actually LIKE to make decisions. So, I’m deciding that you will do THIS, and I will do THAT. This shall be white. And this shall be cream. Go to it!”

This horribly offended her. I believe what was supposed to happen: we were supposed to bond together in our helpless girliness and inability to do anything or make any decisions.

She didn’t quit asking me what to do all day long, but she got increasingly more disturbed and upset.

I didn’t spatter paint everywhere, and Moomin and Mini-Bulgy were given small watercolor brushes with which they happily painted about 3 square inches in 2 hours. All was well. Ep’s husband worked peacefully and competently off on his own. Other moms washed things with spray bottles.

A very cool thing happened – a freckly and cheerful dream girl appeared on a bicycle and said “I was just riding by on a long bike ride and I saw you all painting and figured I should stop and help out.” She is a freshman at Stanford and seemed a little lonely. Perhaps an ex-girlscout? She painted like a champion for 2 hours. This sort of thing should happen more often.

Grodily, Bulgy and some other mom who I don’t know made many a stupid comment about What Girls Do and What Boys Do. “Oh it’s so especially funny that Exie is loud, BECAUSE SHE’S A GIRL. And how odd that Moomin is so careful and quiet, BECAUSE HE’S A BOY you know. Probably Moomin will want to be SUPERMAN because he’s a BOY. And maybe Mini-Bulgie will want to help us put the KITCHEN things away.

Goddess help me.

Our down the street neighbor Gian-Paul is nearly 5 years old. we went to play with him and his psycho grandma could NOT stop it with the bad gender comments. Me hitting the wiffle ball and she has to say really loud, “Look Gian-Paul, she missed the ball because girls can’t hit the ball hard like boys can. Girls aren’t strong like boys are.” She went on to criticize and emphasize every “boy” thing that he did. Of course I whacked the fuckking wiffle ball into next week on purpose and said “Actually Gian-Paul, I am much bigger and stronger than you because i am a grownup, that is why I can hit the ball so hard. You seem pretty strong too…”

The sad part was the (drunk? otherswise fucked up?) jobless dad in the house (a real macho prick, I know him from when we lived here before) and the kid holding my hand and gazing up at me after about the 5th time I praised him and did not mind when he did some normal kid t hing like, throwing a ball or riding his scooter and falling a little (once the grandma quit and went inside and left us all alone to play) Anyway Gian-Paul gazing up at me and going “I wish you were in my family. Can you come back? Can you come back at night?” and then watching us leave as the dad bellowed nastily for him to get inside goddamn it.

Why must people be such jerks about gender? Even on the “alternative parenting list” fucked up questions about how “my toddler won’t cuddle with me and is this just the way boys are?” What to even say to that? Other than “Gosh and I thought _I_ was fucked up!”

migraine, babysitter.

I dont’ know what happened to me last night but while we were playing our rpg I got this weird ominious feeling of doom. And started to sort of hallucinate lights and the light in the kitchen shining at me was hurting my eyes. I kept thinking my head hurt and oh no, I can’t be getting one of those headaches? Can I ? I refuse to have one? If I just try hard enough not to be neurotic and think good thoughts.

Suddenly I realized i was lying down on the couch and it hurt to keep my eyes open and I had been rubbing my head for kind of a while in desperation. I realized that pronto I must go lie down in the dark and be away from all noises. And I made it so. The hallucinating feeling came on very strong. I felt worried that I was going crazy and I felt like I was falling. Um. Very weird! Took 1 meclazine and half a vicodin and fell asleep at 10:30 which for me is an incredibly unheard of impossibly early bedtime.

I guess this is migraines. I woke up feeling sort of hollow and fragile and tenative about life. My head is not killing me. The odd ominous feeling persists.

I took Moomin to a new babysitter. He was amazingly chirpy about it and after I did some explaining – “Here is my plan, first, we go to Carid@d’s house, she is a new babysitter and I will play with baby Osmar and his daddy and mommy today. Babies are so funny because they poop in their diapers. Ew! Then, Mommy goes to pack and work hard, then, you pick me up and we wait for Gma and Gpa to come visit.” Good boy! He is remarkably accepting of change sometimes and I left him happy on the carpet with the baby playing with a wad of new toys.

The mom who recommended Cari to me managed to totally not impress me. “She’s CLEAN. I have seen her house and it is CLEAN.” Somehow manageing to convey that spanish speaking people might not usually be clean. As if I am clean? I can’t imagine what is going through this mom’s mind. whisper: “And they are VERY POOR. I saw their house and they are so poor. I gave them TOYS and clothes for their baby. I think she is desperate for work. But don’t worry because she’s VERY CLEAN.” Eastern europeans can be really freaking racist. <--- my own racist observation. Dude. Cari and husband obviously super nice and her english about 1 million times better than my spanish. She showed me around her house as if to prove it was CLEAN. What is cool is that she lives right around the corner from Moomin’s school. i wonder if she could pick him up some days. I realize we did not negotiate payment! oops! Bulgarian mom (okay she is not bulgarian but let’s just pretend) told me that “she is so cheap, 7 dollars an hour.” okay that is fucking sad. I refuse to be chintzy about that and will pay her the going rate. Likely this will screw some other moms out of a dirt cheap babysitter but tough shit. I recall my ex-friend, Wandy, who wanted to pay her faithful nanny and house cleaner a way lower rate once she had her baby “because then it’s like less good babysitting because she has an extra kid. and if I were sharing a nanny with someone else it would be only 7 an hour each. So, i shoudl pay her only 7 an hour now instead of 12.” Um! good god! now that’s feminism for you! This was only one of the things that made me un-friend Wandy, who liked to think of herself as generous patron to the masses. Last night as I drooled off to sleep I remember saying to Rook, “I will sleep. I will sleep all night and i will wake up completely better.” Like magic, this happened. I am now going to pack boxes with books, load them into the garage, and maybe also pack the kitchen stuff. I could also go buy more sticky felt and felt up the bottoms of the bookshelves. If it stops raining I will haul kitchen stuff over.