One thing I’m having a hell of a time with is giving up caffeine. I shouldn’t really drink it. It irritates my already over-irritable stomach and makes me more prone to puking, particularly the black coffee that I love so.

However, I am HOOKED. I normally drink at least a pot of coffee in the morning and about five or six Diet Cokes in the afternoon. I NEED my caffeine, people. It courses lovingly through my veins and makes me happy.

Did you quit caffeine, ever? How did you do it? I am finding it hard to give the stuff up without chewing the drapes and/or napping frequently. I am already pretty damned short on energy, and without caffeine I am like the slothiest of sloths.

Suggestions welcome in this dry land. I am already drinking a lot of water, as the doc suggested. I probably drink about six or seven sixteen-ounce bottles a day.

Happy Wednesday.

This impending move has me stressed out. We’re supposed to be moving in a mere handful of months, and what am I doing? I am worrying about the quantity and quality of my food and poop. I am puking and passing out, and if you thought I looked like an albino before, you would definitely call me Casper now. I am a medical mess.

We have been boxing up small things here and there and taking them over to my stepdad’s, but nothing major has been done, and the fact still remains that we have an entire basement and two garages full of crap.

We are going to have to have the mother of all garage sales.

When I get back from Green Bay a lot of this stuff is going to get Craiglisted and eBayed, but there are mountains of stuff that just need to be thrown out. We could seriously give the folks at Hoarders a run for their money with our overflowing garages.

I need to give this my full attention, and instead I am measuring out half-cups of applesauce and praying to the porcelain gods every time I dare tempt fate and eat a fucking sandwich.

This is the pits.

I’m trying to get my gastrointestinal doings under control so that I can go to Green Bay in a couple of weeks, because I really, really, REALLY want to go to Green Bay. I haven’t missed a gathering yet and don’t plan to start now.

I guess the trick is just eating really, really small amounts, often. It goes against my grain, but I’m working on it.

In other news, the J-Man’s dance went very well. He met a hot girl from another school (this was a mutl-school event), an EIGHTH-GRADER, no less, and they are now internet friends. So, success.

In still other news, Alice the hamster has grown so fat that she cannot fit into the tubes in her cage. This may or may not be because someone in this house cannot resist watching her eat Cheetos. That person may or may not be me.

Happy Tuesday.

So far? The Reglan?

This is the super-pooping medication of all time, people. This medication makes you crap like there is no fucking tomorrow.

OK, I know I’m gross. I know this is really gross, but yesterday I took the largest crap you or anyone else has ever seen. I guarantee it. It was so massive in its scope that I was afraid and a little bit in awe. I almost wanted to photograph it, so amazing and wondrous was the product of my intestinal machinations.

I know, I’m gross. I can’t help it. I blame it on my family, who talks about poop at the dinner table.

Really, though, I wish you could have seen my poop.

Really.

Anyway.

I am in a lot of pain, because as the rusty wheels of my stomach and intestines have started to turn, they have not done so without a lot of protest. I still can’t eat more than about a half a cup of food at a time.

It’s like I had a gastric bypass without the bypass.

I can’t eat anything raw, any meat, or anything that is otherwise difficult to digest. I miss fruit.

I guess I had better follow along, though, because apparently if this gets bad it gets really bad, and you can wind up on a feeding tube. Fuck that.

So, I’m just sitting around, clutching my clenching stomach, not exercising and angry about it, and pooping like some sort of record-breaking super pooper.

My son is going to his first dance tonight. It’s a Valentine’s Day dance, and he bought the Prettiest Girl In The Class a mood ring at the dollar store when we were there buying balloons (he’s on the planning committee) and is going to ask her to dance. O THE DRAMA!

He is wearing black pants and a black sport jacket with a funky t-shirt and black converse, and I do believe he will look very cool.

But I’m not nervous for him, not at all.

Ahem.

Happy Thursday.

So. I had the procedure done, which was a little scary at first since I had been up all night stressing about it, but as soon as they administered the fentanyl and the versed I was out like a light, and I woke up in the recovery room not remembering a thing.

That’s exactly how I prefer it.

There is no ulcer, and there is most definitely no cancer. Well, so far. The biopsy they did still needs to be tested, but let’s just jump ahead and say that I don’t have fucking cancer, OK?

I have something called gastroparesis. This is apparently mostly seen in diabetics, which I am not, but the medications I take such as the narcotics for pain and the anti-depressants are sometimes associated with the condition.

It basically means that I’m not digesting food the way I’m supposed to, and that my stomach isn’t emptying itself, causing pain when I try to eat, and a whole lot of throwing up.

This also explains why most of the time, I don’t crap.

This also may explain Bulimia: The Later Years. I felt so uncomfortable with food in my stomach. SO uncomfortable. SO fucking full. Often times, I just did it to get rid of that awful feeling.

Now I know why I had that awful feeling. My food was sticking around for days on end, and every time I ate I was compounding the problem.

The new medication I’m starting (Reglan) is supposed to get my stomach and intestines moving in order to help move food on out the door.

I may become an efficient eater/pooper yet.

So, I’m glad it’s nothing deathly serious and something easily treatable. I’m slightly worried about the medication, which comes with a slew of warnings and side effects, but if will make this ache in the pit of my gut go away, it’ll be worth it.

So there it is, nice and tidy. I think the doctor wants to leave me on the med for a month, see if things get resolved, and hold off on any more tests for now, but if they don’t I will still be having a colonoscopy and all that jazz.

Hopefully things will be resolved by using the medication.

Thanks for all your good lucks and good wishes! Apparently they helped a great deal, and my guts thank you.

Happy Monday.

So tomorrow I’m having a scope of my stomach done, along with a biopsy of the lining.

The gastroenterologist was nice, very thorough, but he did manage to scare the living shit out of me with the C word.

Why would you even mention the C-word to me? I don’t know. I think it was terrifying and totally unnecessary. I think he said it solely based on the amount of weight I’ve lost lately, even though I told him I’ve been dieting and exercising.

Anyway, I didn’t appreciate it much, but I didn’t allow it to make me nervous, either. There’s just no fucking way.

So tomorrow, early in the morning, there’s that. I will then be home sleeping it off, and I’ll let you know what’s been found.

Happy Sunday.

So I’m moderately nervous about going to this gastroenterologist tomorrow.

I really don’t relish the though of having cameras poked into both ends, nor do I relish the thought of the master cleanse that is going to have to take place beforehand.

I’m “master-cleansing” it up enough on my own, if you get my drift.

I have never been this sick. It’s actually pretty exhausting. I’ve had pretty serious bouts of flu, but nothing that lasted this long or was this vicious. This is like stomach flu that wil not quit. The stabbing pain in my stomach is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and cry, but the constant puking and the shits prevent me from doing so.

It’s pretty awful.

My appointment is at 7:15 tomorrow, and although I’m slightly terrified, in a way, it’s kind of a relief. The doctor has to find *something*. I’m hoping that it’s just some sort of rogue virus that has knocked me down and not really an ulcer or something more serious.

We shall see.

In other news, tomorrow my stepdad is having surgery for a hernia, after which he will be staying here to lick his wounds. We will all have to be very very quiet and on our absolute best behavior so that he can rest.

Saturday is the science fair, during which I will have to suck it up/wear Depends/try not to puke for four hours while I smile at all the happy little children who have had their parents work on all of their projects.

Obviously I can’t wait.

I will let you know what’s happened tomorrow afternoon. Cross your fingers and toes for me.

Happy Thursday.

I was hospitalized for a while for dehydration and bleeding, as well as the completion of some really embarrassing and painful tests.

Did you know that a doctor can pretty much stick his whole hand up your ass? He can. It’s called digging for poop. Apparently they don’t like to wait for a sample.

Also, did you know they can pump your stomach even though you haven’t overdosed? Yes, they can. They just jam a fucking tube up your nose, slam it down into your stomach, and pump away. This was probably one of the least fun experiences of my entire life.

I have to go back to a different hospital on Friday, because the ghetto hospital didn’t have the technology necessary to scope my stomach and find out where the bleeding is coming from, so I have to have that done, and probably a colonoscopy as well. Yay.

I’m feeling a little better, largely because I’m on anti-emetics and Immodium and have finally stopped running at both ends, but my stomach still hurts like an unholy bitch.

So, I’m mostly lying down and moaning and groaning, watching bad Lifetime movies and trying to eat a little, but I am somewhat triumphant over the fact that I did lose twenty-two pounds during the month of January, ulcer or no fucking ulcer.

I get my kicks wherever I can.

Anyway, I’ll keep you updated on my gastrointestinal doings.

Now I have to go and help the J-Man work on his science project. Oh Joy, Oh Rapture.

Happy Sunday.

Going to the STUPID ER because I am throwing up STUPID blood.

My whole family has had the stomach flu, so I think it’s just that, but my mother thinks I have a bleeding ulcer.

FUCK.

See you on the flip side.

My iPod battery died, leaving me with about ten minutes of playing time before crapping out completely. I’ve had it for about five or six years, so I found this reasonable.

So, I went over to the Apple site to see about getting myself a replacement. They wanted me to send the Pod in and asked for sixty bucks.

Sixty bucks seemed like an awful lot, so I went to eBay.

EBay had batteries for eight bucks, and they came with the tools required for opening up the Pod. I immediately ordered one and told myseld that this would be as easy as pie.

Or else they wouldn’t sell them on eBay, right?

Right.

The battery arrived in about a week, along with a tiny plastic crowbar and no directions and the recommendation that you take your Pod to a technician.

Did I listen?

Of course not.

I looked up “how to change an iPod battery” on the internet and watched an instruction video about 12 times, and then I went to town.

It is not all super-extra easy to pry an iPod apart. At least it wasn’t for me. Maybe mine was extra-stubborn. All I know is that I bent my fucking screen.

Yes.

There was much swearing.

After the storm of swearing abated and the iPod was apart, I disconnected the old battery and connected the new one, and that was easy enough, but then the hard drive fell out. I picked it up, looked at it, and sort of stuffed it back in there.

You are probably laughing at me right now.

Then I smashed the Pod back together and stuffed it into the charger, praying to whatever technological god might take pity upon me.

Unfortunately the technological gods were not smiling down upon me, and it did not work. I was bereft. I had broken my baby. I was an idiot, an ass. I should never have monkeyed around with it. I should not have been a cheapass, and I should have sent it to Apple.

My dad came over last night. He knows nothing about iPods, but he is sort of an electronics genius, so he offered to take a look at it.

We opened it up.

“Well, JEN, you didn’t connect the hard drive.”
“I didn’t?”
“No.”
“Oh!!”
“And you didn’t connect this battery cable right.”
“Oh!!”
“And the screen is bent.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that.”
“I can’t fix that.”
“I know.”
“You should have just given it to me to fix.”
“I know, Dad. I know.”

Let this be a lesson to those of you who are do-it-yourself-ers prone to cheapassery: DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME.

I can still use my Pod on shuffle, but the screen is basically a blur of alien language.

Grrrr.

I think I may soon sell a bunch of crap on eBay (including two very pristine pairs of Doc Martens, including my BURGUNDY PATENT LEATHER Doc Martens, if you’re interested) and buy myself a 160G Classic.

So, remember how I lost twelve pounds last week and was all excited?

This week?

Not an ounce.

Not a single ounce.

I went up to a thousand calories a day, because my father and also a couple of readers and the internet in general suggested I wasn’t eating enough, and I think I am at a plateau.

I am furious, but I’m trying to deal, to keep going, and not to cheat because I’m pissed off.

Sigh.

Happy Thursday.

…And the angels said AAAAALLELUIA!

I lost twelve pounds last week.

I’m pretty damned excited.

It sounds pretty extreme, but hey, those bitches on The Biggest Loser drop like twenty-five pounds a week, so I figure my non-toiling ass can drop twelve.

I stayed on the liquid diet for three days and after that I kept my calories between eight hundred and a thousand, and I drank about two gallons of water a day to stave off the hunger.

I have to tell you, it’s working perfectly. I don’t feel hungry, and I am writing down everything I eat so as to keep track.

This week I am going to begin exercising. I’m going to start out small, with say, a half an hour on the treadmill every day, and then eventually increase it to an hour a day with some Pilates thrown in for good measure.

I feel pretty good.

This makes a total of 28 pounds lost for me, and I think I’m doing it in a healthy and very aware fashion, eating every few hours rather than binging and purging or just plain starving.

I’m eating a lot of cereals and yogurt and fruits and vegetables and soup, and I’m drinking a lot of tea.

I am drinking so much water that I have to pee every four and a half minutes, but my skin has never looked so great. Bonus.

So, I’m just going to keep on keepin’ on, and I’m going to talk to my doctor about it next time I see him to get a thumbs-up, which I’m sure I will, because the general consensus among my doctors has always been that Jen Is Too Fat To Live.

In other news, the J-Man had a weekend school project, in which he needed to create a musical instrument. We made a double-ended guitar, which I must admit was difficult but pretty damned wicked all the same.

In still other news, Alice the hamster very nearly met with an untimely death.

I was holding and petting her on the couch, because I must admit I have become somewhat attached to the little rodent, and suddenly she leaped off of my lap and onto the sofa, and dashed maniacally into the small space between the couch cushions that was created by my big ass.

Now.

We have one of those couches that pop out into recliners. Therefore space abounds underneath. However, could I pop the mechanism and rescue the hamster without squashing her in the process? More importantly, could I get to her before the cats, who were circling around like vultures?

My child moaned in the background. “YOU LOST HER.”

I held my breath, popped the mechanism, and that fucking hamster walked right up to me, the same time as the fat cat, who smacked her with a paw. Hard.

I grabbed her and stuffed her into her cage. Then I got her a baby carrot for good measure. “Good Alice. Good hamster.” “Goooood.”

It was a tense moment, especially since the J-Man’s friend recently told him a lovely story about finding HALF a hamster on the floor, mauled by the family cat.

I will be much more careful with the little bugger in the future.

I probably should also stop feeding her Chee-tos. She’s huge.

Happy Monday.