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About Tehuti
I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.
As I'm not seeking publication, I offer my work online for free reading. I'm not seeking stylistic critique so much as feedback from people who just like reading what I write. I love hearing what people think of my characters, plots, themes, etc., so if you have any comments or advice on those, feel free to share. I'm not hugely popular and often go many months without hearing from readers so I enjoy all the comments I get!
My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.
Feel free to hit me up if you're interested in any of these things, and enjoy my writing!
Tar! :) |
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Untitled Tentative Blog-Type Thing Entry #702095, added on 07-22-10 @ 2:50 pm EDT
Entry Access Restriction: None.
Don't even feel like typing up journal entries anymore but I haven't anywhere or anyone else with whom to talk. My urologist is about to wash his hands of me. The biweekly instills weren't doing anything as far as I could tell, so I asked on the interstitial cystitis forum and the people there were surprised I was waiting so long between them, so we upped them to once weekly. I had the first yesterday. That makes it the fifth instill, total. I didn't know how long I'm supposed to keep this up before maybe getting any results; yesterday as I went in, the nurse said the doctor had scheduled me for merely four as "He doesn't want this to be a long-term treatment." So I can safely assume that means once these four--now three--instills are over, that's it, he's through. Because he refuses to try anything else.
I asked about upping the oral dosage and he said no since there are side effects and he doesn't want to go over the recommended 300mg dosage. But I'm the one taking the stuff. I have no problem with trying 400 since I've had no side effects on the 300. If I had bad side effects, I'd go back to 300. But no, he refused.
Ma had asked him, last time, about the ulcer, if this medication helps treat that. He avoided the question yet again and said sometimes they treat ulcers by cutting or burning them out--something I'd found out on my own, months ago--but he didn't recommend that since in his opinion that would just make it worse. (He won't even say if the ulcer is contributing to the problem or not. Just won't answer direct questions.) So no, he refuses that (as if he does bladder surgery anyway, which he doesn't).
There's another medication they can instill into the bladder, he'd mentioned it before, but it's known to be far more painful and irritating than the Elmiron, so no, he didn't recommend that.
And apparently three more lousy instills is all he will agree to do. (And he's not even the one doing them so why the f**k he cares if this is "long term" or not is beyond me.) When the people on the IC forum told me some of them have to have them daily, and some have been getting them for years. One woman on a drug other than Elmiron said it took her twelve instills before she felt any improvement.
I'm to have eight instills total, five of which I've already had. Eight months so far on the oral medications. No improvement.
The urologist has flatly said he believes surgery is the only thing that will help me. He doesn't do surgery. I'd have to travel like 6-8hrs for that.
Washing his hands of me.
I've put up with this for a year, all sorts of people poking and prodding me and putting things in me and telling me to do this and do that and take this and take that, and I've done everything they've said, because they're doctors and doctors are supposed to make you feel better. I went through all this in the belief that these people would actually mean what they say for once in my life when they said they'd help me. And yet again they're getting ready to give up, drop the ball, leave me hanging. This is the only treatment I've ever gotten throughout my entire life--people promise they'll help me if I'll only help myself too, which I do, only for them to just shrug and give up and leave me hanging on my own. Friends, therapists, doctors, they're all the same. They all insist I'm worth the trouble, they'll do all they can if I try as hard as I can, I try, then they leave me hanging. Oh well, sorry, bye-bye.
How come I'm always the one told that I give up too easily? I've been holding on over thirty years now with no real reason to keep doing so. I'm tired of holding on for nothing. Psychologist was so worried about me she had me see the psychiatrist who put me on Wellbutrin, not that it seems to be doing any good, as always. I've sat here crying all night and day. I held the Elmiron in my bladder 2:45hrs last night, the longest ever, though it drove me crazy and there ended up being 5.5oz in there; the last time I spoke to him the urologist actually seemed to smirk when I asked about the effects of the meds on the bladder once it's urinated out, saying, "It's not going to be doing much good if you can only hold like 1.5oz." Smirked. Like I'm peeing every hour just to be annoying. Look at this stupid girl, she actually thinks this medication will help her when she can't keep it in there longer than an hour or so. How funny. I think a mere eight instills, and his refusal to up my oral dosage, based on comments in the IC forum, is unreasonable, but now even the people in the forum won't reply to me, even they're tired of me so I have nobody I can ask for help or recommendations. I want to boot his f**king ass, get a recommendation to another urologist, who probably won't be able to do much good either but who might at least GIVE A CRAP that I'm suffering, and not smirk or shrug and wash their hands of me just like that.
How many doctors try a few standard treatments, then shrug and tell you to go for the most dangerous and invasive treatment there is, the end, bye? Isn't that negligent? I really had more faith in doctors before now. My primary care physician, my gynecologist, my psychologist and psychiatrist, they all seem more understanding than my f**king so-called urologist, but none of them are qualified to help with this. He's the supposed "expert." What do you do when the expert just doesn't care?
I don't know if I'm to put my foot down with him, demand a referral, or just give up. People tell me not to give up. Why not? Everyone else gives up on me. AN ENTIRE YEAR I have been putting up with this, trusting in these people to help me, doing everything they say, and they're still going to just give up. They won't lose any sleep at night. My life has no meaning to them. I can't find any meaning in it myself. What meaning does my suffering have? It's doing nobody any good whatsoever; in fact, it's just bothering them. I can't even say, well, maybe somebody else who's suffering will come across this and take comfort, because that's assigning my life an importance it does not have. I'm just basing this on a lifetime of experience. I'm tired of holding on if this is all there's ever going to be. Sheer habit gets me out of bed in the morning. OCD. Must get up and follow my routine like every other day. Remove the compulsion, my reasons for holding on are gone. That's all that's keeping me going anymore. Compulsions. And even they're wearing pretty thin. Habit can get you only so far. My habit of trusting people's word has gotten me nowhere in life except miserable and let down and alone.
I want somebody to actually mean it when they say they'll go to the ends of the earth for me, they'll do all they can to help me because I'm "worth it." Maybe I would believe I'm worth it, if somebody would actually mean it when they say that. I would go to the ends of the earth for somebody if they'd f**king do it for me. But nobody needs me to do that for them, so why should they do it for me? There's one word for me. Superfluous.
There's the part of me that cries and just wishes it was over and insists none of this is worth it, I'm not worth it, and there's the part of me that gets pissed off and screams and is sick and tired of the letdowns and wants everyone to know about it because I'm through with it, I'm tired of being life's doormat, I deserve SOMETHING good after all the shit I've been through and how good I've tried to be all my life. But the former part seems to win out every time. Wouldn't I have something good in my life by now if I was meant to? Since all it's been is disappointment and misery, doesn't that rather point at that being all there is for me?
Someone (who has probably forgotten my existence by now) once told me that maybe my purpose in life is to find out what my purpose is at age 45. The exact age doesn't matter, the idea is the same. But it's a big fat maybe. I've been grasping at maybes throughout this whole treatment. Maybe this sensitivity is a good sign that it's healing. Maybe this discomfort will be gone tomorrow. Maybe the meds will finally kick in today. Maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight. Maybe I'll get better. Maybe maybe maybe. And none of it ever pans out. Just one letdown after another. Maybe my purpose in life is to find out, at age 45, that there just is no purpose. You see it works either way. It all goes on faith and look where faith has gotten me. Nowhere. Who am I to presume my life has a great purpose? The past 33 years (I'm not even sure of my age anymore, I stopped keeping track long ago) haven't had any purpose, why should the next 33?
God I hope there's no next 33.
Got a case manager to at least drive me to my appointments. Psychologist said she's not a taxi service but it's her job to help people like me, so I resolved to just have her get me to my appointments and that's it, I hate putting people out. When I talked with her, she seemed surprised that that was all I was seeking. She could help me with housing, job seeking, shopping, food, all of that, she said; she could even just take me out for ice cream or a walk or bowling because "Everybody needs to get out sometimes." I declined. She's not a taxi service, and she's not a friend. She brought it up again when she drove me to my last appointment, since she knows I pretty much just hang out around my house all day, every day. I don't want to bother anyone, I told her. She insisted it's her job and she loves doing it, and left the offer open. I won't take her up on it even though it makes me cry. Because I need more than just getting out of the house. I need a friend to get out of here with. She's not a friend, just somebody whose job this is. I need too much she could never give.
I want to call somebody and ask for help, advice, what to do, somebody to convince me there's a point in holding on, but even when people tell me that, life just shows me soon enough that it's wrong. And I don't really have anybody to call. Not for any reason great enough. I'm just sitting here crying, same as every other day after day, not holding razors to my wrists. I just somehow never reach that point where I'm holding razors to my wrists, though I wish I would, to just get it over with already. Crying day after day is no cause for an emergency, even if it hurts inside just as much as razors do outside. Psychologist and Psychiatrist and Case Manager all insisted on me calling them if I find myself getting worse. I always mumble I'll try. But by now I don't know where the point is when you find yourself getting worse enough to bother calling. All my life seems to have is worse. Never better. I never call because how can I know it won't be even worse tomorrow? And it always is, day after day, I have no idea where or what the bottom is, so I never call because I don't want to be that person who's always calling and calling. The thing is, my life has been like this for so long, and will be like this for quite a while if not always, that I always need somebody there. I just need too much that nobody else can give. If I called once, I'd be calling forever. I don't want to be that person. I don't want to bother people anymore. There was a time I thought my life was worth it, but that time is past. I want help, but I don't want to bother anyone. If I can't make somebody else happy or contribute anything to the world, the least I could do is leave everybody alone and not bother anybody since that's what people seem to want from me anyway. That's what I was trying to do before this issue started up. And take a look, even when I do manage to ask for help, I just end up going through all this to get brushed off and left hanging in the end anyway. Effort is not worth it. I'm not worth it. So I don't call anyone. Even posting here isn't really worth the effort, it's just the angry part of me that insists on holding on and speaking up because, as that dwindling voice insists, I am worth it. It never wins out for long.
Yesterday morning my bladder was surprisingly unsensitive. I got up to 2oz and it felt like only one. Today, it seems even more sensitive than ever. A lousy ounce irritates me. What are signs that this treatment might be starting to work? I kept asking on the forum, but all they'd ever tell me is it could take a year or more for significant improvement. What about for just plain improvement, any improvement at all? Shouldn't I have felt something by now? Nobody will tell me what it will feel like if it starts working. Nobody will even tell me if the urologist is being unreasonable and if it's time for me to try something else. I went to the bathroom 17 minutes ago and feel like I have to go again even though I know there's practically nothing in there. I just feel worse. I wish I would get better, but I never do, physically or mentally. I'm tired of hoping that I will, then waking up (if I manage to get to sleep) to the same old misery.
The other day it kept me awake well into the night, then when I finally got to sleep, all I kept dreaming was that I couldn't get to sleep, so it was like I didn't sleep at all. That's what my entire life now feels like. Waking up from a lousy dream, into a lousy life, going back to sleep into a lousy dream. Repeat. Endlessly.
I'm tired of there being no point to all this. Maybe if I knew there was a point, I could tolerate it, but I honestly don't see one.
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