Age is Just a Number

Sixteen was supposed to be some big, important year. And in a way I guess it was, for me, but none of it happened because I was sixteen. It happened because I expanded my mind and my social circle, and I wiped my tears away and traveled as much as I could, and I decided something needed to change. And it did, I guess. But that was all me and not my age.

So seventeen? I'm sure it will be new and exciting, but I won't change and none of it will happen on my actual birthday tomorrow like it does in books.

New Year's Eve Musings

I am sitting in my aunt's new house, eating hummus, thinking of who I was around this time last year, who I am now, and who I want to be next year.

OK, that is a lie. Sorry, I was trying to sound sophisticated.

The part about my location and the hummus is true but I wasn't really thinking about that. Really I was watching Malcolm In The Middle and messing around on the internet and I gave myself an internal guilt trip about how horrible I have been about keeping up with this blog. So here I am, lying to the 55 people that continue to care about my thoughts, no matter how rare and redundant they may be. I'm a bad person.

Anyways I am here to talk about New Year's Resolutions. At this moment, right now, here is what I want to have accomplished in a year from now:

• write in my journal every day (even if it's only one word)
• write two novels (for a grand total of five. Five that I can shove in people's faces when they say I haven't accomplished anything)
• get in "the agent game" or something that means querying that doesn't sound as cheesy (also this includes editing enough to make it agent-worthy)
• learn to play the ukeleleleleleeeee (I don't know how to spell that word.)

I remember last year I think I posted about how it was going to be "The Year of Jessica" or something and in some ways that was true. Sometimes. I mean, I was in pain for nearly half of the year, but it was a pain that has been resolved. I was told I could no longer consume dairy, but I feel better than ever. I went to a writing retreat and knew I'd probably write my novel and I'd probably be too socially awkward to do anything, and I ended up finishing my novel and meeting amazing people and learning new things about--as cheesy as it sounds--both life and myself and what I want from both of those things. I guess you could say 2012 started off pretty crappy but ended strong. And that's definitely better than being 100% crappy.

A General Update

I just finished a blogging workshop here at the Unschool Adventures Writing Retreat and realized that I have not updated this blog in a month and a half, and that was when I was working on draft #2. So here is an update:

• I finished draft #2. I hate it a bit but that's okay.
• As of yesterday I finished draft #3. I was the first one at the retreat to finish their project. Not that it was or is a race. (But if it was I would have won.) I genuinely like it, though I know it still needs work. But I do think it's my favorite draft I've written so far.
• The retreat is awesome. Seriously, these are some of the coolest and nicest people I have ever met. Also everyone here swears and I'm developing quite the mouth and it's growing harder to not swear on this blog. I especially swear while playing Settlers of Catan, it seems.
• I learned how to play Settlers of Catan.
• Hurricane Sandy failed in her attempt to kill me.
• We are out of Ritz crackers. 
• I fear I am getting sick because my throat hurts.
• I am going to start getting better about blogging here.

Why Did I Ever Decide I Like Writing

AND OTHER THINGS YOU ASK YOURSELF WHILE WRITING.

I'm 22,000 words into my current book and honestly I want to print it out and set it on fire. I feel like the characters are stale and whiny and the writing is overly angsty and repetitive. The pacing is strange because I keep not writing for long periods of time and then come back to it--which is basically the worst thing I've ever done, I decided. Everything is all awkwardly clumped together at this point. I want to stop writing it. I want to go back and edit edit edit and just figure out the last 10,000 words later. (Because honestly I don't see this train wreck going past 35,000 words. Also I think I'm going to be a short first-drafter.

Yet I march on with honor, pride, and lots of honorable whining.

And I have to finish it in a month. Why? Well, I'm going on a sort of ADVENTURE of sorts. Not really. I'm just going to a house with some strangers for a month to write, but it feels close to an adventure to me, so maybe it is. Anyways it's an unchoolers retreat and I'm very very excited for it and only very nervous. Which is a refreshing change of pace when you're in a perpetual state of fear like me.

Anyways, I have to write a different book for that, so I must finish this one. And then when I come home, I will have three first drafts ready for an abundance of editing. That is what makes me very, very nervous.

SO basically that was me procrastinating writing this stupid book that I now hate and want to fix because it has so much potential but cannot at this time.

Sorry.

My Hospital Journey: Day 4 and Beyond

That night I felt like I hardly slept. I kept awaking with a sharp gasp of breath and an even sharper pain in my chest muscles. Every time this happened I would press that button that gave me fabulous pain meds, and several times I had to wake up mom because it felt like something was wrong. I mean, with that much pain, something HAD to be wrong. But nope. This is just normal post-surgery pain.

Basically SURGERY IS AWFUL AND PAINFUL AND I SUGGEST YOU ATTEMPT TO AVOID IT.

When I woke up for good I believe there was a Buffy marathon. Everything in the room seemed more boring and I was much more nervous with the possibility that I would have to continue to endure the hospital, or that I would go home and hurt myself and have to come back. More than that, I was tired. My muscles were sore and spasming, I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in four days, and I just wanted to go home.

So when the nurse came in and was all, "GET UP," I was like, "LADEH LET'S DO THIS," and do it we did. I walked down the entire hallway! Which could fit into a football field like a zillion times, but it felt like I was walking the length of a football field. Perspective is everything, my friends.

After my triumph, I went to the bathroom. I was INDEPENDENT. I was HEALTHY. I was ON THE ROAD TO RECOVERY.

But anyways after that I was exhausted so I took a very pleasant nap.

(Oh and apparently I farted at some point, because they decided to let me go home.)

When I woke up there were various phone calls coming in from people to tell us about my newest cousin's birth followed by frantic gathering of our things and me plopping down in--YAY--a wheelchair. Those things are FUN man. Why am I still walking places?

I tried my best to make small talk with the volunteer that wheeled me down while my mom went to grab the car. I was amazed at how well I was actually doing at it. Maybe it was because I'd hardly talked to anyone in days.

We stopped by Skizz's to drop off some stuff, then we were home. Finally. FINALLY FINALLY. Finally.

The road to recovery kind of all blurs together after that. I do remember that the first day was really rough. It was almost impossible to get comfortable, but all I wanted to do was sit and sleep.

But with some over-the-counter meds and something the hospital had sent home with me for pain--oh and I guess my family helped--I did get better. Completely, 100% better. I'm even working out and everything, but still I feel fine. There were no complications or serious side effects that came with my surgeries, and for that I'm totally grateful.

NOW LET THE NON-HOSPITAL RECAP BLOGGING BEGIN.

(Oh, were you expecting some sort of profound and/or explosive ending? Sorry, that's kinda it. I walked. I farted. I went home. THE END. Day four was really boring.)

My Hospital Journey: Day 3

Have you ever woken up to some lady in scrubs grabbing your arm in one hand, holding a needle in the other? It is TERRIFYING. I have to wonder if this is the fate of all those vampire-obsessed teens in the books I read so long ago: are they doomed to be a vampire's booty call at four a.m.? Are they and I not so different after all?

Yeah, that happened, which made it kind of difficult to get back to sleep. When I was asleep, I was awoken by some annoying doctor saying, "Hi! We'll be prepping you for surgery soon. You have nothing to worry about. It'll be about a 45 minute operation. Etc!" This was at like seven-thirty, so you can imagine my intense feelings of dislike towards this man. Also confusion, because who is coherent in this scenario?

After that everything around me was rush rush rush, and I could do nothing but stare at the clock, much like the day before that one. I counted down the seconds until people came in and pumped something in my IV that immediately made my head feel lighter and everything was like ten times cooler and fuzzier. Not only that, but it also made the whole gut-wrenching walk to the OR that much faster. Also I felt like I could shout "WOOOO" and maybe live forever too.

So in this case I don't really remember what I did to distract myself on the table. I was probably already passed out.

Anyways, I woke up again in the recovery room to people leaning over me, going, "HEY," with eyes that seemed way too eager. "Nausea," I told them, for a reason I'm hoping you can figure out on your own. They were all, "Ok, we'll give you something for that." I'm pretty sure this was a lie, because the nausea remained as fierce as before when I woke up again in my room. I was still moaning "Uhhhhh," with the nausea. Every family member I have was in the room, telling me how much better I looked already.

They then told me things that I don't remember anymore. I do remember that they kept saying how I wouldn't remember anything they said, but the next time I woke up I did remember it, and I felt triumphant and special and vowed to remember it forever and ever. Of course now I've forgotten. Family: 1. Jessica: -1 (gall bladder).

Anyways, I fell asleep after that because the nausea was intense and the drugs they gave me for said nausea were also, I presume, intense.

At about noon, I think, I woke up and--shockingly--I had regained my ability to speak. But I also felt a pain around my gall bladder area as soon as I woke up. After some swears and grumbles of fear from my mother, we discovered it was due to my incision. There were four of them, actually, and each of them were covered in hardened purple glue. In hindsight, I really should've taken pictures of them. They were really cool. Honestly, what kind of blogger am I to not have taken photographic evidence of my incisions?

Then I discovered I was able to drink. I nearly cried from glee. Don't take your water for granted, guys.

Just after that I read my texts, and there was one from Skizz saying something like, "Jeffy I want to see your cool incisions invite me over when you feel up to it."* I felt good, so I told her and her mom to come on over. They did, and again I heard about how much better I looked. Now, at this time it had been about 6 days since I showered, so I must've looked really, really bad pre-surgery.

We talked for a while, though Skizz probably did most of the talking because while I felt really good, everything was still a tiny bit hazy. Possibly due to pain meds or something. Either way I was a fairly poor hostess, which Skizz assured me was fine when I brought this point up to her.

Then a wave of people came into my room: uncles, aunts, grandparents! And each of them came bearing gifts, like Starbucks and froyo, mainly because I could now have them, and that was worth celebrating  The IV in my arm still made it rather difficult to do anything that required two hands though (I found out the first night that if you wiggle it around too much, the machine screeches at you). Because of this, my dear sister was forced to feed me to froyo.

I look great, see?

Then there was lots of nodding and talking before everyone started to slowly trickle out, except for Al, who stayed with mom and I until dad and Boy-boy came with sushi. I kind of closed my eyes and rested while they ate, then they left and left myself and mother to suffer another dreadful night at the hospital.

Somewhere in between all of these mundane events, I was given power: a button that filled my IV with pain meds. I could push it every six minutes. I was pushing the button quite a bit, because throughout the day my incision pain started to get more severe. Then a nurse told me not to rely on the pain meds, which confused me I guess, so I went light on them for a while.

MUST FIND RELEASE, screamed my bladder a little while later. I am not one to argue with the basic rules of life, so I told it okay and walked very, very slowly--with assistance--to the bathroom in my room. On the toilet (TMI?) my incisions started to hurt. A lot. So I pushed the pain meds button. A minute or so later, I tried to stand up.

Big mistake.

My vision got spotty in ways it previously had just before I had to sit down on the floor because I didn't want to fall on it. Mom called the nurses who gave the whole getting me into bed thing the good college try (if that means a good try, I'm not sure, I haven't mastered that one yet). Despite their efforts, I still had to sit down. Everything was very, very white. The nice, mousy nurse took my blood pressure while I sat on the bathroom floor.

By the way, I cannot remember if my underwear was where they are supposed to be or not. They may have still been around my ankles, and I could have been flashing these poor nurses things they don't want or need to see. Or my underwear was in the perfectly appropriate place. You'd think I would remember that, but I do not.

Anyways, my blood pressure was low. They got me back to my bed and situated. Well, as situated as one could possibly be while in a hospital bed, when it hurts said one everywhere to move any way at all. So not very. Which sucked.

After that whole incident, everyone kept looking at me like they were Mr T and I was The Foo. They were not entirely sure I would be able to go home the next morning, because they won't let you leave the hospital if you can't walk or pass gas.

Sleep did not come easy that night.

*Okay, this may not have been the actual text.

My Hospital Journey: Day 2

I could say I was doing Day 2 by popular demand, but instead I'll just say the truth:

HERE YOU GO, SKIZZ.
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I didn't get much sleep that night, but no one can fault me for that. Mostly because people kept waking me up to check my blood pressure and other stats. I think I ended waking up at like 7:30 that morning. Nothing good was on TV.

The first non-nurse person to walk into my room was my dad. He brought some stuff for mom from the house and saw me and talked and normal visitor stuff.

Then the pediatrician came in and we talked. He told me that I was, despite what the ER doctor said, going to have to get my gall bladder taken out, and that one of the surgeons will talk to me more about it later.

After that one of the surgeon guys came in to talk to me. He told me that my gall bladder would have to come out because if one gall stone came out, more will and I could get pancreatitis because of that. He even drew a picture of my insides. Which was weird. But helpful.

Luckily, immediately after he left Skizz, her mom, and her older brother came in to distract me from the idea of cut-you-open-and-pull-things-out surgery. Skizz sat on my bed while we talked, and maybe it was the fluorescent hospital lights but I could've sworn at one point I saw her eyes fill with tears, which I ignored. It was kind of easy to ignore it when her brother kept playing with my hospital bed and his mom kept telling him to stop.

A woman came in while they were all there to take my blood. I tried to look away, but she was taking forever and I looked over. I saw the needle. "MOM SHE'S GONNA GET ME WITH THE NEEDLE," I yelled.

She ran to my side to hold my hand while the woman stuck the needle into my arm. She sucked at taking blood. I didn't like her. I'm pretty sure she had to prick me twice.

Immediately after Skizz's family left a male nurse came in and said it would be time for my operation in about an hour and a half. (The one where they shove the tube down my throat and push the gall stone out of my bile duct.) He probably put something on my IV. Most people did that weekend.

So I passed the time--meaning I stared at the clock--until two people in scrubs came in a did things to my bed and rolled me out of the room, my mom running behind them.

Mom and I made lame jokes as we walked down. One of the women asked if I was wearing any patches. Very nervous and confused, I answered, "I'm not a pirate."


I don't even remember saying this, but since then this has become somewhat of a joke to my friends and family, so I've heard about it. The women didn't laugh, though. Mom did. She gets me.


We stopped in a hallway, a door on the right and the left. The nurses told mom that she was going through the left, and I through the right. Mom probably said she loved me and I probably said it back, but I was so terrified of getting two tubes shoved down my throat I don't remember, that's just an assumption.


I do remember being wheeled into the OR, and being asked to trade in my not-so-comfortable hospital bed for a cold, metal, even less comfortable OR table. I also remember feeling like I was in that Spongebob episode where he gets frozen, and thawed in the future where everything was made of chrome. Everything was metal, sterile, and kind of terrifying.


One of the people in scrubs asked me if I was cold, and I was shocked she even had to ask. I felt like I was in a freezer. She packed the warm blankets on me.


Someone put something in my IV. I looked at the clock. The red numbers read 12:48.

I decided I needed to think of something else. Anything else. So I started singing "Business Time" to myself. This probably also had something to do with whatever the person injected into my IV, because not only was I singing to myself, but my vision was also getting kinda fuzzy.

Then the anesthesiologist (who we'd also gotten a visit from earlier) put that plastic blue mask you see on all the doctors shows on my face. He didn't ask me to count back from 100. He just asked me to breathe in and out. I remember breathing in once. I don't remember anything about that room or those people past that.

The next room was vastly different from the OR. It was white and--due to all the drugs in my system--fuzzy. All the events of the past 24 hours (or something around there--I didn't know how long I'd been out) came back to me all at once. The only thing I could concentrate on was the horrible nausea in my stomach. They'd warned me there may be nausea but...ow.


Someone whose face was especially blurry asked me how I was feeling. I tried to say "nausea" but I realized that I couldn't talk. Well, I could, but it really hurt and it was obvious that it took the person (I don't even know if it was a man or woman) used some serious effort to understand me. They said they'd give me something for it.

I think I went back to sleep, because the next time I opened my eyes I was back in my room, surrounded by family. Everyone was looking at me like I was hideous or diseased. I hadn't showered in a while and I was getting my second surgery sometime tomorrow, so I guess both of those things were true.

 I remember them saying hi and that I wouldn't remember them even being there later. I tried to stay awake, but it was pointless, especially since I couldn't even talk to them. I was out really shortly after that.

I woke up at 8 that night. I tried to talk again, but that was also pointless. I still couldn't eat or drink anything, so I hardly talked the whole night. Sometimes I would text mom things. Mostly I just watched TV.

I went to bed a little earlier that night.

My Hospital Journey: Day 1

So you know how I was having all of those pesky gall bladder problems? You know, extreme pain and stuff? Well, it was done! I could eat again! I mean, not anything, but some stuff!

Which is why when mom brought home Chinese food, I ate some. It's my favorite and I was feeling good. It'd be fine, right?

Wrong.

That night I got out of bed and ran downstairs in pain, Al following me so she could help me find the apple cider vinegar. I texted mom and before I knew it she was downstairs and I was drinking the apple cider vinegar, and then I lay on my mom's lap, moaning. I started to feel a tiny bit better so I went upstairs back to bed, but of course by then I was still hurting.

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday and Thursday I attempted to go out of the house and help on Al's play. No luck. I didn't even make it out of the house Wednesday. Thursday I went and had to leave because I just couldn't deal with the pain.

Friday I was supposed to go again but I still felt like crap. Everyone was about to leave when I burst into tears. When I burst into tears, mom knows things are wrong. I mean. it's not like it's a secret at this point.

She asked, "Do you need to go to the hospital?" I thought about this. Most of my attacks last one night. This had lasted four days. What if it was something else? Something worse? So finally I said yes.

After getting a few things and making a few calls, we were out the door, me still in massive amounts of pain. The drive to the hospital was probably about 45 minutes, but it felt like 3 hours.

Then there was the sitting in the ER waiting room, which was living up to its name. There was lots of waiting. Pain pain pain and waiting in an uncomfortable seat staring at a sign stating a person without health insurance's rights. (There are very little.)

Finally two people took my blood pressure, height, weight, asked me why I was there, and if there was any possibility I could be pregnant. (To which I responded HAHAHAHAHA...wait you were serious.) I looked over the lady's shoulder to see what she was typing about me on her computer. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I couldn't read everything, but I did make out, "Calm. Cooperative." I felt special. And calm and cooperative.

Then they took us to a room where I thought they were gonna kill us or something, mafia-style. Instead they took our insurance info. After that we only had to wait about another 20 minutes before they called our name. The nurse wheeled me to our room because walking seemed to make my pain worse. It was weird to be short.

After that I peed into a cup, which is never fun for me. It's messy. Then they left me with mom to change out of my shirt and into the hospital gown. It wasn't paper, and it was purple with flowers on it. Normally it would offend me but I didn't really care. Then a nurse and a doctor came in.

The ER doctor was a skeeze-ball. His hair was too slicked back, his teeth were too white, his smile was too big. It was like he was trying to cover something up. Skeeze-ball. (sk-EE-z ba-LL)

Anyways, he tells me to take my pants off, which freaks me out a little because SKEEZE BALL but not too bad. He feels my right stomach-area. I tell him ow. He says "hmmm". He leaves us. By this time I think it was 3 in the afternoon.

The nurse--a nice, short lady with a Spanish accent--comes back in periodically to check on me. The first time she did this she also stuck my IV in and took some blood from it.

Now guys, this may shock you, as I am obviously a very brave person, but I HATE needles. So that didn't please me. IVs, by the way, hurt worse than even regular needles. They have to make sure it's going to stay in your arm, so it's like they have to stab you twice: once to get the needle in, and once when it's in. She gave me some pain medicine through it though, so that made me like the IV a little more, even if it didn't take all the pain away.

She leaves, and mom tells me I look yellow, and God how did I not notice this before? I know what being yellow means. It means liver and gall bladder issues. Knowing that I am not surprised.

We flip through the channels, after FINALLY figuring out how to work the stupid TV. We settle on a re-run of SNL from the Ferrel/Morgan/Poehler/Fey/Fallon days. T'was a simpler time. A better time. Probably not the best thing to put on when laughing hurts so badly.

The skeezy doctor comes back and tells us that my liver enzymes were high so they're gonna sonogram me. Not too long after that, a guy in scrubs comes in and looks at our TV. "What are you watching?" he asks when he sees Tracy Morgan talking to some alien chicks. He's obviously jealous that we get to watch it and he doesn't. But instead of pulling up a chair he wheels my bed away with me in it to get a sonogram.

I've got to tell you, riding around in a bed is FUN. It's like a weird roller coaster or something, but slower and you get to lie down. Which basically means it's made of win. Also, you're not relying on engineers and science to guide you like you do a roller coaster, but instead once person's competence. (Well, hopefully competence.)

He wheels me to the sonogram room and a lady squirts something warm and sticky onto my stomach and rubs a wand around. She kept saying, "Deep breath. Hold it. Good," until finally I had it down to a science. She kept pushing down too hard too close to my gall bladder. Once she asked, "Does that hurt?" but she didn't seem to mind when I told her it did.

Needless to say, that lady and I did not become BFFs. We didn't even exchange numbers. I don't mind.

It felt like I was down there for at least an hour, but I'm not sure how long it really was. She wheels me back up (it was hard to resist throwing my hands up in the air and shouting "WEEEE FASTER" again, but I did). When I got back into the room I started flipping through the channels again and settled on some Hilary Duff movie I used to love and mom still loves.

Halfway through the movie the pain's starting to get bad again, so mom tells the nurse. A while later, she comes in with some pain meds. By this point I'm feeling better. When I tell the nurse this, she gives me a look and says, "I'm gonna give this to you anyways," and shoots it in my IV.

She says, "When I first give this to people, they say, 'I don't like it, I feel funny' but after ten seconds they say, 'I like it.'" Those people and I have something in common.

At first it made me feel sick. Too hot, too alert, too buzzy. When I made a face mom asked what it felt like, and I had no words, which tells you what I mean. A second later, it all started to relax into me and I felt invincible. I think I even shouted, "WOO." The Hilary Duff movie got a lot better after that, and lots of giggles ensued.

After the nurse gave me the good drugs, she asked if the doctor had talked to us yet. It was 7. We said no. She said, "Well he should talk to you soon," and she left.

She came back like 30 minutes later and asked again. When we said no, she made a face.

She asked this again twice, and each time her face got more and more irritated until she finally just told us: I was being admitted because of a gall stone.

We were not expecting this. We were kinda expecting just to be told my gall bladder needed to come out.

Then the doctor came in and told us more: a gall stone had managed to get out of my gall bladder and lodge itself in a bile duct, and it was stuck. They were going to have to go through my mouth to get it out.

A short while later I'm being wheeled away again, this time upstairs. Soon I'm shuffling into a new bed. Still no pain! Oh how I loved those drugs. If only I had had some of them the past week.

I hadn't eaten much all week due to the pain, so imagine my shock when, at 10 PM, I was starving! There was shock. They told me I couldn't eat past midnight (LIKE A GREMLIN) but gave me some crackers and Chex Mix and drinks. In that moment, it was heaven. I had never tasted anything more delicious.

Then midnight came and I decided it was time to sleep. I kept the TV on, though, because I knew that if I turned it off the beeping and sounds of the IV and fluid bag would get to be too much. Too strong of a reminder that I am in the hospital and getting surgery tomorrow. So I kept the TV on.
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And that concludes Day 1 of my hospital adventure. Stay tuned for Day 2!

Things I've Found One Can Do Without Dairy

• You can eat Peeps on Easter!
• You can go see awesome movies like, say, CABIN IN THE WOODS.
• You can get sunburned to the max at an awesome all day concert.
• You can make fun of people's grammar. ("You'll be able to say: I'm achiever.")
• You can cut your hair.
• You can eat SUSHI.
• You can eat Little Caesar's if you hold the cheese and the meat.
• You can ignore ALL YOUR BLOGS.
• You can get obsessed with Tetris.
• You can lose weight.
• You can eat grilled Daiya (fake cheese) sandwiches.

Thursday

On Thursday (the day after tomorrow, less than 48 hours away) I will be waking up butt early--6. I know you average Joes are like, "Oh my gosh, what a spoiled brat, how late does she usually sleep in? Until 8?!?!?!?" But I know that most homeschoolers are going, "OMG 6 WTF THAT IT HORRID THERE IS A CARE PACKAGE ON ITS WAY TO YOU." Don't send the care packages yet, though, friends. Let me finish.

I will be getting up at 6 and then rushing to the train station. It will be incredibly cold. I will probably be wearing my hat and gloves and hoodie and be bouncing up and down.

After that I will be getting on the train. Then I'll read a book on my Kobo and talk to mom and maybe play on my phone, all while getting more and more excited about our destination. Because our destination is NYC.

I KNOW.

I'll post pictures when I get back.

"And 1 Pizza Without Cheese For Jessica."

So I went to the doctor Monday. Here is what happened.

Doctor: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Doctor: So according to your blood work, you have very low levels of vitamin D--
Me: Is that the going-outside-one?
Doctor: Yes.
Me: Oh I understand.
Doctor: You've also got VERY low cholesterol. Which could be part of the reason why you're liver's wack. Also your gut is like WHOA screwed up. Oh, and you can never have cow milk again.
Me: Wait, what?
Doctor: We'll try goat or sheep milk next year.

This should freak me out because I effin' LOVE cheese and ice cream and sour cream and whipped cream and various other dairy products. But, at least right now, it doesn't. Maybe because I'm still not eating fat because of my gall bladder issues and haven't been eating it anyways. Maybe "forever" is still an unreachable dream. Maybe I'm in denial like my dad thinks I am. I AM NOT SURE. All I know is that my birthday party is going to have some interesting food.

Note: I cannot take dairy pills and eat it. That's for the lactose intolerant. I am STRAIGHT-UP allergic to dairy, and the only way to not make my allergy flare up is to NOT EAT IT. (I am assuming you're assuming this, because everyone so far has.)

I guess I may also not be freaking out because I won't be sick anymore soon. I am very much looking forward to that, because I've had to start drinking apple cider vinegar to make my side pains go away. IT'S AWFUL.

But I do giggle when I envision my future. I will be That Nerd With The Dairy Allergy that, when we have a pizza party, they'll have to order a cheese-less pizza, and I will be the only one to eat it, except maybe a really piggish person after they've eaten the cheese pizza.* I will be a Milhouse. I've even got the glasses I can wear. Somehow this doesn't shock me.

And this concludes the update on my health.

*I do not know when this imaginary pizza party is happening, as I'm not a part of anything that does such a thing.

Oh and by the way I'm still having gall bladder issues. In case you were wondering.

This makes as much sense to me as it does to you. I swear.