Surgery Day the First

Couldn't sleep last night, hope that means I'll zonk out for the whole thing. Something about peering up at a bunch of doctors while they murmur and joke as my guts are sucked out just gives me the creeps.

Between this, Surgery the Second, and my utter commitment to my personal trainer, Bruce, who is also a puppy foster dad for the Humane Society, (Love!) I will be fitting into the gorgeous Vera Wang dress I bought for my wedding.

Or, you know, heads will roll.

We are off to Dr. Porsche's office for my little adjustment!

UPDATE: Well, I was awake for the entire thing and had the unique opportunity to listen in on plastic surgeons discussing Kanye West's mother's death. My doc proudly announced, "We sucked out 3 lbs of fat!" After the puke-tastic reaction to Vicodin I am now abed, being coddled, and awaiting the bruises to go away and the swelling to go down. There is a celebratory belly shirt in my near future!

Going to the Chapel

Well now, it's official: Superfly and Trouble will wed.

Fresh on the heels of the Democratic National Convention in Denver, CO will be the Great Kosher Luau, a/k/a our delightful nuptials.

Want to get a fancy invite? Send me an email, why don't you: worldoftrouble@fastmail.us.

What's that? Did someone say the word "Bridezilla"? Bite your tongue. I am the sweetest, most reasonable bride in history. But I swear, if that DJ plays any kind of goofy line-dancing song I will HAVE HIS ASS!

Oh, and, you bet your sweet ass we are registered.

Mercury Retrograde

While wrestling with the bizarro events of the last few weeks I noticed that our favorite planet of communication breakdown, Mercury, is retrograde until February 19.

Now before you start wondering when I became a hippie doofus, answer these questions:

Have you received weird phone calls or emails in the last month?

Have you had your feelings hurt, or hurt another's feelings, thanks to misunderstanding?

Do you feel like, lately, you just aren't getting through to people?

Thank Mercury. Just don't take my word for it, read all about it here.

Don't Fucking Judge Me, People

Tonight I attended the birthday party of a girl I've known since middle school. She looks fabulous and apparently has a full and happy life. I'm super glad for her and was thankful for the invite to her party.

The whole 8th grade crew was there and we all hugged and smiled and shared our lives with each other. Two of my closest friends from that awful time in my life, when my mother's mental illness really kicked in and I started my bipolar episodes. All those friends said they felt at the time that something was wrong with me. Neat.

Those women are now mothers, like me. Those women suffered postpartum depression and have an inkling what it means to suffer mental illness.

Yet I was told by one friend that the other friends didn't want to talk to me, were concerned about seeing me. I never did any harm to those people, and they had no idea what I'd been through, but they came to a decision in their narrow brains that I was no longer someone worth being friends with.

Gossip is always bullshit. If you want to know about goings on in a particular person's life, it's always best to ask them personally. And if you hear that a person is going through a hard time and/or had bad things happen to them, it behooves you to decide if it's none of your damn business or what can you do to help your friend.

Sniping behind a person's back and casting damning judgments upon them is the work of weak minds and bad "friends".

You know what? If you don't like me for who I am, mental illness and all, then fuck you very much.

I cried the whole way home from this party, after a drunk individual clued me in to the others' gossip. Why do I care? I was so happy to see my old friends after all these years and they sure made a big deal out of seeing me and wanting to get together and such. One of them in particular knows me better than almost anyone. Her family took me in, to some degree, when my own home was incredibly dangerous. Now it's all sweetness to my face and get-me-away-from-her behind my back.

I was not drinking or acting foolish. I was unnaturally quiet and still. I guess I disappointed everyone by not chugging tequila and dancing on the bar. It took me awhile to figure out I was a pariah.

I left and cried the whole way home. I cry so rarely that I'm not sure my eyes knew what to do.

This sucks.

Surgery Journal, Part Deux

There are actually two happening in the next couple of months. The first is the last week of February, I cannot wait! The surgeon is well-known, he's even been on the "Today" show. As he examines my nude form we talk about cars. He's a Porsche guy.

He looks like a lot of guys who contacted me on JDate. Despite this, he's a swell guy. His assistant is mega-efficient and scares me just a little.

The second surgery is caught up in interminable insurance foolishness. I don't want to get my hopes up any higher than they are, but that surgeon does appear confident. He doesn't look like a surgeon, by the by, he looks like a college professor. Western Civ, maybe. He shares a name (though differently spelled) with a Urologist I once knew, who was an utter bastard.

Little-Known Trouble Fact: I was a grantwriter for the Dept. of Urology and secretary to a world-famous prostate cancer researcher/surgeon. As part of my job I got to call little old men and ask them about their erections.

I am tempted to post before and afters. Not that tempted!

Open Letter to Amy and Britney

Girls, take a seat a listen. Who am I? Something of an authority on being Bipolar, that's who. I have some learnin' to share with you that I know will help, if you'll just pay attention.

A Bipolar celebrity is a little redundant, since most BPD sufferers feel like the star of the show anyway. Not to mention that a staggering number of artists, musicians, authors, and other celebrities are Bipolar. Something about creativity and the mysterious region of the brain from whence BPD sprouts, but that's for the eggheads to work out.

Me, I was diagnosed back in 2002, in the midst of spectacularly awful breakdown. What you feel when you are diagnosed is usually a heady mix of rage, shame, paranoia and bitter disappointment, often resulting in substance abuse. Which, as you know, makes things exponentially worse.

Try not to dwell on the fact that something is wrong with you. Instead, endeavor to do something about it. Surrender to the help from family and doctors who still love you, even though you are killing them with your bullshit. Quietly disassociate from those people trying to control and exploit you. Listen, I've been there. This is hard to do. Your life does actually depend on you getting rid of these people, though. Focus on the people who matter: your family (and Britney, your babies).

The irony of trading illegal drugs for far more dangerous legal ones rankles, but, Alice, the one makes you sick and the other makes you well. Eventually!

Finding the therapy that works best for you takes time and a willingness on your part to be proactive in your health. Lithium works best for BPD. When you first start Lithium treatment, you will feel spacey and emotionally dull. You will likely gain weight. You'll suffer alternating constipation and diarrhea. Your teeth will rot (for you, Amy, perhaps not an issue). You will go to the doctor's office a lot, to have your blood levels checked and for various complaints.

But you begin to think clearer than you ever have before. Your true personality — not that crazy slut addict who is currently trying to kill you, she's not real — emerges; talent, charm, sanity intact. You see, you are diseased right now, as if you were running around with oozing scabs all over your body that only you can see.

GET HELP. The only thing that will change is the paparazzi, who will quickly grow bored of your healthy lifestyle and quiet success. Oh, and a little thing called happiness. Not the fleeting, thrill-seeking happiness, rather the effortless, permanent kind.

GET HELP. Start with a psychiatrist and a proper Med Eval. Comply with your treatment. When you can, add cognitive behavior therapist with experience with Bipolar patients. Skip the "licensed counselors", they are not prepared for your needs. Exercise, dance, sing, take classes in things that interest you, travel, spend time with your family, repairing those burnt bridges. Stay clear of your old party friends.

FYI, I lived this (minus the illegal drugs) and came out of it better than ever. I'm four years stable and get the "meh" treatment from my psychiatrist and therapist. I comply with almost everything they tell me to do (there was this one psych doc who was a little too eager to put me on experimental drugs, he was fired) and do what I can to mitigate the side effects of Lithium.

My bridges are completely repaired and fortified. I feel amazing. Now, I don't have talent like you two girls, but I have my little journalism career and I'm enjoying enough success to occasionally get VIP treatment. That suits me. If you take my advice your comebacks will make history. Not infamy, history.

Here's what you should do right now: have a flunky go out and buy you a copy of An Unquiet Mind by Kay Redfield Jamison. Take a highlighter pen and read the book. When something Kay writes connects with your addled brain, highlight it. Take that book with you to your psych/therapist and show off the neon pages.

I still have that book and I read it from time to time, to remind me of the brave steps I took to save myself. Amy, Britney, I'm praying for you. Call or write me anytime, just to talk.

Quarantine

Great Caesar's Ghost! Talk about communicable disease. We all got it; me, Superfly, the Troublets, even Trouble Jr.


It starts with a run down, cranky feeling
Then the sandpaper coughing and violent sneezing
Soon you are swooning in bed with spiky fever
Some have nausea and vomiting, some are more the ebola diarrhea type
Everyone clutches their tissue box in a vise grip
Everyone wears 8 layers of clothes and still shivers
We've run through two boxes of tea and two honey bears

A week later, I am the only one well enough to make the tea, take temperatures, pick up the snot rags and dispense Nyquil/Tylenol Cold for Kids.

So, if you haven't caught this nastiness yet, let me make a few recommendations on how best to prepare:

(Make these purchases at Costco)

Nyquil
Puffs Plus with Vicks
The good humidifier
Chicken soup
Honey-lemon throat drops
Digital thermometer
Thick, flannel pajamas
Socks
Saltines
Ginger Ale, if you hate Gatorade as much as I do

Believe me, you're gonna get sick. Don't matter that you got a flu shot, it'll catch up to you. Just collect this stuff now while you're well. Trust me.

Dr. Trouble, at your service.