Steroids Update

I cancelled my internet last week because I felt like all the time I spent online was obscuring the stuff in my head. And while I think it was a good move, not having internet is a logistical mess. So my blog posts will probably be less frequent -- at least until I convince Blogger to accept the photos I've tried sending from my phone. And then there will be photos, sometimes.

It's been about two and a half weeks on the steroids, and for the past week or so my coochie has been raw and irritated. Simple contact like water running over it in the shower is gross, and peeing has become even more awful than it was before.

I have to call the dermatology department to make a follow-up appointment (at 2 months on the steroids), and I'm going to leave a message for my doctor/resident/whoever's left (the doc was leaving for Florida or something) to tell them about the increased pain. I know the steroids may cause temporary irritation at the beginning, but I guess I thought that period would be over by now, and I'm concerned that as things get more disgusting down there I risk a more permanent heightening of my pain.

I'm also going to make an appointment with an allergist, probably long overdue.

I'm thinking in the back of my head about Occam's Razor: the most direct explanation for vulvodynia remains an infection. What kind of disease affects 15% of the population? Infection.

I'm also thinking about this. Lora has been dealing with cervical cancer for six years but is disallowed from ridding herself of the source with a partial hysterectomy because she might want to have another baby someday. Lora, I am so sorry.

I hate doctors. What gets me most worked up these days is thinking about how little they seem to care about us. I wrote this elsewhere a few days ago, comparing customer service at my job to customer service at theirs...

if i ignored things like they did in my job, or said no to things like they do, or failed to consider something...refused to serve [customers] honey mustard, failed to bring out salsa, didn't refill drinks, didn't smile, ignored questions, seemed skeptical of their soup choices, recommended against broccoli, charged for "restaurant incidentals," waited for them to call me over, got surprised when they knew how to pronounce "reuben," asked them if they were servers since they knew what a napkin was, moved the food around their plates as they were eating, dumped the food in the garbage before they were done, walked off in an important huff, and sent them a bill later at three times the meal's value....

I just don't have the bigness in my heart necessary to give doctors the benefit of the doubt right now.

But I'm feeling okay otherwise.

I will send you pictures! NOT of my vulva!