I bet I know more about feline diabetes than you do

Maude's diagnosis has put her in some very distinguished company.

A recent vet visit revealed that Maude's long streak of perfect health is finally over. She is diabetic and I must now give her twice-daily injections of insulin and feed her special food. It is certainly the beginning of a new chapter in our lives together.

But I'm coping -- and doing lots of internet research. Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine has a very helpful video series featuring some adorable cat actors. And this website has some very dramatic rhetoric: "Your Emotions Will Be Raw" cautions one section; another warns that:

Gone are the days of putting out food and water, giving a quick pat on the head, and hurrying out the door ... Friends, relatives, and co-workers may make insensitive comments that you are crazy to care for a chronically ill pet. Although it is difficult, try to ignore the unsupportive people - they do not understand the special bond of love that you share with your pet. Their inability to have compassion for an animal means that they will never experience the pure and unconditional love that can be shared between a human and a companion animal.

Damn!

I'm going to be the best caregiver that I can and take it one day at a time. Apparently, feline diabetes can go into remission and not all cats need insulin for their entire lives. Honestly, though, the syringe is tiny and Maude doesn't seem to mind so far. And if anything, she likes her new food more than the stuff I was feeding her. So we're adjusting. Our emotions are a little raw but we'll pull through. Feline "diabeetus": it's not a death sentence.

You give me fever

...."You" in this case being strep throat. I've got it, and my temperature today at the doctor's office: 101.8. Is it hot in here, or is that just me?

Having a fever really validates that you're sick. It's like the ultimate trump card, definitive proof that you are not well and thus cannot go to school, work, etc. No one questions you if you have a fever. I rarely get fevers, which is maybe why I still find them sort of exotic. As a kid, I always hoped the thermometer would give me numerical evidence that would make it seem merely coincidental that I had been struck down by illness on the very same day as my math test. Unfortunately, my temp was usually a stubbornly normal 98.6 and I had to rely on my acting skills to get out of school.

Today, however? Today I have an actual fever. Which sucks, because from what I can tell, it's gorgeous out. But I'm contagious and thus have to spend all day indoors, with only Maude to keep me company. And let's face it, she's not the greatest conversationalist. And even if she were, I can't really talk anyway since my throat is so sore. I cannot swallow without severely wincing and/or crying out. I've tried Chloroseptic, lozenges, gargling salt water, and copious amounts of ibuprofen (seriously, I practically OD'ed on Advil yesterday, taking 6 times the recommended daily dosage), but nothing soothes the pain.

I've had tonsillitis twice and strep throat several times. Apparently, my tonsils just aren't up to their designated task, which is to keep me from getting sick, not make me sick. From the Wikipedia entry on "tonsil":

These immunocompetent tissues represent the defense mechanism of first line against ingested or inhaled foreign pathogens. Like other organs of the lymphatic system, some believe them to be involved in helping fight off pharyngeal and upper respiratory tract infections, but there is no conclusive evidence to that effect.

Immunocompetent? More like immunoINcompetent if you ask me (zing!). I give my tonsils about a D- and that's being generous.

Another thing about tonsils: they are really ugly. Seriously, this is the stuff of nightmares:

Let's get a closer look, shall we?

I'm sorry, but THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING. That picture came from a decidedly anti-tonsil site that had this to say about tonsils:

Although the tonsils and adenoids, when healthy, do help fight infections, sometimes they cause much more trouble than they are worth. If the tonsils are frequently or chronically infected, they are no longer working properly. In fact, they have been 'subverted' by the enemy bacteria, acting as reservoirs for infection.

In other words, your tonsils can become TRAITOR TONSILS!

I hope, right now, a battle is taking place on my tonsils and that the antibiotics I took this morning are kicking some serious ass. This is what I imagine the antibiotics look like:


TAKE THAT, STREP THROAT!

*Ok, I know I'm abusing the ALL-CAPS. But cut me some slack: I have a fever, remember?


WTF ADDENDUM: I have just learned from my doctor that my throat culture came back positive for Group C strep. Apparently, I have an unusual strain -- A & B are the common ones. All Wikipedia says about group C is:

Includes S. equi, which causes strangles in horses,^[10] and S. zooepidemicus - S. equi is a clonal descendent or biovar of the ancestral S. zooepidemicus - which causes infections in several species of mammals including cattle and horses.

I HAVE CATTLE AND HORSE STREP???!?!?!?!?

Am I unknowingly a cow or a horse?

I am stunned by this new development. Fortunately, the antibiotics I am taking should work against my weird farm animal variety of strep. Thank God for small favors.

Sorry for the unannounced 2-week hiatus

Blog!

I have not forsaken you, despite the evidence to the contrary. I've been traveling....and there's a big post coming soon about my trip to Puerto Rico, a.k.a The Enchanted Isle (or "Echanted Isle" as one poorly edited website called it).

For a little teaser, I will say that it was a great trip, with just the right balance of physical activity (hiking, kayaking, salsa dancing) and lounging around by the pool and on the beach. And of course, it wouldn't be a Vagnino vacation without a Mysterious Medical Ailment! In addition to my tan, I have come home with approximately 117 itchy red bumps, mostly on my forearms. Can you guess which of the following is to blame? (Answer to be revealed in the next post)

A. Mosquito
B. Jellyfish
C. Poison Ivy
D. Chupacabra
Tune in soon for photos and more details....

Fall cold

Ladies and gentlemen, it's true: I have been felled by the fall cold that strikes many a weak-immuned person.


As thoroughly documented on this blog, my immune system is a total asshole. I have the Bernie Madoff of immune systems. And given the erratic temperatures in Boston lately, it should come as no surprise that I woke up this morning with the telltale scratchy throat and achy sinuses. I look like hell and I feel like crap. Or wait, maybe I look like crap and I feel like hell?

Beyond the obvious culprits (weather, white blood cells that don't do their frickin' jobs), someone or something else must be to blame. In between sneezes, I compiled this list of suspects:

1) Sneezing chick who sat next to me on the T last week (you know who you are)

2) Any of my undergrad students at the Emerson writing center, because let's face it, dorms are cesspools of disease

3) The Republican party

4) My cat, Maude

Ok, so some of these are more likely than others, but still, it's smart to cast the net wide in any initial scapegoat search. When I find out whose responsible for my nasty cold, THEY WILL PAY.

Not only does this woman have a cold, she is also suffering from severe 80s hair

"Do you practice aggressive belly button hygiene?"

That's a question I never expected to be asked. And yet last night, in the Tufts Medical Center ER, I found myself answering it.

"Um, I mean, I try to keep it clean and rinse it in the shower, is that what you mean?"

"Do you ever....stick anything down it? Like a paperclip? To try to dig out lint?"

"Uh....NO."

But let me back up. I guess I should first explain that people in my family take weird trips to the emergency room all the time. Two summers ago, my 23-year-old brother somehow got pericarditis (an infection of the tissue lining the heart, less serious than it sounds) in Paris (hey, that has a catchy sound to it..."pericarditis in Paris"). This past week, my mom's cat scratched her in the face and she had to go to the hospital to get stitches. And of course, who could forget my adventures with Frances the kidney stone.

So I was not that surprised that after a quick visit to my doctor due to some unexplained upper abdominal discomfort in my navel region, she told me I should go get it checked out ASAP at the hospital, where she predicted I would get an CT scan to rule out appendicitis.

The first doctor of many to examine me last night, after asking if I'd ever pierced my belly button, concluded that she'd "never seen anything like it before." I will spare you the details, because they're gross, but I will say that there was pus and it was freaky. Really, is there anything more horrible than pus?

So she went and got doctor #2, who asked the unusual question about belly button hygiene. Apparently, pus oozing out of your navel is a common side effect to shoving random objects down there. Who'd have thought?

After I convinced him that I had not, in fact, been prodding myself with any office supplies, he said I had to get a CT to see how far the infection had spread. Luckily, it turns out, my infection is "superficial." Not as in vapid, but as in just beneath the surface of my skin and easy to treat with antibiotics. Whew.

But strange, right? Have you ever heard of a belly button infection?

The ER on a Friday night was quite a lively place. My visit lasted just over nine hours and I saw three different doctors and a handful of nurses. I felt grateful, though -- the guy next to me had to get a spinal tap. And I had to listen to it. On the way out, around 2:00 a.m., they brought in a belligerent drunk guy who loudly told everyone in the hospital waiting room to line up and suck his you-know-what.

The worst part? Not the CT scan itself, but the disgusting "smoothie" I had to drink beforehand to make my insides more photogenic. It was just your basic creamy vanilla/barium sulfate blend. Jamba Juice should really take note.

The bitch is back

About a month ago, I blogged about my experience passing a kidney stone, which I named Frances. But the joke's on me, because apparently I didn't pass it. J/k! Good one, Frances! Seriously, you really had me there. What I passed was only a fragment or something. LOL.

I have heard kidney stones described as painful, horrible and nasty, but I want to add another adjective to that list: stealthy. My symptoms went away for a whole month and now they're back. Turns out Frances was just hiding out in my bladder, laying low for a month. Chillin' like a villain. My bladder must be like the Hamptons of my body.

My new theory is that she's hitching a ride to Boston and didn't want to risk it on the Fung Wah bus. Hopefully though, her days are numbered. Shit's getting serious now: I'm most likely getting lithotripsy. Bad news: my insurance is so ghetto right now that I'll have to pay out of pocket for it. Which is why I'm establishing the Frances Memorial Kidney Stone Foundation. If you'd like to make a donation, please let me know. I accept cash, checks, and prescription painkillers.

"This, too, shall pass..."

This phrase became all the more relevant last week, when I learned that I had a kidney stone.

What, you didn't know I was a 60-year-old man? Me either. I beat the odds-- kidney stones are most common in men over 40. But my kidneys are extra, extra special.

When I tell people about my kidney stone, they look horrified and ask about the pain. Men say it's akin to giving birth. Like they would know, but regardless, that's not what it was like for me. Maybe I have a high pain threshold, or maybe the aforementioned men are just sissies. Unclear.

The worst part of the experience for me was getting a CT scan. My doctor sent me to this fancy place on the Upper East Side that specializes in medical imaging technology

Publish Post

(MRIs, ultrasounds, etc). The place was more air-conditioned than the 6 train and very posh -- leather sofas, Sinatra playing softly in the background, tasteful wall sconces. It was like a Swiss chateau; I was even given a complementary beverage. Sadly, it was not a Cosmo, but a liter of cranberry juice, mixed with iodine.

When it was time for the scan, my body failed me again-- it took the doctor 4 tries to find a suitable vein. It brought back the shame of my freshman year of college, when I nobly tried to give blood for the Red Cross. Tried being the operative word, since I was unable to fill the bag in a timely manner, due to my sludge-like blood.

That night, I got my diagnosis: a 4mm kidney stone that had already left my right kidney and was en route to my bladder. Hopped up on painkillers, I settled on a name for my stone: Frances. And then I wrote a song about her:

(to the tune of "Alone" by Heart)

I hear the ticking of the clock
I'm lying here, the room's pitch dark
I wonder where you are tonight
I pee, see nothing, and I moan
And the night goes by so very slow
Oh I hope that it will end soon though
My stone

Till now I always got by on my own
I never really knew pain until I met you
My bladder hurts me to the bone
How do I get out my stone?
How do I get out my stone?


As Lincoln predicted, my kidney stone, like our nation's unrest in 1859, did eventually pass. Frances left me on Thursday, June 5th, at approximately 10:00 pm EST. She is currently in a little baggie on my dresser, next to my hairbrush. I'm supposed to bring her in to a lab for analysis. She looks very small and harmless now, and not at all like this:

Those look like earrings I bought at Cooper-Hewitt recently. That's what came up when I typed in "kidney stones ugly" on Google images.

I seem to be back in good health, but if my sciatica starts acting up, I'll be sure to blog about it.