A few days ago I was going to post a joyous blog about how I had a surgery date. I was finally going under the knife on January 24th down in Texas. But I was so exhausted from the disaster that was flying home for the interim, that I decided to wait. However, I no longer have any reason to post a joyous blog, for I no longer have a surgery date. It got cancelled. I have no idea why and for some bizarre reason, my surgeon is being rather cryptic about the whole thing. Knowing the military, I’m left guessing that perhaps someone higher up the food chain knows squat all about Dercum’s Disease but is getting in the way of my doctor and his plans to shuffle his surgery schedule around so he can operate on me.

    I needed that surgery date. In the past two weeks I’ve gained two inches in my hips. That’s a lot. The pain has gotten so much worse that I wake up in so much agony that I can’t even bring myself to roll over in bed to get to my pain medication. I can’t even get out of the house as much as I did when I was in Texas. The depression’s getting worse, I’m growing faster than ever before, the pain is debilitating, and yet surgery keeps getting delayed. On the bright side, Blue Cross Blue Shield finally succumbed to the pressure my primary care doctor was putting on them and decided to approve anything I’d need done. Finally. So I could go see the nation’s foremost expert on Dercum’s Disease at the University of Pittsburgh, but his wife just had to go and have a baby. He’s off on leave until the middle of February. He wants to see me and could do all of the liposuction I’d need in only one or two operations as opposed to the six or seven I was geared up for with the Air Force. But I still have to wait. And while I’m waiting, I’ll get bigger, my hormones and chemicals will make me more depressed than ever, and all of this will only add more strain on my heart.

    It’s been six months since I was diagnosed. If I had been diagnosed with cancer, do you think anyone would have waited this long to give me chemotherapy? I’m dying here and yet breast augmentations and tummy tucks are taking precedence.

    Happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Those are getting harder and harder, even with the perfume. Speaking of the perfume, I got really bored last night. To entertain myself, I arranged all the perfume I got in Texas on a trunk in my bedroom so I could get pictures. That way all of you can see just how insane I am. 🙂 Here’s the photo gallery, along with a delightful little recounting of how the collection came to be. Earler today I added up the retail value of everything my Mother and I bought, including my perfume, hers, and all the gifts we bought for others, all of which is pictured in the perfume gallery. The perfume in those photos represents $1835.50 worth of perfume. Naturally I paid nowhere near that much, but it’s still fun to think of it in those terms.

    Another very happy thought is that when I finally arrived home, I was met by a pile of mail that had arrived in my absence. Among various credit card offers and other bits of junk mail were two packages, one from my dear friend Blair, another from the Discovery Channel Store. The package from Blair contained a wonderful present – a DVD featuring a collection of hilarious old Scopitones. Sadly Scopitones are a mostly forgotten artform from the 1960s. They’re essentially early music videos which were presented on jukeboxes with little video screens. You’d pay your money, pick a scopitone, and this bizarre little video would play. Just like music videos of today, they rarely make any sense, but they’re entertaining nonetheless. Since the Scopitone was invented in France, most of the videos feature French and other European artists, but occasionally you’ll find an American singer you recognize performing a classic oldie. At times these things are so bad and/or so politically incorrect that you can’t help but laugh hysterically at just how wrong it is. There’s one called “One Has My Name”, where this guy croons about an affair he’s having, where one woman has his name, the other has his heart. Another features a woman singing “Queen of the House” to the tune of “King of the Road”, as girls perform household chores in the background dressed in lingerie.

    The other package I received, the one from the Discovery Channel Store, was a complete surprise. As soon as I pulled back the tape, I was met by a waft of lavender. I knew instantly what was hidden within the cardboard – some generous soul sent me the lavender pillow to match the lavender blankets I adore so much. The best part is, I don’t even really know the gentleman who sent me such an extravagent gift. We only just met through a comment on my blog and a short email he sent my way. But now I shall love him forever, because whenever I sleep I am now completely surrounded by beautiful scents. I’m covered by a lavender blanket, my wrists smell of exotic perfumes, and my head rests on a pillow of lavender. It’s comforting and calming and I love it. And it’s thanks to this kind soul who sent me a present out of the blue.

    That’s why I’ve decided to go ahead and leave up my Amazon wishlist. I’m not asking anyone for anything, but it was so delightful to come home to surprise presents that I want to keep the option open of that happening again. The day I received those presents was truly awful (a story I’ll save for later), and those presents really turned it around. So I’m leaving it up, even if it’s tacky or whatever. I liked it.

    *sigh* I really thought things were turning around. I really thought this was going to get taken care of. It’s almost worse, having hope only to have it fall apart for inexplicable reasons. At least with The Toe there was a sense of urgency, doctors understood that things needed to happen quickly. Now I have a disease that we know is fatal, I’m obviously getting worse much faster than before, and I’m still getting shuffled around. I hate it, it makes me feel worthless and that the whole process just seems pointless. Six months, I’ve been diagnosed for six months, and I feel like I’ve gotten nowhere, that I’m no closer to being healthy again.

    Happy thoughts, happy thoughts… I’m trying, really I am.