What's been going on:

What's been going on:

I've been terrifically uninspired to post. When this happens, a new layout or banner helps shake me out of the funk; so, here it is, and here I am.

Life has been pretty weird this summer.

L o c a t i o n :

I changed plans and moved back to my parents' house for the summer, rather than staying at school (I could have, for free, as I was on staff last semester). The reasons behind doing so were multiplicitous:

a) My car had died more than once
b) There is no air conditioning here (and yesterday was a 99F day)
c) It'd be nice to see my family
d) My freezer doesn't work
e) I'm tired of people who play rap at 7:30 on a Sunday morning
f) I would have free access to good food
g) I'd be 2.5 hours away from John, instead of 4.5

Which was the factor that weighed the most when I was deciding? Oh, yeah, the last one. But I did want to see my family, too, I swear!

H e a l t h :

I was sick often last semester. I think it's because I have a horrible immune system; Mom swears it's because I get stressed out (easily, I must confess). I did have a lot to be stressed over, with a job that nobody taught me how to do, major assignments all occurring at once in my classes, changes in life, and changes in health.

The day of my last final, I woke up and didn't feel so great. At first, I thought maybe it had something to do with my back; perhaps I'd slept on it funny. Then I had pain, and it kept getting worse. I stumbled to the bathroom, where I proceeded to try to keep myself from fainting from the pain by pressing my head against the sink. I couldn't stand up straight; I crept back, slowly, to the room, hanging on to doorframes and walls. I called John to tell him what was happening, and he freaked out (well, freaked out for John: He showed a high level of interest, high level of worry, mentioned the emergency room, and taking me there, all in quick succession), especially as I was now clammy, shaking, and breathing in short pants (not capris; gasps). We thought it could be appendicitis; the pain was spreading from the lower right area of my abdomen.

So he took me to the emergency room.

I had to sign forms. My body was imploding, but I had to sign forms, then take a seat and wait.

"Rate on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst pain you've ever experienced:"
"TEN. [No, I have not had a child, have had surgery, and I'm not kidding around. Yes, I have a low threshold for pain tolerance, but I'm serious this time. This is worse that before surgery, than when I was recovering from surgery, than ANYTHING.]"

The doctor finally came in (there were no other emergencies, other than the coffee might have run out), asked questions, asked if I've ever been pregnant (that would be a NO), had gonorrhea or chlamydia (what?! I giggled - I couldn't help it. Seriously? No, and no, on both counts), and palpated my abdomen. He got to a certain area, and pressed down then released quite quickly, asking whether it hurt more when he pressed, or after he released. Oh, man, after he released.

He mentioned appendicitis, and scheduled an ultrasound and various other tests.

The nurses let John come in, and it was wonderful to have him there; I asked him to stand by me, so I could press my head against his stomach, and yes, it helped.

The nurses took blood and urine from me (not at the same time), and eventually got me in for an ultrasound (after making me drink six cups of water and wait wait wait wait wait. I don't think they realized how quickly liquid runs through me). I had never had an ultrasound before, and it was amazing and impressive, and I got to see parts of my body that I rarely even think about (the technician told me that I have a nice uterus. Score!) (and then afterwards, I got to pee, which was also amazing and impressive).

After doing a total of three separate ultrasounds (including one that I'm not going to mention or even think about), the doctor diagnosed me. He said I have Ovarian Cysts, and that one of them had ruptured that morning -- but short of surgery, there was nothing they could do. He sent me off with instructions to come back in a week if the pain wasn't better, and to take a lot of
ibuprofen.

John took me home to his place (so that I would be able to sleep; in the dorms, middle of the afternoon, music would be blasting and people would be packing and noisily getting ready for summer vacation). I ate a little bit, and slept for hours, my feet tucked in by John, who was working on his laptop.

I had had a final scheduled for that morning, in my favourite class. I had no time that morning to alert the professor to the situation, and if a student misses a final, they fail the class. But I checked my e-mail and she had written, wanting to know what had happened (she knew I wouldn't skip). I e-mailed back, a short note, apologizing but letting her know that I had been in the ER for six hours, etc. Her reply: "I was worried that something like that had happened. Just let me know when you'll be up to taking the final."

Yes, she is wonderful. This semester, I'm taking two of her classes.

S u m m e r s c h o o l :

I took two summer classes; one history, and one science. The science professor crammed the entire TEXTBOOK into two weeks; imagine, a mid-term on Monday, and three papers due; and the final on Thursday morning, four papers due, and six chapters covered on Tuesday and Wednesday. HELLISH! But...I did five credits in five weeks, and those are five credits I don't have to worry about next semester when I have 18 credits, or in the Spring, when I write my thesis.

V a c a t i o n :

Over the Fourth of July, I spent four days with John and his family. I love being at his mom's house; I always feel very much at home there -- yes, it has a ton to do with the fact that John's there, but also has to do with the fact that his mother is so friendly and warm and open, and likes me so very very much.

Next week, John's coming up to my parent's house and spending the day, going to the fair and spending time with my family, then taking me back to his mom's house that night. His maternal grandparents from Indiana are coming into town, and they are eager to see me again. I can't wait to see them, either; his Nana is a doll, small and beautiful, and so very Catholic (I love her!), and Papa is, well, Papa, and one of my favourites. He's shrewd and wise, and funny and no-nonsense, and his opinion matters so very much to the family, because he can see right through the stupid games people play and the facades people put up; and he so openly likes me and approves of me.

N e x t s e m e s t e r :

Next semester, I'm taking 18 credits (6 in history, 6 in english, 3 in anthropology, 3 in Historical Research Methods [the prerequisite to a history major's Senior Thesis class]). I'll be busy, and it'll be good (I miraculously ended up snaring the only room on campus that has its own bathroom), and John and I will see each other every two or three weeks; he will come here, or I will go there, or we can meet in the middle at my parent's house.

T h e p h o n e :

And like Cassie had said we would, we've grown to absolutely love the phone. At first, we made a ton of little calls through the day, but our routine has become a long (usually an hour) call right after nine at night, and then sometimes another short call right as we're falling asleep, to say goodnight.

We still miss each other overwhelmingly, but the phonecalls, they do help.