Just Another Panicked Monday

Good morning, gentle readers.
I come to you today with a heart full of fear.

This morning the receptionist from the neurologist’s office called, asking me to come in for a follow-up appointment regarding my MRI. I am freaking the fuck out.

What can’t he tell me over the phone? Does he have to sit me down face-to-face so that he can hold me as I sob? I had the MRI on 5/24, so if it was really life-or-death, I would have heard back before now, right? My head was actually killing me yesterday, so I’m even more worried. When I asked the receptionist if I was going to die, she said no, but she certainly doesn’t have the security clearance to know for sure.

I cannot have a brain tumor right now—I’m just starting to follow my dreams!

This has me thinking of my life to date. I have begun composing several bucket lists based on how long I’d have to live.

Blacktress’ 3-Year Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Travel to Italy. Use the word “hospitaliano” at least once.
• Write a memoir titled “Eat Eat Eat”.
• Write 4 screenplays.
• Earn Oscar nomination for one of them.
• Have Ben Affleck and Matt Damon accept the award in my stead.
• Get a ½-hour special on Comedy Central
• Meet Nick Kroll
• Take a ferry to Staten Island (what goes on over there?????)
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Find a closeted celebrity in need of a beard. Act as his beard until I become sickly and unattractive.
• Become best friends with Kathy Griffin.
• Get married, A Walk to Remember style.

Blacktress’ 18-month Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Find a wealthy benefactor to help me live my dreams in my final months.
• Write one screenplay that sells. Use money to produce the biopic Blacktress Like Me, in which I will star. Angela Bassett will play my mother.
• Visit every aquarium in the country.
• Go back to my native land of Africa and finally cash-in on that princess status I’ve been hearing about all these years. I’m probably just the ruler of a goat tied to a shady tree, but I’ll get to wear dramatic head wraps.
• Perform stand-up across the country, opening for such acts as Glenn Beck and Donald Trump. [this would be more of a stage-hijacking, but equally awesome.]
• Take a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. (what goes on over there?????) Use the word ‘summer’ as a verb.
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Meet Kathy Griffin.

Blacktress’ 6-month Bucket List

• Quit job. Tell former-drag-queen boss about himself.
• Find a wealthy benefactor to help me live my dreams in my final months.
• Try to get a guest role on The Office as Stanley’s daughter or niece.
• Find a way to get on the Today Show and be interviewed by Matt Lauer.
• Find every man that’s done me wrong and tell him about himself.
• Take a ferry to Cape Cod. (what does it feel like to be rich?????)
• Hang out with Marc Maron on the cat ranch.
• Write and produce the solo show To Be Young, Gifted, & Blacktress. Receive posthumous Tony nomination, even though the show will not be performed on or off Broadway. (it’s just that good!)
• Meet Kathy Griffin.

Blacktress' Back-up Bucket List

Mop

Ice

Child-Size Beach

Aluminum

Construction Square Plastic

Gallon Square

Elevator

As you can see, there are several goals that repeat themselves. I will also be creating a will, in which I will bequeath several items to friends and acquaintances—such as the emergency contraceptive I received from Planned Parenthood and never used; Buffy the Vampire Slayer DVDs; and the entire Babysitters’ Club collection, including the mysteries and summer specials.

OMG MRIs are OOC

Happy Wednesday!!!
I know hump day isn’t usually happy (unless you’re humpin!), but this is my last day in the office for over a week, and I’m on cloud 9. Well, maybe cloud 7, seeing as I’m running on 5.5 hours of sleep.

Who has two thumbs and is dumb enough to schedule an MRI at 10:30pm? THIS BLACKTRESS!!!

By the time I got to the Radiology lab, I was ready to go to bed. Add to that the fact that I was wearing the equivalent of winter pajamas, and I thought I was in for an HMO-sponsored nap. I was given a brochure with a list of satellite-radio stations I could choose to listen to during the test. Because I love directing anxiety toward fake problems instead of dealing with the issue at hand, I deliberated for about 10 minutes. One of the comedy stations might be good, since I’m a bit tense, I thought. But if I have to stay still, maybe I shouldn’t listen to something that’ll make me laugh. Show tunes could be fun, but it all depends on the show, and then I’ll be stuck listening to the soundtrack to South Pacific.

Southern Gospel station might be the way to go—if there was ever a time I needed to get He Who Cannot Be Named on my side, it’s now. But if I really just want to be relaxed, maybe the vocal trills and belts of a woman who owes her life to the lord won’t be the way to go.
I continued to create a mountain out of a non-existent structure.

Canadian News & Information—that’ll be pretty boring. Keep that as your safety station.

I finally settled on 2000’s Pop Hits and felt a bit calmer having made a decision.

When I was called down to the MRI area (I’m not sure what to call it. After half an hour of sitting in an empty waiting room that reminded me of The Malkovich, I was directed to an elevator by a wild-haired woman. It only went one flight below street level.) The night-shift radiologist was anything but pleasant. He was small and bored and didn’t even engage when I tried to crack a little jokey joke.

I don’t get how people who have chosen to enter a field in which they interact with sick and suffering humans think that it’s okay to have no personal skills. You’re dealing with people you’ll likely never see again at a time when they’re at their most vulnerable. If that’s not a call for compassion and warmth, I don’t know what is.

Okay, rant about human indecency is over.

I got into the pod and was told to “be completely still for 20 minutes.” He put a pair of big headphones that pressed right up against the part of my head that was hurting. Before I could wince, he caged me in and fired up the ol’ MRI.
“If you need something, kick your legs,” he said as he walked away.
Um…..

Don’t you want to know which radio station I’d like?????

Apparently, he’d already made the decision for me: house music remixed with sounds of a fire alarm and heat coming through rusty pipes.
It must have been some Euro-pop B-side. Wait, no—that was THE MACHINE.

I knew there’d be noises, but I had no idea they’d be so heinous. How can someone stay completely still when their ears are being bombarded with craziness? At worst, it sounded like the machine was breaking and about to cave in on me; at best, it sounded like I kept making the wrong choice on Family Feud or just stole something from a WalMart.

I probably won’t get the results until Monday. Til then, I’m going to go to a Midwestern wedding and try not to feel inferior to my fancy grown-up bride-to-be friend and the blondtourage I have somehow been invited to hang out with. I’ve gotten invited to drinks every night—and a couple of mornings—for the next 4 days. I really hope I don’t do a sober-girl cry in the bathroom—it’s just such bad form.

An MRI? WTF?! FML.

Hey gang,

Whew, it feels good to blog again! I know I just posted yesterday, but I’ve been in a 3-hour staff meeting that felt like an age. (But I didn’t want to gouge my eyes out—growth!) Not only were my boss and I not addressing each other the entire time, but I was also running on about 5 hours of sleep. I’ve got a lot of anxiety coming up—the usual blacktress drama, course—but I’m also dealing with some potential medical issues that have me a bit nervous.

As you know, I’ve been all over with the sinus troubles. Well, it seems that it's not normal for sinus pain to affect the neck and it's even less normal for a part of one's head that hasn't been hit or cut or otherwise traumatized to be painful to the touch.

I went to a doctor last night and it was a real hip, swanky place--all the receptionists looked like Urban Outfitter's models and the doctors were in cute Anthropologie outfits. I went in to see Dr. Ko, a cute Asian woman who was totes wearing invisalign. I explained my symptoms as she continued to look more and more puzzled. "Where's that Dr. House looking guy I saw in the waiting room? We need to get him in here." Luckily, she laughed and didn't think I was insulting her skills. "We call him that, too!" she said. "Yeah, he does specialize in complex cases." With no equipment in their hip office, she immediately referred me to a neurologist, not just giving me the info, but calling his office up and getting me in just 15 minutes later! The neurologist, a small Indian man with a touch of Asperger's and hair like Full House hottie Uncle Jesse, pressed his fingertips together a lot and pursed his lips.

"What do YOU think it is?" He asked.
"Is this some kind of trick question?"
"No. You'd know your body better than me."
I swear, what do these people get paid for?

He basically didn't know what was up, although he thinks I could have migraines. But the only way to rule everything out is to get an MRI. This is one mystery diagnosis.

How ironic. I’m becoming one of the very medical mysteries I love to watch on Discovery Fit & Health.

I'm now writing this in a flurry from my house, where I had to come back after work to change clothes before teh 10:30pm MRI. Apparently, even the underwire of my bra* will set off the machine, so I gotta rock a sports bra and ill-fitting sweatpants along with anything else metal-free that will keep me warm.

I liked how the "preparation list" featured--in 16-pt font, no less--the directive DO NOT WEAR MAKEUP IF SCANNING THE HEAD.

Oh yeah, cause I'm thinking about foundation and creating doe eyes at a time like this.

Wanted to just let you guys in on this cause you mean the world to me. Without you, I'm just a creepy, possibly racist narcissist with too much internet access.


*Victoria and I have a secret!!!