You want to stick WHAT? WHERE?

Today was the big, scary appointment with my pokemon gastroenterologist.  As usual, I'm not entirely sure why I got so worked up over the thing.  I learned nothing at all, pretty much, aside from that I should stop taking NSAIDs and drinking so much soda.  Oh, and some of my problems (but not ALL of my problems) can be caused by the hypothyroidism.  I think I confused my poor nurse practitioner (I didn't get to see the GI himself, which disappointed me, because I wanted to see if he said his name over and over again like a pokemon, since his name looks like Hitmonlee) with my laundry list of issues. 

The highlight of the visit, I think, was once again getting the "did they do ANYTHING in the ER" look/line from the doc.  When I went in originally for my incessant dry heaving and inability to keep food down, they pretty much asked me if I was pregnant, drew some blood, and sent me on my way with a proscription for protonix.  Cop out, in my mind, but given that the time I went in for violent mood swings, or took the girlfriend in for a foot injury all they did was talk to us for two minutes and write a scrip...  Yeah.  I'm thinking the ER I go to is pretty much terrible.  Unfortunately, all of the doctors there ALSO work at the other local hospital, so the service between them is pretty much equally bad.

Ah well.  I had nothing to fear from the GI.  This time, anyway.  They're sending me for an endoscope and a belly ultrasound.  I'm 29, goddammit.  I'm too young to be scheduling "minor outpatient procedures."  They wanted to do a colonoscopy too, but I gave them a resounding "oh hell no."  Exit only.  I don't care if nothing actually wants to exit, that is not a sign that things should begin entering.  You don't send the negotiator in until all other options to get the hostages released have been exhausted.  I know this shit.  I've watched Die Hard.  And that episode of Good Morning America where they shoved a camera up Kathy Lee's butt.  Nooooo thank you.  Nopenopenopenopenope.  Hellno.

In other, non health-related news, my kitten has developed an obsession with my bra.  I'm not entirely sure why, but she seems to think it's the ultimate kitty bed/hammock/play pen.  The thing's on its last legs anyway, so I'm pretty much just letting her have it, at this point.  Which means I should probably cut the wire out, so if she springs it, she doesn't end up impaled like her brother almost did when he destroyed their pop-up cube...

The joys of having kids kittens.

Let the count-down begin to the new job, and my first appointment with an actual factual psychiatrist.