Dear You:

It was really hard to concentrate on your presentation about the disenfranchised West Papuans of Indonesia in class yesterday when there was 6'4" of perfectly formed man in front of me. Seriously. How have I not seen you before? Do you come to class? Or are you too beautiful for class? I would agree with the latter. Your flawless mocha brown skin, your dark illegal scruff, your impressive tribal tattoos, your straight, defined jawline, your well-muscled, but not bulky body... let's face it, you're perfect. And completely out of my league. It makes sense that you're on the football team. I mean, I wouldn't have known that except for my post-class facebook/internet stalking. I guess you're really good too. Not that I'm into sports or anything, but I could be. For you, I could be.

Thanks to God for making you.

Love and Marriage:

My facebook is constantly overflowing with disgustingly cute couples. There are engagement pictures in the woods, wedding pictures outside the temple, and kissing pictures on the beach. There is so much gross happiness, it makes me sick and jealous at the same time. And I think, you know what maybe I should get married. Because the idea of getting to wear a glamorous white dress and have everyone fawn over me for a couple of days sounds wonderful. Also, a glittery diamond on my hand would be lovely. All those things sound nice.

But then I think... better not.

I want to be just me for a while longer. Give it a few more years (or a decade), okay people. And I'm obviously not ready when all I care about is getting to wear a pretty pretty princess dress.

I Have a New Girl Crush:

I've been watching a new show. It's called Party Animals and despite the misleading title, it's more about politics than it is about parties. Political parties, yes. Party parties, no. It's about interns who work for British MPs in London and have to juggle work, love, and friendships. I like it because I pretend that it's me running frantic around the parliament buildings, writing speeches, and doing research for Britain's top politicians. Anyways, to get to the point. I have a new girl crush: Shelley Conn.

She's beautiful and I half want to be her, half want to be with her.

Also, Matt Smith is in the show, just so you all know.

Aspiring foodie:

Last week, I went to the local grocery store chain in Provo, Utah to pick up some essentials: rice, olive oil, salsa, milk, cheese, produce, etc. The place is called Smith's and if you go late on a Saturday night in sweats and messy hair you will likely see everyone from your dreaded TA, to fellow students you know you know, but can't remember how, to former lovers, to, if you're real lucky, current crushes. Sometimes you say hi, sometimes you pretend to not see them. Either way, at the end of the night you make a quick vow to never go to the grocery store again in your oversized, bleach-stained high school swimming t-shirt. Until it's next week and you're out of milk and once again you're too lazy to change out of your leggings or put makeup on that pesky pimple.

However, this post isn't about seeing tall, dark, and handsome while perusing the yogurt section and looking like a bag lady, it's about how even though I live on an extremely meager student income, I still impractically insist on being a food snob and buying the most expensive products. Let's just say, I'm not very good at being poor.

First of all, rice. The other day I was scouring the shelves for rice. And all I could find was bags upon bags of cheap long-grain or medium-grain rice. What is this? Where is the jasmine rice? Who stocks these shelves? I looked harder. I found a few specialty bags of basmati rice. Okay, that's great and all if I want to make Indian food. But I don't. I want jasmine rice. Finally, packed away in the corner, I found a very small, very elite, very overpriced bag of jasmine. And I bought it.

Olive oil. I blame my mom for making me an olive oil snob. You can't just buy store brand oil olive, I don't care where it says it comes from. Also, American olive oil is out of the question. So the olives are grown in Napa, California which has the exact same climate as Tuscany? I don't care. I want real Italian, extra-virgin olive oil. The end.

Cheese. Maybe it's my northwest heritage or maybe I'm just an elitist, high-maintenance prick, but I will only ever buy Tillamook cheese. It's just better, you guys. The taste, the texture, the everything. I want my Tillamook cheese or I want nothing.

While I may be a food/brand/quality snob, I also know that my food tastes pretty excellent because of it. So even though I'm poor poor poor, I'm not going to apologize for it. Or stop.

If it's Important to you, then it's Important to God, Right?

Last night Jim asked a sincere, worried question to my father, "Will there be pots and pans during the millennium?"

Nearly Healthy and Happy:

First of all, I'm a little embarrassed about my last post and how pessimistic it is. I thought about deleting it. However, it is a post I wrote during a dark moment and it displays honest feelings. I am not going to apologize for it. In fact, that little depressing post just reinforces how far I've come physically--and mentally--in the last three weeks.

In short, the last trip to the hospital was successful. Successful in that they diagnosed a problem and fixed it. From my recent tenure in the medical world, I can tell you that that is a rare thing. I had a bad case of gastritis and gastroparesis. Basically, my stomach stopped functioning. It is a common side effect of this surgery--about 40% of patients experience similar stomach issues. It's likely that I had gastritis for weeks and that was the cause of feeling so sick for so long. (I kind of wish they had caught it sooner, right?) However, a regimen of Prilosec counters the inflammation quickly. Within a few days, I was feeling much, much better. And now I cannot even describe to you the transition I've experienced the last few weeks. I am feeling myself again. I am feeling optimistic and happy. I am not throwing up daily--or more--and I've started to gain the fifteen pounds I lost back. Life is clearly looking up.

Since I'm feeling better than to merely lay on the couch watching Alias all day, I am feeling the effects of being stuck at home in the middle of the summer with no job and with hardly any friends. It literally feels like I haven't seen anyone outside my immediate family for weeks. To say the least, I am looking forward to returning to school in a month.

Thank you, thank you for your love over the last three months. You know who you are. Even the smallest texts asking about my welfare have meant so much. I am frankly embarrassed about the outpouring of love and concern. I feel embarrassed talking about my health, but I know that you ask and you read this because you care and that's why I continue to post. However, I have committed to myself to make this my last post about my pancreatic saga. The surgery is over. I am finally healing well. The likelihood of a return is minimal. Therefore, I am moving on. The blog will return to posts about other aspects of my life and probably to some posts about cats. Which means that I will likely lose all the readers I've gained during this event. But that's okay. I like it better that way.

To end and to finalize the close of this event, here is a picture of my very first day out of surgery and in the ICU. I know I should probably be embarrassed about this photo, but it kind of makes me laugh. And laugh in a oh-my-gosh-that's-so-sad way. Only hours after coming out of the operating room, the physical therapist came in and made me sit up in bed, stand up, and then move to the chair. I first told her there was no way I was moving, let alone bending to sit up when I had been cut into only hours before. I cried. She was relentless. And I finally did it. It was painful. In this picture, you can see the what I had going on those first few days. Including a lovely drain coming out of my nose. Also, you can see how plumped and fatty my little body was due to heavy IV fluids. Yes, this picture is both embarrassing and sad, but for me, looking at it now, twelve weeks later, it's closure.

Discouraged and Distraught:

Well, here I am, back in the hospital for a third time this summer. (I'm typing this from my phone, so excuse typos and errors.) I'm frustrated and I'm bored to death. For the second time, my stomach has decided that it has forgotten its purpose of digesting food and has made its new function throwing up food. Let's just say this whole ordeal has been the hardest experience of my young life. I am discouraged, distraught, and depressed. Mom says I've given up. I haven't. But it is so hard to stay positive. I want to be fixed. I want to be normal. I want to hang out and enjoy my summer. But I can't because I feel crappy and nauseous all the time.

I know. This too shall pass. I need to push through. And I will. It's just the meanwhile is immensely difficult.

Back in the Hospital:

It's been over two weeks since my last post. Here's a brief little snippet of life over the last fortnight: the good and the bad.

Over the weekend, although thankfully not until Sunday night, I ran out of pain pills. Monday morning I called the doctor's office for a refill and they would have none of it. For various reasons, like my doctor being gone and a mishap with my chart, they refused to give me a new prescription, practically accused me of narcotic addiction, and told me I would have to wait three days. My mom came home, called them angrily back and lawyered them until everything was sorted. (Moms are good at things like that, especially Moms with law degrees.) I was signed off for new meds, but for nearly ten hours, I had been without. I suffered from some withdrawal symptoms for the next day or so, but kept trekking through on my road to recovery.

And then: Friday. Last Friday, I threw up all day. Nothing stayed down. Not even water. It got to the point where I was throwing up stomach bile and nothing else. Everything hurt. My incisions from the pressure of vomiting. My internal organs from the spasms. My throat from the bile. Everything. Doctor recommended that I admit myself to the ER to start IV fluids.

So here I am. Day six in the hospital. Still throwing up, but not as frequently. Yesterday was the first day I kept solid food down. (Granted, it was like one bite of a rice cake.)Each day brings a bit more relief. However, until I can eat and keep it down, here I'll be.

Most frustrating thing, only ten days ago, I felt great. I was on the mend. I was happy and motivated. And now I'm back in the hospital, feeling sick, feeling hungry, feeling depressed. One more complaint: my view from this hospital room is nowhere near as nice as my last room. All I can see is the neighboring building. Yuck. Looks like I'm bottom of the totem pole. No one cares about some girl who can't keep food down. They probably take one look at my weight and write me off as a 21 year-old anorexic crazy.

I sleep in the dining room:

I came home from the hospital to discover my bed in the dining room. The table and chairs had been moved out and my bed had taken their place. I, in my debilitated state, am not allowed to walk up and down stairs multiple times a day. My location in the dining room saves me the energy of tackling the stairs and means inclusion in family happenings. My bedroom upstairs would have felt like the isolation cabin on The Parent Trap, only without a newly discovered twin sister. I convinced them to move my bed a bit farther into the family room, so I can see the TV properly. But now, I have everything I need. (Kitchen is close too).

My parents-- maybe I should just say mom because it was her idea--are indeed thoughtful. Also, my mom has arthritis, so tackling the stairs multiple times a day to care for me would have been dully as painful. You know, now that I think about it, it may be that the plan was always more about my mom's joints and less about my comfort. Well whatever. Either way, I am still sleeping in the dining room.

Home Sweet Home:

I'm home! Today, I was sent home with a goodie bag of six different prescriptions, including a nasty shot I have to administer into my own stomach every night for the next three weeks. However, I am happy and healthy and home! More later.