Heart problem solved. But anyone with a medical background, please read and then tell me if it makes any sense, because I've never heard of anything like this and I don't understand it AT ALL.
Apparently I have allergies. Not quite sure what I'm allergic to, but it's something in my house. When something that I'm allergic to enters my personal space (LOL - such a funny term), my bronchioles and alveoli get inflamed. Inflamed alveoli means that I can't get enough oxygen to my bloodstream, and I get nauseous and light-headed. Apparently this (the poor oxygenation, not the nausea and lightheadedness) normally results in cyanosis and eventual tissue damage if it isn't sorted out (kind of like in emphysema, I guess?) but for some reason my heart's compensating by beating faster so I get the oxygen I need.
This is the medical explanation. And I guess it makes sense. I know that my blood is poorly oxygenated, from seeing the colour when I have blood tests, and tests on my oxygen levels in arterial blood (I think) confirmed it. I know that I don't get tachycardic episodes when I'm walking outside, or when I'm at the gym - only at home. I know that when I stay at Phil and Jackie's house, I always feel a whole lot healthier.
But somehow, it just seems weird to me. I don't know why, maybe because I've never heard of anything like this before. Maybe because the episodes come on SO suddenly - sixty or ninety seconds between the nausea and the start of the heart racing. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
The problem is that we don't know what exactly I'm allergic to. It's obviously not general street pollution, because I don't get sick when I'm outside. It's probably not animals, because I don't seem to have a problem when I'm at Tony and Debbie's. I don't think it's general dust, because, well, dust is everywhere, although I admit that my house is more dusty than most; Mom and I don't have the energy to clean as well as we should, nor the money to hire a cleaner. (Although I'm seriously thinking of getting someone to come in for a couple of hours a week, even if it means cutting back on expenses elsewhere, or taking some extra modelling jobs.)
So I have my orders. No being around cigarette smoke. If someone smokes in the house, all the doors and windows have to be opened for ten minutes. (Mom is actually being really good about this; I think the whole heart thing really freaked her out.) Change my bed every three to four days, and only use cotton bedding. (I do use cotton anyway, but all that constant laundry is going to be a pain in the butt, especially with the amount of washing Lauren has to do.) Buy a new bed and mattress as soon as I can (money!) and when I do, get the old mattress taken away by the council, and launder my duvet and pillows at 90 degrees. Buy an anti-mite spray for the furniture. (We can't find one. It appears that everyone's stopped making them.) Hoover my bedroom at least once a week, preferably more often, and dust as often as I can. Luckily I don't have carpet in my room, so that helps a lot.
Aside from this, we're just monitoring everything else. I do have some weakness in the heart valves, but she said that unless it gets markably worse, surgery will probably cause more problems than it solves.
So despite all the pain-in-the-ass stuff, I'm happy to have answers. My cardiologist is really nice, and actually listens to me, which is a relief. With most of the doctors I see, they listen to me for the first five minutes, until they ask if I have any other medical conditions, and then as soon as I say "ME" or "fibromyalgia" I see something change in their eyes - it's just like a shutter drops down, and they stop listening. So I'm sending many thanks heavenward for a doctor who doesn't write me off as a hypochondriac, or worse, someone with Munchausen's.
All in all, it wasn't a bad week. I started uni, and I'm not sure how much I like the classes yet, but time will tell. I love the campus, though. It really tickles me that after spending SO much time checking out universities when I was at City & Islington, after having high hopes for Brunel's wonderful reputation, for Royal Holloway's beautiful campus, for Queen Mary's incredible medical labs, for Sussex's laid-back atmosphere, and NONE of them feeling right to me...the one university that feels good, that feels like home, is University of Hertfordshire. Weirdness.
So if I ever decide to do a degree course, I imagine it'll be right here.
Of course, that could be something to do with the people. I love the people on this campus. One thing I did notice, though, is that I don't dress right. I dress like an American college girl from the fifties and sixties, and sometimes like an American college girl from the nineties, but I don't dress English. English college girls do not wear A-line skirts and heels and V-neck sweaters and little preppy twinsets. They don't wear pretty cropped velvet jackets and knee-length suede jackets. They certainly don't wear tartan miniskirts and angora sweaters and penny loafers and hats, the way I think of college girls as being. Some of them wear gym clothes, and the more fashion-conscious ones wear skinny jeans and boots and funky jackets with slogans on and lots and lots of big, big jewellery.
I'm not sure how much I can look like an English girl. I don't wear big fake bling, I wear little delicate silver things decorated with opals or carnelians or amethysts or peridot. I certainly can't wear skinny jeans, and I don't care enough about designers to wear those, even if I could afford them. And I will NOT wear my gym clothes for hanging out; I don't have the money to keep replacing them. BUT...I suppose I can try and find some jeans that look right. Ones with loose legs, not skinny ones, but still closer to normal fashion than the skirts and sweater-sets that I wear now. Jeans and a sweater would be OK. What I really, really want is one of those Diane von Furstenburg wrap dresses, but I suppose that would be too old-fashioned.
Or maybe I should just forget the whole thing. Guys seem to like me the way I am; they consider me to be some exotic creature that's just wandered onto their campus from a completely different world, and that's attractive, apparently. It's funny, because it's the first time in my life I've been considered exotic; most of the time I'm your average girl-next-door.
I dunno, I just want to fit in, but I've never really fit in anywhere. Even the places that I've been comfortable and made friends, like at C & I, I was never really the same as them.
*shrugs*
Anyway, it's been a good couple of weeks, aside from this terrible tiredness that I just can't shake. That, and the autumn is working its magic on me, as ever, and making me yearn for someone to love me. The rest of the year I don't care much either way about relationships - if I have one that feels right, then great, and if I'm single, that's fine too. But from October through until just after Christmas, I have dreams, and memories, and longings. Just about everything memorable that's happened in my romantic life (even the things that weren't really romantic at all) have happened during the October-January period. Julian and I saw the most of each other in the autumn. Curt and I started hanging out in autumn. I became aware of James Painting in October, when he sat beside me and stroked my foot at a party - and why I remember that I don't know; it was just very memorable for some reason. Perhaps because nobody had really caressed me in that way before. Richard and I became a couple in November. Cam and I first met in June, but then I didn't hear anything from him until October, when he called me and we met up. I went to visit Oli for the first time in October. PJ and I first started talking in autumn, I believe - I can't remember exactly, but I do remember talking to him about the wonderful crispness in the air, and how nice is it to put on boots and a jacket and take a walk and breathe that coldness into your lungs.
September through December is my favourite time of the year. Halloween is my actual favourite bit, but the whole of the autumn and early winter fills me with joy, and a little nostalgia too. I look back on all these experiences with happiness, but also with yearning. I miss these people, even the ones I didn't know very well, or who I haven't seen in a long time. I long for someone to hold me, to love me, the way these people made me feel loved, whether it was for an hour or several years. I'm not entirely sure how to go about finding someone, though. I've never known how to find a guy; they just fall into my lap sometimes, but I've never learned how to actively pursue, how to catch someone's interest. Any romantic interests that I've managed in the past have been entirely instinctive.
Maybe someone gives classes for this sort of thing? :D
Apparently I have allergies. Not quite sure what I'm allergic to, but it's something in my house. When something that I'm allergic to enters my personal space (LOL - such a funny term), my bronchioles and alveoli get inflamed. Inflamed alveoli means that I can't get enough oxygen to my bloodstream, and I get nauseous and light-headed. Apparently this (the poor oxygenation, not the nausea and lightheadedness) normally results in cyanosis and eventual tissue damage if it isn't sorted out (kind of like in emphysema, I guess?) but for some reason my heart's compensating by beating faster so I get the oxygen I need.
This is the medical explanation. And I guess it makes sense. I know that my blood is poorly oxygenated, from seeing the colour when I have blood tests, and tests on my oxygen levels in arterial blood (I think) confirmed it. I know that I don't get tachycardic episodes when I'm walking outside, or when I'm at the gym - only at home. I know that when I stay at Phil and Jackie's house, I always feel a whole lot healthier.
But somehow, it just seems weird to me. I don't know why, maybe because I've never heard of anything like this before. Maybe because the episodes come on SO suddenly - sixty or ninety seconds between the nausea and the start of the heart racing. Or maybe I'm just being paranoid.
The problem is that we don't know what exactly I'm allergic to. It's obviously not general street pollution, because I don't get sick when I'm outside. It's probably not animals, because I don't seem to have a problem when I'm at Tony and Debbie's. I don't think it's general dust, because, well, dust is everywhere, although I admit that my house is more dusty than most; Mom and I don't have the energy to clean as well as we should, nor the money to hire a cleaner. (Although I'm seriously thinking of getting someone to come in for a couple of hours a week, even if it means cutting back on expenses elsewhere, or taking some extra modelling jobs.)
So I have my orders. No being around cigarette smoke. If someone smokes in the house, all the doors and windows have to be opened for ten minutes. (Mom is actually being really good about this; I think the whole heart thing really freaked her out.) Change my bed every three to four days, and only use cotton bedding. (I do use cotton anyway, but all that constant laundry is going to be a pain in the butt, especially with the amount of washing Lauren has to do.) Buy a new bed and mattress as soon as I can (money!) and when I do, get the old mattress taken away by the council, and launder my duvet and pillows at 90 degrees. Buy an anti-mite spray for the furniture. (We can't find one. It appears that everyone's stopped making them.) Hoover my bedroom at least once a week, preferably more often, and dust as often as I can. Luckily I don't have carpet in my room, so that helps a lot.
Aside from this, we're just monitoring everything else. I do have some weakness in the heart valves, but she said that unless it gets markably worse, surgery will probably cause more problems than it solves.
So despite all the pain-in-the-ass stuff, I'm happy to have answers. My cardiologist is really nice, and actually listens to me, which is a relief. With most of the doctors I see, they listen to me for the first five minutes, until they ask if I have any other medical conditions, and then as soon as I say "ME" or "fibromyalgia" I see something change in their eyes - it's just like a shutter drops down, and they stop listening. So I'm sending many thanks heavenward for a doctor who doesn't write me off as a hypochondriac, or worse, someone with Munchausen's.
All in all, it wasn't a bad week. I started uni, and I'm not sure how much I like the classes yet, but time will tell. I love the campus, though. It really tickles me that after spending SO much time checking out universities when I was at City & Islington, after having high hopes for Brunel's wonderful reputation, for Royal Holloway's beautiful campus, for Queen Mary's incredible medical labs, for Sussex's laid-back atmosphere, and NONE of them feeling right to me...the one university that feels good, that feels like home, is University of Hertfordshire. Weirdness.
So if I ever decide to do a degree course, I imagine it'll be right here.
Of course, that could be something to do with the people. I love the people on this campus. One thing I did notice, though, is that I don't dress right. I dress like an American college girl from the fifties and sixties, and sometimes like an American college girl from the nineties, but I don't dress English. English college girls do not wear A-line skirts and heels and V-neck sweaters and little preppy twinsets. They don't wear pretty cropped velvet jackets and knee-length suede jackets. They certainly don't wear tartan miniskirts and angora sweaters and penny loafers and hats, the way I think of college girls as being. Some of them wear gym clothes, and the more fashion-conscious ones wear skinny jeans and boots and funky jackets with slogans on and lots and lots of big, big jewellery.
I'm not sure how much I can look like an English girl. I don't wear big fake bling, I wear little delicate silver things decorated with opals or carnelians or amethysts or peridot. I certainly can't wear skinny jeans, and I don't care enough about designers to wear those, even if I could afford them. And I will NOT wear my gym clothes for hanging out; I don't have the money to keep replacing them. BUT...I suppose I can try and find some jeans that look right. Ones with loose legs, not skinny ones, but still closer to normal fashion than the skirts and sweater-sets that I wear now. Jeans and a sweater would be OK. What I really, really want is one of those Diane von Furstenburg wrap dresses, but I suppose that would be too old-fashioned.
Or maybe I should just forget the whole thing. Guys seem to like me the way I am; they consider me to be some exotic creature that's just wandered onto their campus from a completely different world, and that's attractive, apparently. It's funny, because it's the first time in my life I've been considered exotic; most of the time I'm your average girl-next-door.
I dunno, I just want to fit in, but I've never really fit in anywhere. Even the places that I've been comfortable and made friends, like at C & I, I was never really the same as them.
*shrugs*
Anyway, it's been a good couple of weeks, aside from this terrible tiredness that I just can't shake. That, and the autumn is working its magic on me, as ever, and making me yearn for someone to love me. The rest of the year I don't care much either way about relationships - if I have one that feels right, then great, and if I'm single, that's fine too. But from October through until just after Christmas, I have dreams, and memories, and longings. Just about everything memorable that's happened in my romantic life (even the things that weren't really romantic at all) have happened during the October-January period. Julian and I saw the most of each other in the autumn. Curt and I started hanging out in autumn. I became aware of James Painting in October, when he sat beside me and stroked my foot at a party - and why I remember that I don't know; it was just very memorable for some reason. Perhaps because nobody had really caressed me in that way before. Richard and I became a couple in November. Cam and I first met in June, but then I didn't hear anything from him until October, when he called me and we met up. I went to visit Oli for the first time in October. PJ and I first started talking in autumn, I believe - I can't remember exactly, but I do remember talking to him about the wonderful crispness in the air, and how nice is it to put on boots and a jacket and take a walk and breathe that coldness into your lungs.
September through December is my favourite time of the year. Halloween is my actual favourite bit, but the whole of the autumn and early winter fills me with joy, and a little nostalgia too. I look back on all these experiences with happiness, but also with yearning. I miss these people, even the ones I didn't know very well, or who I haven't seen in a long time. I long for someone to hold me, to love me, the way these people made me feel loved, whether it was for an hour or several years. I'm not entirely sure how to go about finding someone, though. I've never known how to find a guy; they just fall into my lap sometimes, but I've never learned how to actively pursue, how to catch someone's interest. Any romantic interests that I've managed in the past have been entirely instinctive.
Maybe someone gives classes for this sort of thing? :D
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