I Die. A Lot.

I’m not technically dead yet, but man, sometimes I think I’m getting there.

I honestly don’t remember the last time I posted, and where you guys are on my health timeline, so let’s just consider this a “general health update for Emma.”

(Have I even un-decorated from Christmas? Is my “About” page updated? Do I even have a blog? I’m so lost, you guys.)

Soooo, headaches still aren’t gone. I see my brain doctor about every four weeks, we troubleshoot, I take drugs, I see him again, we troubleshoot some more. I’ve stopped my eyeball therapy, because my eyes are all better now. That continues.

My foot is as better as it’s probably going to get; I don’t see my foot doctor any more. I wear insoles, I take drugs. That continues.

Newest on the roster: that kidney stone I wrote about? Yeah, that didn’t actually leave, because that’s part of the joy of being me. So I had two kidney stones jamming up the works for about three weeks, until I saw a urologist (less-fancily known as a pee-doctor) who said we should probably surgery them out before they caused something more annoying, like kidney damage.

So a scope was shoved up my ureter and the kidney stones were taken out, which, because I’m me, resulted in excruciating post-op pain and an overnight hospital stay for what was meant to be an outpatient operation. I’m on narcotics for pain and am tired all the time. That continues.

So, basically, I’m in pain all the time. Of varying sorts. It’s like every morning, some malevolent god tosses a coin to decide what flavors I’ll be experiencing for the day. But life keeps plodding on, so I just follow it.

In other news, my show opens this weekend. Which hasn’t been a cakewalk, either, for reasons both personal and show-onal. My pain and surgery (and a family funeral I attended this weekend) have stolen both my gusto and three rehearsals from me and (sort of) my younger brother, and the college that was going to do our music for us (in various forms, because apparently they couldn’t nail ONE THING DOWN) finally, a week before opening, said “you’re on your own.” So we’re now working with a terrible track and trying to master that, missing myself and my brother for the weekend, and being grumpy teenagers.

I don’t know how my director does it, really.

It’ll all be good, though. Hell week is always … well, hell.

Also: college! money! writing!

That’s my brain.

When it’s not on drugs.

Sigh. This is my blog post.

I hope it’s not as generally disappointing as my life.


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