Almost Forgot

Third week on spiro, and nothing much to report. My stomach is bothering me much less, which I think has more to do with emotionally adjusting to the idea of taking these pills than anything the pills might be doing to me. I'm still drinking a lot of water and taking many more potty breaks, but I'm fine with that. Anything that encourages me to drink more water can't be all bad.

The only time I don't appreciate the diuretic effects is in the morning, now that I'm taking the bus to work. No longer is it a twenty minute drive, but an hour-long journey in the cold with my nerves taut from the unfamiliar experience. Add diuretics on top of that and it is agony.

Another inconvenience to taking the bus is that my scarf chafes my chin, rubbing off all the carefully placed makeup and encouraging flaky skin. I have not the tools nor the lighting at work to fix this problem, and end up patting on more powder which hides the redness and shadow, but makes the flaking worse. And a scarf is not optional in weather that's thirty below in Celsius.

I've been so exhausted from both my new routine and the emotions revolving around it that I didn't even remember I had a blog until today, when my day off finally allowed my skin a rest. I was asked to come down to dinner with the family and couldn't. The difficult thing, besides missing out on "family time" such as it is in our house (not always much to be said for it, really, but it's still important) is that I'm trying to keep my hirsutism from becoming common knowledge in the house. It's vastly unappealing to sit directly under the light at the kitchen table in close proximity with people I either don't trust or simply feel uncomfortable telling.

Even if I warn my mother ahead of time that I haven't shaved and won't be going out anywhere or hanging around the family in well-lit parts of the house, she forgets. I guess once a person gets used to the idea of someone they know having a beard, the awareness fades from their mind. So she never expects me to refuse to come downstairs.

So she'll send someone else to tell me to come for dinner, and I have a hard time deciding how to say, "No thanks." So I acknowledge their announcement that dinner is ready, and then just... don't... go. And until I know they've figured out I'm not coming, I fidget in a puddle of anxiety and guilt. Are they all just sitting there waiting? How long before they get sick of the pattern? Do they think I just plain don't like them?

And then I remembered. There are people who know what it's like. Hello, people. It's just another one of those days.