This one is about three entries that were all pent-up…sorry!

My sister called to see how the urologist appointment went this morning. The doctor’s diagnosis: I am now an official member of the IC club. The dues include an indefinite prescription for Elmiron and orders to stay away from coffee and anything spicy. Who needs Indian food anyway, when you can have a flavor-packed diet of white rice, blueberries and oatmeal? (Do I sound cranky? You don’t say?). Interstitial cystitis is a disease that affects the bladder, and both my mother and sister have it. My sister got it when she was only 17. For some reason it took an extra 13 years to catch up to me. The wikipedia entry on it is here, and though I don’t agree with everything it says, it gives you the general idea. It says, for instance, that interstitial cystitis isn’t rare. Riiiiight. Have you ever heard of it? Doctors are getting better at diagnosing it, but it’s still well within the realm of rarity I think. It also said somewhere, and it’s apparently been edited out, that it’s not really triggered by stress. Ha! It most certainly is. Anyway, there’s no real cure–the best thing you can do is avoid consuming anything acidic or irritating, which is almost everything. Pretty much the only things my mother can eat safely are pears, bananas, bread and water. And the bread has to be homemade.

October was not a good month, and this is when it began its first assault. This was the month that the twins decided to stop sleeping, nor was my own insomnia particularly under control. It was also a month of bitterly intense arguments with the husband, mostly over my reservations about the purchase of the rental property, though there were other things involved as well.

At first I didn’t even understand what was happening—all I knew was that for several months, I had to go to the bathroom constantly. It was the worst at night, and some nights I couldn’t fall asleep until 4am. It’s absolutely maddening, this feeling of having to go SO DAMN BADLY, and nothing happening. If the U.S. ever figures out how to give torture victims IC, they will have them talking in no time and save themselves a lot of work. Anyway, it was my sister that clued me into the idea that I probably had a bladder issue. Duh. Yet several courses of antibiotics did nothing, and tests for bacteria all came back negative. Finally this month I tried a strict version of the IC diet…and it stopped. It worked instantly. So apparently what I was eating during the day was causing all the flare ups at night, and I had no idea. Other things provided clues as well. Drinking baking soda water in the middle of an intense flare-up seemed to help a little, and blueberry juice seemed to make it better, not cranberry juice (the difference is this: if you have a plain bladder infection they often recommend cranberry juice, which is good for regular UTIs, but bad if it’s actually IC. For IC, it’s gotta be blueberry juice). Many of you are probably familiar with my coffee addiction, and it’s this little habit that was probably causing the most problems…as it says on the Wikipedia entry, “Patients who continue to consume daily coffee are those which appear to struggle the most with symptoms, particularly pain.” Oops.

The strict IC diet is about as fun as a bowl of crumbled drywall. This is why my mother came up with the idea of a cookbook for the IC diet (currently in it’s third print run!). But I did not inherit her talent for cooking, and my craving for spicy foods makes eating anything bland, which the diet basically requires, torture. A sampling of just some of the no-no’s to avoid if you have IC: Chinese, Mexican, Indian and Thai food (the last three are what I have been living on for three years), fava beans, multivitamins, any kind of preservatives (and that means ANY, even food coloring), tomatoes, chocolate, caffeine, mayo, beer and wine, soy (and I’m vegetarian…how convenient!), any nuts except almonds, aged cheese, and any juice or fruit besides pears and blueberries. Eat these and you will suffer.

I consider myself very lucky to have figured it out relatively quickly, and for that I have my sister and mother to thank, who have already been through all of this. As I mentioned before, my mother went through years of undiagnosed hell before they got it right, and a lot of people still go through the same. So I am fortunate to have caught it so early. This gives you the greatest chance of fixing it.

Still awake? I’m impressed. This calls for a medication update! In addition to the army of bladder drugs beginning with the letters D and E, I now join the proud legion of medicated mommybloggers on antidepressants, for I am now taking Paxil. This was something I started taking just before I saw the urologist, to help with the perennial insomnia and general nervousness. It’s amazing stuff. And it is so much better than old-school Prozac, which I took briefly in college. It has a mellowing effect, um, much like a joint–not that I would know anything about that–only without burning your lungs and giving you the munchies. The downside is that just like a joint, it makes you really sleepy. I take it at night and I can barely get up the next morning, and am stoner sleepy all day until it wears off around 3 or 4pm. Not exactly a good thing when you are dealing with 3 year-old twins. But Paxil’s effect on my nervous rabbit-like disposition has been profound. All my irritating little OCD habits disappear after a dose—no more finger biting and listening to the same song 15 times in a row. Sleep is now real sleep, not just sleeping on the surface as I have for several years now. It’s also given me that extra boost of patience with the twins…I am not as prone to snapping when they have a particularly explosive or long tantrum. Which one of them has been doing a lot lately. I no longer fret about everything, either. I have tried, as an experiment, to think of the usual things that get me worked up while I am on the stuff…and I can’t get worked up. Nothing happens. It’s like a giant brick wall that’s been thrown up. I know there’s things to freak about on the other side, but I can’t see or hear them; the Giant Wall of Paxil stands between us.

La la la la laaaaa…I can’t heaaaar you, crappy stressful things! Racquetball anyone?

I am writing this on a pill that I cut into thirds and it wore off hours ago. That’s the other downside: it’s a little hard to think on the stuff. This is good and bad. Too much thinking is what lands me in a state of constant freaking about stupid shit and unable to get to sleep most of the time. But while I can’t get worked up about bad stuff, I can’t really get worked up about good stuff either. This was the thing that irritated me so much about Prozac. The good news is, it has had zero effect on my desire to get laid. Libido status: a-ok!

So I don’t know what my posts will sound like from now on, because I will be writing from a foreign land that has no hard edges, a place that kind of looks like this sometimes. I sure hope the sleepiness thing subsides after I am on it for several weeks, because the urologist wants me on it too–it helps with IC for some reason.

Really quickly, before I take another pill and succumb to fuzzy-land and sleep:

• The girls are three! I guess the curse of being born in the winter means that half their friends will always be absent from their birthday parties due to sickness…but it was a nice affair nonetheless. They demanded chocolate cake, and they actually got to have some before mama ate the rest of it.

• They know the entire alphabet, can put tricyles in motion on their own, and will wear underwear at home. They look mighty cute in them.

• I have 8 pounds of coffee to give away.

• The girls are obsessed with Richard Scarry books and videos. I loved his stuff as child too. My parents would have shot themselves if they had to endure some of the sickening kids shows that are on now. Seriously, how much Wiggles can anyone take? Me? 30 seconds.

• I am obessed with the Daily Show and the Colbert Report lately. I love the way he can tweak that eyebrow.

• I am registered for BlogHer and rarin’ to go.

• Still cannot think of any affordable or practical way to attend Coachella 2006, especially not after blowing $258 for the above. Ouch.

• The mobile home now has a new door, due to the problem I mentioned here.

• I am so down with this. If you have preschoolers and live in California, you should check it out.

• I was just about to start reading my copy of “A Million Little Pieces” when that stupid scandal about it broke. It’s been moved to the bottom of the pile until I can figure out how and if I can read it. (Melisssa has some interesting things to say about that whole mess as well). This Frenchman is kind of hot, so maybe I’ll try his book, even though the L.A. Times Book Review was lukewarm about it. Because he’s hot (hott?). Yes, it’s been a while since mommy’s gotten any, why do you ask?

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