My CA-125 value has gone up again to 63.15. Anywhere above 35 is considered high.
My doctor thinks my endometriosis might be the cause of the rising of CA-125, and he's suggesting a hormone-alteration drug called Danazol. I looked it up online and it's a drug that contains a small amount of testosterone. As you can imagine, one of the side effects is a deepened voice.
How fun! Other than losing an ovary and running the risk of never being able to get pregnant, the next thing I need is something to make me even less feminine.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Creeeeeeep
I was on my way to an MRT station when someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind.
"Who could it be?" I wondered as I turned around. Standing in front of me was a Taiwanese guy with a very large and shiny forehead. He looked about... anywhere between 28 and 35 years old. "Can I be friends with you?" he actually uttered this typical Taiwanese pickup line with confidence. I was dumbfounded, struggling to find the right thing to say.
"Huh?" was all I could manage.
"Can I be friends with you? I mean, you're beautiful and you give out this very nice vibe..."
OMG! What kind of a creep picks up chicks on the street? Unprepared, my mind went blank.
Next thing I knew, I slurred a string of mixed sounds of English and Chinese. It took me exactly six seconds to realize that I was pretending I didn't speak much Chinese (how pathetic). I gave him the usual: I don't give out my telephone number to strangers, and I have a boyfriend. He responded, "I won't call you" (well then, what do you want my number for?) and "Is your boyfriend Taiwanese?" (What difference does that make?) "I just want to be friends with you," he insisted.
Fast-forward to the end of the story. He followed me onto the train, wanting to carry on our conversation. I called my friend Brian and stayed on the phone with him the whole time, yapping about absolutely nothing just to appear busy. He finally stopped following me when I exited the MRT station.
I came home with his name and cell phone number on the last page of a writing textbook.
Later that night when we were both on the couch, I told Bill what had happened. As I acted out the story, Bill looked increasingly agitated and uncomfortable. His brows knotted and he was looking around as if he had lost something. "Looking at the bright side," I said cheerfully, "at 36, I should be flattered that some random guy on the street tried to pick me up."
"Babe," Bill said sternly and slowly, "your feet stink."
Ka-boom! Slam face down to the ground!
"Who cares?" I asserted. "I'm attractive. Some guy on the street found me hot." I put my feet on the coffee table. They did smell a bit.
"E-hem," Bill cleared his throat, "it's pretty bad. Would you please go wash your feet?"
Unwillingly, I jumped off the couch and headed for the bathroom.
As I made stinky footprints all over the house, I said (loudly) to Bill, "Instead of staying on the phone with Brian, I should've shove one of my stinky feet under the creep's nose. That would've shown him."
"You sure showed me." I think that's what Bill replied... as if his own feet smell like peaches and cream.
I was on my way to an MRT station when someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind.
"Who could it be?" I wondered as I turned around. Standing in front of me was a Taiwanese guy with a very large and shiny forehead. He looked about... anywhere between 28 and 35 years old. "Can I be friends with you?" he actually uttered this typical Taiwanese pickup line with confidence. I was dumbfounded, struggling to find the right thing to say.
"Huh?" was all I could manage.
"Can I be friends with you? I mean, you're beautiful and you give out this very nice vibe..."
OMG! What kind of a creep picks up chicks on the street? Unprepared, my mind went blank.
Next thing I knew, I slurred a string of mixed sounds of English and Chinese. It took me exactly six seconds to realize that I was pretending I didn't speak much Chinese (how pathetic). I gave him the usual: I don't give out my telephone number to strangers, and I have a boyfriend. He responded, "I won't call you" (well then, what do you want my number for?) and "Is your boyfriend Taiwanese?" (What difference does that make?) "I just want to be friends with you," he insisted.
Fast-forward to the end of the story. He followed me onto the train, wanting to carry on our conversation. I called my friend Brian and stayed on the phone with him the whole time, yapping about absolutely nothing just to appear busy. He finally stopped following me when I exited the MRT station.
I came home with his name and cell phone number on the last page of a writing textbook.
Later that night when we were both on the couch, I told Bill what had happened. As I acted out the story, Bill looked increasingly agitated and uncomfortable. His brows knotted and he was looking around as if he had lost something. "Looking at the bright side," I said cheerfully, "at 36, I should be flattered that some random guy on the street tried to pick me up."
"Babe," Bill said sternly and slowly, "your feet stink."
Ka-boom! Slam face down to the ground!
"Who cares?" I asserted. "I'm attractive. Some guy on the street found me hot." I put my feet on the coffee table. They did smell a bit.
"E-hem," Bill cleared his throat, "it's pretty bad. Would you please go wash your feet?"
Unwillingly, I jumped off the couch and headed for the bathroom.
As I made stinky footprints all over the house, I said (loudly) to Bill, "Instead of staying on the phone with Brian, I should've shove one of my stinky feet under the creep's nose. That would've shown him."
"You sure showed me." I think that's what Bill replied... as if his own feet smell like peaches and cream.
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