Me 'n My Laptop

Vertigo, get thee out of my house

My current hellth status has been upgraded from wanting to shoot myself to "Feeling Human".

I hate writing about what I go thru MS-wise, because it makes people worry, and there's nothing anyone can do to make it better. So they feel helpless and I feel guilty for making them feel bad. There's a fine line in communicating and I haven't found it yet. Maybe I should make up a list of "10 Things Not to Say to Me when I have MS". Cause sometimes I don't have it, ya know.

The other day, I wrote about some symptoms that were going on, and the Blogher volunteer wrangler had read my blog, and emailed me to ask if I was still planning on being a volunteer to help at the convention. I felt ... invaded! I felt spied on. I felt "found out". How STUPID is that? I write on a public blog for hell's sake! But it's true - in order to be treated "normally", I hide how I'm feeling as much as possible cause I hate the way people change towards me. Don't overly care about me. There's a lady here where I live who's taken me on as a personal project. If I don't answer the door or the phone, she walks around to my living room window, pulling aside the curtain to "check on me". To me, not answering the door or phone, and having my curtains drawn, means I want to be left alone. To her, it means I've fallen and can't get up, or I've swallowed all the pills. I HATE it, but at the same time, I understand her concern, so I walk a fine line between wringing her neck and saying thank you for caring. I just don't know where the line is.

I don't want to make my mother cry, or make my sister worry. It just adds an extra burden to whatever I'm already going thru, but at the same time, writing is the only thing I can do as an outlet to the MS hell I'm going thru at the time. Because I do isolate myself when in a flare-up, writing for the blog is an outreach of sorts, one that I can tolerate and not feel so alone. There's nothing anyone can do to make it better, and that's more acceptable via online - of course no one can do anything to help, because everyone online lives inside the screen and can't have any contact with me. It's easier to accept the concern online because I know I can take it at my own pace. Typing is easier than talking to anyone.

That's not to say that I don't want to hear from real life friends and family. Not at all. I do appreciate it being expressed thru the blog and emails, rather than in person. The isolation isn't a bad thing. It's a regrouping of energy, and resting and yes, hiding. It doesn't help to say I shouldn't be ashamed of my disease, that I can't help what's going on. I know that in my head, but reality is - I do feel that way, and I HATE it, therefore, a part of me hates myself for having it. It is stupid and wrong, but that's how it is. I've been diagnosed for 8 years now, and it hasn't changed. I've survived and reached the positive side of the death of a child, and sexual abuse. It's not like I don't know how or haven't experienced how to heal mental or emotional trauma. MS is the hell that keeps on giving. It keeps me constantly scared of losing more function. I feel like there's an evil Stephen King clown living inside me, laughing at how he can make me feel like a drunken idiot who can't talk or pee right. It's a force inside that tricks me on a constant basis. An evil trickster who hates me for some reason.

Yea, I need counseling. Don't think I haven't tried. I know how. It hasn't worked. I don't have a "healthy attitude" about having a chronic and progressive disease. I'm not one of those inspiring people, rising above the disease. I am sucker punched by flare-ups, and I resent the hell out of it.

So when Sizzle read that I was not doing well, I resented being "found out". Like I said - ridiculous. I've worked a little bit here and there in the last 8 years, and have learned not to say anything about MS to potential "employers". I know for a fact that I haven't been hired a couple of times because someone within the organization knew I had MS. I am very careful about committing to anything that requires my physical presence. I know I could handle a part-time job, but I would have to have a boss who understood that I can't show up some days, and maybe for several days. The perfect job would be some sort of data entry - something I could do from home during the bad days. I haven't found such a job or such a boss. As much as I want to work, NEED to work, I just can't in good conscience commit to a job where I couldn't promise to show up everyday that I'm spose to. My workaround for the need to feel worthwhile is to volunteer where I can, help old ladies in wheelchairs and take care of old men who need Hospice.

There is still some sort of denial going on, because I literally thought I would show up at Blogher, and no one would know I have MS, and everything could be normal. I saw it as an escape from those who know I have it. Is that not the craziest thing you ever heard? A BLOGGER convention, and I have a public blog. Even I am astounded at the level of denial I evidently have.

This last flare-up was the scariest by far. I couldn't swallow, and if I said more than 2 sentences sometimes, I couldn't breathe right because my throat got numb, and the choking and gagging would shut me up. Turning my head make me dizzy and nauseous. I can't for the life of me figure out how to spell "nausea". Vomit. Vertigo. I spent at least 36 hours in my chair, unable to tolerate standing up. I don't remember peeing, but I wasn't drinking anything either. The heat may have set it off, but there were 2 good fans going, and keeping the curtains closed helped quite a bit. I was actually chilled for 2 days, but in mortal fear of over-heating, I kept the fans on high, wore a tank top, and a light, airy skirt. The air flow was quite cooling, but I was getting worse instead of better. Cooling down normally helps, so this was frightening. My family wanted to buy me an air conditioner, but on some level, I knew it wouldn't help, altho that makes no sense at all. I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I didn't want to waste their money either.

What finally turned the corner? Because I was chilled, I finally put on a long sleeve t-shirt and turned the fans away from blowing directly on me. Almost immediately, I felt better. The AIR was hurting me. The air that was keeping me cool to the point of being chilled - was hurting me.

Like I said ... Evil Trickster. Not only does it not make sense, it's just really rotten unfair to not know what will help cause it's just an evil clown making fun of me. I hate IT.

In checking Dr. Google for the symptoms of Vertigo, I am stunned to learn that I could have gone to the doctor for medication that helps the Vertigo symptoms. Stunned because EVERYONE who saw me told me I should go to the doctor, and I had SUCH a fatalistic attitude, irritated by the very suggestion, saying there wasn't anything a doctor could do, it was just another symptom of MS. My instinct that it felt like an inner ear thing going on was correct. I didn't realize that not being able to taste could also be a symptom. The dizziness has dissipated somewhat, but food still seems disgusting. The swallowing is better, but still there. I'm disheartened to see that I've had almost all of the symptoms listed on this page. It's upsetting to me to realize my mindset sabotages my health. It just never occurred to me that I should have gone to the doctor.

I have something to say to my loved ones about living or not living with MS, but that's another post. It'll take more bravery than I have at the moment.

Clarification

Correction of my mis-statement.  SonOne didn't ask me to make cookies.  I asked him before he got here, during the 2-3 day reprieve of feeling somewhat better, what kind of cookies he wanted.  I was gonna make them Friday nite, when it was cooler, while they were at the fireworks.  Cept I fell asleep for several hours before, woke up, took the dogs out and discovered it was cooler.  Started remembering past 4th of July's, where our town doubles in population size because they're touted as the best fireworks this side of Mississippi.  I happen to love the hype and the crowds, so I decided to meet up with them at the river. 

He left his friends to meet up with me to watch the fireworks with me.  Surprisingly, but maybe not, cause this disease is so f*cking unpredictable, I was "okay" - able to walk surprisingly well for the most part.  But that in itself is one of my problems.  I feel like a fraud to even myself, because, it makes no sense how one minute I can be normal, and the next minute, be spinning out of control.  Sometimes, it feels like it has got to be all in my head, I have to be making it up, because it's so ridiculous.  I don't care that it's normal for MS - it's not normal to people who don't have it, and it's not normal to ME. 

He made breakfast the next morning.  That nite, when they came home at 2am something, I was in the midst of a wanting to vomit episode, and dizzy as hell, and there was no hiding it.  I had given up on the cookie making cause of the heat, and when I started making breakfast the next morning, he offered to do it, but I ignored him.  He offered to make the cookies, but I said I wanted to - it's important to me, even tho he tells me I don't need to.  But you can bet he certainly did bake the cookies, after my pre-heating the oven turned into a fire gone bad situation.  And he hugged me when I cried about it. 

He did tell me once that I think "it's all about me".  I'm not sure what he meant by that, whether it was about the MS, or everything in general.  I do tend to be the center of attention in a crowd, or the one that communicates excruciatingly clearly about what I'm feeling or thinking to the nth degree or the one trying to "help" the other person recognize their true feelings, so I use my own experiences as an example, (which I was taught was the fastest way to get the clients in a support group to relate, and it would trigger their own discussions or memories).  He also tends to be the center of attention with his friends, but I don't see that as a negative - I only wish I was as hilarious and quick-witted funny as he is. 

But the point is ... with him, I am extra-sensitive to my MS.  I was the big strong single mother in his growing up years.  The first couple of years of the diagnosis, he was supposed to move to Connecticut to be with his girlfriend, SweetieGirl, but he stayed with me.  She told me she thought it was because he didn't want to leave me.  When I told him that it wasn't his job to take care of me, that oddly enough, Idaho would be paying for my housing and my meds ... I would be better off than it would seem, and losing my house was a blessing in disguise.  I think it was 2 weeks later he told me he was moving to Connecticut. 

I got over the sensitivity of the "it's all about me" remark.  I'm proud of the people in the various support groups that were able to tell their story, because I told mine.  I'm proud of my intuitiveness when it comes to people.  I'm proud of how "right" I usually turn out to be, but maybe not so proud of how it would come across sometimes - "if you would just listen to me dammit, your problems would be over" frustration/attitude.  Oddly, the women related and were grateful.  I have the thank-you notes, and emails and job recognition awards to prove it.  But the males in my life, son included, didn't appreciate my knowledge!  I haven't decided if it's because I was stupid about males, expecting them to be more like the women, or that the males species just doesn't "get it".  Snort.

But I HATED the feeling, and would continue to hate it if I felt he was taking care of me at his own expense ever again.  I would hate me not at least making the effort to do what I want to do when it comes to doing things for him.  Because that's what I want.  Not what he's asking from me or expecting anything from me. 

I am my own worst enemy when it comes to MS, and so far, he's smart enough not to argue with me about it.  Smart boy, that. 

A Prayer of sorts

It's the heat that's making me so sick. 

Been nauseous going on a week now. 

A week ago, last Friday, I spent on the bathroom floor,

too weak to get up,

after throwing up a whole teaspoon of stomach acid. 

Barf, uncharacteristically, was winding himself around my legs,

jumping up on bathroom sink, to meow plaintively in my face.

Pulled the towels out of the cabinet

and made a pillow.  Fell asleep on the floor,

Barf sleeping next to my head. 

Wasn't till a couple days later I got the irony ...

Me feeling barfy, Barf taking care of me,

acting more like a service dog - worried about me. 

Was finally feeling somewhat human the last 3ish days. 

Weak as a kitten but human.

Tonite, it's 88 degrees outside. 

Started a crockpot of chili about an hour ago.

Frying hamburger. 

Washing a sink of dishes - hot water. 

And the nasousa is back full force, with a vengenence. 

Sick, dizzy, like vertigo, I think it is. 

SonOne asked for some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. 

I put the 2 big fans blowing in the kitchen.

Mixed the shortening, eggs, sugar. 

Had to stop. 

Sat on a stool in the middle of the kitchen,

both fans blowing on me.

Gagging.  Can't stop gagging, choking on my own saliva,

the numbness that lives constantly in my feet and hands

has moved up to my throat. 

Have lived in dread of the numbness

moving up to my breathing parts. 

Lungs.  Throat. 

Am terrified to turn on the fucking oven for the cookies.

Don't want SonOne to see me like this

but I absolutely cannot get up off the stool.

If I do manage, the nausea hits again, the dizzy. 

On top of all this?

Can't keep the pain pills down. 

I'm scared and alone,

knowing he will be home

unless he and his friends,

drink too much, then he will stay in town. 

Can't believe I'm hoping he drinks too much

so they'll spend the nite with the friends. 

His girlfriend hasn't seen me in full-blown flare,

and I'm so embarrassed for her to see. 

I want to be the strong mother

that I used to be. 

I'm torn between needing help,

but not wanting him to see me like this,

but wanting to make the cookies for him -

a mom wanting to do something motherly

for him - cause I miss him so much,

and we've had such a hard time lately.

Crawl to the computer to write this,

feeling my hands turn to stone. 

If there's a God ... God help me I can't live like this. 

Just a little update for the people

An email I just sent to SFM earlier today:

I'm watching a movie on Sci Fi.  Normally don't watch this channel, but when I was channel surfing, there was a picture of the Golden Gate bridge.  I don't know the name of the movie, but it's about "The Big One".  The earthquake starts in Washington, another in Oregon, then the lady scientist predits San Francisco, but no one believes her.  Sure enough, another earthquake levels San Francisco.  Fema and the President Bo Bridges finally believe her.  She says plant 5 nuclear bombs in certain places, to fuse the previous fault lines to the San Andreas.  Wouldn't you know, they don't get the 5th one deep enough, the cable breaks.  The Fema guy goes down to set it off manually, knowing he won't make it.

 

Wait.  Maybe you're seen it?  Or maybe you're tempted to turn it on.  Kids probably shouldn't watch it.  It's pretty scary and hits too close to home.  It's really good acting and special effects, so pretty realistic.  I'm completely in awe.  And exhausted from watching it - intense!

 

And terrified.

 

Get the hell out of there!!!  If the earthquake doesn't get you, the nukes or the flood will !!!  I better warn Ben too, in San Diego.  If they don't stop it, the entire California coast will disappear. 

 

Okay...

 

In other news, I just got an email with times I'm supposed to work at the Blogher conference.  They want me to confirm my presence.  I should have known better, cause the last 2-3 weeks have been a wake-up call - that I can't promise a damn thing in my life.  If it doesn't get better ... won't be able to help Linda, babysit my grand nephews, OR travel.  I've been laid out flat by this last flare, and am pretty scared.  I know I'm stuck in a vicious circle - losing weight helped.  , but moving hurts like hell. 

 

I need to move to San Francisco.  So we can die to together, friends supporting each other to the end.  Or else one or the other of us will die, without being able to tell each other we came to our senses and love each other after all.  Or we will declare our love to each other and survive against all odds, our newfould strong love carries us thru.  Or else we'll be torn apart and realize we've got to start living our lives somehow and get out of this rut we're in.  Or else, some hero will save me, and I fall in love with him. 

 

HAHAHA - rut.  No pun intended. 

 

Lord, the next movie is about a killer astroid.  Don't know what city it'll be. 

 

Ack, a small one just hit Montana.  There's many "baby" astroids that will hit all over.  This is just great.  You're gonna die in a earthquake, and I'm gonna die under an astroid.  One just hit Coulee Dam.  The big one?  (As in astroid, not earthquake) Kansas City and 70 - 100 miles radius.  Only 2 million people projected dead in this one. 

 

I'm blogging this.  Easier than writing a whole nother post.  People worry when I don't blog for days.  Obsessing over disaster movies is better than nothing.  Better watch what you say, I might blog it too.  I'm in a devil-may-care, fatalistic mood.  My judgement may be marred.  You better say you love me too, it makes for a better story.  Anything for my readers.  Then I will sigh, hold my arm to my head dramatically to my forehead and say, "Too late, I'm gonna jump!."  Jump where I don't know yet.  That is all.  I'm tired now.

Sincerely,

in case we die - love you. 

 

Laurie

 

PS.  Do you think I'm watching too much TV? 

I beg to differ. AGAIN, BEN

Last nite he said he was worried about me cause I haven't posted since the aptop post.  Ahem.  Check again, buddy.  So instead of being worried about me, he should know that I now realize that he doesn't read everyday like he always said he did.  Uh huh.  See how you are. 

But yes, I haven't been posting cause it hurts.  That's just how it is. 

Tonite, I had to tell SFM that I can't meet him in Reno with his kids in the next couple of days.  I think that, more than anything, tells you how bad it's been. 

I slept from 2am to 11am this morning.  Someone called and needed a ride into town, so I took her.  Was gone for a couple of hours.  Fell asleep in my chair when I got back from about 2pm to 5:30ish, when SFM called to find out if I was coming down or not.  And then I went back to sleep.  I don't know if I am needing the sleep or using it as an escape.  I do know the nite before last, at 2am, I was tossing and turning in bed, not wanting to go to sleep for fear of having to wake up again with the pain all over again.  MS pain is always better in the morning, it's like starting over with a clean slate and as long as I keep up with the meds, MS and I have made our peace.  But the arthritis pain is worse, because ... sleeping makes arthritis worse?  Hell, I don't know.  All I know is that I feel like I've been trampled by a cattle stampede.

Speaking of which, I've been watching the CMT channel, with alot of cowboy movies lately.  "Unforgiven" for one.  So I've been dreaming that I'm the lady of the ranch, and somebody is trying to kill someone, and then I have to take care of the fever-stricken pigs by myself, and then somebody burns down the barn, and the neighbors, who all live in town 20 miles away by horseback come and try to put it out with buckets of water, but of course it's too late.  As everyone knows, a lone woman with fever-stricken pigs and a burned down barn is considered down-and-out, and she has to go be a whore in the local saloon.  That or a hero of some sort is supposed to come save her - the cowboy in the white hat.  I guess it says alot about me that so far, in my dreams, I've yet to be saved by the hero, and there's more fun in the whore business.  Wonder what it all means.  Maybe I should stop watching movies with cattle stampedes?  Maybe I should pay more attention to the chickens that run around loose, peacefully pecking the ground.  Then maybe I'd jump out of bed like a spring chicken, all spry-like.

Tomorrow's goal: get to a doctor.  It finally occurred to me that I don't have to see the "specialist" in town.  I haven't had good luck with "specialists" in this town.  Altho, "they" reccommend seeing specialists when one has MS, because it's a complicated thing figuring out what symptoms belong to which problem, but it's not like there's a choice where I live.  My neurologist quit, and is leaving town.  Another tomorrow's goal:  Get my records from him. 

THe Blogher conference is a month away.  Must. Get. Better.

SFM's daughter called to ask me to Reno, so it was extra hard to say I couldn't go.  After telling him I couldn't, I felt a horrible sense of defeat.  It's winning. 

*

PS.

If you keep doing something the same way, it's pretty crazy to think you'll get different results.  Just a special shout-out to someone. 

*

MS Monday

Good thing today is Monday, because I've designated Mondays to be about MS.  I don't remember if I told you that I'd come up with a new plan to help me write everyday, but it's all about the days of the week.  If I write something about MS, men (dating), or moods, it'll be posted on Mondays.  Also, because I still take pictures of hearts, they'll be posted on Memorial Monday, for Jacob.  You get the idea.

I was doing really well on my marathon (something else to post on Monday!) training (no wait, that was going to be on Tuesday Training ...) until I bought new running shoes.  Which gave me blisters, which is almost impossible to prevent when buying new running shoes, and the reason I'm seriously considering buying a second pair of the same kind right now because I think getting blisters threw me into a flare-up.  A #*%$&*^%$ blister!

I think when you have MS, the body over-reacts to injuries.  Hahaha, who am I kidding?  The body over-reacts to anything.  Ever since getting the blisters, my heels have become more and more ... stiff?  Like the tendons are tightening, and walking is excruciating.  I know I've been in pain before and written about it, but this is one of those times when I am not being over dramatic or exaggerating. 

Yesterday, I woke up around 9am, and checked the Internet to find out when the Nascar race was.  Damn.  It was on Saturday and I missed it.  Went back to bed, and was going to call my mother to see if she would pick me up to go to my niece's bridal shower, which was at noon.  I picked up the phone and ... fell back asleep.  Take a wild guess as to what time I woke up again.

5pm. 

Unfreakingbelieveable. 

So I missed the shower, which I had baked a loaf of bread cause we were spose to bring something edible with the recipe. 

Turns out my mother didn't go, and my niece doesn't like bread.  Fine. 

I can only think that I slept that long because it was a mental escape from the pain.  It's so bad that I'm seriously considering not going to Spokane to babysit Duke if it's not any better next week.  Can you imagine me not wanting to babysit Duke?  Yea, that's how much it hurts.  I am/was planning on going to San Diego after Spokane to go see Ben too, so he can get mad at me now too, if I can't go.  Which reminds me, I need to check the temperature in San Diego.  It was 97 in San Francisco for one day in San Francisco last week, and I had to pretend I didn't hear that.  Because not even I, with my crazy SF love, could not bear 97 degrees. 

It's hard to explain how the temperature affects my MS.  It's not all in my head, I swear.   In Googling heat and MS, I came across this little ditty about sleeping ... .  Well, that might explain the 5pm thing. 

For me, when I get too hot, I can feel my spine begin to tingle or "boil".  I can come to a boil by 5 minutes with the sun on my back, getting my period, getting a fever, taking a shower, or anything else that involves heat.  Like how the temperature is 40 at nite, and 80 during the day.  HATE that.

So, between having blisters, the abrupt temperature changes, working at Wheelie's house, and my garden, marathon training, and my weight gain ... I'm being slammed with MS much like in the very beginning. 

Speaking of the weight, I'm convinced that is the core of the issue.  I'm within 15 pounds of my heaviest weight and it hurts to carry it around.  My back hurts and the only thing that helps is ... a heating pad. 

I feel like I'm caught in a vicious spider web, going around in circles - anything I do makes me pay for it in some physical MS'sy way.  Mentally and emotionally - it's hard to be chipper while trying to make it look "normal".  Because there's a Black Widow hovering over me, just waiting for any weakness so MS can sink it's irreversible symptomy fangs into me. 

*

A Horse of A Different Color

At age 50, I'm not quite sure I know what a Wii Fit is, but my son assures me that I want one.  Jenny at Three Kid Circus (whom I found via Joy Unexpected) is having a contest for most embarrassing weight loss machine story. 

I have MS, and I've been lucky - exercise actually keeps my MS from getting worse. I used to be MUCH worse, staggering around like a drunk without the fun of the drinking part. After working out at Curves, and walking up to 4 - 5 miles a day, I've learned that taking care of my health is a full-time job, in order not to let the MS come creeping back in. However, I got lazy last winter, and need to start up the exercise and weight loss all over again. As my son said "Wii can do it together, Mom". With him in Washington, and me in Idaho, I'm not sure how that's gonna happen, but whatever. If it's something he wants, and technology is involved, I'd be thrilled to be one-up on him. Him with his Ipods and Blackberry and laptop and Roomba Robot Vacuum ...

But on to my most embarrassing weight-loss purchase. Luckily, it was a garage sale purchase. I like to tell myself I was far too smart to buy it from the TV with a real live credit card, as I knew that the reputation of exercise machines in homes was not a good one.  Seems they turn into coat racks all by themselves. 

My teenage passion was horses. So you know I had to have the iGallup after the birth of my son 16 years previous - that pesky pregnancy weight, you know. Besides, I figured I had a leg up on the iGallop (punny!) by thinking that having been an experienced horseback rider way back when - it wouldn't kick my butt and I could gallop my weight away, like the pro that I was. My iGallop wasn't going to turn into a coat hanger, no sir-ree.

So one day, shortly after buying the damn thing, I overheard my then boyfriend talking to one of his buddies out on the deck, where the iGallop also sat.

Buddy: What's that contraption?

Hubby: Dunno. Think maybe it's a Kegel machine.

Buddy: Duuude. You're a lucky man.

... I couldn't look Buddy in the face for days afterwards, and was too embarrassed to use the iGallop ever again.

*

MS is stupid, but Jeffrey is cute

Today/tonite was frought with frustration.  Everything I touched, I either dropped it, dropped it, or dropped it.  Or I put it down and burned myself on it.  Then there was the tripping over everything I dropped.  And the tripping over things that have been in the same place forever. 

Walls and furniture seem to jump out at me.  When I turn around, I start to fall in the direction that I turned.  This running into everything is an odd sensation.  It feels as tho the floor comes up at me at a slant...  I'm not making sense.

I've got to move to somewhere that has a pain clinic. 

I saw auras around Jeffrey last nite.  Perhaps 2 nites of not sleeping would cause that? 

There's new symptoms going on. 

Sigh. 

*

We were stalked by an owl. Or the post that sucked Gosling in.

First I have to set the scene. In my effort to feel productive, I've been getting up by 8am for the last 3 mornings. This hasn't proven difficult at all, but about 5:30pm, but today I needed a nap. I set the alarm for 6pm, just wanting a tiny, short nap - a power nap.

Next thing I know, it's 10:00. I thought it meant 10am in the morning. I lay there for several minutes, disgusted with myself, telling myself I failed at my new plan to reform after just 3 days. Imagine my horror when I got up and it was DARK. Instead of thinking I'd overslept that nite and into the next morning, I thought I'd overslept that nite, into the next morning and into the NEXT night again!!

So to say I was disoriented is an understatement. If I said I was disoriented ALOT, it would still be an understatement.

The next horrified thought was the dogs hadn't been outside for... I had to pause my panicked disorientation to do the math... from 5:30pm yesterday to 10pm "today".... 28 hours!! Does anyone know how difficult math is when one is mathimatically challenged and had the grades to prove it, AND disoriented from taking a 28 hour long nap.  AND with MS???  I swear MS took any ability I had with using all versions of thinking with numbers.  Clocks included. 

The next problem was deciding what to wear when one is just GETTING UP at 10pm after a 28 hour nap. Regular daytime clothes or pajamas? While believing one's dogs haven't peed in 28 hours, which puts an element of HURRY into it?

Finally, I got outside with the dogs. Who oddly seemed more interested in the refrigerator than going outside after 28 hours of not peeing, which should have been my first clue. But I figured they must be disoriented too - they thought it was time for dinner. Which only makes sense, since supposedly they'd missed last nite's dinner and tonite's dinner was late. But still. One would think after not peeing for 28 hours, peeing would be priority. I certainly skipped my own need to pee, in my efforts to get them peed.  I'm sure I've mentioned MS giving me pee problems.  Peeing them first is how much I love my dogs.  The sacrifices I make. 

As I walked out to the field behind the apartment, wondering how in the hell I slept thru 3, yes THREE piercing cell phone alarms... one for waking up from the nap at 6pm, the wake-up alarm at 8am, AND the 3pm Physical Therapy alarm... I felt a WHOOOSH over my head. The kind of whooosh you can both hear and feel from the air rushing by. Muttin ran to my side, whining. Since I was still in Disoriented Hell, I didn't pay attention. As I continued to walk down the field, trying to justify a 28 hour nap, and wondering if I should report such a nap to someone medical, since I blame MS for everything wrong in my life - Muttin continued to whine. Eventually I saw something out of the corner of my eye, above us, flying to the top of a telephone pole. The moon was bright, and with it reflecting off the snow, it was bright enough to see that it was a HUMONGOUS owl.

From the time of the first whooosh to the time of seeing the owl was the length of 3 telephone poles. I kept walking, watching both Muttin and the owl. That owl flew ahead to the next telephone pole. I stopped dead in my tracks, and called Jeffrey to me. This whole time, Muttin hadn't left my side and hadn't stopped whining. Now normally, I am Miss Facinated by Every Single Move My Dogs Make, since they are so adorable, and would have noticed out of the norm behavior, but did I mention my 28 hour nap? I realized Muttin knew all about that owl, from the first whooosh to the 3rd telephone pole.

I started walking again, cause I didn't want that owl to mistake me for a tree, rather than the Protecter of My Dogs, and I figured walking was the best way to show the owl that I wasn't a tree, because being a tree would make it okay to swoop down and grab a dog by it's wicked talons. Notice how danger sharpened my previously disoriented mind... I knew the word for owl's feet.

As we continued to walk, that owl flew ahead AGAIN to the next telephone pole. It didn't care about my Walking to Prove I Wasn't a Tree impression. It was biding it's time. It was stalking us. 

I tried to remember everything that I'd learned about owls, and realized it was next to nothing. The two things I did remember created a quandry. 1. They were wise, and 2. they had good eyesight. I recalled something about radar senses, but I think that's for bats.  And I wondered if they had a good sense of smell, cause that would sure be nice if they did, cause surely then it would smell the Human Protecting The Dog Meat, therefore, it would be stupid to do any more whoooshing anywhere near me and the dogmeat dogs.  So the quandry I settled on was, if wise, surely it knew better than to do anymore whoooshing and/or if owls have such good eyesight, surely it saw that my dogs were too big for it's wicked talons. Right?

Or maybe, God forbid, in the things that I didn't know about owls, when I was supposedly learning about owls, IF I ever did learn about owls, and had forgotten everything I ever knew about owls, not knowing that someday I'd be stalked by an owl AND my lack of eyeglasses for my own poor eyesight, maybe it was bigger than I thought, even tho it already was humongously, freakishly LARGE.

Jeffrey was scampering around like a carefree dog who didn't know he could be ate up at any moment, so I called him near, picked him up, and marched us home, the length of 5 telephone poles.  Singing loudly, "Ahunting we will go, ahunting we will go, hi ho, the derry-o, a hunting we will go". Probably not the best song under the circumstances, but you try to find an appropriate song when you need a motivational marching in deep snow while being stalked by a man dog killer in the middle of the nite type of song.  While disoriented by MS and a 28 hour nap. 

Normally, it's Muttin I have to pick up, since she is the rebel and will take off running, but she was still glued to my heels. In fact, she was so glued, she kept tripping me, her own version of kamakazi games she normally plays on her brother, throwing herself cutely under his feet.  Which made for 2 falls into the 8 inch crusty snow with Not a Care in the World Jeffrey in my arms.  Who would scamper off between falls, putting himself in unknown to him, danger.  Dumb dog. 

We got all home safe and sound, where I finally realized that my nap had been from 5:30pm to 10pm of the same day, it wasn't the next day after all.  My brain hurt. 

I fed the dogs.  I decided to have oatmeal for dinner, just to play games with my head some more. 

As I ate the oatmeal, I went to the Internet to find where I could report a humongous freakishly large owl who stalks people and their dogs. I'm convinced it's a mutant and needs to be turned in to the proper authorities to be studied. Or at the very least, put in jail a zoo. 

Amazingly enough, there wasn't much to find about Idaho owls. There is a guy doing research on voles, lichen populations, and voles use of lichen. This makes perfect sense, how owl research turned into vole's eating habits, as one would think voles are a owl's natural diet, rather than dogs. So to know about voles eating lichen seems vitally important. Lichen being the mossy green stuff on trees and rocks. I think.  As always, with the Internet, lack of knowledge on one subject just leads to lack of knowledge about another and I wasn't about to look up lichen. I was determined to keep my vole in check. (Vole being a kind of mouse.  Not the mouse that does the clicking all over the Internet). Tell me how funny I am.

For the first time since feeding my dogs raw chicken, which is a whole nuther story involving Jeffrey's anal glands, I relished the sound of doggie jaws crunching on raw chicken bones. Normally, I cringe. And have bad dreams about bone splinters rupturing their little tummies. But tonite, I said "Take THAT, you damn chicken, who's got to be related to damn owls!"

And to think, not too long ago, I've had communion with wolves and ravens, as totems. At another time, I would have seen this owl as a sign of some sort, a message to my life. Ha! From here on out, let it be known that owls are my enemy, and I shall speak to no owls. Or listen. Ever. I'll use my own damn wisdom thankyouverymuch.

Maybe researching owls who eat voles who eat lichen will lead to a cure for MS. What other reason can there be for actual dollars being spent on such a study???

*

Pressing my luck

Today I got my official notice that I'm volunteering for 4 hours at the 3 -4 day Blogher conference in San Francisco.  I didn't realize how expensive it was to attend - but I get a special "get in free" code.  I'm SOO excited.  SanFranMan and I are trying to find a laptop for me.  I think I'll go sit on the curb with my hat out for donations. 

The last two days were wrapped in pain, and I'm beginning to realize that this could get bad.  As improved as my general physical outward body - ... , .  Hmmm.  I don't know what I'm trying to say.  The pain may be a really large factor as I get older.  It never lets go.  Imagine being badly sunburned, hitting your funny bone, and thawing your hands when they've been too cold all at the same time.  Welcome to my feet.  And hands.  Being too warm or stressed or sleepless or over-worked makes it worse, with an added wooden numbness that moves up my legs and body.  Being too warm might involve taking a shower, my period starting, or having a sheet over me.  Being stressed might involve my period starting, and wondering what the hell, because I'm tired of it disappearing for months at a time and coming back for the weekend I'm meeting SanFranMan in Reno.  Or trying to figure out what to wear to bed, and just what is it going to take not to get to warm while sleeping in order not to wake up in pain from being too warm.  Being over-worked might be from vacumming 3 small rooms.  Cause that heats me up.  And weakens me for a short time. 

I'm not complaining - it is soooo much better than it used to be.  But it's disconcerting to be so much better, and then to be reminded that I really do have MS just by doing the simplest things.  About the only thing I do that MS doesn't affect is the walking.  During the walk, I am just fine.  After the walk, I'm weak and stumbly for a short while.  Again, recovery time is MUCH better than it used to be.  So please, MSgod ... I'm not complaining.  I'm explaining to the nice folks in the Internet is all I'm saying. 

I'm getting out of this post cause now I'm nervous. 

*

Written on Tuesday, posted on Wednesday

(Muttin Looks How I Feel)

Dear Blog People,

There's something wrong with me.  Seriously.  Besides the MS.  Or maybe because of the MS.  But when I say that, it makes me feel like I'm blaming/not taking responsibility for what is wrong with me. 

You would think that being on Disability as I am, yet still mostly healthy physically as in able to do the basics of walking, light housework, still able to drive - that I would get things done. 

This blog hangs over me blanketed in guilt.  I'm not writing.  Why not?  I used to take pictures every day and post them.  What stopped me?  Let's look into it, shall we?

1.  Pain

2.  My computer sucks.  I need a laptop desperately - I'll be the only blogger at the Blogher conference without a laptop.  The shame. 

3.  People I know are reading this and I'm inhibited from being my usual rude and raunchy self.  Totally my perception, not their's.

4.  The TV sucks me into it's drama.  And I do love reality TV - so there's lots of drama.

5.  The other computer stuff sucks me in.  For instance, I turned off the TV so I could write this post and think.  The silence suffocated me, so I turned on the media player inside the computer, where I've downloaded  2,638 songs.  I would like them to be sorted properly, with all of them having the names, name of song, genre, etc. all nice and pretty.  It's not done, so I almost started doing that instead.  It's like I can't enjoy the music until my play lists are perfect. 

Coolbeans!  I just discovered that I can play the player in "skin mode", and that little visualization thingy will get smaller, and stay on top, so I can see it as I'm typing right now.  Awesome.  Cause for some reason, I need to know who's playing before I can hear it right.  uh huh.  Right.  Whatever.  You'd think I'd recognize voices, since I'm the one who downloaded it.  I do for the most part.  Don't call me anal, or else we'll get off-track and this'll be a whole nother post that I won't start anytime soon. 

6.  My son.  I have wanted/needed to write about him for months now.  He says it's alright that I do, but it's so convoluted - that I'm just stuck when it comes to expressing what I'm thinking and feeling.  He's not a regular reader, but I wouldn't post anything until he read it, and gave me permission to post it - that's just how it is, even tho he said it was okay if I put it on here already.

So ... there's 6 reasons for not blogging more.  Or are they excuses? 

And why the HELL is my father coming into my head?????????????????????

Whenever I think of my father, I am reminded of how he told my sister he didn't believe that I got caught in a hailstorm and my wonderful car got pummeled.  He said that no-one could have as much bad luck as I did.  This was after also losing my house.  When I was trying to save my house, I sent out an email to people I knew, asking for whatever help they could give.  I didn't need much, but it was enormous to me, since I was down to working 3 hours a day at that point.  The one person who would have been able to help the most was right under my father's name in the address book.  Guess who's name I mistakenly clicked on?  Yea.  Smooth move, ex-lax.  I wouldn't ask him for money if my life depended on it, since I haven't spoken to him in many years, I don't even remember.  Sometimes my darling sister would ask him on my behalf and then tell me after-wards and then I would killed her.  Twice.  But she keeps popping back up.  He sends her money on Christmas and birthdays, and he had never done that for me.  Not until the year I was dx'd with MS - which she told him about too.  So that year he sent money for Christmas and me and my sister decided to spend it on ourselves, rather than pay bills, or presents for others.  Having not spoken to him in years, but feeling entitled to the money, because as far as I'm concerned, he owes me big-time for the years I spent in counseling because of what he did - molesting me as a teenager - I didn't thank him.  I guess, according to my sister, via him ... I'm a bad girl for not thanking him, so I haven't gotten any more money.  Sigh... so heartbroken. 

But it does drive me wild that he doesn't believe me about the car and The Hailstorm.  Should I type his name in here and/or my name ... should he happen to Google the daughter he hasn't spoken to for ? how many years?  Obviously, this is still an issue for me.  He denies what he did, so he is the liar.  And if you drink to the point of not remembering, chances are pretty good that when told of your behavior ...  they're telling the truth.  Just say'n.

I could of course send it to him myself - directly - the way I'm used to doing things.  (Should I tell you about how I confronted someone yesterday, who lives here, who has staph infection, and keeps telling everyone she's not contagious?)    But always, something stops me, and it has nothing to do with the nauseous feeling I get, and the choking in my throat.  Or maybe it does ... that choking feeling has a lot of power over me, as it cuts off breathing...  which is somewhat important.

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings ... they are not a fashion accessory.  I LOVE that. 

ohmyhell.  Talk about Freud. 

I just heard the breast statement on Dr. Phil, right this very minute.   I should clarify something, considering my father is in this post.  The synchronicity amazes me.  Talk about my father, and somebody brings up breasts. 

Breasts are for feeding babies, and as playthings (with appropriate partners) ... they are not a fashion accessory. 

I have NO idea how this post got so derailed. 

*

A Letter To My Body

About a month ago, I came across this Letter to my Body from Blogher, inviting me to write a letter to my body.  It was then I applied to be a volunteer to Blogher '08, because I could smell San Francisco while reading the post, evidently.  Any excuse for San Francisco ...

First off, I didn't know my body was even WANTING to receive a letter from me, since it seems we live pretty close together, and why not save on the stamp?  Specially since me and my body spend so much time on the Internet - going to all the same places together - in this day and age ...why would I want to snail mail a letter to my body?  Besides, wouldn't that be adding insult to injury - the very fact that this body still remembered what snail mail even was ... was exactly why I wanted to avoid my body in the first place.  Cause in the last year, this body turned 50.  I wasn't liking it turning 50, because my mind felt like life was just beginning again, with all the wisdom gained in the last 20 years.  I'm going to write this as it comes out of my head - no censoring, so it'll be all over the place.  Hopefully, it'll make sense. 

For most of those years, me and my body had a truce.  I would leave it alone if it would leave me alone.  I pretty much ignored it.

By virtue of being a girl, my body garnered me unwanted attention from inappropriate adults when it was a child.  A grade-school janitor molested it when it was in 2nd grade.  A baby-sitter when it was younger.  A father when it was a teenager.  Those are the memories  my brain knows for sure.  There's another shady memory of pine trees and a cabin in the woods, but my brain has never been able to trust my body, so we're not quite positive on the cabin in the woods incident/s.  Just as well, as remembering what I did remember got me dis-owned by the people who were closet to me.  Thanks, body.

Later, when dating boys, I panicked at the thought of physical contact.  If a boy complimented me on something I wore, I wouldn't wear it again, not understanding why it made me feel dirty.  I remember feeling self-conscious about EVERYTHING, including wearing a swimming suit at age 4 and 5.  I hated family reunions, because they didn't feel safe to me, and someone was always critical about something on my body ... either my own embarrassment over my clothes, or a grandmother's criticism about the acne on my face.  In front of everybody.  Or my father's teasing about my "itty bitty titties".  In front of everybody.  I had a VERY good-looking cousin, who was VERY popular in my school, and it was excruciating for a teen girl to be singled out for critical attention in front of him - as if my body belonged to others to comment/criticize. 

I didn't date because going thru the discomfort of getting to know someone new was too dangerous.  So I stayed safe with one boy all thru high school and 2 years after.  I believed I shouldn't sleep with him in order to be a good girl, and that's what I thought was expected of me.  After 4 years of going out with him (I think it was 4 years), my mother asked me if I needed birth control, and I was shocked at the question.  I think she said something along the lines that she didn't know how I could wait that long.  That nite was the first time I had sex.  I don't remember it - except for the embarrassment that he went down to the barn to get some Vaseline, and his best friend was there milking the cow, and he knew what was going on.  And I remember being relieved - finally we could quit fighting about the "make-out sessions that never lead to anywhere".  For 4 years, I had been a good girl, mostly because I was terrified of crossing that line - as long as we didn't have sex, that meant he loved me for my mind... right? 

I know now that the reason I don't remember anything about sex in those early years is because I disassociated in order to get thru it.  Sex also hurt because I tensed up so much.  I thought something was wrong with me.  My body hated sex, not so much because it hurt, but because I simply hated my body, and the power it seemed to hold over men - making them idiots.  I wanted to be loved for my mind, by hell. 

Having a baby was excruciatingly embarrassing to me.  All those doctor appointments in my private parts.  The shame I felt, giving birth, because so many people (doctors, nurses) SAW me. 

The point is ... it's not normal to feel the level of shame I felt for my body.  I disassociated from it more and more.

My body betrayed me hugely by giving birth to a badly hurt baby with Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus.  No matter how intellectually I understood that it wasn't my fault ... it was MY body that failed Jacob, and the self-hatred settled in for permanent residence. 

After the babies ... there was "fat" to add to the hatred.  I gained 70 pounds with my first baby.  Then I was almost anorexic with my second pregnancy because my husband and I were separated at the time. 

There was divorce.  Then there was dating, with a c-sectioned body.  With triggers of certain touches sending me to the ceiling.  Two abortions - one because it had been 3 years since I had sex, and I got woken up with someone on top of me, and my body responding, even tho in my head I was screaming NO.  Another was much earlier, before I married, as a teenager, newly moved out of the house, newly broke up with the 7 year high school boyfriend, with my second boyfriend/sexual partner.  The abortion fell on my father's birthday, which I found oddly appropriate.  I know now that one of the things that doctor did on a follow-up appointment was sexual abuse.  I hated my body.  It seemed to make men do horrible things to me. 

I lived with my third boyfriend for 2 or 3 years before we married.  Our sex life was great mostly because I wasn't present for it.  Then we married, and for the first 4 months of our marriage, I refused to have sex.  I started counseling because I had realized DURING THE WEDDING CEREMONY that I was doing the wrong thing by marrying my drug addicted, drug dealing, alcoholic husband.  The memories started to come of my childhood.  I slept with a knife or a crochet hook under my pillow.  The ONLY saving grace of being with my husband was that he helped me heal sexually.  He understood the disassociation, and refused to have sex unless I stayed present.  He was patient and kind.  He respected my wishes, even tho it meant he seemed to have married a wanna-be virgin all of a sudden.  He nurtured the hurt little girl inside, without taking advantage of her. 

It took years of therapy and then counseling others for me to heal from the abuse, and for it to let go of the noose it had held around my neck for so long. 

But I kept getting fatter.  Every time I lost weight, getting too many admiring glances or wolf whistles would trigger old issues, and I'd gain weight again.  I was going to be loved for my brain, by hell.  Being fat was protection from unwanted attention. 

I was 40 years old when I could tell I was emotionally healthy for the first time in my life.  I was single again, and dating smartly.  I was having sex because I WANTED to, kinda like a kid in a candy store.  Discovering.  In my prime, so they say.  Me and my body had come to terms, and had an agreement - I'd be nice to it - if it was nice to me.  It seemed to work well.  I gave it sex, and it gave me the freedom to enjoy it for real.  It was FUN, that time of my life.  I was LIKING myself, and my body - finally giving it the respect it deserved.  I OWNED my body - nobody else did.  That's a huge statement for someone who grew up believing my only worth was how my body looked, and either giving it away without my consent, or having it taken from me without my consent.

I was happy. 

And then?  Another huge betrayal.  My body betrayed me by doing things against my will.  It stumbled and fell.  It hurt all the time.  It peed my pants.  It didn't make sense.  Things didn't work.  I couldn't explain it.  The doctors said it was a herniated disk in my neck.  I had the surgery, believing I was doing the best thing to take care of my body.  It lied to me.  It wasn't a herniated disk - it was MS.  Multiple Sclerosis.  Again, I had no control over my body - outside forces took over and used it for it's own purpose.  It was familiar territory, and old issues were stirred up in a frenzy-filled pot of pain and confusion. 

After about 3 years, the depression nearly killed me, and I took the advice I had told so many clients ... WALK.  Get out and MOVE.  I joined Curves, and I died each day for the next 2 weeks.  But after those 2 weeks of pure, sweaty hell, I began to gain control over my body again.  I concentrated on health, making my health my full-time job, since I could no longer work a real job.  I saw the changes in my arms and legs, gaining some muscle definition.  I liked how it moved, especially in bed.  I made my body lose 50 pounds, and reveled in the self-confidence it gave me.  I was no longer self-conscious of how it looked naked.  Still embarrassed by the drunken MS'y stumbles, but I could live with that, as long as I was a more graceful, thin stumbly MS person. 

In one way, MS was a blessing because it made me finally tune in to my body and learn to listen to it.  I HAD to pay attention to it, in order to be able to walk in a straight line, or get to the toilet on time.  After years and years of ignoring it, I finally paid attention, and learned to appreciate it for what all it went thru.  I learned to give it the respect it deserved by taking care of it so WE could be healthy TOGETHER.  This was/is big. 

Now?  I've gained 20 pounds back, and haven't been exercising the way I used to.  Me and my body are just getting back into it, with a goal of running in a 5K in August, and a half marathon in October.  We've come to an acceptance of each other finally - at 50 years old, I know now that it's not about how my body LOOKS ... it's about how I feel.  And to hell with what anybody else thinks.  My body and I ... we like it this way. 

*

I just realized this wasn't so much a letter TO my body as much as it is a letter ABOUT my body.   Hmmmm ... I wonder if that MEEAANS anything ...  issues, anyone? 

*

Herniated Disk Surgery

Laurie:  Comes out of surgery for her slipped disk in her neck.  Unbeknownst to her, because she was in Anesthesia Land, she was in a neck brace.  There were air mattress pillow thingys, surrounding her legs, getting tight and then not tight, squeezing her legs.  They're used to keep the blood from clotting during surgery and recovery.  She was also wearing support stockings clear up to her thighs. 

Nurses:  Trying to do things to her. 

Laurie:  Wouldn't let them.  There was a whooshing noise.  There was something heavy on her legs.  She  was having flashbacks of the abuse, because of the weight on top of  her.  She was being choked, there was something around her throat and neck, something tight.  She was fighting anyone who touched her.  Everything was black, she couldn't see anything.   

Nurses to Sister:  Is there anyone you can call that might be able to help her calm down? 

Sister:  Yes, I'll find him. 

.

Laurie:  Hears a familiar voice, talking to her in a calm voice, painting a picture inside her mind.  Something about shooting the bad guy.  Kicking the bad guy's ass.  He knew just what to do.  She shot the bad guys with the razor gun he drew her in her mind.  She stopped fighting because the bad guys got shot dead. 

Nurses:  Did their post-op thing. 

Familiar Voice:  Went out to smoke a cigarette.

Nurses:  (In a awed voices)  Who was that masked man? 

Sister:  Her ex-boyfriend. 

.

.

Later:

Phone rings in Laurie's room. 

Laurie:  Hello?

Roommate:  (Who used to be married to Familiar Voice)  How you doing?  Says all the caring and thoughtful things one says to one after surgery.  Can you have visitors yet?

Laurie:  Ben's here, my sister is here, and so is Familiar Voice.

Roommate:  (sharp intake of breath) 

Laurie:  What? 

Roommate:  Wasn't he at work?  Did he leave work to visit you? 

Laurie:  Uh.  Yea.  What's wrong?

Roommate:  You bitch!  He wouldn't leave work for me when I was in labor with our first child!!!

Laurie:  You bitch!  Don't make me laugh, I've got a million staples holding my head on!   

Roomate:  I hope it falls off! 

The End. 

.

.

.

Disclaimer:  The above may not be reported very accurately, because the writer was in a drug -induced fog at the time, and the writer feels the need to clarify that fact, writer's license and all that jazz, because Ben and TC may remember the events a little differently.  Life's a bitch when people she knows read the blog. 

That is all. 

.

Pain again. I know it sucks and it's boriing.

MS?  Sucks. 

The next step is narcotics.  Last week, the doctor asked me if I felt addicted to the Tramadol.  ???  Excuse me?  I was a little offended.  I frowned at the thought and told her I didn't think so, how would I know?  Meaning what would the signs of addiction be?  She said I would "crave" it.  I assured her no, I never craved it.  But then I got home and started thinking.  To avoid that, I googled instead.  The pain ramps up religiously every 4 hours without fail.  The level of pain varies.  But if I don't take the meds ... I NEED the pain meds.  The thought of running out terrifies me.  I'm not being dramatic. 

So am I addicted?  I might be a medical addict for all I know. 

From Medicine.com: 

"Tramadol achieves pain relief in two ways. It binds to the µ-opioid receptor on nerves (the same mechanism that is responsible for the effectives of narcotics, such as morphine), and it also inhibits the reuptake of serotonin and norepinephrine by nerves. This inhibition may lead to reduced transmission of pain signals through the spinal cord to the brain.

Tramadol is used in the management of moderate to moderately severe pain. Extended release tablets are used for moderate to moderately severe  chronic pain in adults who require continuous treatment for an extended period". 

My mind stammers at the words "moderate to moderately severe pain".  I'm always asked to rate my pain 1 to 10, ten being the worst.  In my mind, I went to 'moderately severe' goes to 'severe'.  Yikes.   Then 'extremely severe' would come next.  And then my mind jumps off a cliff.  Or lays down on the railroad tracks.  Or drives off a bridge. 

And this from the Office of Diversion Control U.S. Justice Department:  (that alone scared me)

Another withdrawal syndrome (encountered in about 10 percent of cases of tramadol withdrawal) is atypical of opioids and is associated with hallucinations, paranoia, extreme anxiety, panic attacks, confusion, and numbness and tingling in the extremities.

What?  Confusion, numbness and tingling in the extremities?  I have that.  Worsens the closer I get to med time. 

Now that I think about it, I think the doctor thinks I take the Tramadol "when I need it".  The script reads "Take two every 4-6 hours as needed".  Without question, I NEED it every 4 hours.  8am, 12pm, 4pm, 8pm.  Or something similar.  If I pay attention to the clock when I take the first dose, I can tell you what time it is based on the level of pain.  What about the night time?  I haven't been able to sleep most nites for months.   I've gone to the doctor, but the next step will have to be narcotics, and the doctors all are reluctant to go there.  I found out why later. 

So.  From reading the above except from Medicine. com, the questions becomes is it MS symptoms or Tramadol withdrawal?  I've been on Tramadol for 8 years, it was the first med prescribed.  I take the maximum dose of both Lyrica and Tramadol.  They don't work separately. 

My thinking ohmygodhavethelast7yearsbeenboutdrugsinsteadofMS?? For those of you who can't read panicked anger, that would read "Oh my god, have the last 7 years been about drugs instead of MS?  Well, actually, I should say 4 years, as there were other symptoms that kept me from being able to work.  But then again ... without the pain, I could have possibly been able to manage those symptoms better.  And continue to work. 

So I called my sister and took me to the doctor.  I posed those questions to the doc.  She felt bad for "scaring me about being addicted".  She said the Tramadol withdrawal wouldn't include the nerve pain I feel.  The on fire, sun burny, hit the funny bone type of pain.  Tramadol withdrawal = uncomfortable minus pain.   MS pain = ...uh ... MS pain.  Because I've gotten so much better in most MS "areas", it didn't make sense to me that the pain continues to ramp up.  But it would make sense if it was a medicinal addiction.  That's what I had in my head.  And I wanted MY LAST FEW YEARS BACK, DOG DAMN IT. 

So the doctor calmed me down, my sister translated confusing things, and we established that I'm not an addict, and we moved on to the fact that the meds aren't working.  I never get a break from it, as I used to, and I hadn't realized until just then that it's been that way for months.  I focus on the good days, so in my head I think I'm doing "okay".  Knowing that narcotics is the next step has kept me in denial.   But it dawned on me that there are only a day or two good days in the week, where it used to be the other way around.  I'd been in this place before, when deciding to quit working, and again, before Lyrica happened.  What an odd irony ... being in denial about being in pain ...  too bad it doesn't take effect physically. 

The difference is mental.  I don't spend any time trying to figure out how to get more drugs.  I don't con drug stores.  I've been on the same dose of Tramadol for two years.  Before that, for 5 years on the same dose.  I told the doctor that I wouldn't mind being addicted as long as I knew it was for the MS.  I have no choice really.  But I'll be damned if what I perceive to be MS symptom is really craving Tramadol.   

You know the sad part about all this trauma and drama?  I was so upset and worried.  Have you watched "Celebrity Rehab"?  Dr. Drew.  That is exactly what I used to do, facilitate groups, help people get the bad stuff out, so they could move on.  Help them realize their problem/s whether it be sexual abuse, addiction,, spousal abuse, and more.  I know addiction, and yet I panicked and rushed to the doctor.  I felt like an idiot. 

I've often thought I should go back to work doing the same thing.  It's not physically taxing.  I was really good at it, and the one thing I am proud of doing.  But when I picture myself sitting across from someone, listening to their story ... I am emotionally tired.  It feels like such a drain of energy to imagine it, much less do it.  I have to use what energy there is - for me.  I always forget how much energy it takes to appear like I'm not in pain. 

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That is all.

.

Watching the icicle icycle iscyle ice sickle drip.

Hiney is facinated by the melting ice that hangs down from the roof.

Haven't felt good most of the day, altho I did walk 3.5 miles outside.  Which is probably why I don't feel good.  Overheated = noodles for legs. 

I'm going to go babysit Duke again at the end of the month!

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Just Call Me Too Tired to Blog

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Frustration City

I have a terrible time remembering where I put things.  I have been trying VERY hard to have a routine.  Which is good, but when you're out of your routine (like traveling to babysit dogs), it's not so good cause I'm at a total loss when I lose my glasses or wallet or pills or whatever. 

So it's doubly frustrating when I can remember that I put all the owner's manuals (camera, computer, watches, etc.) in a accordion file.  They've been in that file forever, and I've finally got it into my head - that is where they are.  But.  I can't remember WHERE I put the damn file.  I had it yesterday.  Yesterday, I finally put all the owner's manuals in it, all together in one place.  Today, I found another one, and went to put it away in the file.  WHERE IS THE DAMN THING???

Old age or MS? 

The old people around me tell me it's old age, they have the same memory problems.  But I just don't think so, in my case.  I think it's the pain that robs me of my brain, because when I'm not in pain, the brain seems to work just fine.  There are moments of such shocking clarity ... it is treasured when I'm operating on all six cylinders.  When the pain clears, I'll find the accordian file. 

Yes I will.

In other news?  Bored, depressed, hate the snow, am mean to the dogs by not exercising them.  I KNOW what will help.  I loaned someone some money, (see Ben, I'm passing it forward!) as as soon as it gets paid back, I'm going to rejoin Snap Fitness, which is a couple of blocks away.  I've got to get back to taking care of my health again.

Two other people who live here were called by the housing agency in Idaho Falls today.  Since I applied earlier than they did, I called to see why I hadn't been called.  The apartment available is an upstairs unit, and I can't do stairs.  Well, I can, but not with a leash and groceries to hang on to.  I could make one trip with groceries, or whatever, but trip 2 and 3 would do me in for the rest of the day.  She did say I was very close to the top of the list.  Hopefully around Spring, I'll be able to move. 

Or maybe San Francisco will call!!!

Stressful day

Ten on Tuesday's "What 10 things I'd save in a fire".  Since I couldn't think of anything I'd save IN a fire, I thought I'd come up with 10 things I'd save FROM a fire ... heh.
1.  Muttin
2.  Jeff
3.  Duke
4.  Barf
5.  Hiney
6.  Computer tower/hard drive
7.  Crate of SonOne and Jacob mementos.
8.  Day Planner
9.  Purse
10. Leashes !!!

Oh, and my camera! 

No, I couldn't lump 5 animals into one item, because I highly doubt getting them out as a group will happen.  But then again, if I just open the door, I'm sure they'd all run out.  But I wouldn't know it for sure, and have to stand out in the freezing cold, watching my home burn to the ground, while they were running around like idiots and I couldn't find one or two of them, and then I'd have to run screaming my head off back into the inferno because surely one of my babies was left inside. 

Whew.  That was stressful.

My sister is now my power of attorney, and I'm exhausted. 

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Just Call Me Drained
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I give up

I feel very defeated today. 

For the first 5 years or so since being diagnosed, I did REALLY well with my finances.  Couldn't save anything cause there's not enough to save, being on disability.  But I paid my bills, and could always make arrangements if I had an emergency ... like a vet bill or car repair bill. 

But in the last year or so, I've struggled with numbers - anything to do with numbers, which means ... bank account.  And dates of the month, and checkbooks, and the magic money card that you stick in a machine and money comes out.  I forget my password from month to month when I check my account, get frustrated and give up.  It feels like I'm operating underwater when it comes to numbers.  Then the stress builds up cause I screwed up, or cause I feel so dumb and it just gets worse and worse.  I wish I could explain the brain fog thing better.  How about ... it feels like brain cells are leaking out?  That works.  It's actually a sensation that I can FEEL.  Not pleasant.  Maybe if I visualized brain cells dumping back in rather than seeing them leak out in a black river of molten lava? 

I wonder if I'd look back and discover my screw-ups happened during pain periods or flare-ups.  I forget what I've said or done during these episodes.  Someone will tell me I said something or didn't show up and I have no fucking clue what they're talking about.  It makes me a bad friend to have and I feel so guilty.  I was supposed to get groceries for my friend whose in a wheelchair on last Thursday and I forgot about it until she called me today.  She knows how I am, so she didn't worry about it, but she's been without cream for her coffee for 2 days now.  And you know how coffee drinkers are - they have to have their coffee just so.  I feel so stupid when I do these thing. 

So I called my sister this morning to see how she felt about being my "payee", so she can manage my account.  This is as monumental as wondering if I should quit driving.  Actually ... it's more traumatic giving up my bank account.  She's coming over to see what we can do to get me more organized - some system that will WORK ... but I think it's hopeless when it comes to memory and pain episodes.

On a good note - my mom, sister and I are going to the state fair next Saturday.  I wonder if my sister will let me buy some corn on the cob and the huge slice of bread from the Bread Barn.   

I'm making a new quilt to sell.  But I love it so much I don't want to give it up!  I'll post a picture of it when I'm done.  How much do you think I should sell them for?  There's about $40 in material, and it takes about 6 hours to make them.  They're 63 X 49 inches - just covers the top of a double mattress.  On SFM's single mattress, it looks like a bedspread. 

Maybe it could be per square?  The squares are 7 X 7 inches.  That way people could measure how much they want it, and they'd know what they were getting for sure.

Hmmm - seriously, I could use your input.  I have one more to make for Ben's daughter, but I'll have to wait till this one sells.

I'm rethinking the orange and the light pink, but it really makes a difference to lay out the cut squares - it usually works better than I think it will. 

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Just Call Me Whipped
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Today's a Red Letter Day

It's 11:00am Thursday morning.  It's been 4 days of painful hell.  I FINALLY feel human right now.  And I'm bored to death, cause I have done nothing but lay on the bed or the couch.  The kitchen is an absolute mess, all sorts of various food in bowls, cans, and dishes, tasted once or twice, trying to find something appetizing that would stay down.  I've felt nauseous for 4 days straight, wanting to "urp" (vomit), but unable to.  Wheels and I had gone out to lunch on Monday, and I got sick a half hour later.  Food poisoning? 

I dunno.  But I felt like a wet noodle someone threw against the wall for the "doneness" test. (The link is also an interesting take on turning 50, coincidently) 

As always, when I use parenthesis, I wonder if I'm using them properly.  I find it very interesting that my sister took a grammar class after she started reading my blog.  I KNOW it's so she can catch my mistakes.  Which is all well and good, but it'd be nice if she'd let me know, rather than giggling evilly, evil-ly, evil-ee, or evilily when she sees one.  Share the knowledge is what I always say.  But noooo, she hoards it to herself and probably talks about my erroneous parenthesis use behind my back with her boss, the Idaho State Senator.  Hmmphh.

So anyways, yesterday I was contemplating Living Wills and suicide notes that would be worded so eloquently that no-one would feel guilty about the way I left, because it would have been a death by murder.  Pain will murder me, it won't be anything but that.  And the suspect won't be MS ... I think Arthritis will need to be investigated.  Wait.  Maybe CSI will discover that it's a conspiracy between MS and arthritis ... each blaming the other, in order to throw suspicion off itself.  Because maybe the arthritis pain triggered other MS symptoms, pretty much making moving and thinking next to impossible. 

Hmmm.  Yesterday the note would have said "Pain murdered me".   All said and done. End of note, there was no other thought in my head.  Today, I'm able to bring CSI, investigation, suspects, and conspiracy onto the case, and be quite imaginative.  Because my brain is back where it belongs, rather than in the toilet. It can think of other words now, and if there was time, I could write an entire screenplay regarding my last 4 days, but hey.  Been there, done it, don't want to do it again.

And what can be the source of feeling better out of the clear blue sky?  It rained during the night, and it was 70 degrees this morning when I woke up.  Not a smidgen of arthritis pain.  MS pain, yes.  But after the last 4 days, this is a piece of cake.  I can handle this.  I had taken off the top sheet and all blankets from the bed last nite, figuring if I got cold - tough luck.  Being over-heated (and in my case 75 degrees is overheated.  I absolutely HATE this time of year because of the temperature highs and lows.  I get cold like everyone else, but to cover-up is ... not good for me.  (I was gonna say it was lethal, but enough with the death dramatics!)  Maybe I should start linking my symptoms to some MS sites so ya'll know I'm not crazy ... heat really is not good for some MS'ers.  Really.  Not being dramatic.

Speaking of ... uh, well I guess I wasn't really speaking of this, but being over-heated reminded me of my period.  Don't we all miss the  ABC's of my Moody Monthlies?  Ahhhh yes, I do intend on getting thru the alphabet, menopause be damned. 

Part of the problem of over-heating was due to the Quiff Cry - it seems I'm not so old after all, ha!  But I hate that word "quiff", it gives me the heebie jeebies.  It sounds like such a dirty word, and you know what a lady I am. Instead I prefer saying I'm Riding the Cotton Pony! and that's part of the reason the last flare-up was so bad.  I don't know why I prefer being hysterically gross rather than dirty, but there ya go.

Wow - SanFranMan commented!  Oh He Who Denied Being 50 When We Were in Reno with his kids ...

I figured the kids liked me - his daughter in particular, as she'd slip her hand in mine, and when I promised her that one of the water slides wasn't scary, she believed me and went on it after all.  Her brother begged and begged her to go with him, but brothers can't always be trusted, you know.  She and I had gone on another ride which was NOT fun, and it hurt her back a little so she was too scared to go at first.  She was also fascinated with all my bags, and make-up bag, etc.  She loves loves loves organizational things, which is right up my ally.  His son felt comfortable enough to recite a line he'd heard in the sex/health education class "and the penis is placed firmly in. to. the. vagina" ... it was hysterical to hear coming out of a 12 year old mouth. 

Course, having the dogs did help, but pretty soon it was my charming self that they liked.  I'm a listener when it comes to kids in dysfunctional/divorcing families, and boy did they ever talk, the daughter in particular.  She had questions and questions about me and SFM, about abuse, about MS, about her Grandpa George, and about The Teeth.  I'll have to get permission from SFM to say anymore, so maybe later.  Like I've said before - people and relationship dynamics fascinate me and this family is full of material.  Not just me and SFM, but George, the siblings, their pasts, etc. 
I felt so good today that I started cleaning up the house, and each room is about half done, so it's time to finish this post and get to it.   Feeling good is why it's a Red Letter Day!

For some reason, when I put a new fleece blanket on the bed, Barf peed in the exact middle of it.  After the first week, both cats have been perfect about using the cat box, even when I've not cleaned it out for a week.  Usually I change it every 3 days.  So there must have been something smelly on the blanket to trigger the pee.  But something about it being in the exact middle of the bed tells me he's trying to tell me something.   

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Just Call Me Not Believing the Innocent Act
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Sucks

I wonder if I'm not sleeping so I can avoid waking up.  The weather is trying to fall into Fall, and it is torture on my body.  I HATE the changing of the seasons here in Idaho.  I've heard some complain that there are no seasons down in the southern parts in our world, but that is exactly what I believe will be best for me.  The temperature changes - 90 degrees for the high, 50 for the low tonite.  Kill.  Me.  To wake up wanting to shoot myself does not bode well for the day ... I lose all desire to write, eat, take the dogs out. 

Speaking of the dogs, my son says he's coming to  ge Duke hopefully by the end of September.  Altho this makes me sad, it is time. 

Or maybe that's the pain talking.  All I know is that I'm exhausted from hurting, and I'm done with this post. 

Warning: Pity Post Ahead

Okay fine dammit.  I'll make an appointment with a arthritis specialist.  Because I don't have enough wrong with me, and I really should be taking more pills, as I don't take enough already.

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Just Call Me Even My Hair Hurts and I Can't Reach to Comb It Because Evidently "Severe Arthritis in the Hips" Really Means In the Torso, Arms, and Hands Too

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Cats Rule, Dogs Drool

I got all excited when I saw a new commenter and went to visit her site.  I had assumed she was the host of yesterday's Curious as a Cat meme site, as that's when I usually get new readers - when I link to other blogs, so I was a little freaked that she had said she was dx'd in 2003.  One of my voices said "Wow, what a small world!"  But then the other voice said "Duh, it's the Internet".  So I whipped off an email stating the same to her.  Only to realize after visiting her site that she wasn't the host of yesterday's meme, but a reader probably scanning the world for MS'er's and I popped up. Maybe I was Googled! 

So check out her site, Jane's Page.  She's got a cool world clock thingy that I was mesmerized by for a half hour.  She's a support group facilitator for MS'ers, which I have great admiration for - as I used to be a support group facilitator for survivors of sexual abuse.  I've often thought of doing the same thing for MS, but simply cannot manufacture the caring required to do so.  Which is really odd because doing groups was the one thing that I really loved doing, and did well, got kudos for on a community-wide basis, receiving awards, etc., for it.  It wasn't even "work" to me, because I loved it so much.  Then I got sick and it was all over for me caring about others - I just didn't have the energy.  Even now, when I am so much better, the mere thought of doing it again sucks the energy out of me.  So much kudos for anyone who's able too.  Hell, if I were in her area of the world, I'd certainly go to her group.  I'm willing to admit that I haven't been the most graceful and gracious about having the damn disease ...   

Here I am, typing intensely, suffering thru the freaking pain, when I realize Duke is whining and has been from some time. I turn to him, impatience crowding my soul, irritated with the incessant demands from my little family ...

Awwwww ... does the big, bad kitty have widdle Dukie's tennis ball?  Poor widdle guy ...

Lord.

Id you'll take a closer look at Barf's face ...

I do believe he's basking in the power of it all ...

I told Duke "Duke, get your ball", which usually sends him into a frenzy of excitement and thought the momentum of the excitement would give him the bravery to snatch it away from the cat.  But no.  He just stood there for the longest time, not looking at either the cat or the ball or me, but at the edges of me, the kitten, and the couch in front of him, praying evidently for relief from the torture that is his life with these kittens.

Finally, with much encouragement from me, he reached out his paw and got his ball (balls?) back .... hahahaha I so funny. 

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Just Call Me Comedian Is My Middle Name

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Being jobless

I keep saying that I want to go back to work.  I "look" so damn healthy that I feel guilty for "looking" so healthy.  I still have all my symptoms, but I recover from them in a half hour to an hour of resting, whereas before, it would take days, even up to a week.  Most symptoms came to stay, but they go into a lower mode. 

Constant pain that ranges from 5 to 9 on the scale of 1 -10 - I MUST have meds to keep it 5,6 and 7.  Within 3 hours of not having the meds, it's a 9. A ten means I'd take a butcher knife and chop off my hands and feet. 

Constant pins and needles in hands and feet that corresponds with the constant pain - the worse the pain, the worse the pins and needles.

Constant numbness ditto with pain and the pins and needles.  This and the pins and needles affects me the most emotionally, because I find myself laying on the couch not doing a damn thing because it hurts to touch things and I find myself in depression.  I've recently realized that I MUST do things in order to be happy.  I cannot be happy if I'm not able to DO things. 

Clothing feels too tight 24/7, even when the clothes are loose.  If there are no clothes, the sensation of too tight stays.  The sheets hurt.  The lightest touch hurts more than firm pressing.  For instance, shaking hands doesn't hurt, but brushing my skin lightly is torture.  So I instinctively avoid any contact, and have been known to recoil away from someone who's reaching for my hands to greet me.  Old people are especially prone to do this and I always get the most shocked look, so I have to quickly explain.  That is ... if I'm feeling friendly enough.  There's been a time or two when I let it stand - "don't you touch me you creepy ass person" is the message it leaves.   

Oddly, sex doesn't hurt.  I can't explain why it doesn't.  For the first year or so of having MS, I was a sex machine for fear of losing it.  Maybe someday I'll tell that story.  Suffice to say, I'm not like that anymore.  As in ... different men.  I do believe my sister called me a slut ... .  Bitch.  And yes, she reads this site.  No telling WHAT she'll call me in retaliation. 

Peeing or not peeing.  When I can't pee, that signals a flare-up.  During flare-ups I've been known to pee my pants because I'm numb and can't feel things.  Medication helps this. 

Flare-ups happen maybe two times a month now, and have a definite beginning and ending, usually about 3-4 days.  For about 3 years it was constant, everything getting worse to the point I was using a walker and practicing using a wheelchair.

Swallowing is sometimes hard.  It feels as if the muscles just quit, and that is not a good sensation if something is halfway down your throat. 

The drunk stagger is still with me when I've over-heated, over-done cleaning, gardening, walking, biking, etc.  Or when I'm in a flare-up.  Or when I've picked up a bottle of nail of polish at the store.  It's so random and unexplainable. 

All these things are manageable so that I could go back to work.  What stops me is the fatigue.  I can be a spinning top for a day or two and sometimes even three. But then I crash.  I can't maintain the steadiness required for an 8-5 job.  I could do a part-time job for about 2 weeks before the fatigue got to me.  I don't understand why I can't do part-time - with my current improved health it seems like it should be doable.  But it's not. 

And then there's the heat.  Within 5 minutes of being in the sun, even just sitting in a chair on the patio, my legs turn to noodles and my brain goes south.  My memory is SHOT.  Last nite I took some Half & Half milk (or is that cream?) out of my fridge to take to Wheels, where I was spending the nite.  I forgot it, so it's no good.  Today I ran to the store to buy her some while she was in the hospital having a medical procedure.  I forgot it in the car when I went in to her house to vacuum, freshen up her bed, dishes, sweeping, etc.  I decided to go buy some flowers to place on her bedside table, and discovered the Half & Half on the front car of my seat, in the full sun.  Did I mention it's in the 90's temperature-wise?  Off to the store I went.  Bought a little  African Violet.  Went back to her house.  Noticed the last Half & Half on the counter waiting for me to pitch it in the garbage ... yup.  I forgot to buy more Half & Half.  I placed the flower prettily on her bedside table and left to get more Half & Half.  She had specifically asked for it, cause she had to go without food for 24 hours before her procedure, and no caffeine.  She wanted her coffee with cream when she got home!  As I left for the store, I spaced it, and drove home instead.  When I saw the first Half & Half that I had forgotten still on my kitchen counter, I remembered I still had to go buy more for her.  Hell, her procedure was only 3 hours long, and I pretty much used up all that time being stupid because of the heat.  And I'm sick of using the word "Half & Half".  Jeez. 

I don't want to put an air conditioner in because then I'm afraid I wouldn't leave the house. UPDATE - SFM just called and told me he wants to buy me an air conditioner.  I told him my concerns that I'd be tempted to just stay inside all the time and then get all house-bound and depressed.  He said I could leave it off during the day.  At the time of the discussion, I thought ... okay, makes sense.  But I know me.  Because the heat makes me so miserable, I'd tend to stay home ALL. THE. TIME.  I think it would make the MS worse ... being nice and cool inside, but having to go outside ... too much a shock to my system.  I feel like I need to be acclimated.  So the discussion will continue. 

In order to feel useful and worthwhile, I tend to gravitate toward people that need help.  Wheels and I shared a passion for gardening last year, and since then, we've become good friends.  I clean her house, run errands, take her shopping, and just generally do everything that a person in a wheelchair finds hard to do.  She and I have to same "I'll do it myself dammit" attitude, and she has said it's easy to accept help from me because I'm pretty intuitive about being disabled, and I just DO alot of things without having to be asked. 

Where in the hell was I going with this post??? 

Ahh I remember.  I remembered because I'm sitting here with a fan blowing right at me and I'm cooled down and rested. 

As of next Monday, I will consider my blog my job.  I'll get up at 7:00, get dressed, walk the dogs, eat breakfast (the most important meal of the day!) and sit down and write.  I will write until noon, which is when my home-health aide comes 2 days a week.  I'll consider it my work, and not go flitting about as if the boss was gone.  (Here is where I should come up with something clever about how mice will play while the cat (boss) is away, and actually playing with a mouse cause of the computer ... but I'm blank.)  I may not even take phone calls.  Unless SonOne or SFM calls.  Or my mother and sister. 

I will promote my blog by handing out the business cards I had made.  This will be easy because when I walk the dogs, people want to pet them, we talk about them, and I can easily say "Here, I take pictures of them everyday in my blog, check it out".  I will visit other sites, and participate more in the memes and commenting, etc., which will lead some people to the blog. 

After spending so much time in the dairy aisle today, I came home to discover I'm out of yogurt for my morning oatmeal.  So I switched to Cream of Wheat, and discovered I'm out of milk.

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Just Call Me Dairyless

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You went to 12 years of schooling so you could be an asshat?

Several events led up to making the decision not to take the Copaxone over a year ago - the arguing between Medicaid and Medicare as to who was going to pay 1,800.00 a month for the shots being one.  Also, I would always forget to take the shot, even tho the reason I changed to Copaxone was because it's a daily shot, rather than the once a week Avonex - maybe if I did it everyday, I would be able to remember to do it - something about it becoming "routine" was the plan, but it never worked.  Another reason was my ambiguous attitude/belief that the medicine worked - with MS, am I better or worse because it's a flare-up or a remission?  And I repeat ... lordy lordy lordy ... the cost.  Even tho I didn't have to pay it - I just hate being a burden to the system, and I have a huge problem with the medical/insurance system in general.  Don't get me started.

Today was my yearly neurology exam for the MS.  I didn't like the doctor AT ALL. 

After I left, that's when I got all brilliant and realized that he is working for ME, dammit, and as the patient, I had the freaking right to take medicine or not take medicine!

Dr. Samarad,

I did not like the way you treated me during my yearly exam today. 

You did not ask me how the last year had been MS symptom-wise.  Your first question was about the Copaxone shots.  You quit listening when I said I hadn't been taking the shots for the last year.  The hand-eye coordination tests you  gave me were done way too fast.  When I told you that I could do it physically just fine, but my brain wouldn't process the directions you gave me, you didn't say a word.  I thought it was pertinent information.  It made me feel even more stupid.  When I started to teeter during the 'stand still with your eyes closed' test, you did not stand near me in order to catch me as I wobbled.  Which I did.  When I opened my eyes because I was teetering, you were sitting down on the stool. 

When I asked how I compared to last year, you said "I'd have to look at your records to see how you were back then".  I waited for a answer - it's not like the file is inch thick - I've seen you a total of 5 times in 5 years.  You didn't answer, even tho you were reading my records.  During the several tests you gave me, you didn't say a word,  positive or negative, as to how I was doing.  You did not ask how the pain level was doing.  And not once did you make eye-contact.  Rude.  Off-putting. 

By then I was simmering, and didn't say anything because I knew I would blow up in anger if I did.  After the nurse took 72 vials of blood from me for reasons I knew not of - she had to tell me, you came back in and told the nurse to line me up for an MRI.  I said no.  I didn't want one.  I was OBVIOUSLY better than I was when you saw me, and there was no reason for an MRI.  You shrugged your shoulders.

I had told you I was willing to go back on the shots, now that I had a year without them to compare to the year coming up.  I didn't make the decision about the shots or the MRI lightly.  But you don't know that, do you? I had made that decision prior to our visit, by the way.  I have improved dramatically physically in the last year, without the shots, which kind of creates a question in my mind.  Is it me, or was it not taking the shots?  The Copaxone is supposed to slow down the progress of the disease.  It has no immediate "it makes me feel better because there's medicine in my system" effect.  Why do I need a 1,800.00 a month med, IF I DON'T NEED IT?  Let's compare, is my motto. 

Last, but not least, as the patient, I have the right not to take an invasive medicine pumped into my body every day if I don't want to.  It's your job as the physician to discern my reasoning and to educate me further if you disagreed. 

You failed. 

Most sincerely,

      MsShad

Second Chance

Sunday’s Scribbles prompt is "Second Chance". What to do, what to do? Two choices come to mind - mothering, and my health. As today is Mother’s Day, here in the USA, I suppose I should write about mothering. But maybe that’s too depressing for me to do today in particular. Mothering for me is more about regrets - regrets that I wasn’t a better mother to SonOne, and of course ... Jacob is dead, so there is always an underlining of sadness any time an occasion shines it’s beam on that fact.

So, coincidently, the phrase "second chance" was uttered out of my mouth JUST yesterday, not once, but twice even. During the Driver’s Meeting yesterday at our local track, one of my favorite drivers was in town, and when he saw me, he and his wife came over to give me a big hug. After he hugged me, he stepped back, looked me up and down and asked in that "I’m not talking about the weather" sort of way how was I doing. After looking in his eyes to acertain that he didn’t want to hear the "Fine" response, I told him I was doing good, really good, that I just seem to be getting better and better all the time, that I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. He said I looked great and hugged me again. Then his wife and I stepped away from the drivers and proceeded to gossip about the perennial Lions Club vs The Racers, only to have another driver walk up, hug me, and ask me how I was - in the MS context of course - that is what everyone sees, even tho the MS isn’t showing itself lately - to others. We basically repeated the same conversation and as I walked away, I wondered if moving to San Francisco is the second chance I am seeking, or if my improved health is the second chance I've received.  If I wanted to argue with myself, and tilt it towards the San Francisco route, then I could qualify the "I feel like I've got a second chance at life because it's like the MS is not even there anymore" with "cept for the pain part, so if this was meant to be my second chance, it doesn't count cause the pain is still there, and getting worse.  So San Francisco is still on, bay beeeee". 

How many second chances is one life allotted? 

Still here

Hello, Internet.  I've been gone, busy losing my mind.  And running running away from myself.  And the neurologist.  Cause I don't like him much anymore.   

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The results of lengthy soul searching

SFM wants out of San Francisco, and I want in.  Perfect solution!  I'll move into his room, and he can move into mine.  There.  Easy Peasy. 

So, I got to thinking about the concern that I might hate it.  The crowds, the traffic, the crime, the ... oh, expensiveness, etc.  I set out during the walk this morning to deliberately think about that.  I truly intended on spending some real, soul-searching time on it.  So here's what I came up with. 

I hate it here.  If I hate it there, I'll be in the same place, emotionally. 

I need better medical/pain care. 

And I need better weather that doesn't bounce 20 to 40 degrees from day to nite, and nite to day. 

So I can chose hating Idaho with shitty weather and no medical care.  Or I can chose hating San Francisco with good weather and better medical care. 

My soul-searching took about 3 minutes. 

No matter how much I pretend otherwise, whether I have a couple of good days, or even weeks, or try to convince myself that I can wean myself off of pain meds - I know pain is going to be a part of my life forever.  Unless there's a miracle or a cure, and I don't see that happening in my lifetime.  To be honest, I don't see that happening as long as drug companies are in charge, but that's another post. 

I get fooled into thinking I'm just fine, but reality is that if I go without even one pill of my normal dose, within a half hour, the pain starts to leak back in.  Break-thru pain is what it's called, I learned.  It doesn't make sense to me ... one pill can make a difference?  The pain is such that once it breaks thru, there's no halfway bearing it.  It amps up to the highest level as if you hadn't taken any meds at all, and when I do take the meds, it'll take 2 or 3 or 4 (over) doses to catch up.  I know what it feels like to have the very air hurt my skin.  I know the pain of not being able to breathe because it feels as if I'm being squeezed to death.  Skin and breathing - 2 pretty basic functions that I can't seem to "be stronger" in order to deal with it. 

I am beginning to think when the neurologist inadvertently dx'd the arthritis by saying "There doesn't seem to be any new plaques on your brain or spine and except for the severe arthritis, everything else looks good", that hmm, I really do have arthritis.  I had been thinking since I hadn't been officially diagnosed by a specialist, then I didn't really have it.  Kinda like the same way I won't do a mammogram or any more pap smears.  The payoff of finding out I might have something else just doesn't seem worth it.  But in the last month, sure enough, the arthritis seems pretty "severe".  I personally think the doctor made a mistake, calling it severe, rather than extreme, but hey, he's just a neurologist, not a ... arthritic-ist?  Yes, that's a medical specialty and you know it.  But the weather is really messing with me - it's Spring here, and it's been one of my worse months ever.  The weather is ALL over the place. 

So, the pain and the weather.  I need pain clinics, and I need weather than isn't bi-polar. 

*****

Lately, SFM has taken to asking me several times in the same conversation how I am.  It's frustrating because I think he's not listening.  Not that I ever accuse him of that, EVER.  Well, it just dawned on me why.  I think he's reading the blog more often then he used to, and so when we talk, maybe things don't make sense.  I rarely talk about the pain in real life - maybe just a comment that it's a bad day, or I have to cancel plans because of it.  Sometimes it shows in my voice or in my face, but for the most part, when the phone rings, I put on my game face and chatter up the phony "fine". 

So I guess not only does he not listen, but I lie.

*

Just Call me Immediate Soul Searcher

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I'm scared

Things my new aide said:

She was lost and couldn't find my place, so she called me.  When I asked her where she was, she said "parked by a blue house".  ??? 

"My husband was the Wal-Mart shooter". 

"So they're not going to drop the charges against me?"

"Scuse me while I take my anti-depressant, I'm a manic depressive and bi-polar."

"Oh man, the last lady I took care of with MS had to move to the nursing home to die."

Lordy. 

Much stuff

I am trying to think of something I can do to ... what? shut the talking heads off on all the so-called news shows like Fox, NSMBC and CNN?  Like I could do that.  How about ... (ohmyheck, here I've applied for job at a news agency, and all of a sudden I'm Little Miss Opinion Who Wants to Change the World).  I make myself laugh.  Well, maybe I'm just that versatile - a news hound AND a comedian.  They need to hire me on The View, now that Rosie is leaving. 

I have the same gripe as Rosie - why is our society so movie star/athlete obsessed?  Why does the fact that Rosie is quitting a TV show gets more air time than the war, or the Virginia Tech story?  And what the HELL is wrong with Donald Trump and Bill O'Reilly?  I don't always agree with Rosie, but I sure know better than to call anyone fat, or other names.  O'Reilly's complaint is that because she's on the air, she needs to be careful of what she says, because she has "influence".  She thinks there's a government conspiracy behind 9/11.  Luckily, I'm smarter than what O'Reilly takes me for - I'm able to think for myself.  All Rosie did was make me curious enough to find out for myself - I didn't drink the Kool-Aid* hook, line and sinker.  Some of the 9/11 stuff is compelling, but then again ... what I've read is on the Internet, and as close and the Internet and I are - I don't believe everything it says either. 

The View taped a show with an audience full of first responders to the 9/11 attack.  Many of them are dying from breathing in the toxic atmosphere, and their federal benefits are running out.  These were young people, in the prime of their life, the firemen, police and EMT's.  And the government is letting them spin in the wind.  The show is to air tomorrow. 

You probably think I watch TV all day, don't you?  I don't, but Muttin insists on having it on all day.  It's her fault I'm now addicted to the Real World. 

In other news, my new aide said my place smells good.  This is a compliment for someone with 3 three Three THREE! dogs.  She also happened to mention in passing that her husband is the guy who shot the other guy in the Wal-Mart parking lot.  Then she took a phone call from the police, and I heard the edges of what sounded like her being charged with beating up another woman.  This one should be fun. 

I helped the Wicker Lady with her storage unit yesterday, and then got sick from eating some potato salad Vetman made over the weekend.  Which reminds me - I didn't mention that VetMan is moving to ... oh man.  I've forgotten where it was he's going.  Somewhere out of the country.  With no Internet.  !!!  Can you imagine?  No wonder I can't remember where he said it was - I probably stopped listening at the thought of no Internet. Even more shocking is that he said he's looking forward to it - no net or cell phones either.  And I thought I was crazy???  I beg to differ.  Which begging to differ with yourself is just silly.  Crazy even, cause wouldn't that mean there were voices in my head? 

So I will miss him, but not so much, because I can't be hanging around with The Craziness.  I have enough Crazy of my own.  Which brings me nicely to the dogs. 

When I woke up this morning, I rolled over to face the dogs on the other side.  They sleep below the pillow on the other side because they are spoiled.  No, because they need to lord it over Duke, who sleeps on the floor.  It's quite hilarious to see them standing nose to nose cause I swear, Jeffrey puffs his chest out more.  Anyways, so there Muttin/Jeff were, almost eye-level with me.  I burst out laughing, because Jeffrey was sitting on Muttin's head.  Well, not quite sitting - his hiney end was laying on top of Muttin's head, I couldn't see her eyes and her nose was just poking out.  This is out of character for her to put up with such shenanigans.  And she was quite embarrassed to be caught in such a position with me laughing at her.

Did you see the world's largest and smallest dog on Oprah?  The Great Dane was so big that it could sit it's hind end in the airplane seat with no problem.  So cute.  There was also a segment about what is the healthiest way to feed your dogs, and it just made me wince for Duke.  His food was listed as the worst out of seven points to feed.  Raw meat was number one, then cooked meat, then quality canned food number 3, and so on.  I have always mentioned to the kids that I can't believe how much water Duke drinks, to me it seems like ALOT.  Then I happened to read that dogs with low quality dry food tend to drink an abnormal amount of water ... blah blah I forget why. 

You know, it's a little creepy and intimidating to think that the San Francisco editor job that I applied for might be reading the blog as we speak, and there I go with such a professional sentence as the one above ... "blah blah I forget why".   So classy.  I also found out that SanFranMan, SFM from now on, I'm sick of spelling it out, has started reading again, and that's even more frightening.  I don't really know what he thinks of me, or why he likes me, cause I'm so much more quiet with him than I am in real life or on the blog.  I say "uh huh" the majority of the time with him, either in agreement, or uh huh, yes, go on, I'm listening.  I don't think I'm like that with anyone else.  So the natural question would be "So Laurie, why do you think that is?"  (that's me practicing interviewing somebody for a news article)  I think that is because I really do agree with most of the things he's saying OR yes, I'm listening cause he's so fascinating to listen to, and he's so funny.  Hell, he could think I'm stupid, unimaginative, and uninteresting for all I know.  Thank god there's sex, is all I have to say about that. 

Altho, I'm for Obama, and he's not - he thinks Obama doesn't have enough experience.  Which is a good point.  I think it should be Hillary President, and Obama Vice President.  Then the Democrats would have the next 12 years.  Two terms for the first woman president, and Obama will certainly have the experience by then, and be the first non-white president.  Honest to God, I don't know why I've got all these important thoughts in my head again.  Writing is a mysterious mistress.  Oh how authorish of me.  There are days when I'm completely blank, and then there are days when I'm too full of stuff to write about, it makes me have 80 entries still in draft status cause I can't keep up. 

Because I really hate having an aide come in, this morning I thought I'd start weaning myself off the pain meds.  One of the requirements of getting the meds paid for is needing an aide.  So stupid.  The system is going broke because it insists I need an aide when I really don't and then they'll pay for the meds.  Why not save themselves some money and just PAY FOR THE MEDS???  I wish I could swing the $2800, but I can't, but I could certainly save them the cost of the aide.   So anyways, there I was thinking if I don't need the pain meds, I won't have a stranger in my home folding my underwear and noticing that all I ate yesterday was 4 cinnamon rolls.  Brilliant, yes?  I cut out one of the Tramadol.  HAHAHAHAHA.  Again, what the HELL was I thinking?  By the time the new aide came in, I was firmly entrenched back into my reputation as a bitch. 

That is all.

Just Call Me Too Many Voices in My Head

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* One lasting legacy of the Jonestown tragedy is the saying, “Don’t drink the Kool-Aid.” This has come to mean, "Don’t trust anyone/group you find to be a little on the kooky side, or that you can't think for yourself.  Of course, you would have to know of Kool-Aid’s dubious connection to Jim Jones to understand the saying. 

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The Nite of the Living Dead

I've been in a slight flare for a couple of weeks now.  First there's the pee problems, then there's the pee problems, and then there's the pee problems. 

Knock knock

Who's there?

Pee

Pee who? 

Pee Pee

*****

Knock knock

Who's there?

Pee

Pee who?

Pee Piss

*****

Knock knock

Who's there?

Pee

Pee who?

Aren't you glad it's not Pain? 

*****

Quite possibly, that is the stupidest thing I've ever written. 

*****

He:  You were crying in your sleep last nite. 

Me:  I was?  How do you know?  You were supposed to stay on the couch. 

(VetMan was in town this weekend)

He:  Idiot.  I did.  That's how loud you were.  Scared me. 

Me:  Hmmm.  (Scares me too)

He:  I asked you what you needed me to do. 

Me:  What did I say? 

He:  You said you needed hot passionate sex with me.

Me:  I did?  (Peals of laughter poured forth from my mouth)  (Until he continued to look dead serious)  

He:  Not really. 

Me:  So really, what did I say? 

He:  You begged me not to wake you up cause you were afraid the pain would come after you.  Then I brought you a couple of the Lyrica, but I couldn't wake you up again.  Actually, I don't think you really woke up at all, now that I think about it.  It was spooky - not knowing what to do. 

Me:  Hmmm.

He:  So, is it really that bad? 

Me:  Oh no.  No, I'm making it up.  I like the drama and attention it gets me.  It got you into my room last nite, didn't it?

He:  For all the good it did me.

Me:  I don't remember waking up or talking to you tho.

He:  I'm just saying you cover it up pretty well during the day otherwise. 

Me:  (Something something, I don't remember what cause he was making me laugh again)

He:  None of my animals have MS, so excuse my dumb question, k?

Me:  What?

He:  Can't they (the doctors) do anything for the pain? 

Me:  They can up the dose on the pain meds I guess.  I wonder if it was MS pain or arthritis pain.  I knew before I got out of bed that the weather changed again.

He:  You have arthritis too?  Old lady. 

Me:  Hurt like hell to feed Duke. 

He:  What does feeding the dog have to do with it?

Me:  I have to get down and then back up from his feeding dish. 

He:  Yea, what's that Dead Zombie thing you have going on?

Me:  Means I need to start taking the Baclofen again.

He:  For spasticity?

Me:  Yea Medical Man.  Maybe I need a vet instead. 

He:  In that case, I'm your man. 

Me:  Move me to San Francisco and say that. 

He:  Wait a minute... come to think of it, I did have a horse that walked just like that ...

Me:  Shut up.  You're buying breakfast. 

*

Just Call Me Dead Zombie Walking

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"It's" baaack

As I sit here listening to "NASCAR Now", I am at a loss for words to write.  I'm a blank slate right now.  A depressed blank slate if blank slates could be depressed.  Does blank slate sound odd now?  Have I ruined it for you?

I know I need to get walking again.  And working out.  So if I committed myself by setting a goal and post it on my blog, will I keep it? 

The problem is... the dogs.  The best time for me to go work out is straight out of bed.  But I have 3 dogs (have I mentioned that I have 3, yes THREE dogs?) who think they need to pee the second I set a toe on the floor.  They are so happy happy happy that I can't bear the thought of them doing the happy dance, only to watch me walk out the door without them. 

Then it's walking around the courtyard, watching Duke find his tennis ball where he left it the night before.  He's facinating to watch.  Sooo smart - that 3rd dog of mine.  It's been cold here, so the little dogs do their business in a hurry, while Duke won't poop until he's fetched the tennis ball several times.   He and I commence the mind games.  He seems to think there's only on place I can stand to throw the ball, and that's at the furtherest part of the courtyard.  I prefer standing at the closer end of the courtyard, where I'm right next to my apartment.  He goes halfway down, I stand my ground.  He sits down in the middle. 

I stand my ground.  He lays down, nudging the tennis ball out of his way.  I stand my ground.  He gets back up and sits.  Wags his damn tail and looks cute.  It's hard for a big dog to pull off cute, be he does it.  I turn my back on him and walk towards the chair.  I sit down.  Gets him everytime.  He can't stand me sitting, so I get to throw the ball from where I want to.  Throw it 7200 times.  Get frustrated when I throw like a girl.  He finally brings the ball and won't drop it.  He's ready to go in.  The Little's get up from their sunny spot and we all go in.  And I've lost all inncentive to work out.  Then I sit down at the computer to check my email, and realize I need to put my teeth in.  I do so.  Then I sit in the rocking chair cause it's so comfortable.  But then I think that old ladies have to put their teeth in, and they sit in rocking chairs.  So I get up and stare at the blog for awhile, read other blogs, lose all inncentive to write. 

Take the dgos out again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Then I go to bed out of pure boredom. 

Somewhere in there I take pills.  It's the pain that's doing me in this time.  I can't think past the basics. 

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She's meeaannn

Just yesterday I was lamenting my lack of memory to my sister.  I couldn't figure out what month it was, and couldn't find my address book, much less remember what it looked like.  I made some smart-ass remark like... "I'm gonna get Alzheimer's now that MS isn't kicking my butt anymore". 

And then I just read this.  Cruel.  Just cruel. 

Just Call Me Scared

(Just in case she comes by cause people seem to be able to do that even tho I never left a comment on her blog, it's kind of freaky.  Feels like when you're talking to a friend about how your boyfriend has bad breath and then he walks in the room, having overheard the conversation.  Linking her link is like talking behind her back.  But just in case she comes by, saying she's mean was just a JOKE, people.  Never take me seriously.  Unless I tell you to)

Just Call Me Miss Clarify

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What I did for Day Two Deedwise may be lost forever

I am definitely in a flare. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what month it is. I know the computer could tell me, but I don’t remember how. Fuck. I’ve also got an irritating ringing going on in my ears. Much like the delayed reaction type symptoms, the ringing is the exact same Ding. Ding. Ding. that I hear when I open my car door and leave the key in the ignition.  It won't go away.

Also smelling a cherry scent.  I've had that one before.  Am glad it's not the rotten meat one. 

Just Call Me MS Shad

30 Deeds in 30 Days - Day Three? Shit. I dunno.

I  bought an incredibly ridiculous amount of cinnamon rolls, donuts, Ritz crackers and bananas because I'm desperate for things to eat that are soft.  I also bought the Ultimate Test for Dentures, otherwise know as double-stuffed Oreo's.  I've heard corn-on-the-cob is worst, but I beg to differ.  Don't you use your top teeth to rid the Oreo of it's creamy stuffing?  I'm thinking that's hard to do when you can't even keep your teeth in place.  The old people tell me that I'll gradually learn to make "suction" do it's job.  Great.  Makes me lose my appetite even further. 

I have lost 10 pounds since coming back from Reno.  Between starting the anti-depressants again (makes me not hungry and literally forget to eat), and most things hurting to eat, it's been a breeze, I tell ya.  Not doing a damn thing for the depression but hey! Whatever.  So... basically... I have to learn how to suck on my own mouth... ?  Great.

So my good deed for today was to stop at SweetieGirls dad's shop, and give them a box of donuts.  He and her brother watched Duke for me when I went to Reno.  While there, I remembered that I had left several rugs I'd put under Duke's cushy cushion/bed, so I picked them up, explaining that during Duke's massage each nite, he complains about how hard his bed is.  I don't know why those people looked at me funny...maybe they don't like donuts?

I have a dilemma.  (When don't I? haha)  I'm about to mail something to someone and there's a certain illegalality to it.  Yes, that's a word.  It's not illegal to mail the item, and the item itself is not illegal.  But me giving it to her is illegal.  The chances of getting caught is little itty bitty tiny, altho I've begun the suspicion right now by just mentioning it on my blog!  Also, shouldn't I let the recipient know of the problem and let her decide also to take the chance or not take the chance?  (Now she knows by reading this.  And probably scared her to death!)  I can be so mysterious, can't I?  Mysterious is my middle name.

Hands and feet hurt really amuch tonite and I peed in an inappropriate location.  Knew you'd want to know.  My brain is befuddled.  I think I'm in a small flare.  Now that I'm so healthy and don't have MS anymore, it's really noticeable when the weird things happen.  Tad unsettling.  Might cause me to think I have MS all over again. 

Must go now. 

TTFN (Ta ta for now)

That is all.

Later gators

BBL (Be back later)

After awhile crocodile

I need a sign-off.  Any ideas?  Like any just mentioned.  Have a better one? 

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This should have been posted yesterday

I've been toying with the idea of giving up my home health aide for some time now.  Sometimes, Hella just drives me nuts.  She ALWAYS says something to me after I walk into the next room, or after I turn on the water to brush my teeth, or after I turn on the vacuum cleaner.   Along with 72 other irritants.  Yesterday, as I was outside playing Tennis Ball with the Duke, as I came back in, she poked her head out of the patio door and said she was just chatting with one of the other residents, she'd be right with me.  It was 12:30pm, so she was an hour and a half late at that point.  One of the "official" reasons she is here is because I am not supposed to do dishes.  Because the hot/warm water makes my hands number than usual... (what is number than numb?  Is that even possible?) and I can't feel if there's a knife committing murder on my hands or not.  Yea, whatever.

So in my quest to believe I don't need an aide, I washed dishes.  Except I didn't.  Cause I had to stop.  Why?  Cause.  Just because. 

And the bloody slash is cut across the outside edge of the base of the little finger and palm.  Right in the crease.  So I keep re-opening the wound.  Fine.  Whatever. 

There may be something to that The World is Going to Come to An End Because Daylight Savings Time Came Two Weeks Sooner than Normal.  Cause my computer didn't update it's time on it's own.  But you'll be happy to know that the Atomic clock finally updated itself - after I put it in a different location.  Evidently, the magic rays weren't able to reach it where it used to be.   

So. 

Oh, yes, I woke up to hearing this on the Today Show.   Vely, vely interesting, yes?  Should I add it to my list of Reasons to Move to San Francisco?   I didn't exactly plan to put meeting every single man in San Francisco on my agenda. 

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Snap Fitness

I may have mentioned before that I haven't been going to Curves lately.  It quit helping me, I'd plateaued and quit losing inches in the places I wanted to lose inches.  Wonder if the fact that she doesn't have all the required equipment might have anything to do with that. 

So today, I joined Snap Fitness.  There is a discount for being a senior and/or disabled, so the cost is the same as the health club that I recently joined.  I got out of the health club contract, which was very kind of them.  Snap has a month to month membership, so if the stars should align and I get struck by lightening informing me that my housing number has come up and it's time to move to San Francisco.... geez louise was that an awkward sentence or what?  Anyways - should I have to move, it's not a yearly contract that I'm screwing up, as it's just a month to month membership.  For their grand opening, the 49.00 membership is waived too. 

They have a shower!   Can't tell you how exciting that is.  The  hot water in my shower lasts for about 4 minutes, which makes my shower schedule really difficult.  If I wanted to do a complete job, shaving legs, shampoo, condition, etc., I'd have to take 4 showers a day.  Shampoo, rinse, condition, jump out.  Wait awhile, no Stella you can't wash dishes, I need the hot water.  Jump in, shave one leg, and maybe one armpit.  Jump out.  Wait.  Jump in, shave the other leg and armpit, jump out.  Wait.  Jump in, soap the body, exfoliate the heels, brush teeth, scrub face. 

Which is ridiculous.  And of course I don't do that. 

So I worked out today, and am thrilled with the new place.  I had a heck of a time talking myself into going to the health club the last couple of weeks, and went only 3 times?  The Snap machines have pictures on them to show you how to use it, which is important to someone who's got heat issues going on during work-outs, and so I lose my brain each time.  Now I don't have to feel like a fool, having to ask someone for help for each machine, each time.  Each machine also has a place that holds your mug of water, cause you're SPOSE TO DRINK YOUR WATER.  When working out, the last thing I want to have to do is bend down to the floor to pick up my drink.  I have limits, people. 

So I tried the U pa lip tis machine for the first time too.  LOVED it.  Now I understand people who say "Oh that feels good" while wincing with pain during work-outs.  My body was used to being in shape and toned, and I've let it go for the last couple of months.  It really did feel good - it's as if your body cells remember feeling good, so they are grateful to get back to it, despite the body's brain. 

I have absolutely no doubt that I've got SAD.    Yesterday I could smile, today I want to drown myself in Kalua and Cream.  And I'm not the drinking type who drinks to escape.   I definitely want to self-medicate today.  I know alot of it is because ... OH!  I didn't tell you about the dentist the other day.  It's another post. 

Must go now. 

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Firefoxing down the primrose lane

I've discovered the browser 'Firefox' too.  Lordy. 

It's got all sorts of gizmo's that threaten to trigger my obsessive/compulsive disorder.  IF I had such a disorder, that is.

After two days of fiddling with it, I took the leap and made it my default browser, knowing full well that if I change my mind that I won't remember how to change it back to Internet Explorer. 

I just read that it's normal for MS'rs to have spats of insomnia.  I'm always happy to know I'm normal.

SanFranMan is planning another trip to Reno this month.  Ben invited me to San Diego maybe the first part of April.  It's times like these that I look at my dogs with a frown.  They help with depression, but it's also depressing being stuck all the time cause of them.  I looked into boarding them, and kennels don't like the fact that I feed them raw chicken.  One of them asked if they left it laying around.... ?  Uh no. 

I called the cops yesterday, because there was a high-pitched smoke alarm sounding noise outside, and it hurt the dogs ears - they wouldn't stay out long enough to go poop.  Of course, none of the old people could hear it.  It was my third call also, and they didn't take me seriously until I told them I lived where I do, and it sounded like a smoke alarm.  Two cops came, along with the fire truck, and I felt a little guilty cause I was sure it was coming from the new jail behind us.  I watched the cops faces closely because it occured to me that it might just be in my head - another symptom or sompting.  I did that on purpose.  Symptom or SOMETHING.  Fine.  The first cop couldn't hear it, but the second one did.  Whew. 

I feel so boring.  What the hell is there to write about? 

Maybe there will be new material at the gym. 

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Reason #15 - The End of the World is Right Next Door

McShadow:  Muttin is shivering
Ben:  How come
Ben:  Note my concern
McShadow:  Gave her a bath earlier
McShadow:  I noted your concern
McShadow:  I may just have to blog about it, you and your concern. 
Ben:  lol
McShadow:  brb
McShadow:  back
Ben:  Do you know about 2012?
McShadow:  No
Ben:  Google it
McShadow:  Right now?
Ben:  Anytime.  I'm interested in it.  Don't buy alot of it, but its interesting.
McShadow:  Okay
McShadow:  Too worried about Muttin - she needs to be held, and it's hard while typing. 
Ben: In short, the world is coming to an end on 12/21/2012.
McShadow:  Oh yes, I have heard of that.
Ben:  There is quite alot of documentation and scientific research going on and like 30 different scenarios.
McShadow:  Why didn't it end on 07/07/07?
Ben:  Because the Mayan calendar, the most accurate of all, ends on 12/21/2012.
McShadow:  Oh
Ben:  I'm reading a book about it, kind of hilarious the way the guy writes.
Ben:  Actually, the most believable scenario is the mega volcano in Yellowstone park will blow up and create nuclear winter.
McShadow:  Oh great.  Yellowstone is right next door to me. 
McShadow:  That's gonna be Reason #15 for moving to San Francisco.
Ben:  Then there is the energy cloud that the solar system will pass through and destroy all life as we know it.
Ben:  And the asteroids approaching.
Ben:  And the sun frying us
Ben:  Etc, ad nauseum, ad infinitum.
Ben:  Anyway, I'm off to bed baby. Got a poker tournament in the AM.
Ben:  I hope your rat dog is ok.  (Note the concern and worry)
McShadow:  So noted.  Smart ass.

Little girl was really seriously cold.  She's not a cuddle type, nor does she like blankets or anything touching her when she sleeps.  So it was a bit worrisome that she sat there willingly, all covered up.  Then again when we went to bed...

... she slept under the the Sea World blanket all nite. 

Little adorable. 

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I'd rather stay mystified on this one

The Blue Sloth is sponsoring a blog robin of sorts for those of us who'd like to spread our blog around. 

Things that Mystify Me: 

In keeping with the theme of the blog title, it mystifies me how dogs can be so loyal, even to someone who beats them or starves them.  I don't understand how some people can be so cruel to their animals.  The stories about the animals during Katrina in New Orleans tore me up - far more than the people stories.  Considering how sick I get when I'm watching the animal cruelty shows on Animal Planet, it mystifies me as to why I keep watching them! 

It mystifies me as to why several of my readers think my dogs can talk. 

But the biggest mystery of my life these days is .... guess.... bet you can't.... wait for it.....

.

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MS! 

Not only is it a mysterious ailment in itself, but it's also a mystery scientifically.  They don't know what causes it, why some people get it and others don't, why it's predominant in certain geographical areas, etc etc etc.

What has always blown me away is how suddenly a "flare-up" can occur, and then just as suddenly, go away.  One day last summer, after months of relative good health, physically demanding good health because I worked hard in the garden all summer - one day I went out to tie up the tomatoes, and 30 minutes later, I needed a walker to get back to my apartment.  There aren't any symptom lists that say You Have MS definitely.  There's 73 umpteen symptoms and I believe I've had up the 72 upteen so far.  When the nuerologist tested me, and said "It's not MS, that's what I was worried about", I knew differently.  The second she said "MS", I KNEW I had MS.  I knew it like I know Muttin's name is Muttin.  I went home and researched on the Internet.  The first page I saw listed 15 symptoms.  I had had 14 of them at various times over the years.  Had the nuerologist had asked me pertinent questions, she would have realized that I had a history of symptoms. 

The doctors didn't believe me, saying a herniated disk was my problem.  So I had the surgery to fix that, in hopes that they were right, but I KNEW differently.  I had MS.  The reader's digest version of the diagnosis process came out to validate me.  I had MS. 

Then the mystery became how to live with it.  It was sooo hard.  I HATED my body for betraying me, for making me unable to work for a living.  For embarrassing me, cause it made me look/walk like a drunk.  In fact, when I moved into the disabled housing, all the seniors thought Alcoholism was my disability. 

It's a mystery how far the pain will go.  How I will be able to live with it, for the rest of my life.  How much can I stand?  How long will the pain meds work?  That is perhaps the only mystery I'd rather not find out. 

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Other participants in the What Mystifies Me: 

kmsqrd

Jen Mathis

Alley Katt

Ziji Wangmo

Hooray For Saturday

Tiggermn

Groanin' Jock

Blue Witch

Tim

ally bean

Rayne of Terror

BD

Dan

Mary

Tish

Phil

Tricia

MsShad

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Fine. Whatever.

I joke and jest about my denial of having MS.  I pretend I deny I have MS.  Sometimes I deny my denial even.  But every once in awhile, it becomes very clear that I do indeed, deny.

When someone leaves a comment on a blog, often, by clicking on their name, it links to their website.  As much as I'd like to have more readers/comments, I do very little in the blog world to facilitate getting more readers.  I rarely comment on other blogs, which would link to my blog.  I forget to click on commenters names, so that I can visit their website. 

Today I happened to click on one of my commenters, and was stunned to 1, see that he was a male, and 2, that he has MS.  Then I saw that he had blog-rolled me in his sidebar.  But the most shocking thing of all is that he had a whole bunch of MS blogs linked in his sidebar. 

I have, on occasion, done a Google search for MS bloggers.  And never really came up with any.  Mostly I'd get official type sites, informational about MS, not personal bloggers with MS.  Granted, I rarely dug very deep. 

I used to keep up with the research.  But once Tysabi was introduced as the new miracle drug, and then recalled, I lost interest.  I think regaining alot of my functions and the when the pain med, Lyrica started taking care of the  pain helped with losing interest in MS in general.  I tend to think "I have Pain" rather than "I have MS" these days. 

It was with great fascination that I clicked on all the links in his blog roll - people with MS.  I don't know why I felt like I was treading on sacred ground.  Why is it, considering that the Internet is my religion, my God... why is it that I have not gathered a community of MS'ers around me? 

When I was going thru the abuse stuff, I surrounded myself with other survivors.  We were taught that we needed to form a new family, to begin to pick healthy relationships.  I formed some very important and supportive friendships via the 'Recovery' era of my life.  Same when Jacob died.  I needed to know people who had traveled the same path as I was traveling - the grief journey was perilous alone.  It wasn't until I started writing about it, and sharing - then I started to get better.

But with MS?  I've avoided the support group here.  Several people said there were only old people in wheelchairs in it, and the last thing I wanted to see was wheelchairs.  But as a group leader myself, I knew better than to make a judgment without even trying it.  It worked for me to judge it tho, cause I didn't want to deal with it. 

Because Jacob died, I've lost the "right" to say such things as "The hardest thing I've ever had to do is blah blah blah".  Nothing can be worse in my life than his death, so I've lost the drama factor of being about to say having MS is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  I think in some way that perception of mine made it even more difficult to adapt to having MS, thinking that hell, I've lost a baby - MS should be easy peasy.  Snort.  It's not good to play those sort of head games with yourself.  Only with seniors who trick you. 

So anyways, I tried to do MS on my own.  There is a couple of sites that I visit whenever I get new symptoms, but I have never shared on it - just describing whatever freaky symptom I was having, and invariably, I'd get 20 responses back that yes, I was having a "normal" MS symptom, and I could stop feeling crazy.  For those you who know me, not saying anything about myself is extremely unlikely, but I just never wanted to talk any deeper about it.  It was more fun telling my sister instead and freaking her out - she always did the worrying for me, and left me free to be footloose and fancy free and able to carry on with my glee-filled life. 

So, in the next few days, watch my sidebar for a blog roll of MS bloggers - I've decided to join the ranks of the un-deny ers. 

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Red quilts

Did I already show you these?

Which pattern do you like best?  I'm making one for SanFranMan's little girl, and another blue one for his son.  Then I'll find something with cats for Ben's little girl.  I am having so much fun making these quilts.  I'm still working on SonOne's and it's driving me crazy cause I deviated from the easy peasy squares, adding a border, and it's a pain in the ass.  But it's beautiful.  I'll take a picture of it when its done. 

Why the heck do I think I need to decide which pattern I like best? 

I have enough to make both of them, plus 3 baby quilts.  Duh.

I think the recent flare-up is receeding, but obviously, my cognitive facilties are still lacking. 

Do you think charging a dollar a square is a reasonable charge for selling these things?  An 8x9 is about 60 inches by 68ish inches.  About five foot by 5 and a half.  That's $72.00.  Yikes.  Is that too much?  Tell me. 

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Hush

Yesterday's post regarding the research on pot for pain reminded me that I HAVE some pot, and I use it for pain.  See, that's how you can tell I'm not addicted - I forget I have it. 

It helps almost instantly.  Certainly within a few seconds.  Which makes no sense to me - that stuff that goes into the lungs can affect the nerves in the hands and feet is a mystery to me.  So, like the study, I will partake 3 times a day and should it develope that I don't need the pain pills, I will quit them.  I was gonna say I prefer doing natural as much as I can, and the reefer is more natural then the chemically made pills, but then again... how natural is it to suck smoke into your lungs? 

May need to rethink this one. 

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At last, a little diddy about MS

Why?  Cause evidently I have MS!  Ain't that a pisser?

Everything I do has a sensation of ... ?  .....delayed reaction. 

Walking the dogs - I had them all on a leash.  When I took them off the leash, I could still feel the leash handles in my hand, even tho the leashes were in my fanny pack.  I felt my hands being tugged by dogs pulling too hard on the leashes. 

Then I did the exact opposite.  When I put them back on the leashes, I didn't pay attention to them because I had the sensation of them still running loose.  This is not a good thing because they get all tangled up if I'm not paying attention. 

When I took the fanny pack off, I can still feel it an hour later.  That one will probably be there all night. 

When I type, it comes out like tttthhhhhhiiisss (this). 

When I sat down on the couch, I looked across the room, because it feels like I'm still walking. 

It's like there's a ghost, mimicking me, and mocking me and it lags behind for just a few seconds.

And innate items have the ghosts too.  When I put the chicken back in the freezer, I kept 'feeling' the bag of chicken being put away several times.  Same with the butter knife. 

You can set your computer mouse to leave 'trails' as it moves.  That's exactly what this feels like. 

Hmmm.  Maybe it's not MS.  Maybe I have a Obsession/Compulsive Disorder. 

No.  That can't be cause it just now happened.  OCD comes on gradually.  I think.  I KNOW I'm MS'y now, because I walked the dogs too long.  When I got home, my legs were noodles.  There's been peeing problems too, and that used to be the signal that a flare-up was coming. 

My thinking is so dyslexic, that I get to the point of being scared to do anything because I'm being so ridiculously stupid.  I managed to maintain for quite awhile when talking to SanFranMan tonight, but it creeped back in gradually, and I had to go.  The words would not connect to my mouth at the end, and even the words were like ghosts... hovering over me me me me... like that.  So much so that I couldn't concentrate on his words, cause mine were hanging in the air, trying to jump into my mouth so I could sound halfway intelligent. 

Sidenote:  SFM just happened to email me a couple of MS sites located in San Francisco.  Doctor's names and where they are, and credentials, etc.,and boy do I need to move.  But that's weird that he sent it today, when I really AM MS'y.  AND he validated the exercise miracle, which was one of the things I was reading about.  (that he sent)  He said that my walking ability was like night and day compared to 3 years ago.  (It's really only 2 years).  It's so comforting to talk to him about MS, cause he has it too.  I don't have to explain things. 

I'm afraid to go into the kitchen.  "Laurie... put down that 'knife.  Haha. 

This is not a fun one, friends and neighbors.  This is damn uncomfortable. 

I just tried to put my Palm in the fanny pack... that isn't there.  And when it wouldn't 'land', I kept trying it over and over!  WHILE I WAS LOOKING AT DOWN AT IT... THE FANNY PACK THAT WASN'T THERE.  My brain just would not make the connection. 

I WAS going to have a drink or 5 or 6, but SFM suggested hot tea instead.  Which also sounded comforting, even tho I hate hot water.  But I don't need to mix alcohol into this mix.  Sure enough, I boiled water in a pan, and set the pan back on the burner.  Can we say fire alarm in the old people's home at midnight?  Fuck. 

I'm going to bed. 

After I go to the MS boards and see if others have this symptom. 

Cause this one is bad, and I can't find the humor in it.  It damn well better be MS and not something else.

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Little Bits

Duke and I went for a short walk this morning, because I was wondering if another control measure of his was not pooping unless we went for a walk.  Cause he didn't poop yesterday.  Sure enough, he pooped down the street, and me without a baggie to pick it up.  And naturally it was the farthest point of the walk.  So he got a longer walk because I had to go home to get a baggie.  Now tell me ... how many people would do that, hmm?  Allow me to pat myself on the back. 

***

I ran the length of two houses this morning.  Now keep in mind these are country houses.  Mansions really.  With front yards at least an acre...

***

I put my pill supply on the cabinet in the bathroom, figuring that they would be staring me in the face when I peed, which would remind me to take them.  Since I was peeing 72 times a day, you'd think it would work great.  Well, it works great first thing in the morning.  But I've got a new medication for the problem of peeing 72 times a day, and it's working so great that I only pee once a day.  Which means I keep forgetting the evening dose of my pain meds.  I can't win!

***

FiberSure is a supplement for increasing one's fiber intake.  The commercial features a clear glass of water and states that the fiber mixes clear and you don't even know you're taking it.  Now... correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the purpose of fiber to "scrub" the digestive tract, and move the poop along?  So how is a glass of clear water supposed to do that?  It dissolves so you can't even see it.  What is doing the scrubbing and pushing things along in a clear glass of water?

***

It is a VERY freaky feeling to watch Muttin lick my foot, but not be able to feel it. 

***

Multi-Tasking? Not Her!

TC here.  MsShad gave permission to post this one. 

On many occasions, MsShad has said that she just cannot multi-task anymore (cause of the MS).  She needs to work on improving that particular skill. 

First thing, she came into the office so we could go shopping in the same car.

Shad:  Where's the bathroom?

Me:  (looking at her funny, she's been here before) Umm.  Out the door, and across the hall.

Shad:  (Walking towards the door, pauses)

Me:  (Looking at her strangely again.)

Shad:  (pats her, umm, parts)  No, I didn't pee my pants.  I thought I did. 

Me:  (laughs and watches her come back in and sit down next to me. )  Ummm...

Shad:  What?

Me:  Why don't you go to the bathroom so you DON'T pee your pants?

Shad:  Oh. Okay.  (leaves)

THEN:  Yesterday, after going from $1.00 store to $1.00 store looking for storage alternatives for my closet (that she is going to reorganize for me for my Christmas present), we stopped to get some food from a fast food place.  We got the meal ready and then I put the car in gear and started driving.  We were headed for another store.  I was eating.   Taking too big of bites,  hurrying.  Started choking, sort of.  Not really choking because I could still breathe, but I couldn't get the food all the way down and it HURT!  It was stuck!!! 

Me:  (sloppy burp) (sloppy burp) (sloppy burp) (burp)

Shad:  Are you okay?

Me:  (Nodding?  Shaking head?  (Don't remember)) (Sloppy burp, burp, etc.)

Shad:  Are you breathing?  (she's still blissfully eating and drinking her meal)

Me:  (Nodded) (Sloppy burp, burp, sloppy burp, you get the picture and it was UGLY!)

Shad:  It's like...your mouth is farting.

Me:  (Not amused)

I finally get a chance to pull over and I opened the door to throw up.  I got out, and the car was not in park so it started to roll forward.  I looked at MsShad, she was staring at the foot pedals, holding her burger, with a look of panic on her face.  I held my vomit, got back in and put it in park.  Got out and finished my business.  Yuck. 

Shad:  Here's some napkins.

Me:  Thanks.

Shad:  Are you okay?

Me:  Yup.  Just peachy.

Shad:  Do you want me to drive?

Me:  Nope, doing fine.

Shad:  I couldn't do anything with the car.

Me:  I noticed.

Shad:  I had a burger in my hand.  I couldn't do anything.

Me:  I noticed.

Shad:  I can't multitask.  I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't do anything.

Me:  Yup.

Shad:  See, I REALLY CAN'T multi-task!  I'm not kidding.  I really couldn't figure out how to DROP the hamburger out of my hands so I could DO something!

Me:  I could tell.

On the up side, we got some really cool storage stuff for a small amount of money.  Now she can go to my house and redo my closet.  I hope she doesn't get side tracked and try to multi-task.  God knows what will happen to my closet.  Luckily, the bathroom is just right there, too.  In case she needs it.  I may have to call to remind her, tho. 

And I'll have to hide my grahm crackers, cause she's addicted to them.  It's my fault.  She says I'm enabling her. 

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To-Do List

On my to-do list:

Blog about gases Jacob

hmmm...

?

1.  Clean carpets.  Why?  Let me share.  Ohno, no problem, I'm happy to.

Moving on.

2.  Put away chaos before Stella gets here.  (It's pretty sad when you have to clean before the "maid" gets here).  Tuesday was a very bad day pain-wise, and evidently I paced and paced.  And while I paced, it seems I picked up things, and put them down in a different place.  ??? It's a mess, and no, I won't take pictures of that.  I'll talk about vagina things, but I draw the line when it comes to my messy place. 

3.  Write grocery list for tommorrow

4.  Paste $712.00 on my forehead.  (One of my financial mishaps last month was figuring my budget on an income of $812.00.  It did go up in January, but not by that much!  I either read it wrong, or ... I dunno... the concept that it went up over a hundred dollars  never hit me.  I almost made the same mistake this month, and was using the computer calculator to figure my expenses, and SEVERAL times started out with $812.00.  Finally, I happened to look at my bank statement to make sure I wasn't overdrawn, and I didn't think I was, so it was a miracle I decided to look.  I was, but just barely.  That is when I noticed the SSD deposit... hmmm $712??? 

5.  Turn the TV off after the hot topics on 'The View'. 

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Nothing. You can just skip reading this one.

I get to go Out again today!  I bet you're thinking Curves, big whoopee.  Nooooo.  I get to go to the pee doctor again.

I think I have a bladder infection, but never really know cause if there's pain involved, I can't feel it.  It's as if the innards are completely numb, and I don't feel that pain... just the lucky ducky nerve endings.  When you say you think you have a bladder infection, they let you walk in.  Last time I did this, there wasn't an infection, so that was embarrassing.  Nice to go right in tho. 

Is anybody else SICK to death of the news media?  Between the political stuff and the celebrity stuff, I'm wondering what our priorities are.  I cannot STAND how CNN, FOX and MSNBC dissect some sentence some politician said to the nth degree. 

Update:  I typed the above this morning.  When I went to town, it was about noon.  I had forgotten to take any meds all morning... cause I didn't have any pain?  Got home after the 2 quickest doctor appointments EVER.  One for renewing scripts and the pee doc.  In both places, just walked right in, signed in, sat down for 2 seconds and they called me.  I expected to wait at least an hour at the pee doc, since I hadn't made an appointment.  I noticed the pain in Wal-Mart, and stressed about it.  Decided to get back home quickly, rather than stopping by my sister's work.  I knew I was gonna pay for it big time. 

Got home and had to lay down on the couch all day and couldn't stand anything touching me.  It's almost midnite, and I've not walked or done anything but lay on the couch.  I've taken way too many pills and still want to cut off my feet. 

It's pretty normal for me to sleep only 4 to 5 hours a nite.  When I go to bed at a reasonable hour, like 11pm, then I wake up at 3:00am and can't go back to sleep.   I call those early morning hours the dead hours.  Can't call anybody, just the bobbing heads on TV discussing what Hillary meant when she said whatever she said that day.  It's too cold to walk the dogs. 

Typing hurts.  Duke has vomited for the 4th time.  Cause I gave him a real bone to chew on.  He's got the most sensitive tummy.

That is all.

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Serenity serenity, wherefore art thou?

I went "out" today.  To Curves!  Can I quit writing now?  Okay, inside joke.  You'd have to read this post to understand. 

Theresa of Paper Rock Scissors described what I want for myself by going to a Yoga Class.  I don't think Idaho has ever heard of Yoga.  There's one on every corner in San Francisco. 

I'm in a bit of a depressed funk because of SanFranMan.  He made a serious mistake this morning in his email to me.  I don't remember the words exactly but it was something to the effect ... reading one of my  conversations with the dogs (complete with pictures) was a bit... tedious???

Sniff.

For some reason, I just now remembered that I promised him if I ever wrote about him, I'd let him read it first.  Ooops on the K-Y Jelly post.  Well, because of his email?  Paybacks a bitch. 

I'm all over the place today. 

As I was walking down my hallway, keeping my hand on the wall to be steady, as I was somewhat MS'y after my workout at Curves, I thought I don't think about MS hardly anymore.  The only time I really do is when I'm blogging, when I pee my pants, and when I take my meds. 

Blogging:  Damn the title of the blog, what can I come up with today?

Peeing pants:  Damn this.  Now I have to take a shower, and find something else to wear cause I haven't done laundry, and I hate doing laundry. 

Taking meds:  This I do almost by rote when and if I remember to take them.  It helps that I'm taking them only twice a day, instead of every four hours.  I guess because of the pain, I can't really say I don't think about MS anymore.  I'll amend it - I don't think about MS 24/7 like I used to.  Someone told me, when I was squirming about going on Disability, that I would have to make my health become my 8 to 5 job.  At the time, the thought of doing that was beyond my comprehension, because I could barely walk with a can or a walker and the pain was taking over.  But it's true - by walking the dogs 42 times a day, going to Curves and doing Pilate's and yoga at home... I'm taking care of my health pretty much 8 -5.  And it shows.  I've lost a total of 58 pounds last year, and kept it off.  Keeping it off is the challenge, and it's fairly easy for me.  I've got another 20 pounds to lose and then my weight will not be an issue anymore.  It goes up around 7 pounds each month with my period and fun times like Reno  and San Diego, but that's okay, because it's fairly easy to lose it again.  I don't come unglued about it. 

I feel another rant coming on.  Who the hell came up with calling it a "period?"  Another insider story - new readers would have to read the "Secrets I Should Keep" category.  Did I already rant about this? 

Seriously now, about Theresa's post.  I've been to yoga classes and remember the serenity.  I want that back.  During my recent massage, there was soothing music and aroma therapy going on.  I could feel my body relax so easily.  In fact, the masseuse told me that he didn't feel any knots or tightness anywhere.  Between me not being able to feel some parts of it (I couldn't tell what he was doing to my feet or hands) and him saying I was very relaxed - kinda makes a $90 massage a bit too expensive.  But as SFM said, now I've tackled an issue that was troublesome (because of the abuse, the thought of having a massage made me squiggy)   When I went back to my room SFM had set $50 in my drawer cause he wanted to help pay for it.  So, really it was a fantastic $40 massage! 

I want serenity back.  There is none in Idaho.

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So much for keeping a list

When I went to a file in My Documents that I keep blogging ideas in, I had this -

1.  Rent myself out as the second rider

2.  Relax Inn

3.  Peeing in the stall next to me

???

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My vagina may have MS too

Warning:  Somewhat X-rated.  Especially X-rated if your mother is reading. 

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We're stopping at a drugstore for his cigarettes.  I'm staying in the car cause I'll have no part of buying cigarettes for anyone.  I have standards that way.

She:  Pick me up some K-Y Jelly while you're in there. 

He gives me a horrified look.

He:  I am not buying that!

She:  (Color me amused, is that a threat to a man's manhood, I wonder?)

He:  You don't need it, you were wet.

She:  Not wet enough.

He:  You were fine.

She:  I was not, it almost hurt.  And it'd be easier for you to get in if I were wetter, wouldn't it?

He:  I'll cum next time, and it'll be wet enough. 

She:  FINE!  Whatever!

He:  FINE! 

He opens the car door and gets out.

She:  I'm at that age you know. 

It occurs to me...he says I'm wet enough, so maybe it's finally happened... my vagina has MS and I can't tell what the hell is going on down there.  Great.  My worse nightmare has come to pass. 

He comes back, and the conversation continues. 

She:  So did you hear me say that I'm at that age where K-Y Jelly may be necessary and it's normal?  (Cause god forbid we threaten men their menhood!)

He:  ?

She:  Menopause. 

He:  Hmm.

She:  Altho... I think my period has been trying to come, but it's having the decency to hold off till after our rendezvous. 

He:  Nice. 

She:  Yup.

He:  Well, you did get hot last nite....

He's talking about how after some adult playtime in the adult playpen, I suddenly needed all the covers off, traded my flannel nightgown for a Cotton t-shirt, turned down the heat... I thought it was normal MS heat issues, but maybe it was a hot-flash?  He can't stand my heat issues, always concerned that I'm going to be cold, cause he needs 3 quilts to my one sheet, and he'll sneak more covers on top of me after I fall asleep.  This drives me crazy, but his concern is real, so I try to keep quiet and kick off the covers after he's gone to sleep.  Hot flashes will be more traumatic for him than me, at this rate. 

We're both quiet for a couple of minutes.

She:  Is it normal for people to have conversations like we just had? 

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Disclaimer:  The names have been changed to "He" and "She" to protect the privacy of said individuals.  It's such a clever disguise, it's no use trying to figure out who these 2 individuals are. 

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