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Posts tagged with: For Serious

The amount of weird shit in the desert is truly staggering

So I am sitting here, listening to Shubert, and I realized that I only skimmed the surface of what is going on with me in my last post. I sometimes have to come at things obliquely to be able to recognize them, you know?
I used to be, not proud, but satisfied with my body. I liked the paleness of my skin, the smoothness of my arms and legs. It was comforting to me.
Now, I no longer have that. The blood thinner has left enormous bruises all over my body, giant black marks everywhere. The tape they use for my procedures tears up my skin, leaving scabs up and down my arms.
In my right arm, my vascular access grows, lumpy like a giant aberration.
I understand that this is all only vanity, but it makes me sad. The stares I get, they suck. And there are so many bruises that there is no way to hide them. I have no idea how I even got most of them.

I feel like, at 46, my body has given up on me. And it is making me feel sorry for myself. So, I am allowing myself them morning to feel icky, no doubt all of which is spurred on by the prednisone, and then I’m off to dialysis, because nothing says normal like needles in your arm.

And then I did some stuff

I am a terrible blogger since I moved to the desert. Grant, my former partner in hanging around the house ignoring each other, sent me an email asking me if I had gotten a real life or if I had upped my napping schedule. The answer is: a bit of both.
i have been having a challenging time getting over The Sick. There has been a bunch of stuff that relates to other people, that I don’t feel ok writing about without their permission.
This leads to a level of blahness seldom seen here.
And, honestly, my life is fairly blah, in a comfortable sort of way. Most mornings I drive over to my folks and have coffee with my mom. Once or twice a week I go shopping and to appointments with Bev Kaply or shopping with my dad. I have dialysis three times a week, and the center is right across the street from my house. I am busy, people.
Ahhhhh, my house. Open living room/kitchen, master bedroom with en suite full bathroom, second full bath in the hall, second full size bedroom. I love this house.
I want you, my seven loyal readers, to know that I haven’t given up on the blog. I just need to figure out how the internet will play a role in my life. Hotness, the ever amazing, has suggested a vlog, so fear not, my firedogs. It will be kosher.
So, I am firmly ensconced in middle age, I am still on a blood thinner, my dr just put me on a prednisone regimen that has me cleaning at 4 am (not necessarily a bad thing, mind), Kato is sick and it cost an extravagant amount of money to try to make him better. He’s on antibiotics, so we will have to wait and see. Liquid form, not pill, because that shit won’t fly with Kato. That cat can hork a pill halfway across the house.
I have enough frustration as it is.
And have I mentioned the hobos? They DO NOT sing. Rather, they dig through your garbage for stuff, then threaten to cut you when you try to ask them what they are doing. Something about the desert sucks out all the niceness, making them look like beef jerky and act like maniacs. For serious.

This little piggy went home

Where to begin? About a month ago, I caught a cold. It was sucky, but they always are with me, and it lasted a long time, but, again, I have no immune system, so stuff hits me harder and takes longer to go away.

On the  15 th, I felt like I was getting better, even though I was really tired. But over that weekend my cough got worse, my whole body hurt and I was having a hard time breathing. Plus I was getting more and more exhausted by the minute.

I don’t have an internist yet, and by Tuesday it was obvious that I needed to go to the ER. I went in the morning, and was there all day. The doc there said it was double pneumonia, but what they were really worried about was the pulmonary embolism.

Shortly afterward, I passed out in the bathroom.

They loaded me into an ambulance and transferred me to a hospital in Palm Springs, since I needed to be able to do dialysis and the local hospital didn’t have the facilities.  After an hour long ride, they checked me in to my room.

Then I slept until Friday.

I was in hospital for exactly a week. The people were nice, but I was on the renal diet, which is when they take your food and suck out everything that makes it delicious. By the time I left, I was dreaming of food.

And now I am home. The cat only held a grudge briefly, and even though I am still tired and now on a blood thinner, I am feeling much better. Sadly, this whole thing bodes ill for me getting my shit together for Christmas. Thanksgiving was good, though. I got pie.

How are you guys?


A Rare Moment Of Earnest Sincerity, Fuckers.

Ok, I don’t normally like to spend a lot of time talking about how I feel, but this seems to be the time for an exception.
Yes, I am in pain. My hands, feet and wrist and ankles are sometimes so bad that I cry. Getting up in the morning is hard, since everything has locked up overnight. I creak in to the bathroom like a Frankenstein’s monster, complete with moaning and groaning.
Sometimes I can wear my beloved Converse All Stars, but mostly I wear my sandals because shoes hurt my feet, which seem like a good excuse to be barefoot, and yet, not so much.
Anyway, at the end of the day, it also feels like nails through my joints and nothing really helps the joint pain. Not Tylenol, Aleve or Advil, nor stretching or heat.
The thing is that some pain you just have to live with, and I know that first hand because this CMT has been coming on slowly over the past decade at least. It was misdiagnosed as RA a few years ago, an easy mistake to make because unless you have a relative with CMT (thanks, Mom!) most doctors don’t even consider it. There is no chance of a cure and no real treatment, except some surgeries that are not often effective.

I am also on about the six month of near constant headache that nothing works on. I got my MRI this week, and so I hope that will be curtailed soon.

I guess what I am trying to say is that some pain is inevitable, but I am kind of at my limit. I may even have to ask for pain meds, and that is hard.

So that is the situation, and now you know why I may not always blog. Sometimes, pain makes things hard to say.
But I will deal with this, because I am a fucking Weeble, it is the way of my people and WEEBLES MAY WOBBLE BUT THEY DON’T. FALL. DOWN.

And the physical indignities keep on coming

Today I got diagnosed with a hereditary neurological disease called Charcot-Marie-Tooth. It’s hereditary and incurable. It deadens and weakens the muscle structure, especially in the feet and legs. Apparently I have almost no reflexes left in my legs, I have hammertoes from losing muscle in my toes and and arches of my feet.
This has not been an awesome day, but at least I now know why I was having numbness in my hands and feet.
I’m going to eat some pub cheese and watch Flashpoint until I fall asleep. It seems like the sensible thing to do.