I've been up since 3:00 am. And, I didn't really sleep much before then. I predicted this, though. Yesterday was a good day and I always seem to pay the price for good days. In fact, that is my new mantra - I pay every day. For what, I don't really know, but I always seem to be paying for something. Whether in this life or a past one, I must have accumulated a tremendous karmic debt that I have to work off...
Spent the morning having strong words with my legs as they are already gleefully swelling. I am beginning to think they are enjoying this. Then, sent the round of emails to school personnel to announce my absence until at least Thursday. Told my principal to call my doctor and try to get some answers about my future for the remainder of the year. Emailed a copy of the final exam for my seniors and put my sophomores on alert as to the curriculum for the remaining days. Had many good raw foods and caffeine (I am giving it honorary raw status). Did some online work. Stuff....
Things I noticed while going about my morning:
1. Iron Chef is fun early in the morning. Nothing better at 3:00 am than surrealistic culinaria.
2. I am fat and don't like it. I have been having a typical female reaction to my figure. Big belly, unpleasingly plump thighs, etc. My clothes don't fit, even my shoes. I am a big piggie gal and that bites. The worst part is that neither diet nor exercise would make any difference.
3. I don't want my principal to call me at home. He does this occasionally. Not that he EVER says anything bad, actually he usually calls to see if I need anything, but I can't leap the mental hurdle of his adminstrative status. No one likes having their boss call them at home.
4. I don't want to take a shower. I've put it off for a long time, because I just hate them right now. Firstly, my bathroom is the room most in need of remodeling. Small, unventilated, the shower functioning with about 20% capacity. It is just neither relaxing nor pleasant. Secondly, I don't like showering with my current plumpness. It is just ooky. I can't bend over well, I HATE the sight of myself in my birthday suit, hot water stings my legs...
5. My hair is falling out. For real, I think. I don't think I'm going bald, but the rate at which I am losing hair has increased. I notice far more adhering to my brush, on the bottom of the bathtub...I can run my fingers through my hair and come away with multiple strands every time.
6. I like watermelon. I had forgotten how much I delight in watermelon. I had Peapod deliver me some seedless watermelon and have been relishing every cold, juicy, refreshing bite.
7. I need new clothes. This means shopping and I am not looking forward to that experience.
8. There is something criminal about the weather still not breaking 70 degrees and we are one day away from June. Some heat and sunshine would do everyone around here a world of good, but we are not so blessed. I remember a summer several years back where I was burning Duraflame logs consistently through August. I hope we do not see a repeat of that this year.
9. I need some new books. Must do some Amazoning today and see what some of my favorite "fun" authors have out there. Terry Pratchett, Jonathan Gash, Anne Perry...I need some light reading to while away my hours.
10. My big tv was the smartest purchase of my life. It has made life so much more tolerable. Watching tv can be a drag, but watching movies as you would experience them in the theater is a blast. A little treat each day...
I go now to grab some liquid caffeine, pop my Prozac and prepare for the day. A long one, but one out of the house. Compression stockings, take me awayyyyyyy......
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Monday, May 30, 2005
Princess Peapod
Well, the first delivery of my consumptives (some pun intended) arrived. My delivery time was slated between 7:30 and 11:00 am. In the kitchen signing myself up for Upromise so that I can squirrel away cash for my favorite boys' college funds, I hear that distinct BEEP BEEP BEEP of a truck in reverse. Had to go to the window and spy, of course. Turned out I was spying on myself as it was Peapod, 15 minutes early! So, I waited while he gathered the first round of my bags and remembered to go upstairs and brush my hair.
Clad in mismatched sweats and fuzzy slippers, I greeted the delivery person at the door and he came in to drop off my goods. Apologized for being early and asked where in the kitchen would I like my merchandise. While he went back for the second round, I began to unpack the groceries and made mental note of the service and quality of the items. Everything was neatly bagged and tied (not my preference, but it does show a degree of service). The produce was gorgeous. Now, I am not usually overly fond of Stop and Shop's produce. It tends to look a bit neglected sometimes and you have to take time to find choice specimens. That was a concern I had at the back of my head when I signed up for this service - I wouldn't be able to pick and choose. Well, my worries were unjustified. Beautiful. Fresh, unblemished, good weights and sizes (no skimpies). Much better than what I find on the store floor. It was also definitely still cold, so their claims that produce/dairy/deli is safe to deliver was honest.
The driver was a very nice man and definitely courteous and friendly. He said that they make deliveries to my town every day and run between 6:00 am and 10:00 pm. Cool. So, for $10.00, I saved myself the hassle of going to the store, doing the shopping, hoisting the stuff into the car (forgot that I ordered a watermelon!), unloading at the house, etc. Got it all dropped right in my kitchen. I think that is worth $10.00...
Of course, I am still bugged up the butt about the reason behind my signing up for this service. I also, a few weeks ago, upped the frequency of my maid service to weekly. I hate a messy house (weird, since my classroom looks like a landfill) and found myself not able to really keep up with the cleaning. There is not too much damage I can do to the place in a week, so my brain stays on even keel in terms of twitching out over filth. Wednesday, the ladies arrive and that is the same day that the landscapers show up to brick in my patio. Last year, they removed all the plants and put crushed stone in the space. Now, I want brick. All brick. Shoveling snow over crushed rock is a pain and dealing with the inundation of leaves is not easy. Brick simplifies things and will look nicer. I will engage some willing individual to purchase for me a resin recliner so that I can enjoy my patio, while keeping the feet raised.
Wednesday also brings a followup with the gastroenterologist. I have my pelvic ultrasound tomorrow, so he will have those results. The pelvic ultrasound will be painless but a big pain. You have go in with a FULL bladder. The instructions specifically say you should arrive with a STRONG urge to urinate. Doesn't that suck? We are always told to go whenever we feel the need, and now I have to drive with a full bladder and sit in a waiting room before the test feeling the need to explode. Boy, I just can't catch a break! The -oscopies on June 10 also require prep and they also suck. Liquid diet for a day, powerful laxatives...
Today is a high-pressure day. This means that my mood is chipper. I don't swing nearly as much now that I am on Prozac, but I do still feel better and happier on high-pressure, sunny days. Also, I don't bloat as badly, and that improves my mood 1000%. The bad thing about these days right now is that all I want to do is go tearing around outside. Since I won't see quite as much swelling (at least until tonight), I convince myself that I'm better and consider filling my day with out-and-abouting. BAD SCI!!! BAD!!!!! Newspaper whack on the nose!!!! I have to restrain myself and continue to my vegetative ways. Probably I will have to work some compromise. I will most likely play with my new juicer, make short trips up and down the stairs to do some laundry - that sort of thing. It will be a brain-help day. If I do something productive, no matter how minor, I will alleviate some of the guilt and bad feelings I have about myself and my situation. The trick is to find the balance between action and inaction. And, I stink at that. I am far too obsessive when it comes to myself. I am great at working compromises and peace-keepings with others, but for me it is a binary situation. 1 or 0.
So, I shall shoot for the 0.5 today. A little activity here and there, rest, rest, rest...I think I need to make an Excel spreadsheet....
Clad in mismatched sweats and fuzzy slippers, I greeted the delivery person at the door and he came in to drop off my goods. Apologized for being early and asked where in the kitchen would I like my merchandise. While he went back for the second round, I began to unpack the groceries and made mental note of the service and quality of the items. Everything was neatly bagged and tied (not my preference, but it does show a degree of service). The produce was gorgeous. Now, I am not usually overly fond of Stop and Shop's produce. It tends to look a bit neglected sometimes and you have to take time to find choice specimens. That was a concern I had at the back of my head when I signed up for this service - I wouldn't be able to pick and choose. Well, my worries were unjustified. Beautiful. Fresh, unblemished, good weights and sizes (no skimpies). Much better than what I find on the store floor. It was also definitely still cold, so their claims that produce/dairy/deli is safe to deliver was honest.
The driver was a very nice man and definitely courteous and friendly. He said that they make deliveries to my town every day and run between 6:00 am and 10:00 pm. Cool. So, for $10.00, I saved myself the hassle of going to the store, doing the shopping, hoisting the stuff into the car (forgot that I ordered a watermelon!), unloading at the house, etc. Got it all dropped right in my kitchen. I think that is worth $10.00...
Of course, I am still bugged up the butt about the reason behind my signing up for this service. I also, a few weeks ago, upped the frequency of my maid service to weekly. I hate a messy house (weird, since my classroom looks like a landfill) and found myself not able to really keep up with the cleaning. There is not too much damage I can do to the place in a week, so my brain stays on even keel in terms of twitching out over filth. Wednesday, the ladies arrive and that is the same day that the landscapers show up to brick in my patio. Last year, they removed all the plants and put crushed stone in the space. Now, I want brick. All brick. Shoveling snow over crushed rock is a pain and dealing with the inundation of leaves is not easy. Brick simplifies things and will look nicer. I will engage some willing individual to purchase for me a resin recliner so that I can enjoy my patio, while keeping the feet raised.
Wednesday also brings a followup with the gastroenterologist. I have my pelvic ultrasound tomorrow, so he will have those results. The pelvic ultrasound will be painless but a big pain. You have go in with a FULL bladder. The instructions specifically say you should arrive with a STRONG urge to urinate. Doesn't that suck? We are always told to go whenever we feel the need, and now I have to drive with a full bladder and sit in a waiting room before the test feeling the need to explode. Boy, I just can't catch a break! The -oscopies on June 10 also require prep and they also suck. Liquid diet for a day, powerful laxatives...
Today is a high-pressure day. This means that my mood is chipper. I don't swing nearly as much now that I am on Prozac, but I do still feel better and happier on high-pressure, sunny days. Also, I don't bloat as badly, and that improves my mood 1000%. The bad thing about these days right now is that all I want to do is go tearing around outside. Since I won't see quite as much swelling (at least until tonight), I convince myself that I'm better and consider filling my day with out-and-abouting. BAD SCI!!! BAD!!!!! Newspaper whack on the nose!!!! I have to restrain myself and continue to my vegetative ways. Probably I will have to work some compromise. I will most likely play with my new juicer, make short trips up and down the stairs to do some laundry - that sort of thing. It will be a brain-help day. If I do something productive, no matter how minor, I will alleviate some of the guilt and bad feelings I have about myself and my situation. The trick is to find the balance between action and inaction. And, I stink at that. I am far too obsessive when it comes to myself. I am great at working compromises and peace-keepings with others, but for me it is a binary situation. 1 or 0.
So, I shall shoot for the 0.5 today. A little activity here and there, rest, rest, rest...I think I need to make an Excel spreadsheet....
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Morphing
I am becoming a sofa squash. I do not yet think I am a couch potato, but it is coming soon. I sit each day and watch television, snack and play around on the computer. When I'm up walking around, my legs and abdomen go directly to swelling mode. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.00. What an awful sight. Tremendous flabby thighs spilling over my old lady compression stockings. That's when I can see them over my protruding stomach. So, I sit and avoid this situation, as best as possible.
To further my decline through the ranks of produce, I have signed up for home delivery of groceries. Placed my first order to be delivered tomorrow morning. I sat scribing my grocery list this afternoon and realized what a toll the shopping trip was going to take on me. I haven't given up my Diet Coke habit, just shifted it to the Splenda version. Those are heavy. Then, I wanted lots of produce. I figured 10 lbs of carrots, another 5 or so of celery. Then, big bags of apples and oranges. Now, cauliflower, squashes, bananas, beets, broccoli, on and on and on....oh yeah, and toilet paper. Well, that was going to be an effort for my pitiful self, so I bit the bullet and signed up for Peapod. $10.00 delivery charge for the order and someone else has to scavenge the aisles (or backroom) and bring the groceries to my cozy porch.
This, to me, is the height of pathetic. I know in my mind that it is the smart plan. Every second off my feet is another second that my system is not stressed, but...Groceries, the most basic of needs and I don't even feel confident to do my own shopping. Compromises my optimistic outlook to the nth degree. Already I sit here with a brain spinning in indecision about my work situation. Should I just bag it for the final month of the year? Should I suck it up and do my best to stay at my post? What is right? What is fair? This grocery decision does not do much to make my brain calm. It further stirs the pot. I wonder if Bacardi is considered a raw food?
To further my decline through the ranks of produce, I have signed up for home delivery of groceries. Placed my first order to be delivered tomorrow morning. I sat scribing my grocery list this afternoon and realized what a toll the shopping trip was going to take on me. I haven't given up my Diet Coke habit, just shifted it to the Splenda version. Those are heavy. Then, I wanted lots of produce. I figured 10 lbs of carrots, another 5 or so of celery. Then, big bags of apples and oranges. Now, cauliflower, squashes, bananas, beets, broccoli, on and on and on....oh yeah, and toilet paper. Well, that was going to be an effort for my pitiful self, so I bit the bullet and signed up for Peapod. $10.00 delivery charge for the order and someone else has to scavenge the aisles (or backroom) and bring the groceries to my cozy porch.
This, to me, is the height of pathetic. I know in my mind that it is the smart plan. Every second off my feet is another second that my system is not stressed, but...Groceries, the most basic of needs and I don't even feel confident to do my own shopping. Compromises my optimistic outlook to the nth degree. Already I sit here with a brain spinning in indecision about my work situation. Should I just bag it for the final month of the year? Should I suck it up and do my best to stay at my post? What is right? What is fair? This grocery decision does not do much to make my brain calm. It further stirs the pot. I wonder if Bacardi is considered a raw food?
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Sci in the Raw
I am loving my raw food diet. I think that has actually helped me the past few days - the ability to grab a cold, juicy apple from the refrigerator...to do as much "comfort" eating as I want and know that I am getting a wealth of nutrients that my body very likely needs, to conduct new experiments in the kitchen...Both my body and my brain are wearing little smiley faces, at least for this little diversion.
I don't really believe in the more New Age aspects of the raw food diet. Also, I don't, as a scientist, I have issues with their concepts of food enzymes. Yes, heating food beyond a certain temperature will denature the enzymes, that is basically biochemistry. However, the acids in the stomach will also denature the enzymes and, since digestion occurs primarily in the small intestine, what is received in the intestine has already been partially broken down. And, frankly, look at a lot of the photos of the people championing the raw food plan. Looks like they would be in the park handing out flowers to policemen and their horses. So why did I choose to try this out for myself?
Lowcarb eating changed my life. My wild blood sugar swings were stopped, my personality stabilized...I was happy again after a long period of darkness. But, I did have to give up a lot to follow this plan. As a lifelong vegetarian, the foods that I truly enjoyed were, in many cases, now prohibited. I traded culinary diversity for peace. Not a bad trade. But, I also know that so many things - juicy slabs of watermelon, fresh corn and sweet potatoes, beans and grains - do provide vital nutrients along with their delightful flavor. Right now, the ancillary nutrients in these foods, many of which are antioxidants, are of interest to me. I do believe in the concept of healing foods, so I meditated on the idea of shifting my diet to incorporate more of these foods.
Now, how does a person who has had major carbohydrate issues in the past take the step across the threshold to return to Kingdom Carbland? By using the principles of the glycemic index and glycemic load. Cooking food raises the glycemic values of foods. By consuming foods in raw form, the impact on the blood sugar is far lower. Also, I have been consuming my apple cider vinegar coolers with and between meals. Acids further lower the glycemic values of food items. So, it seemed logical that assuming a raw diet would permit me the healing foods, without the overwhelming blood sugar impact. Further, the raw food diet makes extensive use of nuts, seeds, avocados, coconut, etc. Foods with a solid fat content and appropriate levels of protein. Fat and protein have virtually no blood sugar impact and work to reduct the overall glycemic value of a meal when combined with carbohydrates.
Of course, any new course of action requires exensive research, which is something on which I thrive. I have spent many a contented hour collecting recipe sites in my Favorites folder, researching the appliances required to fully follow the diet plan (Champion juicer, L'Equip dehydrator, etc.), reading books...I have a project, a challenge, something to occupy my mind. Something to think about besides sickness. Something productive, entertaining and good for me at the same time.
How am I doing with it? Fine. I allow myself any fruit, vegetable, nut or seed that I want, as much as I want, whenever I want. So, I'll grab a pear, make a sweet soup with fresh carrots, whatever. I have learned that soaked beans and grains taste pretty much like their cooked counterparts. Just have to plan FAR in advance of when I want them for a meal. And raw doesn't necessarily mean cold. You can warm things, just not above about 110 degrees. But, really hot food doesn't taste as good as it does when it cools a bit and can have unpleasant mouth effects. Hard to taste much when your tongue has been burned by scorching hot food.
So far, my experiment has been a successful one. I am enjoying my meals and the mental diversion of my research. Also, with the new information coming out about potential renal problems, the lower overall protein content of the raw diet (compared with my normal lowcarb eating plan) may give the kidneys a much-needed rest. Will I stay on this plan for the long haul? I don't know. I know it is working now and I will continue on as long as it is giving benefit to my body. As I change with health, age, etc., my diet will likely change to meet the new needs. Change can be a good thing, sometimes....
I don't really believe in the more New Age aspects of the raw food diet. Also, I don't, as a scientist, I have issues with their concepts of food enzymes. Yes, heating food beyond a certain temperature will denature the enzymes, that is basically biochemistry. However, the acids in the stomach will also denature the enzymes and, since digestion occurs primarily in the small intestine, what is received in the intestine has already been partially broken down. And, frankly, look at a lot of the photos of the people championing the raw food plan. Looks like they would be in the park handing out flowers to policemen and their horses. So why did I choose to try this out for myself?
Lowcarb eating changed my life. My wild blood sugar swings were stopped, my personality stabilized...I was happy again after a long period of darkness. But, I did have to give up a lot to follow this plan. As a lifelong vegetarian, the foods that I truly enjoyed were, in many cases, now prohibited. I traded culinary diversity for peace. Not a bad trade. But, I also know that so many things - juicy slabs of watermelon, fresh corn and sweet potatoes, beans and grains - do provide vital nutrients along with their delightful flavor. Right now, the ancillary nutrients in these foods, many of which are antioxidants, are of interest to me. I do believe in the concept of healing foods, so I meditated on the idea of shifting my diet to incorporate more of these foods.
Now, how does a person who has had major carbohydrate issues in the past take the step across the threshold to return to Kingdom Carbland? By using the principles of the glycemic index and glycemic load. Cooking food raises the glycemic values of foods. By consuming foods in raw form, the impact on the blood sugar is far lower. Also, I have been consuming my apple cider vinegar coolers with and between meals. Acids further lower the glycemic values of food items. So, it seemed logical that assuming a raw diet would permit me the healing foods, without the overwhelming blood sugar impact. Further, the raw food diet makes extensive use of nuts, seeds, avocados, coconut, etc. Foods with a solid fat content and appropriate levels of protein. Fat and protein have virtually no blood sugar impact and work to reduct the overall glycemic value of a meal when combined with carbohydrates.
Of course, any new course of action requires exensive research, which is something on which I thrive. I have spent many a contented hour collecting recipe sites in my Favorites folder, researching the appliances required to fully follow the diet plan (Champion juicer, L'Equip dehydrator, etc.), reading books...I have a project, a challenge, something to occupy my mind. Something to think about besides sickness. Something productive, entertaining and good for me at the same time.
How am I doing with it? Fine. I allow myself any fruit, vegetable, nut or seed that I want, as much as I want, whenever I want. So, I'll grab a pear, make a sweet soup with fresh carrots, whatever. I have learned that soaked beans and grains taste pretty much like their cooked counterparts. Just have to plan FAR in advance of when I want them for a meal. And raw doesn't necessarily mean cold. You can warm things, just not above about 110 degrees. But, really hot food doesn't taste as good as it does when it cools a bit and can have unpleasant mouth effects. Hard to taste much when your tongue has been burned by scorching hot food.
So far, my experiment has been a successful one. I am enjoying my meals and the mental diversion of my research. Also, with the new information coming out about potential renal problems, the lower overall protein content of the raw diet (compared with my normal lowcarb eating plan) may give the kidneys a much-needed rest. Will I stay on this plan for the long haul? I don't know. I know it is working now and I will continue on as long as it is giving benefit to my body. As I change with health, age, etc., my diet will likely change to meet the new needs. Change can be a good thing, sometimes....
Friday, May 27, 2005
Like Sands Through the Hourglass
Frankly, I think I trade these days of my life for some sand. Sand is clean, solid, useful...my days cannot always be described as such. Today was one of those...
Yesterday was a good day. A really good day. My feet were pink, rather than red, the swelling was bad, but not horrific and I spent the afternoon engaged in conversation with a terrific person. Today, the situation is reversed and, perhaps even worse.
My feet, legs and abdomen are incredibly disheartening. The feet are again red, itchy, sore...my calves, thighs and abdomen are obscenely swollen. My face is puffy. The only "good" thing is that this was the condition in which I saw the nurse practitioner this afternoon - she got got a good picture of my continued affliction....
...and she was not happy. My weight at the office was about 135 pounds and all of it, it seemed, in my lower body. The pitting edema was doing justice to its name and I could read the concern on her face. I relayed the comments of both the radiologist and gastroenterologist. More examination and then the verdict. I am to have my regular physician on Thursday morning and I am still ordered to the couch with feet in the air. I cannot go to work. I cannot do anything. She said this will be my status until answers are found and solutions implemented.
I shall have to call AFLAC and see just what is involved in placing a disability claim. I am now very concerned that I will not see the end of the school year in my classroom. If this is the case, I will have to explore the option of setting myself up with short-term disability and using my policy to replace my salary. I am hopeful that this is possible...I do not want to be out for that extended a period, but I especially do not want to be out without my normal income.
I need some brain time. This is all rather overwhelming. Not that I have any answers, good or bad, but even the possibility that this condition has put me in the disabled category, however temporary, is almost more than I can comprehend right now. Of course, I feel so heavy, swollen and waterlogged that I can't comprehend much period! Seems like the water has washed away my neurotransmitters and I am left with no brain function. Time to watch movies...the more mindless, the better...
Yesterday was a good day. A really good day. My feet were pink, rather than red, the swelling was bad, but not horrific and I spent the afternoon engaged in conversation with a terrific person. Today, the situation is reversed and, perhaps even worse.
My feet, legs and abdomen are incredibly disheartening. The feet are again red, itchy, sore...my calves, thighs and abdomen are obscenely swollen. My face is puffy. The only "good" thing is that this was the condition in which I saw the nurse practitioner this afternoon - she got got a good picture of my continued affliction....
...and she was not happy. My weight at the office was about 135 pounds and all of it, it seemed, in my lower body. The pitting edema was doing justice to its name and I could read the concern on her face. I relayed the comments of both the radiologist and gastroenterologist. More examination and then the verdict. I am to have my regular physician on Thursday morning and I am still ordered to the couch with feet in the air. I cannot go to work. I cannot do anything. She said this will be my status until answers are found and solutions implemented.
I shall have to call AFLAC and see just what is involved in placing a disability claim. I am now very concerned that I will not see the end of the school year in my classroom. If this is the case, I will have to explore the option of setting myself up with short-term disability and using my policy to replace my salary. I am hopeful that this is possible...I do not want to be out for that extended a period, but I especially do not want to be out without my normal income.
I need some brain time. This is all rather overwhelming. Not that I have any answers, good or bad, but even the possibility that this condition has put me in the disabled category, however temporary, is almost more than I can comprehend right now. Of course, I feel so heavy, swollen and waterlogged that I can't comprehend much period! Seems like the water has washed away my neurotransmitters and I am left with no brain function. Time to watch movies...the more mindless, the better...
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Numerous Abnormalities
That was the phrase the gastroenterologist used to describe my condition. Yahoo! Lots of things going wrong, and the trick is to find the root cause. What was the first? Where does the road begin? How do you find the head of the river?
Another day of the hurricane blowing outside and that is into what I ventured to my appointment with yet another specialist. Recommended by a friend, I was at least confident that he was a doctor of quality and my time would not be wasted. And, I was, I guess right, although in some ways I wish I weren't. Not that I received any dire news, but more tests were ordered and they are not of the happy pee-in-a-cup type...
Firstly, he was taken aback by the level of edema that I exhibited. The fluid accumulation in my legs was, frankly, disgusting, and I am pooling fluid in my abdomen, as well. Picture a pot-bellied pig with Grandma's legs and you have a pretty good idea of what he got to see. But, this did lead him to conclude that my problem is likely centered in the pelvis region, since it is that area and downward in which the swelling exists. To assess the GI situation more closely, he is making me undergo a colonoscopy and gastroscopy (both on the same day!). However, he was honest in saying that he did not think those tests would show anything. He does not think the problem is a blockage. What worried him most yesterday was my blood test results from a few days ago. The blood urea level was tremendous, indicating very significant dehydration. Imagine, filled up like a water balloon and I'm actually dehydrated...The issue is that the preparations for the colonoscopy requires a very through bowel flushing and that also makes you lose water. Obviously, he didn't want to do this as an outpatient procedure, if I was already dehydrated. That would leave being hospitalized to get my hydrated, perform the procedures there and monitor my recovery.
Ugh...not at all what I wanted. Neither, actually, did he. So, he ordered a new round of blood tests to see if the BUN level in my blood was still as high along (of course) with a host of other profiles. I was also ordered a pelvic ultrasound for next Tuesday. Yes, I got the bum-finger treatment (always a joy, but more action than I've seen in years), but the overall visit was quite benign. He was frank in saying that there was likely not an easy solution to all of this. The "numerous abnormalities" made diagnosis very difficult and it will take time to piece the puzzle together. I left with a promise that he would call me that evening to let me know whether I was or was not hospital bound.
As my cellulitis seemed to be losing the war agains the Levaquin, I had decided to return to work for the remainder of the week. My principal was against this decision, however. Understand that my school system has lived through a succession of evil, slimey, despicable principals for a very long time and the superintendent (who we still endure) is the devil incarnate. This new person is a 180 degree change. He is terribly worried about me being alone and sick. He offered to shovel my snow this winter and drive me to appointments if needed. Well, he called me yesterday afternoon and pretty much ordered me to stay home the rest of the week. Mentally, I said, balderdash, but I recognized his sincere concern. He also wants to speak with my doctor about me finishing the school year. Unlike most administrators who would do this to see if you were milking the system, I think he actually wants to try and persuade her to agree to keep me out! His comments were that he wanted me back for the long haul and was worried that I was too worried about doing my duty to the school system to concentrate on my own situation. He said, which was nice, that he knew I did my duty and that I should put all thoughts of work out of my mind. I was still pretty convinced about returning today, though...
...until I talked to the doctor last night. He had received the lab test results and my blood urea had dropped somewhat. Still very high, but he felt that it was safe to do my tests as as outpatient. The nurse is supposed to call me today to schedule all of that. Then, I relayed my principal's perspective about taking off the remainder of the week and his response was "Well, I'd have to agree with that." Drat. So, again I sit on my butt...
Beyond the colonoscopy and the gastroscopy, I will likely have to undergo a laparoscopy and paracentisis to further assess what's going on inside. Happy, happy, happy....fortunately, I am the practical type who doesn't get spooked by tests and procedures. I view them as a necessary evil, albeit a big bother. Oh well...what else do I have to do?
Another day of the hurricane blowing outside and that is into what I ventured to my appointment with yet another specialist. Recommended by a friend, I was at least confident that he was a doctor of quality and my time would not be wasted. And, I was, I guess right, although in some ways I wish I weren't. Not that I received any dire news, but more tests were ordered and they are not of the happy pee-in-a-cup type...
Firstly, he was taken aback by the level of edema that I exhibited. The fluid accumulation in my legs was, frankly, disgusting, and I am pooling fluid in my abdomen, as well. Picture a pot-bellied pig with Grandma's legs and you have a pretty good idea of what he got to see. But, this did lead him to conclude that my problem is likely centered in the pelvis region, since it is that area and downward in which the swelling exists. To assess the GI situation more closely, he is making me undergo a colonoscopy and gastroscopy (both on the same day!). However, he was honest in saying that he did not think those tests would show anything. He does not think the problem is a blockage. What worried him most yesterday was my blood test results from a few days ago. The blood urea level was tremendous, indicating very significant dehydration. Imagine, filled up like a water balloon and I'm actually dehydrated...The issue is that the preparations for the colonoscopy requires a very through bowel flushing and that also makes you lose water. Obviously, he didn't want to do this as an outpatient procedure, if I was already dehydrated. That would leave being hospitalized to get my hydrated, perform the procedures there and monitor my recovery.
Ugh...not at all what I wanted. Neither, actually, did he. So, he ordered a new round of blood tests to see if the BUN level in my blood was still as high along (of course) with a host of other profiles. I was also ordered a pelvic ultrasound for next Tuesday. Yes, I got the bum-finger treatment (always a joy, but more action than I've seen in years), but the overall visit was quite benign. He was frank in saying that there was likely not an easy solution to all of this. The "numerous abnormalities" made diagnosis very difficult and it will take time to piece the puzzle together. I left with a promise that he would call me that evening to let me know whether I was or was not hospital bound.
As my cellulitis seemed to be losing the war agains the Levaquin, I had decided to return to work for the remainder of the week. My principal was against this decision, however. Understand that my school system has lived through a succession of evil, slimey, despicable principals for a very long time and the superintendent (who we still endure) is the devil incarnate. This new person is a 180 degree change. He is terribly worried about me being alone and sick. He offered to shovel my snow this winter and drive me to appointments if needed. Well, he called me yesterday afternoon and pretty much ordered me to stay home the rest of the week. Mentally, I said, balderdash, but I recognized his sincere concern. He also wants to speak with my doctor about me finishing the school year. Unlike most administrators who would do this to see if you were milking the system, I think he actually wants to try and persuade her to agree to keep me out! His comments were that he wanted me back for the long haul and was worried that I was too worried about doing my duty to the school system to concentrate on my own situation. He said, which was nice, that he knew I did my duty and that I should put all thoughts of work out of my mind. I was still pretty convinced about returning today, though...
...until I talked to the doctor last night. He had received the lab test results and my blood urea had dropped somewhat. Still very high, but he felt that it was safe to do my tests as as outpatient. The nurse is supposed to call me today to schedule all of that. Then, I relayed my principal's perspective about taking off the remainder of the week and his response was "Well, I'd have to agree with that." Drat. So, again I sit on my butt...
Beyond the colonoscopy and the gastroscopy, I will likely have to undergo a laparoscopy and paracentisis to further assess what's going on inside. Happy, happy, happy....fortunately, I am the practical type who doesn't get spooked by tests and procedures. I view them as a necessary evil, albeit a big bother. Oh well...what else do I have to do?
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Movement
A good word to summarize my day yesterday. It was the first day that found me more vertical than horizontal in a week. It addressed my failure to move (at least internally). It brought some new results on which to ruminate.
I arrived at the hospital at 10:00 am for my GI testing. I was unsure what these tests would entail, but I was assured that there would be nothing done that would compromise my ability to drive home. I cut a laughable figure in the waiting room. A hospital gown and dressing gown, from which peeked tattered-sneaker clad feet swaddled in white, knee-high compression socks. I was tempted to steal a walker while I was there.
Finally, I was called into the examining room for the first portion of my tests. First, a small cup of lemony crystals chased with a sip of water. Fills the stomach with gas for better viewing by the equipment. For someone already bloated like the Hindenburg, this was not the happiest of situations. Next, an alternating sequence of sips of thick, vaguely sweet barium solution and flip flops on the rock hard x-ray table. But, nothing overly distressing and all assembled were smiling and satisfied with the progress of the test. Now, time for part 2.
The second portion was to concentrate on the lower bowel, or colon. This time, I was presented with 2 large cups of the slightly gag-inducing barium and the instructions to wait for about 20 minutes. Walking around would speed the movement of the barium, I was told, so I paced the halls on my abused feet for what seemed an eternity. Unsurprisingly, I was not recalled until nearly 40 minutes had passed.
Hop onto the table, take a test picture, wait for the radiologist to give his blessing for the tests to continue. Well, the first two went well. The barium had gone virtually no further than the top of the colon. When the nurse informed me of this in the waiting room, I felt a pit open in the floor and my body plummet into the core of the Earth. This was going to be a very long day. The rules of the tests were such that I could eat nothing from midnight the previous night AND was prohibited liquid during the duration of the examination. I felt like I was teetering on the brink of complete dissolution. Already, I was slightly nauseous and shaky, parched as the desert sands and my legs were rebelling at having their healing process disrupted. I relayed these concerns to the nurse, who relayed them to the doctor. I was not much assisted, but the barium with which she returned was in a larger cup as it had been diluted with water. Some concession to my thirst. Down the hatch...more waiting.
Again recalled, again on the table, again a test picture, again the wait for the verdict. Again, the word was not encouraging. Inappreciable movement of the barium. From the look of sheer distress as she imparted this news, the nurse knew that I was not in good straights. She was gone for quite awhile before returning with 2 more cups of barium and some fairly uplifting news. The radiologist had decided to follow this course. Give me a large dose of barium. Then, I could go home for 2 hours. While there, I was permitted a light meal and liquid. He was actually hoping that the action of eating might help to move the barium through the colon. I was unabashedly grateful and expressed this to the nurse, whom I suspect played a large part in securing this mercy.
So, I redressed, returned and fixed a nutrient-dense lunch of fresh pear and cherries, raw nuts, coconut and vegetables. First, though, my fingers reached for liquid. Blessed, blessed liquid. The only time in my life I had felt so parched was during a trip taken to Disneyworld when I was a child. We sat on the curb in the blistering summer heat waiting for the parade. I had no liquid and I dehydrated to the point where my tongue was swollen and sore in my mouth. This current situation came in second place. I installed myself on the couch and rested my feet, body and mind in preparation for the next round at the hospital.
Seeing the hospital loom over my dashboard was a deflating experience, but one I hoped would be a productive one. Fingers crossed, I re-donned the hospital garb and waited. The nurse came to retrieve me and she wore an unconvincingly encouraging smile. Hop up, take picture, wait. I could see the door into which she disappeared with my x-ray and the fact that she peeked around its corner a few times to look at me did not fill me with confidince. Her return confirmed this feeling. The barium had migrated only a portion of its necessary course, but the doctor was going to come in and look at things as best he could anyway.
Now, the procedure is actually fascinating, as you can see what is going on in real time on the same monitor at which the doctor is looking. So, I could see my innards, which I find interesting. It was easy to see the stunted progress of the barium and the next bit actually made me laugh. To move the barium along, the doctor was reduced to pushing and squeezing my abdomen. I could see the barium squirt from zone to zone like mustard being squeezed from the bottle. Push, squeeze, push, squeeze...further and further the barium was herded until enough information was gathered to make some judgements.
As far as the doctor could see, there were no masses or structural problems. However, all was definitely not good. There was but a tiny fraction of the normal peristaltic motion present in the Gi tract. The stool was so packed it had backed up into my small intestine! Effectively, the intestines are failing to effectively move material along the designated pathway. They are not shut down completely, but the movement is so slow, that the problem is in the level of serious. Today, I go to see a gastroenterologist. I did ask the radiologist if the liver enlargement and the GI problem could be related and he said that a number of factors could be at play for the GI, but there were things that could work for both systems. Likely, the gastroenterologist will have specific tests to order and medications to try along those lines. Yippee? Crap? Hurray? BooHoo? I just don't know.
So, my tale continues. Again, for the last time, I sit on my butt. My legs were punished yesterday and were on fire last night. Today, a hurricane blows, it seems, outside, as it did yesterday. Mother Nature also seems to be going through a bad patch. But, I am in good spirits and cannot say that I am blue today. I think I have passed beyond the stage of depression into the stage of acceptance. Not that I am giving up, but rather, I simply take things as they come and neither worry about the future nor grieve over the past. Work the problem and live the day. I did hear some glorious news yesterday, though. A colleague emailed me that my students miss me. One senior asked her to bring to me a small gift and another teacher had spied some of my students making cards for me on their own time in the library. We hear so much about the heinous fiends inhabiting our school systems that we forget that most of the kids are a good and decent bunch. Despite everything, I went to bed with a smile on my face. My friends love me and my students miss me. How can life be that bad :-)
I arrived at the hospital at 10:00 am for my GI testing. I was unsure what these tests would entail, but I was assured that there would be nothing done that would compromise my ability to drive home. I cut a laughable figure in the waiting room. A hospital gown and dressing gown, from which peeked tattered-sneaker clad feet swaddled in white, knee-high compression socks. I was tempted to steal a walker while I was there.
Finally, I was called into the examining room for the first portion of my tests. First, a small cup of lemony crystals chased with a sip of water. Fills the stomach with gas for better viewing by the equipment. For someone already bloated like the Hindenburg, this was not the happiest of situations. Next, an alternating sequence of sips of thick, vaguely sweet barium solution and flip flops on the rock hard x-ray table. But, nothing overly distressing and all assembled were smiling and satisfied with the progress of the test. Now, time for part 2.
The second portion was to concentrate on the lower bowel, or colon. This time, I was presented with 2 large cups of the slightly gag-inducing barium and the instructions to wait for about 20 minutes. Walking around would speed the movement of the barium, I was told, so I paced the halls on my abused feet for what seemed an eternity. Unsurprisingly, I was not recalled until nearly 40 minutes had passed.
Hop onto the table, take a test picture, wait for the radiologist to give his blessing for the tests to continue. Well, the first two went well. The barium had gone virtually no further than the top of the colon. When the nurse informed me of this in the waiting room, I felt a pit open in the floor and my body plummet into the core of the Earth. This was going to be a very long day. The rules of the tests were such that I could eat nothing from midnight the previous night AND was prohibited liquid during the duration of the examination. I felt like I was teetering on the brink of complete dissolution. Already, I was slightly nauseous and shaky, parched as the desert sands and my legs were rebelling at having their healing process disrupted. I relayed these concerns to the nurse, who relayed them to the doctor. I was not much assisted, but the barium with which she returned was in a larger cup as it had been diluted with water. Some concession to my thirst. Down the hatch...more waiting.
Again recalled, again on the table, again a test picture, again the wait for the verdict. Again, the word was not encouraging. Inappreciable movement of the barium. From the look of sheer distress as she imparted this news, the nurse knew that I was not in good straights. She was gone for quite awhile before returning with 2 more cups of barium and some fairly uplifting news. The radiologist had decided to follow this course. Give me a large dose of barium. Then, I could go home for 2 hours. While there, I was permitted a light meal and liquid. He was actually hoping that the action of eating might help to move the barium through the colon. I was unabashedly grateful and expressed this to the nurse, whom I suspect played a large part in securing this mercy.
So, I redressed, returned and fixed a nutrient-dense lunch of fresh pear and cherries, raw nuts, coconut and vegetables. First, though, my fingers reached for liquid. Blessed, blessed liquid. The only time in my life I had felt so parched was during a trip taken to Disneyworld when I was a child. We sat on the curb in the blistering summer heat waiting for the parade. I had no liquid and I dehydrated to the point where my tongue was swollen and sore in my mouth. This current situation came in second place. I installed myself on the couch and rested my feet, body and mind in preparation for the next round at the hospital.
Seeing the hospital loom over my dashboard was a deflating experience, but one I hoped would be a productive one. Fingers crossed, I re-donned the hospital garb and waited. The nurse came to retrieve me and she wore an unconvincingly encouraging smile. Hop up, take picture, wait. I could see the door into which she disappeared with my x-ray and the fact that she peeked around its corner a few times to look at me did not fill me with confidince. Her return confirmed this feeling. The barium had migrated only a portion of its necessary course, but the doctor was going to come in and look at things as best he could anyway.
Now, the procedure is actually fascinating, as you can see what is going on in real time on the same monitor at which the doctor is looking. So, I could see my innards, which I find interesting. It was easy to see the stunted progress of the barium and the next bit actually made me laugh. To move the barium along, the doctor was reduced to pushing and squeezing my abdomen. I could see the barium squirt from zone to zone like mustard being squeezed from the bottle. Push, squeeze, push, squeeze...further and further the barium was herded until enough information was gathered to make some judgements.
As far as the doctor could see, there were no masses or structural problems. However, all was definitely not good. There was but a tiny fraction of the normal peristaltic motion present in the Gi tract. The stool was so packed it had backed up into my small intestine! Effectively, the intestines are failing to effectively move material along the designated pathway. They are not shut down completely, but the movement is so slow, that the problem is in the level of serious. Today, I go to see a gastroenterologist. I did ask the radiologist if the liver enlargement and the GI problem could be related and he said that a number of factors could be at play for the GI, but there were things that could work for both systems. Likely, the gastroenterologist will have specific tests to order and medications to try along those lines. Yippee? Crap? Hurray? BooHoo? I just don't know.
So, my tale continues. Again, for the last time, I sit on my butt. My legs were punished yesterday and were on fire last night. Today, a hurricane blows, it seems, outside, as it did yesterday. Mother Nature also seems to be going through a bad patch. But, I am in good spirits and cannot say that I am blue today. I think I have passed beyond the stage of depression into the stage of acceptance. Not that I am giving up, but rather, I simply take things as they come and neither worry about the future nor grieve over the past. Work the problem and live the day. I did hear some glorious news yesterday, though. A colleague emailed me that my students miss me. One senior asked her to bring to me a small gift and another teacher had spied some of my students making cards for me on their own time in the library. We hear so much about the heinous fiends inhabiting our school systems that we forget that most of the kids are a good and decent bunch. Despite everything, I went to bed with a smile on my face. My friends love me and my students miss me. How can life be that bad :-)
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Well, Isn't This Just Dandy
We are having a Nor'easter! No snow, but lashing winds and torrential rain. With temps only in the 50's, this makes for misery. But, I am coming to believe that if I open a fortune cookie, the slip will be blank...
Yesterday went as I expected upon returning home. First off, I accidentally sabotaged myself from taking my new antibiotic right away. I was feeling so horribly bloated and toxic due to, well being bloated and toxic, that I made one of my magnesium citrate/stevia/diet coke ramrodders. Actually, I made two. While drinking these, I decided to research my new prescription and the first bit of information that hits my eye is that you cannot take the compound 2 hours before or 2 hours after any supplement, etc. with magnesium! So, I had some waiting to do...
This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though, as it gave me more time to research the medication. I was prescribed Levaquin. My previous antibiotic was good ol' Amoxocillin. It did squat diddly against the invading beasts. Levaquin is another caliber of antibiotic. It is a quinolone antibiotic. That's the group in which you find Cipro, that people went nuts to get hold of during the Anthrax scare. This class of antibiotic works a bit differently than others, so they are often used when other things don't work or for certain bacterial strains that only they can remedy. The first bits of info I read were basically the generic descriptions and form-letter list of side effects. Normal stuff there. However, I then stumbled upon the rest of the story.
Levaquin and its siblings are widely hated due to the seemingly high incidence of severe side effects they can produce. I had read that about 40% of people on Levaquin do experience adverse effects, but those were mild-moderate. About 7-10% experience nasty ones, though, and I wonder if that number is actually a low estimate. There is even an organized group trying to get consumer protection for these drugs. On the positive side, many people do receive substantial benefit from the quinolones, as always it is an individual issue. But it does make one wonder...
Levaquin Side Effects
Ratings for Levaquin
Levaquin Message Board
With my luck, I'll be a suicidal paranoid with insomnia and ruptured tendons in a few days. Took my first dose and did feel somewhat hyper and mucous-rich. Sleep was marginal, but that is nothing atypical. Dose 2 will be this afternoon...
My research did not lighten my mood and it was further blackened by the tremendous bloating produced by the rapidly decreasing atmospheric pressure. This situation was far worse than normal for two reasons. First, the pressure was dipping very, very low due to this current storm system. Second, I was FILLED with fluid. Fluid expands with sinking pressures, and I am carrying around far more fluid than usual. Oh, the sheer torture! My legs, stomach, butt, face - all round and puffy. My level of discomfort was extreme. The nice thing was that if we experienced a flood, I was already my own personal flotation device.
Today is more evil weather into which I must venture for my GI work at the hospital. How fun. And, I can eat nothing until the test, which is at 10:30. That is not happy-making. I like my breakfast! That is usually my day's largest meal, so its absence definitely impacts my day. As I move more into a raw diet, breakfast will become lighter - I'm shooting for fruit, nuts and perhaps some soaked/sprouted grains. I am doing pretty well handling fruit, and that is a joyful thing. I think the raw plan, which pushes tons of fresh veggies and fruits and tons of nuts, seeds and avocado might work for me. At least for this stage in my life.
So, onward into more testing. Onward into the storm. Onward into life. Always onward...always onward....
Yesterday went as I expected upon returning home. First off, I accidentally sabotaged myself from taking my new antibiotic right away. I was feeling so horribly bloated and toxic due to, well being bloated and toxic, that I made one of my magnesium citrate/stevia/diet coke ramrodders. Actually, I made two. While drinking these, I decided to research my new prescription and the first bit of information that hits my eye is that you cannot take the compound 2 hours before or 2 hours after any supplement, etc. with magnesium! So, I had some waiting to do...
This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though, as it gave me more time to research the medication. I was prescribed Levaquin. My previous antibiotic was good ol' Amoxocillin. It did squat diddly against the invading beasts. Levaquin is another caliber of antibiotic. It is a quinolone antibiotic. That's the group in which you find Cipro, that people went nuts to get hold of during the Anthrax scare. This class of antibiotic works a bit differently than others, so they are often used when other things don't work or for certain bacterial strains that only they can remedy. The first bits of info I read were basically the generic descriptions and form-letter list of side effects. Normal stuff there. However, I then stumbled upon the rest of the story.
Levaquin and its siblings are widely hated due to the seemingly high incidence of severe side effects they can produce. I had read that about 40% of people on Levaquin do experience adverse effects, but those were mild-moderate. About 7-10% experience nasty ones, though, and I wonder if that number is actually a low estimate. There is even an organized group trying to get consumer protection for these drugs. On the positive side, many people do receive substantial benefit from the quinolones, as always it is an individual issue. But it does make one wonder...
Levaquin Side Effects
Ratings for Levaquin
Levaquin Message Board
With my luck, I'll be a suicidal paranoid with insomnia and ruptured tendons in a few days. Took my first dose and did feel somewhat hyper and mucous-rich. Sleep was marginal, but that is nothing atypical. Dose 2 will be this afternoon...
My research did not lighten my mood and it was further blackened by the tremendous bloating produced by the rapidly decreasing atmospheric pressure. This situation was far worse than normal for two reasons. First, the pressure was dipping very, very low due to this current storm system. Second, I was FILLED with fluid. Fluid expands with sinking pressures, and I am carrying around far more fluid than usual. Oh, the sheer torture! My legs, stomach, butt, face - all round and puffy. My level of discomfort was extreme. The nice thing was that if we experienced a flood, I was already my own personal flotation device.
Today is more evil weather into which I must venture for my GI work at the hospital. How fun. And, I can eat nothing until the test, which is at 10:30. That is not happy-making. I like my breakfast! That is usually my day's largest meal, so its absence definitely impacts my day. As I move more into a raw diet, breakfast will become lighter - I'm shooting for fruit, nuts and perhaps some soaked/sprouted grains. I am doing pretty well handling fruit, and that is a joyful thing. I think the raw plan, which pushes tons of fresh veggies and fruits and tons of nuts, seeds and avocado might work for me. At least for this stage in my life.
So, onward into more testing. Onward into the storm. Onward into life. Always onward...always onward....
Monday, May 23, 2005
Lil' Me
Upon reaching adulthood, I have neither increased nor decreased in height. It is my mind that tells me whether I am "big" or "little," and that changes day to day. I'm not referring to weight, but everything about me. Some days I am lil' me. Some days I am not. I like the "not" days the best.
"Not" days are those where I feel enormous. My brain, my body, my heart and my soul are strong and powerful. I feel like a Valkyrie or Amazon. Sturdy, sparking with vitality. Rock solid and ready to tackle anything. An Earth Mother, but not those mewling, nurturing ones you see pictured around. An unstoppable, primal female virtually indistinguishable from pure natural energy. This is not to be confused with happiness, though. These days are not necessarily happy days, although some definitely are joyful. These are simply days when all forces align properly and I am expanded by the actions of physics. I feel like I have in each hand a live wire and I am an integral part of the universal circuit.
Other days are "lil' me" days. Days of dimunition. Tinier than Tom Thumb, more frail than the oldest resident of a retirement home. Weak of limb, slow of mind and hesitant of action. Like the smallest mouse in the field, ever watchful for predators. I feel that I have insufficent energy to rise to even the most minor challenge; the energy barely covers holding the atoms of my body together in human form. And these are not necessarily sad days. My emotional state could be quite perky, but I have the size and ability of a tragically premature baby.
Today is a lil' me day. Emotionally, I am fine. No blues, no sadness, no frustration. But I feel very, very small. The cumulative abuse my body has given me combined with the inactivity over the past few days has whittled the mighty oak to a toothpick. I am again resting with feet raised, as they have not healed especially well. I am hopeful to get an appointment today to discuss receiving a prescription for a new antibiotic. I am most hopeful that tomorrow is a "not" day, as I have a GI series to undergo and would much like to feel strong for that ordeal. But, I know from experience that I cannot will these days into being. I can manipulate my mood to a degree, but not the pattern of "lil' me" and "not" days. There is some magical ritual in which my body and subconscious participate to shape my days. I am not part of that rite. I simply receive the results and behave accordingly. A puppet on a string, perhaps, but at least it is actually me that is controlling the puppet. Now, if I can just make myself dance...
"Not" days are those where I feel enormous. My brain, my body, my heart and my soul are strong and powerful. I feel like a Valkyrie or Amazon. Sturdy, sparking with vitality. Rock solid and ready to tackle anything. An Earth Mother, but not those mewling, nurturing ones you see pictured around. An unstoppable, primal female virtually indistinguishable from pure natural energy. This is not to be confused with happiness, though. These days are not necessarily happy days, although some definitely are joyful. These are simply days when all forces align properly and I am expanded by the actions of physics. I feel like I have in each hand a live wire and I am an integral part of the universal circuit.
Other days are "lil' me" days. Days of dimunition. Tinier than Tom Thumb, more frail than the oldest resident of a retirement home. Weak of limb, slow of mind and hesitant of action. Like the smallest mouse in the field, ever watchful for predators. I feel that I have insufficent energy to rise to even the most minor challenge; the energy barely covers holding the atoms of my body together in human form. And these are not necessarily sad days. My emotional state could be quite perky, but I have the size and ability of a tragically premature baby.
Today is a lil' me day. Emotionally, I am fine. No blues, no sadness, no frustration. But I feel very, very small. The cumulative abuse my body has given me combined with the inactivity over the past few days has whittled the mighty oak to a toothpick. I am again resting with feet raised, as they have not healed especially well. I am hopeful to get an appointment today to discuss receiving a prescription for a new antibiotic. I am most hopeful that tomorrow is a "not" day, as I have a GI series to undergo and would much like to feel strong for that ordeal. But, I know from experience that I cannot will these days into being. I can manipulate my mood to a degree, but not the pattern of "lil' me" and "not" days. There is some magical ritual in which my body and subconscious participate to shape my days. I am not part of that rite. I simply receive the results and behave accordingly. A puppet on a string, perhaps, but at least it is actually me that is controlling the puppet. Now, if I can just make myself dance...
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Science Brain Good
I was born with a science brain. From an early age, I had a curiosity about things. Far away places, what was in my yard, what lived where and why, the construction and malfunction of the body...I wasn't much of a mechanically-inclined person. Frankly, I had no interest in how devices worked. I never took apart a clock or built complex devices with Tinker Toys, but I had an immense compositional curiosity about the world. What made up what. How did things come together to make a whole. The inventory fascinated me. I didn’t really care HOW things came together to function, I just cared about creating a mental library.
More chemist than physicist, I guess, although neither subject was my favorite in school. I liked life sciences, literature, art history, geography – all courses with a strong categorical basis. In biology, I liked whole animal zoology. I ran from genetics and physiology. Those are more mechanical courses – how do organisms function. I wanted to know what types of organisms were out there. What did they look like? How did they behave? Yes, the “why” behind the scenes was of interest, but it was what came second. The “what” always prevailed. Into science I went for a career and stay there still, albeit in the area of science education.
But, I find that this scientific curiosity about things comes in quite handy in other ways. For, along with my love of inventory, comes my love of combinations. “What would happen if?” is a question I ask myself many times per day. “A whole lot of nothing” might be the answer. Or “a bleeping disaster.” But, sometimes it is “hey, cool beans.” Regardless, I don’t hesitate to try my cauldron stirring. And that is what it really is…personal voodoo. Whether it be for something to eat or a body care potion, I often find myself staring at a series of items and wondering what would happen if I mixed them up.
In my head, I can see/smell/taste/feel what I think I would like to happen and just do what makes sense to achieve that vision. Not always is this sensical, though. I don’t often have a real reason for mixing A with B and expecting C, but it does sometimes work. I go by intuition. By thinking about other combinations in which these items find themselves. I could research these items, of course, in the fashion of a chemist, and fine-tune my experiments, but I never have the urge. I generally research things after the fact, often just to know more data about the items - their history, appearance in natural form, etc. I think if I really researched things beforehand, I might not do some of the crazy things I do and that would be a shame.
I go by experience, intuition and silliness. Today is a good example. I am moving into a raw diet plan and this allows all fruits and vegetables. Well, I have had problems in the past with lots of fruits and veggies disrupting my blood sugar profile. This is likely due to my rampant consumption of high glycemic index foods. So, how to return to more fruit and veggies without going crazy again? Hmmm…protein doesn’t make me crazy, neither does fat. Both are very low GI. Raw food has a far lower GI value than its cooked counterpart. So, mishmash a concoction to give me things with a higher glycemic index in a way that my blood sugar won’t dance the funky chicken. Today, I had a fresh, cold juicy, sugary pear. A whole one. I haven’t done that in years. I didn’t go chasing my neighbors with an axe either (not that I’d be much of a threat with the condition of my feet). Why? I mixed up a big bowl of pure protein “pudding” and chopped up the pear into the mash. Then, mixed in a big handful of pumpkin seeds. Very sweet, cool, crunchy, tasty and I savored every single bite.
My CAT scan showed that I am packed with poop. So, how to move the poop? The doctor said take magnesium citrate, but the solutions at the pharmacy are laden with pure sugar. This will not do. Ok. Need magnesium citrate (which is normally in powder form and which I happened to have in my pantry). Caffeine also makes for a successful poo. The secondary value of the morning cup of coffee. Ok, again. Magnesium citrate does not taste good on its own. Ok, a third time. Mix up magnesium citrate, stevia for sweetening and a load of Diet Coke with Splenda in a tall glass. Today has seen more successful bathroom vacations than in recent memory.
I concocted recently an apple cider vinegar cooler that I now keep by my side like a faithful dog. The only thing I knew about ACV was the propagandist ads you see for the pills in health food stores. So, I didn’t concoct it for any health reasons (although, subsequent research shows that it does have some very good health benefits for many individuals). I just wanted something that had a sweet-acid flavor like soda. I was trying to reduce my dependency on soda and thought about what was the specific flavor combination in soda that drew my alliegance. Then, what did I have in the house to replicate that. Few people would, on a lark, mix vinegar, stevia and water for any reason. I did and consumed the result with glee.
That is how I cook and how I bake. What would happen if……I don’t always meet with success, but even the failures have the benefit of giving me a laugh. I don’t even think about what would necessarily taste good together, I just wonder sometimes how this and this would taste if it were mixed. Note for potential houseguests – I am not so cavalier when I cook for other people. I would not subject anyone else to being the first tester of last night’s dinner, for example. What would happen if I crushed up an acidophilus tablet into a food-processored mass of cabbage, tomato, onion and cilantro. Salsa is sour due to vinegar, but fermenting things makes them sour, too. Ok. Whip that up. But, bacteria like heat. Ok, again. I have a heating pad. Put the mass in a glass, cover with a paper towel and wrap in a heating pad. Temperature never gets to the level that the food is no longer “living” or kill the bacteria. Worked. Would have been better if I had let it go longer, but I could tell it was on its way to fermented nirvana…
For better or for worse, my science brain dictates much of what I do. Likely, I would find more success if I followed tried and true recipes and methods for things, but where’s the fun in that? Far more interesting to embark on a project when there is the possibility of failure – makes you more committed to succeed…
More chemist than physicist, I guess, although neither subject was my favorite in school. I liked life sciences, literature, art history, geography – all courses with a strong categorical basis. In biology, I liked whole animal zoology. I ran from genetics and physiology. Those are more mechanical courses – how do organisms function. I wanted to know what types of organisms were out there. What did they look like? How did they behave? Yes, the “why” behind the scenes was of interest, but it was what came second. The “what” always prevailed. Into science I went for a career and stay there still, albeit in the area of science education.
But, I find that this scientific curiosity about things comes in quite handy in other ways. For, along with my love of inventory, comes my love of combinations. “What would happen if?” is a question I ask myself many times per day. “A whole lot of nothing” might be the answer. Or “a bleeping disaster.” But, sometimes it is “hey, cool beans.” Regardless, I don’t hesitate to try my cauldron stirring. And that is what it really is…personal voodoo. Whether it be for something to eat or a body care potion, I often find myself staring at a series of items and wondering what would happen if I mixed them up.
In my head, I can see/smell/taste/feel what I think I would like to happen and just do what makes sense to achieve that vision. Not always is this sensical, though. I don’t often have a real reason for mixing A with B and expecting C, but it does sometimes work. I go by intuition. By thinking about other combinations in which these items find themselves. I could research these items, of course, in the fashion of a chemist, and fine-tune my experiments, but I never have the urge. I generally research things after the fact, often just to know more data about the items - their history, appearance in natural form, etc. I think if I really researched things beforehand, I might not do some of the crazy things I do and that would be a shame.
I go by experience, intuition and silliness. Today is a good example. I am moving into a raw diet plan and this allows all fruits and vegetables. Well, I have had problems in the past with lots of fruits and veggies disrupting my blood sugar profile. This is likely due to my rampant consumption of high glycemic index foods. So, how to return to more fruit and veggies without going crazy again? Hmmm…protein doesn’t make me crazy, neither does fat. Both are very low GI. Raw food has a far lower GI value than its cooked counterpart. So, mishmash a concoction to give me things with a higher glycemic index in a way that my blood sugar won’t dance the funky chicken. Today, I had a fresh, cold juicy, sugary pear. A whole one. I haven’t done that in years. I didn’t go chasing my neighbors with an axe either (not that I’d be much of a threat with the condition of my feet). Why? I mixed up a big bowl of pure protein “pudding” and chopped up the pear into the mash. Then, mixed in a big handful of pumpkin seeds. Very sweet, cool, crunchy, tasty and I savored every single bite.
My CAT scan showed that I am packed with poop. So, how to move the poop? The doctor said take magnesium citrate, but the solutions at the pharmacy are laden with pure sugar. This will not do. Ok. Need magnesium citrate (which is normally in powder form and which I happened to have in my pantry). Caffeine also makes for a successful poo. The secondary value of the morning cup of coffee. Ok, again. Magnesium citrate does not taste good on its own. Ok, a third time. Mix up magnesium citrate, stevia for sweetening and a load of Diet Coke with Splenda in a tall glass. Today has seen more successful bathroom vacations than in recent memory.
I concocted recently an apple cider vinegar cooler that I now keep by my side like a faithful dog. The only thing I knew about ACV was the propagandist ads you see for the pills in health food stores. So, I didn’t concoct it for any health reasons (although, subsequent research shows that it does have some very good health benefits for many individuals). I just wanted something that had a sweet-acid flavor like soda. I was trying to reduce my dependency on soda and thought about what was the specific flavor combination in soda that drew my alliegance. Then, what did I have in the house to replicate that. Few people would, on a lark, mix vinegar, stevia and water for any reason. I did and consumed the result with glee.
That is how I cook and how I bake. What would happen if……I don’t always meet with success, but even the failures have the benefit of giving me a laugh. I don’t even think about what would necessarily taste good together, I just wonder sometimes how this and this would taste if it were mixed. Note for potential houseguests – I am not so cavalier when I cook for other people. I would not subject anyone else to being the first tester of last night’s dinner, for example. What would happen if I crushed up an acidophilus tablet into a food-processored mass of cabbage, tomato, onion and cilantro. Salsa is sour due to vinegar, but fermenting things makes them sour, too. Ok. Whip that up. But, bacteria like heat. Ok, again. I have a heating pad. Put the mass in a glass, cover with a paper towel and wrap in a heating pad. Temperature never gets to the level that the food is no longer “living” or kill the bacteria. Worked. Would have been better if I had let it go longer, but I could tell it was on its way to fermented nirvana…
For better or for worse, my science brain dictates much of what I do. Likely, I would find more success if I followed tried and true recipes and methods for things, but where’s the fun in that? Far more interesting to embark on a project when there is the possibility of failure – makes you more committed to succeed…
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Stem Cells and Chopsticks
One of the news stories today dealt with Korea's advancements in stem cell research. One factor linked, supposedly, to this level of achievment was their laboratory skills. Stem cell research requires fairly dextrous manipulation of laboratory tools. Accuracy and precision are absolutely required. The story suggested that the Asian reliance on chopsticks for meals trained their hands/fingers to perform very delicate and precise manuevers and this skill translated into the laboratory.
Hmmmm.....does make sense. It takes little ability to wield a fork or spoon. The knives that we use at the dinner table are designed to function in gross cutting actions. They aren't designed to train a surgeon. Chopsticks are another matter. They require highly developed fine motor skills. A session of observation at an Asian restaurant will quickly demonstrate this fact. It is amusing to watch the untrained attempt to consume their meals using these utensils. Most give up after a few failed tries and move on to traditional Western items. Children fare better than adults, I find. Their small fingers more quickly master the movements and placements necessary for success and, most importantly, they aren't afraid to fail. An adult hesitates to learn to use chopsticks in public for fear of making themselves look silly. Children don't think that way. They might get frustrated as they like to "get things right" and the longer they fail, the hungrier they get. But, they'll work at it far harder and longer than any adult.
America was built on hard work and determination. Struggle and sacrifice. People who never gave up despite famine, poverty, war, discrimination. Now, we make beginner chopsticks because people are too self-conscious/lazy/boobish to learn to use real ones. The come in all colors and some are even patterned. They don't look like chopsticks, really, and aren't nearly as efficient. But they can be used with pride by those who sufficiently self-deluded. Regardless of an individual's lack of manual dexterity, they can grab a shrimp tempura and smile with their success.
Asians prise skill and maintenance of skill. Americans are getting away from that idea. Once, we were there. We took pride in the items crafted by hand. Our artisans were revered. Any job requiring the happy union of knowledge and craft was looked upon with honor. From a carpenter to a butcher, individuals started young learning their skills and practiced them through life. Now, many traditional occupations of this line are not viewed with respect. Individuals do not embrace their craft with the pride and commitment that comes with knowing a job is important and well-regarded. Work is sloppy, fast and haphazard. The beauty and technical quality is being eroded quickly. Many cultures still maintain the cultural respect for the craftsman. The weaver, potter, carpenter, tinker...these individuals occupy an important place in communities. No longer is this the situation in America.
I think that when a culture values hand-work, there is a general tendency to incorporate more hand-work into daily life. People sew, fix, arrange...they use their hands every day for tasks that require coordination of eye, hand, finger...It is more a part of the culture than it would otherwise be, as we see in America. We do not teach children skills of the hand. We do not encourage practice of fine manipulation. I think that we have it in the backs of our heads that they won't need these skills later on, so why bother. Well, perhaps the situation with Korea's stem cell success demonstrates why we should bother. Not only have we lost, I feel, a valuable part of our culture and society, but we may be losing out even in the areas in which we pride ourselves - technology and research development. Perhaps the government should now provide chopsticks as part of the school lunch program. Might make salisbury steak a ton more fun, at the very least...
Hmmmm.....does make sense. It takes little ability to wield a fork or spoon. The knives that we use at the dinner table are designed to function in gross cutting actions. They aren't designed to train a surgeon. Chopsticks are another matter. They require highly developed fine motor skills. A session of observation at an Asian restaurant will quickly demonstrate this fact. It is amusing to watch the untrained attempt to consume their meals using these utensils. Most give up after a few failed tries and move on to traditional Western items. Children fare better than adults, I find. Their small fingers more quickly master the movements and placements necessary for success and, most importantly, they aren't afraid to fail. An adult hesitates to learn to use chopsticks in public for fear of making themselves look silly. Children don't think that way. They might get frustrated as they like to "get things right" and the longer they fail, the hungrier they get. But, they'll work at it far harder and longer than any adult.
America was built on hard work and determination. Struggle and sacrifice. People who never gave up despite famine, poverty, war, discrimination. Now, we make beginner chopsticks because people are too self-conscious/lazy/boobish to learn to use real ones. The come in all colors and some are even patterned. They don't look like chopsticks, really, and aren't nearly as efficient. But they can be used with pride by those who sufficiently self-deluded. Regardless of an individual's lack of manual dexterity, they can grab a shrimp tempura and smile with their success.
Asians prise skill and maintenance of skill. Americans are getting away from that idea. Once, we were there. We took pride in the items crafted by hand. Our artisans were revered. Any job requiring the happy union of knowledge and craft was looked upon with honor. From a carpenter to a butcher, individuals started young learning their skills and practiced them through life. Now, many traditional occupations of this line are not viewed with respect. Individuals do not embrace their craft with the pride and commitment that comes with knowing a job is important and well-regarded. Work is sloppy, fast and haphazard. The beauty and technical quality is being eroded quickly. Many cultures still maintain the cultural respect for the craftsman. The weaver, potter, carpenter, tinker...these individuals occupy an important place in communities. No longer is this the situation in America.
I think that when a culture values hand-work, there is a general tendency to incorporate more hand-work into daily life. People sew, fix, arrange...they use their hands every day for tasks that require coordination of eye, hand, finger...It is more a part of the culture than it would otherwise be, as we see in America. We do not teach children skills of the hand. We do not encourage practice of fine manipulation. I think that we have it in the backs of our heads that they won't need these skills later on, so why bother. Well, perhaps the situation with Korea's stem cell success demonstrates why we should bother. Not only have we lost, I feel, a valuable part of our culture and society, but we may be losing out even in the areas in which we pride ourselves - technology and research development. Perhaps the government should now provide chopsticks as part of the school lunch program. Might make salisbury steak a ton more fun, at the very least...
One Day More
Actually 2 days more...2 days more of sitting and biding time while the feet heal. The unrelenting boredom of yesterday was broken only by my visit to the doctor's office. And, for some reason, I was especially toxic and putrid. Weighing even more than on my previous visit and virtually incapable of walking, I waddled like an obese toddler with a too-tight diaper into my doctor's office. This time, I was not kept waiting very long, although the waiting room was still a textbook case of uncomfortable. The outcome this time? Further information, more medication and more tests. The information - the addition to my laundry list of symptoms was an enlarged liver. I really don't drink (about 1 drink/6 months), so I cannot claim behavioral responsibility for this one. Also, blood tests indicate that my protein level is very, very low. Despite noshing protein like a bodybuilder, none of it is sticking around very long. The medication - a higher dosage of Lasix, magnesium citrate and TED socks. The Lasix is to try and pop the water ballon into which I have morphed. The magnesium citrate is to move the prodigious poop festering in my system as much as possible. The TED socks, aka compression hose, are to help with the foot swelling. So, I have diuretics, laxatives and sup-hose. I am officially 79 years old. The tests - more blood work to work on the protein and liver problems. Also a GI series scheduled for Tuesday. Then, its an appointment with a gastroenterologist.
Whew. The high point of my day was an icy cold Diet Cherry-Vanilla Dr. Pepper while waiting for my prescription to be filled. So, further tests and further questions. SSDD, SOS... But, I guess it counts as progress (at least I'm going to look at it that way). But I also received orders to spend the weekend with feet raised. Another 2 days of inactivity, of movies, of surfing the web, of trying to read and then getting distracted by my enforced inactivity. I find it difficult to read in situations like this. My brain races too fast, thinking of all the things I can't do. The TV is good for these times in that I can pay only cursory attention and get the gist of the program. Reading requires focus and concentration and I am too tetchy right now to focus on the written word.
What shall be the theme, then, of my movie marathon? Thursday it was happy, fun movies. Comedies. Yesterday it was tense, action pictures. Each day's movies paralleling my mood. Today? I'm not sure at this point. I am not euphoric, but I'm not nervous as a cat. I'm in pain only when I walk around (getting out of bed and to the bathroom was an unqualified ordeal). As long as I'm propped, the feet have yet to bother me. The weather is awful - cold, windy and drizzly. No temptation to go out. Yesterday was gorgeous, so I was not happy about having to waste the day inside. It was like I had been robbed of a rare opportunity. I have no agenda or appointments to prey on my brain.
Today is devoid of features, either positive or negative, to set the tone for the time. Could I turn this to my advantage? Could I give form to the formless? Research shows that even when you don't feel happy, if you make yourself smile and pretend to be happy, you will feel happier. So, could I watch fun and funny films, play games on the computer, visit humorous sites on the Internet and play silly culinary games in the kitchen and create my own bubble of positive energy? I am not blue today, but I could sink in that direction quickly if my boredom continues. So, I'll pretend today is last Thursday and maybe that happy day will overpaint today's gray canvas. No harm in trying...
Whew. The high point of my day was an icy cold Diet Cherry-Vanilla Dr. Pepper while waiting for my prescription to be filled. So, further tests and further questions. SSDD, SOS... But, I guess it counts as progress (at least I'm going to look at it that way). But I also received orders to spend the weekend with feet raised. Another 2 days of inactivity, of movies, of surfing the web, of trying to read and then getting distracted by my enforced inactivity. I find it difficult to read in situations like this. My brain races too fast, thinking of all the things I can't do. The TV is good for these times in that I can pay only cursory attention and get the gist of the program. Reading requires focus and concentration and I am too tetchy right now to focus on the written word.
What shall be the theme, then, of my movie marathon? Thursday it was happy, fun movies. Comedies. Yesterday it was tense, action pictures. Each day's movies paralleling my mood. Today? I'm not sure at this point. I am not euphoric, but I'm not nervous as a cat. I'm in pain only when I walk around (getting out of bed and to the bathroom was an unqualified ordeal). As long as I'm propped, the feet have yet to bother me. The weather is awful - cold, windy and drizzly. No temptation to go out. Yesterday was gorgeous, so I was not happy about having to waste the day inside. It was like I had been robbed of a rare opportunity. I have no agenda or appointments to prey on my brain.
Today is devoid of features, either positive or negative, to set the tone for the time. Could I turn this to my advantage? Could I give form to the formless? Research shows that even when you don't feel happy, if you make yourself smile and pretend to be happy, you will feel happier. So, could I watch fun and funny films, play games on the computer, visit humorous sites on the Internet and play silly culinary games in the kitchen and create my own bubble of positive energy? I am not blue today, but I could sink in that direction quickly if my boredom continues. So, I'll pretend today is last Thursday and maybe that happy day will overpaint today's gray canvas. No harm in trying...
Friday, May 20, 2005
The Sun is a Sluggard
I was up long before it dragged its lazy carcass from its bed. My tortured feet hit the floor at 2:30 am and the rest of me followed, albeit unwillingly. I do not like rising that early. At least this time, I had the blessings of the medical community to use the extra hours in a frivolous and non-productive fashion. Normally, I feel a real guilt at letting found time go to waste. If the time has nothing to document its existence, then it is time wasted. But, today I had the paper in hand to permit the luxury of American-style waste.
I am tired today. The euphoria of yesterday has mellowed into the mudane and I am feeling the effects of the emotional and physical rollercoaster on which I have been riding for a week or so. Yesterday, the ride reached its highest high and I threw up my arms and let out a joyful "Wheee!" as I enjoyed the exhiliration of the heart-stimulating descent. But, the descent marked the end of the trip and, as with all thrill rides, there is a period of readjustment and unsteadiness following disembarkation. That rather describes the morning. I fell as if there is something I am forgetting. Something that I should be doing be am avoiding. What I am missing is the worry, the mental weighing of options, the physical preparations to make my body capable of meeting a new day with minimum pain and inconvenience.
For the last week or so, the factor structuring my days has been my feet. The examination, the home-based medical care, the choice of footwear both for leisure and work, the planning of the day's agenda to minimize time spent walking or standing, researching for new ways to reduce swelling and inflammation, etc. I had a project. A juicy bone to chew. I had been presented with a challenge. That has kept me quite busy. Surprisingly, it is what likely has kept me functional during this time to the level at which I have been operating. I sink my teeth into challenges and projects. The energy that stimulates in me has likely been the energy on which my body has drawn to continue day to day. Were I am more apathetic, complacent, uncurious, passive individual, there is great likelihood that this week would have been one of pure inactivity. I would likely have allowed the situation to wrestle me to the ground and pin me there indefinitely. But, like a perpetual motion machine, once set in motion, I continue on and on without external input of energy. I am my own power plant when so inclined, and the glove-slap of challenge is sufficient to make me "so inclined."
Today, however, is marked by a lack of challenge. Of course, I have no real answers for my other health concerns, but those are old and ongoing. I have nothing fresh and immediate to which to turn my attention. No focus, no direction in which to channel my mental energies. If there is nothing in my day on which to "obsess", I seem out of sorts. And it is obsession that I desire. At least temporary obsession. I want something thrown down in front of me like a steak in front of a dog. Something I can attack, chew, rip, render, masticate, shred, swallow and digest. And, like the dog with the steak, I enjoy it. I am thrilled. Even if a project is marked with frustration from beginning to end, the mental/physical exercise is rejuvenating. The acute concern of my feet fit this pattern. The chronic concerns of my whole body do not. That is why I hate them so.
Today, I see my doctor for an assessment of the cellulitis condition and a discussion of my other health tests. The sun is shining and it is supposed to be warm. Were I not bacterially crippled, I would walk to her office - it is only a few blocks from the house. If she ordered more tests, I could just as easily walk to the hospital. It is a few blocks from my house in the other direction. But, I will have to drive the distance as the feet are not up to the ordeal. Till then, though, I will occupy myself as I did yesterday. Rest, watch movies and keep the feet off of the floor. Perhaps, if I can find a suitable support, I will move myself for a time to the front porch where I have a chair for sitting and watching the world go by. The feet will need to be raised, so planning must take place. Perhaps a cardboard box. I do have a step stool. What about one of those small side tables that they sell to accompany plastic outdoor furniture? I could obtain one on the way back from the doctor's appointment. Ok, ok, I'm trying to create a project. Sometimes, a wacky's gotta do what a wacky's gotta do...
I am tired today. The euphoria of yesterday has mellowed into the mudane and I am feeling the effects of the emotional and physical rollercoaster on which I have been riding for a week or so. Yesterday, the ride reached its highest high and I threw up my arms and let out a joyful "Wheee!" as I enjoyed the exhiliration of the heart-stimulating descent. But, the descent marked the end of the trip and, as with all thrill rides, there is a period of readjustment and unsteadiness following disembarkation. That rather describes the morning. I fell as if there is something I am forgetting. Something that I should be doing be am avoiding. What I am missing is the worry, the mental weighing of options, the physical preparations to make my body capable of meeting a new day with minimum pain and inconvenience.
For the last week or so, the factor structuring my days has been my feet. The examination, the home-based medical care, the choice of footwear both for leisure and work, the planning of the day's agenda to minimize time spent walking or standing, researching for new ways to reduce swelling and inflammation, etc. I had a project. A juicy bone to chew. I had been presented with a challenge. That has kept me quite busy. Surprisingly, it is what likely has kept me functional during this time to the level at which I have been operating. I sink my teeth into challenges and projects. The energy that stimulates in me has likely been the energy on which my body has drawn to continue day to day. Were I am more apathetic, complacent, uncurious, passive individual, there is great likelihood that this week would have been one of pure inactivity. I would likely have allowed the situation to wrestle me to the ground and pin me there indefinitely. But, like a perpetual motion machine, once set in motion, I continue on and on without external input of energy. I am my own power plant when so inclined, and the glove-slap of challenge is sufficient to make me "so inclined."
Today, however, is marked by a lack of challenge. Of course, I have no real answers for my other health concerns, but those are old and ongoing. I have nothing fresh and immediate to which to turn my attention. No focus, no direction in which to channel my mental energies. If there is nothing in my day on which to "obsess", I seem out of sorts. And it is obsession that I desire. At least temporary obsession. I want something thrown down in front of me like a steak in front of a dog. Something I can attack, chew, rip, render, masticate, shred, swallow and digest. And, like the dog with the steak, I enjoy it. I am thrilled. Even if a project is marked with frustration from beginning to end, the mental/physical exercise is rejuvenating. The acute concern of my feet fit this pattern. The chronic concerns of my whole body do not. That is why I hate them so.
Today, I see my doctor for an assessment of the cellulitis condition and a discussion of my other health tests. The sun is shining and it is supposed to be warm. Were I not bacterially crippled, I would walk to her office - it is only a few blocks from the house. If she ordered more tests, I could just as easily walk to the hospital. It is a few blocks from my house in the other direction. But, I will have to drive the distance as the feet are not up to the ordeal. Till then, though, I will occupy myself as I did yesterday. Rest, watch movies and keep the feet off of the floor. Perhaps, if I can find a suitable support, I will move myself for a time to the front porch where I have a chair for sitting and watching the world go by. The feet will need to be raised, so planning must take place. Perhaps a cardboard box. I do have a step stool. What about one of those small side tables that they sell to accompany plastic outdoor furniture? I could obtain one on the way back from the doctor's appointment. Ok, ok, I'm trying to create a project. Sometimes, a wacky's gotta do what a wacky's gotta do...
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Cellulitis
That is my foot diagnosis. By day's end yesterday, I was in tortuous pain and my legs from feet halfway up my calves looked like they had been dipped in boiling water for a few minutes. Hot, bright red, swollen. Despite smiling my way through the day at work (with an impromptu rendition of Mercedes Benz for one class), I was on the verge of taking a scalpel and performing surgery on myself and removing the offending body parts from the rest of me.
I saw the nurst pratitioner at 4:15 and, by that hour, I was ready to die. The waiting area and examination room were, to me, hot and stifiling. On the edge of passing out, I croaked "water, please" as soon as she walked into the room. Quickly she dropped her clipboard and got me cups of cold water. After she was assured that I was stabilized, she looked at my feet, looked at me and we both laughed. Of course I was overly hot, overly sensitive, wobbly...I was being eaten alive by an army of bacteria that had invaded the deeper tissues of my skin and were marching along destroying everything in their path. I had cellulitis.
Cellulitis is rather common, you see it in kids and adults, both. But, it can be very, very serious if not treated quickly and I was at the stage of "hope oral antibiotics work." If not, its into the hospital for intravenous antibiotics. Although the flesh-eating bacteria are an extreme example of this condition, I counted my toes and they still number 10. That is comforting.
What is cellulitis? An staph or strep (or other) bacteria infecttion that gets into the connective tissue and subdermal skin layers. It can also get into the lymphatic system and use it as a highway to move around and also pummel your immune system. Here are a couple of links for the science-minded:
Cellulitis - Mayo.com
Cellulitis - Merck
Now, this doesn't explain my other health tribulations, but at least is one thing diagnosed and on the road to treatment. More progress that I've seen in a coon's age and my mood today is as elevated as my feet. Real accomplishment. Something with a name. A tangible enemy to fight. Just the ticket!
The pharmacy provided me with the necessary antibiotics and Tylenol and I sit today with feet raised, movies on the television and a large apple cider vinegar cooler at my side. I am under doctor's order to stay off of my feet except for absolute necessities. I have a doctor's note which forbids me from attending work today and only permits it tomorrow if my feet have responded sufficiently to the antibiotics. Staring at my plump piggies peeking over the top of my monitor, I have a suspicion that tomorrow will be another day of rest.
I phone conference with my doctor today and have an appointment to see her tomorrow. Another feature of yesterday's visit was a few of the results from my latest round of tests. The nurse pratitioner said that the doctor would study them and give me a more detailed profile, but she mentioned a couple of things. The chest x-ray showed no abnormalities. That rules out congestive heart failure. Yeah! Blood glucose and potassium were normal. Yeah! No arthritis factors. Yeah! Sodium was low, though, which is weird. There was blood in the urine, but not a tremendous amount. I was also anemic. The biggest thing, though, was that I was completely packed with poop. Now, I've always been constipated, but apparently, this is far beyond the norm. "Stem to Stern" was her description. For that, I will likely have to be referred to a gastroenterologist to see why things just don't move. So, another wrinkle in the suit of my life...
I count yesterday as a success. Some possibilities ruled out, which is positive. Nothing definitive diagnosed, but perhaps the doctor will have more insight to narrow the focus of our search. Feet under control, hopefully. After such a long string of failure and frustration, yesterday's few crumbs of information are mind-lightening. No wonder I'm choosing happy films to watch today...
I saw the nurst pratitioner at 4:15 and, by that hour, I was ready to die. The waiting area and examination room were, to me, hot and stifiling. On the edge of passing out, I croaked "water, please" as soon as she walked into the room. Quickly she dropped her clipboard and got me cups of cold water. After she was assured that I was stabilized, she looked at my feet, looked at me and we both laughed. Of course I was overly hot, overly sensitive, wobbly...I was being eaten alive by an army of bacteria that had invaded the deeper tissues of my skin and were marching along destroying everything in their path. I had cellulitis.
Cellulitis is rather common, you see it in kids and adults, both. But, it can be very, very serious if not treated quickly and I was at the stage of "hope oral antibiotics work." If not, its into the hospital for intravenous antibiotics. Although the flesh-eating bacteria are an extreme example of this condition, I counted my toes and they still number 10. That is comforting.
What is cellulitis? An staph or strep (or other) bacteria infecttion that gets into the connective tissue and subdermal skin layers. It can also get into the lymphatic system and use it as a highway to move around and also pummel your immune system. Here are a couple of links for the science-minded:
Cellulitis - Mayo.com
Cellulitis - Merck
Now, this doesn't explain my other health tribulations, but at least is one thing diagnosed and on the road to treatment. More progress that I've seen in a coon's age and my mood today is as elevated as my feet. Real accomplishment. Something with a name. A tangible enemy to fight. Just the ticket!
The pharmacy provided me with the necessary antibiotics and Tylenol and I sit today with feet raised, movies on the television and a large apple cider vinegar cooler at my side. I am under doctor's order to stay off of my feet except for absolute necessities. I have a doctor's note which forbids me from attending work today and only permits it tomorrow if my feet have responded sufficiently to the antibiotics. Staring at my plump piggies peeking over the top of my monitor, I have a suspicion that tomorrow will be another day of rest.
I phone conference with my doctor today and have an appointment to see her tomorrow. Another feature of yesterday's visit was a few of the results from my latest round of tests. The nurse pratitioner said that the doctor would study them and give me a more detailed profile, but she mentioned a couple of things. The chest x-ray showed no abnormalities. That rules out congestive heart failure. Yeah! Blood glucose and potassium were normal. Yeah! No arthritis factors. Yeah! Sodium was low, though, which is weird. There was blood in the urine, but not a tremendous amount. I was also anemic. The biggest thing, though, was that I was completely packed with poop. Now, I've always been constipated, but apparently, this is far beyond the norm. "Stem to Stern" was her description. For that, I will likely have to be referred to a gastroenterologist to see why things just don't move. So, another wrinkle in the suit of my life...
I count yesterday as a success. Some possibilities ruled out, which is positive. Nothing definitive diagnosed, but perhaps the doctor will have more insight to narrow the focus of our search. Feet under control, hopefully. After such a long string of failure and frustration, yesterday's few crumbs of information are mind-lightening. No wonder I'm choosing happy films to watch today...
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Holy Pickle Hell!!
MY FEET HURT!!!!!!!!! Almighty heavens, my feet hurt. What was swelling and some discoloration is now a mass of fiery flesh. It hurts with that toxic, stinging, itching evil that signals more than a simple over-accumulation of water. It signals something ugly.
Yesterday was my CAT scan. I dutifully took my contrast solutions and held off on my 2nd Lasix dose until after the scan. The scan went swimmingly. I arrived early and was taken early. No problem with the IV and I got to keep my clothes on! They took me early, so I was very enthusiastic about having more of my afternoon available. My enthusiasm went down when speaking with the technician, however.
She was very knowledgeable, professional and to the point. I like that. Now, about 5 years ago I was there for fluid accumulation in the legs and they did a CAT scan at that point. This was not long after I started losing weight. I NEVER heard anything about it, so figured things were hunky-dory. So, she was reviewing my prior hospital stay and mentioned that they had found fluid in my abdomen during the last scan. This was news to me. Not that it is a life-threatening situation, but it is not quite the norm and no one bothered to bring it to my attention. Then, at the end of the scan, she noticed my ankles and became quite alarmed. My “oh, its just swelling, we’re working on that,” didn’t quell her concern and she urged me to get into the doctor again very soon. Hmmmm….
Returned home and took my Lasix. Now, the first batch did make me pee, but I was also taking it with apple cider vinegar, celery juice, dandelion root tea…Yesterday, I didn’t have those things and I wasn’t peeing after the dose of Lasix. It was only after I had more tea, celery and apple cider vinegar that the increased urination occurred, and it was hours later, while I was trying to sleep. I went to bed early and was up every hour or so to pee. Each time I rose from the bed, my ankles didn’t hold and I fell back into the bed. They hurt with raw heat. Not dull, but immediate and fierce. I finally stayed up at 2:00 am and resolved that something was terribly wrong.
So, the morning was spent with a roiling pit of anxiety in my stomach and a head rattled with indecision. What do I do? Go to the Emergency Room. What a hassle. And what if it is really something requiring an aspirin for resolution. Call the doctor? The office complex doesn’t open until 8:30 am and I didn’t want to go through the call the answering service, wait for the on-call people to return your call, etc. So, I opted for Door #3. Go to work, get someone to cover my class while I ran upstairs to use the phone and schedule an appointment for after work. I’ll only be able to see the nurse-practitioner, but if the situation is dire, it’s a large HMO-style complex. Someone with an MD can sign off on whatever is needed for me to remedy this situation.
Of course, this was the one day that I had a lovely social event planned. I was to meet my accountant for a coffee to chat and discuss a nutritional program that she represents. It sounds quite interesting and I was looking most forward to some gal gabbing and learning more about the vitamins and supplements. But, that will have to wait until next week, now. I now get another afternoon devoted to medical matters and mental perturbation.
I long for some true relaxation. I am so tired of staying in high-gear for one reason or another. I am tired of it being one thing after another. I am tired of having a little something nice on the horizon and having to put it aside for immediate concerns. I am tired of not being able to plan or schedule any recreation time since I don’t know how I will feel or what I will be doing on any given day. I am tired of not having a life. But that is not likely to change right now. Right now, my life is my health and I find that repellent. Health should always be a major concern for a successful life. But, in a positive way. To cook and eat delicious, nutritious foods, to participate in fitness activities, to have the standard round of medical and dental check-ups, to avoid poor lifestyle decisions…Things that work to make life happy and hearty. Not this type of concern. Where each day brings a new thing over which to worry. Another symptom, another crisis, another call to the doctor.
Today, I am sitting trying to rest my legs as best as possible. It is not doing much to alleviate the discomfort, but I’m probably not making it worse. My students are involved in standardized testing, so curriculum is fairly out the window for a week. I guess I can take that as a positive coincidence. Part of me wants to go in this afternoon and be mandated to do nothing but lay on the couch and sleep. Part of me wants to be told that I am a big baby and to go home and hide my face in shame. I am unanimous in not wanting to hear “I don’t know.” That could send me violent at this point. That would be the one thing that I would not tolerate with grace. I want something done. I want medication, balm, cream, spray, compresses, poultices, laying-on-hands, ritual and incense – something. Something to work the problem. It might not succeed, but at least it was a try. Better a swing and a miss than getting beaned by the ball…
Yesterday was my CAT scan. I dutifully took my contrast solutions and held off on my 2nd Lasix dose until after the scan. The scan went swimmingly. I arrived early and was taken early. No problem with the IV and I got to keep my clothes on! They took me early, so I was very enthusiastic about having more of my afternoon available. My enthusiasm went down when speaking with the technician, however.
She was very knowledgeable, professional and to the point. I like that. Now, about 5 years ago I was there for fluid accumulation in the legs and they did a CAT scan at that point. This was not long after I started losing weight. I NEVER heard anything about it, so figured things were hunky-dory. So, she was reviewing my prior hospital stay and mentioned that they had found fluid in my abdomen during the last scan. This was news to me. Not that it is a life-threatening situation, but it is not quite the norm and no one bothered to bring it to my attention. Then, at the end of the scan, she noticed my ankles and became quite alarmed. My “oh, its just swelling, we’re working on that,” didn’t quell her concern and she urged me to get into the doctor again very soon. Hmmmm….
Returned home and took my Lasix. Now, the first batch did make me pee, but I was also taking it with apple cider vinegar, celery juice, dandelion root tea…Yesterday, I didn’t have those things and I wasn’t peeing after the dose of Lasix. It was only after I had more tea, celery and apple cider vinegar that the increased urination occurred, and it was hours later, while I was trying to sleep. I went to bed early and was up every hour or so to pee. Each time I rose from the bed, my ankles didn’t hold and I fell back into the bed. They hurt with raw heat. Not dull, but immediate and fierce. I finally stayed up at 2:00 am and resolved that something was terribly wrong.
So, the morning was spent with a roiling pit of anxiety in my stomach and a head rattled with indecision. What do I do? Go to the Emergency Room. What a hassle. And what if it is really something requiring an aspirin for resolution. Call the doctor? The office complex doesn’t open until 8:30 am and I didn’t want to go through the call the answering service, wait for the on-call people to return your call, etc. So, I opted for Door #3. Go to work, get someone to cover my class while I ran upstairs to use the phone and schedule an appointment for after work. I’ll only be able to see the nurse-practitioner, but if the situation is dire, it’s a large HMO-style complex. Someone with an MD can sign off on whatever is needed for me to remedy this situation.
Of course, this was the one day that I had a lovely social event planned. I was to meet my accountant for a coffee to chat and discuss a nutritional program that she represents. It sounds quite interesting and I was looking most forward to some gal gabbing and learning more about the vitamins and supplements. But, that will have to wait until next week, now. I now get another afternoon devoted to medical matters and mental perturbation.
I long for some true relaxation. I am so tired of staying in high-gear for one reason or another. I am tired of it being one thing after another. I am tired of having a little something nice on the horizon and having to put it aside for immediate concerns. I am tired of not being able to plan or schedule any recreation time since I don’t know how I will feel or what I will be doing on any given day. I am tired of not having a life. But that is not likely to change right now. Right now, my life is my health and I find that repellent. Health should always be a major concern for a successful life. But, in a positive way. To cook and eat delicious, nutritious foods, to participate in fitness activities, to have the standard round of medical and dental check-ups, to avoid poor lifestyle decisions…Things that work to make life happy and hearty. Not this type of concern. Where each day brings a new thing over which to worry. Another symptom, another crisis, another call to the doctor.
Today, I am sitting trying to rest my legs as best as possible. It is not doing much to alleviate the discomfort, but I’m probably not making it worse. My students are involved in standardized testing, so curriculum is fairly out the window for a week. I guess I can take that as a positive coincidence. Part of me wants to go in this afternoon and be mandated to do nothing but lay on the couch and sleep. Part of me wants to be told that I am a big baby and to go home and hide my face in shame. I am unanimous in not wanting to hear “I don’t know.” That could send me violent at this point. That would be the one thing that I would not tolerate with grace. I want something done. I want medication, balm, cream, spray, compresses, poultices, laying-on-hands, ritual and incense – something. Something to work the problem. It might not succeed, but at least it was a try. Better a swing and a miss than getting beaned by the ball…
The Paper and The Metal
In my pockets rides a full complement of United States currency and the documentation of the items for which the currency was exchanged. Always in the front pockets - I do not even understand why back pockets are sewn onto women’s pants. We neither pack a naked wallet nor a tin of Skoal. Only the front pockets are useful and in mine can always be found cash and trash. I qualify receipts as trash as I don’t save them for any productive use such as item returns or tax preparations. They are scrap paper to me and often serve that function when a notebook is not at hand.
Check any pair of pants, any coat or jacket and enough legal tender could be found to purchase the week’s groceries. The number of receipts, if recycled, would make a new ream of copier paper. Like roaches, they check in, but they don’t check out. At least until a great purge. These occur periodically. I remove from my pockets all items and find homes for the inhabitants. Receipts find themselves relocated to the very modern, stainless steel highrise called File 13. The money is either shoved into my bulging wallet or scraped from countertop directly into my purse. The implication here is that my wallet and my purse are as haphazardly provided with cash and trash as my pockets. This is correct. My wallet can scarcely be zipped due to its extensive girth. Filled with countless, crumpled one-dollar bills, plenteous pennies and receipts of every size and color. My purse is a non-organized pit into which many items are unceremoniously dumped during the course of a week. Chaos theory manages my purse, pocket and wallet organization, but it works for me.
However, there are no other objects that you could guarantee finding in my personal carry-ons. Nothing. No grooming object, no cream or lotion, no lucky charm or treasured keepsake, no bit of silliness…nothing. The only sureties are money and receipts. And they are most certainly sureties.
The question becomes “why?” It is not a random thing. I will go so far as to remove the wad of coins and paper from my pockets upon undressing, only to replace them when dressing the next morning. I have repeated this action for the same wadded handful of objects for an entire week, without ever spending any of the cash or purging any of the receipts. It is almost like a part of the dressing ritual. First layer of clothes, next layer, shoes, wad in pants pocket, off to brush the hair. I will wage Jihad against my wallet to zip it closed rather than remove some of its contents. My purse weighs more than me and the effort to find a desired object in the forest of receipts and litter-layers of papers and coins is Herculean.
These continuously toted objects do not necessarily enhance my day. But, I tote them nonetheless. I could organize them far more efficiently so that I could still keep them near and dear, but in a more efficient and useful manner. Ummm…no. I could. I don’t. I move through each day with pockets filled, wallet bursting, purse weighing down the right-side of my body producing an awkward gait. And no member of this item list is give any more priority than others. A $50.00 bill will be crammed into the pocket of a pair of jeans with as little thought as a nickel. And may stay there until happily rediscovered weeks later. I have no allegiance to the almighty dollar and, therefore, no respect for its representatives.
I think that is the root of the issue, in some ways. I have no respect for money. Not that I think money is evil, but I view it as a very commonplace thing. Something to do a job and nothing more. Receipts – the same. Purchases and objects are things to use and I do not even think about them come tax time. When an item is defective or inappropriate for my needs, I do try and return it. If I bought it, I bought it for a need and that need still exists unfulfilled. Often, I can find the receipt for the object by investigating all of my trousers and upending my purse onto the kitchen table. But, if the time of return falls subsequent to a Great Purge, the receipt will have been deposited in the landfill long ago. When I purge receipts, it is indiscriminate. They ALL go. I don’t pine, I don’t rant or rage. I accept it philosophically and either purchase again or do without.
I am also a pack rat. This is genetic. I do horde, although I have curbed this behavior greatly with my move into my new condo. This behavior modification has not extended to my cash and trash stash, however. I wonder if it represents a human version of Stray Cat Syndrome. Stray cats will gorge themselves when presented with food, as they are accustomed to going for extended periods without provisions. They don’t know when their next meal will arrive, so they eat all they can when it is available. Some grow out of this behavior once adopted, others don’t. I think I might be one of those that hasn’t.
For a period of my life, there was a cash drought of environmental disaster proportions. Living in a shabby apartment in a disreputable area of the town to which I had moved when I left my ex-husband, I was living on credit cards for bills, groceries and gasoline. My eye was fixed on a final divorce settlement that would clear the bills. Ultimately that was all I got, but that was enough. For day to day things, a bottle of soda, a cute bauble, a spontaneous trip to the theater, that one or two items that you forget during the week’s grocery trip…for that I had nothing. My pockets were so empty you could hear the whistle of the wind blowing through them. I had no ready cash. I had nothing for those little things that most people take for granted when out and about. How many days I went hungry, as I didn’t have a few dollars to stop and buy a salad? To try and remember to fill bottles of soda or water from home, as I wouldn’t have any money to buy them while at work or doing errands. My cash would be guarded like gold for the laundromat. That was the ultimate goal of my cash. Everything else was on plastic and I prayed each night that justice would at least raise me from this hole once my marriage bonds were severed.
The receipts? Proof, perhaps, that I am out of the hole. I can buy things. Not large things, that is not the point. These receipts are for bottles of soda, a pack of tissues, a bag of ice, a bell pepper and onion from the grocery. They represent the fact that I have pocket change. That is why a $50.00 and a $1.00 are inseparable in my mind. They both represent the same thing – something in my pocket. That is all that counts – something on my person. The freedom to buy a card for a friend on a whim. The ability to pay a toll if one unexpectedly arises during an out-and-about. To loan a kid a dollar to buy lunch when they are short. At any time I have ample proof to myself that I am out of the dark and cold hole in which an important part of my life was spent. I am not rich. I don’t have the ability to do and have everything I want. But, I feel like a “normal” person on the threshold of their 4th decade. It’s a pretty good feeling, I must say.
Check any pair of pants, any coat or jacket and enough legal tender could be found to purchase the week’s groceries. The number of receipts, if recycled, would make a new ream of copier paper. Like roaches, they check in, but they don’t check out. At least until a great purge. These occur periodically. I remove from my pockets all items and find homes for the inhabitants. Receipts find themselves relocated to the very modern, stainless steel highrise called File 13. The money is either shoved into my bulging wallet or scraped from countertop directly into my purse. The implication here is that my wallet and my purse are as haphazardly provided with cash and trash as my pockets. This is correct. My wallet can scarcely be zipped due to its extensive girth. Filled with countless, crumpled one-dollar bills, plenteous pennies and receipts of every size and color. My purse is a non-organized pit into which many items are unceremoniously dumped during the course of a week. Chaos theory manages my purse, pocket and wallet organization, but it works for me.
However, there are no other objects that you could guarantee finding in my personal carry-ons. Nothing. No grooming object, no cream or lotion, no lucky charm or treasured keepsake, no bit of silliness…nothing. The only sureties are money and receipts. And they are most certainly sureties.
The question becomes “why?” It is not a random thing. I will go so far as to remove the wad of coins and paper from my pockets upon undressing, only to replace them when dressing the next morning. I have repeated this action for the same wadded handful of objects for an entire week, without ever spending any of the cash or purging any of the receipts. It is almost like a part of the dressing ritual. First layer of clothes, next layer, shoes, wad in pants pocket, off to brush the hair. I will wage Jihad against my wallet to zip it closed rather than remove some of its contents. My purse weighs more than me and the effort to find a desired object in the forest of receipts and litter-layers of papers and coins is Herculean.
These continuously toted objects do not necessarily enhance my day. But, I tote them nonetheless. I could organize them far more efficiently so that I could still keep them near and dear, but in a more efficient and useful manner. Ummm…no. I could. I don’t. I move through each day with pockets filled, wallet bursting, purse weighing down the right-side of my body producing an awkward gait. And no member of this item list is give any more priority than others. A $50.00 bill will be crammed into the pocket of a pair of jeans with as little thought as a nickel. And may stay there until happily rediscovered weeks later. I have no allegiance to the almighty dollar and, therefore, no respect for its representatives.
I think that is the root of the issue, in some ways. I have no respect for money. Not that I think money is evil, but I view it as a very commonplace thing. Something to do a job and nothing more. Receipts – the same. Purchases and objects are things to use and I do not even think about them come tax time. When an item is defective or inappropriate for my needs, I do try and return it. If I bought it, I bought it for a need and that need still exists unfulfilled. Often, I can find the receipt for the object by investigating all of my trousers and upending my purse onto the kitchen table. But, if the time of return falls subsequent to a Great Purge, the receipt will have been deposited in the landfill long ago. When I purge receipts, it is indiscriminate. They ALL go. I don’t pine, I don’t rant or rage. I accept it philosophically and either purchase again or do without.
I am also a pack rat. This is genetic. I do horde, although I have curbed this behavior greatly with my move into my new condo. This behavior modification has not extended to my cash and trash stash, however. I wonder if it represents a human version of Stray Cat Syndrome. Stray cats will gorge themselves when presented with food, as they are accustomed to going for extended periods without provisions. They don’t know when their next meal will arrive, so they eat all they can when it is available. Some grow out of this behavior once adopted, others don’t. I think I might be one of those that hasn’t.
For a period of my life, there was a cash drought of environmental disaster proportions. Living in a shabby apartment in a disreputable area of the town to which I had moved when I left my ex-husband, I was living on credit cards for bills, groceries and gasoline. My eye was fixed on a final divorce settlement that would clear the bills. Ultimately that was all I got, but that was enough. For day to day things, a bottle of soda, a cute bauble, a spontaneous trip to the theater, that one or two items that you forget during the week’s grocery trip…for that I had nothing. My pockets were so empty you could hear the whistle of the wind blowing through them. I had no ready cash. I had nothing for those little things that most people take for granted when out and about. How many days I went hungry, as I didn’t have a few dollars to stop and buy a salad? To try and remember to fill bottles of soda or water from home, as I wouldn’t have any money to buy them while at work or doing errands. My cash would be guarded like gold for the laundromat. That was the ultimate goal of my cash. Everything else was on plastic and I prayed each night that justice would at least raise me from this hole once my marriage bonds were severed.
The receipts? Proof, perhaps, that I am out of the hole. I can buy things. Not large things, that is not the point. These receipts are for bottles of soda, a pack of tissues, a bag of ice, a bell pepper and onion from the grocery. They represent the fact that I have pocket change. That is why a $50.00 and a $1.00 are inseparable in my mind. They both represent the same thing – something in my pocket. That is all that counts – something on my person. The freedom to buy a card for a friend on a whim. The ability to pay a toll if one unexpectedly arises during an out-and-about. To loan a kid a dollar to buy lunch when they are short. At any time I have ample proof to myself that I am out of the dark and cold hole in which an important part of my life was spent. I am not rich. I don’t have the ability to do and have everything I want. But, I feel like a “normal” person on the threshold of their 4th decade. It’s a pretty good feeling, I must say.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Well, it is Rather Humorous
After enduring nearly a week of painful leg swelling, I went to the doctor yesterday. I also had to go to the hospital for blood tests, chest X-rays and to pick up the doses of contrast solution for this afternoon’s CAT scan. A full day of medical bead-rattling to continue clarifying my health concerns. Of course, things went fine, but…
First off, it was a miserable day. Warm and I had over-dressed. Moved through the day feeling like a chicken in the oven. Rainy. Low pressures make me blue and bloated. I could barely button my jeans and finally discarded the jeans in favor of sweatpants. So, I was fat and hot. There was no joy in Mudville…
Next, I arrive at the hospital to undergo my laboratory tests. Normally, you grab a number from a box and wait. This time, however, they had made the process more “efficient.” They had erected 4 registration booths, at which only 2 people were working. The line resembled the bread queue during the Depression. And, not to disparage the elderly (ok, yes to disparage the elderly), they are starved for social interaction and gab with whomever they contact. Forgetting that everyone else DOES have a life, they monopolize the time of shopkeepers, bank tellers, civil servants and, of course, hospital registration officials. Each of the two hospital personnel was servicing elderly patients who droned on and on about various events of their lives impacted by the Civil War and why Mr. Roosevelt should have kicked Stalin in the testicles. It was an eternity before I was actually allowed the privilege of moving to the waiting area for my tests.
I was quite fortunate in that the woman drawing my blood was good. Some are not. You have to be exquisitely incompetent to botch drawing my blood. My veins stand out like those on a body builder. You can trace my circulatory system down to the level of the venule and some individuals are still unable to draw blood without multiple sticks or, my favorite, wiggling the needle around once inserted subdermally. This woman was very good at her job and personable to boot. A nice bright spot to the day.
Then onto radiology. The obligatory hospital robe leaving my bony back exposed to the elements. They said I could keep on my pants, at least. The X-rays went well except that I had to keep my moon medallion clenched between my teeth during the scans. I could have removed it, but in the interests of time and laziness, I chose to clamp down on it. With its short chain, this caused somewhat of a strangling effect. But, like an obsessive, I continued with this action despite its discomfort through the initial series and the retakes when the first set came out poorly.
I arrived home sweating, tired, poked, prodded, irradiated and irritated. I threw off my garments and lay bloated and naked in my dark cool room for a few minutes, before donning loose shorts and a t-shirt. I puttered about the house until it was time for my doctor’s appointment, accomplishing little but quaffing copious quantities of dilute apple cider vinegar and sweetened celery-dandelion root smoothies. All designed for diuresis. Prep to Pee…
Arrived at the doctor’s office and was, surprisingly, taken on time. I burst out laughing when the assistant put me on the scale. 128 pounds. Admittedly, this was with clothes, but it pointed out with an exclamation point the amount of fluid I was carrying. Removing my shoes in the examining room caused the assistant to draw breath at the sight of my pitiful feet and ankles. Swollen beyond belief and disgustingly discolored. She hustled out to get the doctor and I sat in the chair with my head resting on the wall behind me. Shutting my eyes, I relaxed for the first time that day. The doctor came in, I opened one eye and simply said “I want Lasix.” Her reply? “You got it.” She proceeded to check out the extent of the swelling to determine my dosage, but never questioned the need for a race-horse strength diuretic. She also ordered more blood tests, but, when I told her I had just had a round at the hospital, ran out of the room and called the hospital lab to add on her requests to the already-drawn samples. Saved me an additional sticking. But, I couldn’t leave without doing something. That left urine. Well, at least that was a painless lab test…
Took my prescription and hobbled down to the pharmacy. Received my prized pee pills and marveled at their tiny size. Such an effect for a miniscule medicinal. Returned home and popped one immediately. It was also time to take my first dose of contrast fluid for the CAT scan. Now, one of the side effects of the contrast solution is diarrhea. And, since I live under the guidelines of Murphy’s Law, I manifested that effect. So, the Lasix was making me pee with frightening frequency and the contrast dye was giving me the scoots. My only restroom is on the 2nd floor. The urge hits with frightening force. I begin to race upstairs. AAAAHHHHH! Bad ankles/feet/legs. Pain, pain, pain…can’t slow down…make it to toilet without a second to spare. Back downstairs. Uh oh….
Today, things are more relaxed. I take the Lasix once a day and I’ll take it later after work. My next dose of contrast solution is due at 1:30 pm, and that is at the end of my last teaching block for the day. So, work won’t be impacted by my situation.
I am hopeful that this round of tests produces some results with real information. So far, each test has produced only the order for another test. My fingers are crossed, tough, that things will be coming to a conclusion soon. Till then, its detoxify, keep life simple and quiet. Accept each day’s challenges with a smile and a song in my heart. Unfortunately, that song might be “Crazy Train”…..
First off, it was a miserable day. Warm and I had over-dressed. Moved through the day feeling like a chicken in the oven. Rainy. Low pressures make me blue and bloated. I could barely button my jeans and finally discarded the jeans in favor of sweatpants. So, I was fat and hot. There was no joy in Mudville…
Next, I arrive at the hospital to undergo my laboratory tests. Normally, you grab a number from a box and wait. This time, however, they had made the process more “efficient.” They had erected 4 registration booths, at which only 2 people were working. The line resembled the bread queue during the Depression. And, not to disparage the elderly (ok, yes to disparage the elderly), they are starved for social interaction and gab with whomever they contact. Forgetting that everyone else DOES have a life, they monopolize the time of shopkeepers, bank tellers, civil servants and, of course, hospital registration officials. Each of the two hospital personnel was servicing elderly patients who droned on and on about various events of their lives impacted by the Civil War and why Mr. Roosevelt should have kicked Stalin in the testicles. It was an eternity before I was actually allowed the privilege of moving to the waiting area for my tests.
I was quite fortunate in that the woman drawing my blood was good. Some are not. You have to be exquisitely incompetent to botch drawing my blood. My veins stand out like those on a body builder. You can trace my circulatory system down to the level of the venule and some individuals are still unable to draw blood without multiple sticks or, my favorite, wiggling the needle around once inserted subdermally. This woman was very good at her job and personable to boot. A nice bright spot to the day.
Then onto radiology. The obligatory hospital robe leaving my bony back exposed to the elements. They said I could keep on my pants, at least. The X-rays went well except that I had to keep my moon medallion clenched between my teeth during the scans. I could have removed it, but in the interests of time and laziness, I chose to clamp down on it. With its short chain, this caused somewhat of a strangling effect. But, like an obsessive, I continued with this action despite its discomfort through the initial series and the retakes when the first set came out poorly.
I arrived home sweating, tired, poked, prodded, irradiated and irritated. I threw off my garments and lay bloated and naked in my dark cool room for a few minutes, before donning loose shorts and a t-shirt. I puttered about the house until it was time for my doctor’s appointment, accomplishing little but quaffing copious quantities of dilute apple cider vinegar and sweetened celery-dandelion root smoothies. All designed for diuresis. Prep to Pee…
Arrived at the doctor’s office and was, surprisingly, taken on time. I burst out laughing when the assistant put me on the scale. 128 pounds. Admittedly, this was with clothes, but it pointed out with an exclamation point the amount of fluid I was carrying. Removing my shoes in the examining room caused the assistant to draw breath at the sight of my pitiful feet and ankles. Swollen beyond belief and disgustingly discolored. She hustled out to get the doctor and I sat in the chair with my head resting on the wall behind me. Shutting my eyes, I relaxed for the first time that day. The doctor came in, I opened one eye and simply said “I want Lasix.” Her reply? “You got it.” She proceeded to check out the extent of the swelling to determine my dosage, but never questioned the need for a race-horse strength diuretic. She also ordered more blood tests, but, when I told her I had just had a round at the hospital, ran out of the room and called the hospital lab to add on her requests to the already-drawn samples. Saved me an additional sticking. But, I couldn’t leave without doing something. That left urine. Well, at least that was a painless lab test…
Took my prescription and hobbled down to the pharmacy. Received my prized pee pills and marveled at their tiny size. Such an effect for a miniscule medicinal. Returned home and popped one immediately. It was also time to take my first dose of contrast fluid for the CAT scan. Now, one of the side effects of the contrast solution is diarrhea. And, since I live under the guidelines of Murphy’s Law, I manifested that effect. So, the Lasix was making me pee with frightening frequency and the contrast dye was giving me the scoots. My only restroom is on the 2nd floor. The urge hits with frightening force. I begin to race upstairs. AAAAHHHHH! Bad ankles/feet/legs. Pain, pain, pain…can’t slow down…make it to toilet without a second to spare. Back downstairs. Uh oh….
Today, things are more relaxed. I take the Lasix once a day and I’ll take it later after work. My next dose of contrast solution is due at 1:30 pm, and that is at the end of my last teaching block for the day. So, work won’t be impacted by my situation.
I am hopeful that this round of tests produces some results with real information. So far, each test has produced only the order for another test. My fingers are crossed, tough, that things will be coming to a conclusion soon. Till then, its detoxify, keep life simple and quiet. Accept each day’s challenges with a smile and a song in my heart. Unfortunately, that song might be “Crazy Train”…..
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Me and MIB
I sat watching Men in Black this morning and realized that I would join MIB. In fact, it might be the best place for me. And, I'm not really talking about chasing aliens and using cool weapons. That would be nice, but it is other aspects of the job that more interest me.
Early on in the film, the gorgeous Tommy Lee Jones is telling Will Smith what would be required of him should he join their ranks. The cost - the complete loss of identity and contact with anyone and everyone. Friends and family would forever be out of his life. And, he would not reestablish these sorts of ties with anyone outside of the agency. His life would restart, but much narrower than his previous one. I mentally asked the question "Would I Do That?" and "Cound I Do That?" and the immediate, instinctive answer was "Yes." I tried to take back the resounding "yes" a heartbeat later, but it was too late, of course. Could I drop everything and everyone and move on with another life? Without question. I wouldn't do it for a lark, but for some task or purpose that I deemed sufficiently important or, honestly, interesting, I would do it. And I could. I always have. I can move through life without the conscious effort to maintain relational ties. I do not crave isolation, but I accept it in a very practical fashion. And, my life is not tied to any individual(s) with sufficient force that it would be impacted overly by their absence.
This is not as callous as it sounds, really. It doesn't mean I don't love or don't care. It means that I can rope off the attached part of my soul and close it down for the season. It is a physical thing, almost. Where is that connection? Oh, there it is! Shut off the lights and lock the door. It is a technique, a device, a strategy. With the proper stimulus, I could do that for all the doorways to my life.
I am also interested in the anonymous aspect of the job from the angle of being completely unnoticable. Will Smith is told that he will be recognizable only as deja vu. Crafted to leave no lasting impression. Seen and quickly forgotten. I tire of the looks and stares. To move through the crowds of humanity with as little image as the wind is quite appealing. If I could return to my former appearance (more and more I use the word "if" and not "when"), I would likely feel differently. I am quite extroverted of personality and fill a room upon entering. I am my own party, frankly. Once I had the exterior to supplement the interior. No, I must correct that a bit. My appearance is as striking and startling as my brash manner. My reservoir of will as deep as the caverns of my cheeks. I would enjoy greatly an exterior to match my interior, but an exterior that promoted more positive reactions.
I worry some days that I am building, brick by brick, a personal keep. That I am creating my own "Cask of Amontillado" fate. That I am ensuring that whatever is visited upon me in coming months/years, there will be as little impact on others as possible. What if my health concerns are truly significant? Why pull those in my lives along for the ride to hell? Better to, like a cat, drag myself off alone to meet my fate. To fight and struggle alone, as it would leave others unscathed and untroubled. If they don't know, they can't care.
Early on in the film, the gorgeous Tommy Lee Jones is telling Will Smith what would be required of him should he join their ranks. The cost - the complete loss of identity and contact with anyone and everyone. Friends and family would forever be out of his life. And, he would not reestablish these sorts of ties with anyone outside of the agency. His life would restart, but much narrower than his previous one. I mentally asked the question "Would I Do That?" and "Cound I Do That?" and the immediate, instinctive answer was "Yes." I tried to take back the resounding "yes" a heartbeat later, but it was too late, of course. Could I drop everything and everyone and move on with another life? Without question. I wouldn't do it for a lark, but for some task or purpose that I deemed sufficiently important or, honestly, interesting, I would do it. And I could. I always have. I can move through life without the conscious effort to maintain relational ties. I do not crave isolation, but I accept it in a very practical fashion. And, my life is not tied to any individual(s) with sufficient force that it would be impacted overly by their absence.
This is not as callous as it sounds, really. It doesn't mean I don't love or don't care. It means that I can rope off the attached part of my soul and close it down for the season. It is a physical thing, almost. Where is that connection? Oh, there it is! Shut off the lights and lock the door. It is a technique, a device, a strategy. With the proper stimulus, I could do that for all the doorways to my life.
I am also interested in the anonymous aspect of the job from the angle of being completely unnoticable. Will Smith is told that he will be recognizable only as deja vu. Crafted to leave no lasting impression. Seen and quickly forgotten. I tire of the looks and stares. To move through the crowds of humanity with as little image as the wind is quite appealing. If I could return to my former appearance (more and more I use the word "if" and not "when"), I would likely feel differently. I am quite extroverted of personality and fill a room upon entering. I am my own party, frankly. Once I had the exterior to supplement the interior. No, I must correct that a bit. My appearance is as striking and startling as my brash manner. My reservoir of will as deep as the caverns of my cheeks. I would enjoy greatly an exterior to match my interior, but an exterior that promoted more positive reactions.
I worry some days that I am building, brick by brick, a personal keep. That I am creating my own "Cask of Amontillado" fate. That I am ensuring that whatever is visited upon me in coming months/years, there will be as little impact on others as possible. What if my health concerns are truly significant? Why pull those in my lives along for the ride to hell? Better to, like a cat, drag myself off alone to meet my fate. To fight and struggle alone, as it would leave others unscathed and untroubled. If they don't know, they can't care.
To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Actually, I have been dreaming a lot lately. Very hard dreams promoting very restless sleep. Not bad dreams, just incredibly active. The kind of dreams where you actually feel that you are luiving the dream whle you are snoozing. I wake no more rested than when I went to bed, in fact, I wake more exhausted.
I do not sleep anymore, it seems. I can’t remember a night that I truly rested. I’m not awake, mind you. I do not lie in bed with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling like a vampire stares at her coffin lid. I do shift consciousness to a different plane. The problem is that my “sleep” state is as active, if not more active, than my “awake” state. With the diuretics I’ve been taking, also, this means an extra trip or two to the loo in the middle of the night. So, day by day, the circles under my eyes darken, the vitality flags and the spirits sag. But, life goes on…
Not that I accept this fate passively. I do try to take action to increase the probability of successful rest. I go to bed at an early hour. But, whether or not I go to bed at 8:00 pm or 10:00 pm, it seems to matter not. I have monitored caffeine intake and curbed such as evening approaches. This has not made a difference. Eating too late? Evening snacks do usually contain high proportions of fiber and protein, both harder for the body to digest, so I tried cutting those out of my daily meal plans. No effect. My bedroom is already used only for rest – no television or reading, so there are no behaviors to modify for that. More relaxation? Less relaxation? Doesn’t matter. The only routed I have not and likely will not pursue are the chemically-laced ones – sleeping pills or a stiff nightcap.
My body and brain just don’t want to sleep at this point in time. The resistance is fierce. When everyone else is jubilant that the weekend has arrived so that they can luxuriate with sleep, I think “Whatever.” The weekend holds no special sleeping experiences for me right now. I go to sleep when I feel the urge, and then ride the crazy train until my feet hit the floor the next morning. It feels rather like the day never ends. Sleep acts like a demarcation between one day and the next. I no longer feel that division. Each day just flows into the others, before and after. There is no true beginning and no definite end. I’ve lost the feel of relief when a stressful day ends and the anxious anticipation for a new, fresh day to begin. I find I don’t like this situation. I like the feel the rhythms of a day and they are being blunted by this homogenization.
I find that I want clear definition to my time. I have always been a creature of structure and this might be associated with that trait. I want an old day and a new day. I want a night and a morning. A past and a future. I am finding it hard to exist in a continuous “now.” Of course, one should live in the now for practical aspects of life. Living in the past or neglecting the present by focusing on the future does not promote positive self-growth. But our day to day consciousness should be framed around a delineated time schedule. We should feel a difference between units of time such as the day. I think it provides some grounding to our existence. Some surety in the natural progress of the universe. Sleeping provides some definition to our time and, therefore, our lives.
That might be my problem. I feel undefined. I feel spread out to a nearly amorphous state. The “now” stretches endlessly and I stretch along with it. Never a chapter to close, I am never able to move myself onwards – parts of me remains with the days that have never ended. One day, I may be spread too far to ever again coalesce.
Might be time for that nightcap…
I do not sleep anymore, it seems. I can’t remember a night that I truly rested. I’m not awake, mind you. I do not lie in bed with my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling like a vampire stares at her coffin lid. I do shift consciousness to a different plane. The problem is that my “sleep” state is as active, if not more active, than my “awake” state. With the diuretics I’ve been taking, also, this means an extra trip or two to the loo in the middle of the night. So, day by day, the circles under my eyes darken, the vitality flags and the spirits sag. But, life goes on…
Not that I accept this fate passively. I do try to take action to increase the probability of successful rest. I go to bed at an early hour. But, whether or not I go to bed at 8:00 pm or 10:00 pm, it seems to matter not. I have monitored caffeine intake and curbed such as evening approaches. This has not made a difference. Eating too late? Evening snacks do usually contain high proportions of fiber and protein, both harder for the body to digest, so I tried cutting those out of my daily meal plans. No effect. My bedroom is already used only for rest – no television or reading, so there are no behaviors to modify for that. More relaxation? Less relaxation? Doesn’t matter. The only routed I have not and likely will not pursue are the chemically-laced ones – sleeping pills or a stiff nightcap.
My body and brain just don’t want to sleep at this point in time. The resistance is fierce. When everyone else is jubilant that the weekend has arrived so that they can luxuriate with sleep, I think “Whatever.” The weekend holds no special sleeping experiences for me right now. I go to sleep when I feel the urge, and then ride the crazy train until my feet hit the floor the next morning. It feels rather like the day never ends. Sleep acts like a demarcation between one day and the next. I no longer feel that division. Each day just flows into the others, before and after. There is no true beginning and no definite end. I’ve lost the feel of relief when a stressful day ends and the anxious anticipation for a new, fresh day to begin. I find I don’t like this situation. I like the feel the rhythms of a day and they are being blunted by this homogenization.
I find that I want clear definition to my time. I have always been a creature of structure and this might be associated with that trait. I want an old day and a new day. I want a night and a morning. A past and a future. I am finding it hard to exist in a continuous “now.” Of course, one should live in the now for practical aspects of life. Living in the past or neglecting the present by focusing on the future does not promote positive self-growth. But our day to day consciousness should be framed around a delineated time schedule. We should feel a difference between units of time such as the day. I think it provides some grounding to our existence. Some surety in the natural progress of the universe. Sleeping provides some definition to our time and, therefore, our lives.
That might be my problem. I feel undefined. I feel spread out to a nearly amorphous state. The “now” stretches endlessly and I stretch along with it. Never a chapter to close, I am never able to move myself onwards – parts of me remains with the days that have never ended. One day, I may be spread too far to ever again coalesce.
Might be time for that nightcap…
Quashing the Rebellion
My legs decided to stage a revolt against the rest of me. Ungrateful bastards. I have spent countless bags of green towards their improvement and maintenance and they turn on me without shame. Happy I am not.
For a week or so, I have been fighting terribly swollen legs accompanied by bruising/redness around the ankles. Painful only after inactivity or when first rising, but terrifically annoying and, of course, worrying. I have had the swells before and was hospitalized for this. Four days of intensive poking and prodding led to the brilliant and creative diagnosis of "Dunno." I was discharged with a thank you for your insurance payment and a recommendation to take iron tablets. A repetition of this waste of time will not be repeated. This time, the bruising is a new twist. I have had this, too, before, but isloated in occurrence. I had bruising, but none of the major swelling. Rest, legs elevated and ibuprofen did the trick there. Now, I am the victim of a combo platter. My legs have decided to launch a two-footed assault on me and they are doing a good job of overcoming my defenses.
So, I have been on a Detox plan for a few days now in hopes of purging the bad mojo emanating from my limbs. Diuretics - first, the over-the-counter variety. Little blue pills that are supposed to evict excess fluid. Surprisingly, they worked moderately, but not were not an unqualified success. When pills fail, look to Nature. I am now quaffing liter upon liter of an apple cider vinegar beverage made with natural vinegar, water and stevia. Over and over I fill an empty 2-liter soda bottle and drink, drink, drink...Then, dandelion root tea. Further, celery and parsley made into soups and blended beverages. Not as unpalatable as it sounds - avocado, lemon juice, sweetener, nuts, etc. round out the recipe to make for a very nutritious and tasty food. And, I've gone raw.
Not nekkid. But I am moving towards following more principles of the raw food diet. Not 100%, but definitely nearing 70% now and more to come. Now, I don't necessarity believe their entire philosophy - much of it is New Age hoohah, I feel. But, the basic nutritional ideas are not without foundation. And, it ties in quite nicely with the Paleo diet that I had been working towards in recent months. Despite what many would think, raw food is not an endless procession of salads. Rather, a highly varied repertoire of foods can be prepared and I have been pleased with the results. Just yesterday, lunch centered around soaked raw black soybeans. I was skeptical, but mixed up with Southwestern ingredients, they made for an appealing meal. Of course, the new diet plan comes at cost. I ordered a dehydrator and a good spiral slicer. An inexpensive V-slicer was sufficient and I already have a large and small food processor and blenders. I am now deciding whether or not to get a juicer. Not the Wal-Mart variety, but a several hundred dollar variety. Not, surprisingly, only for juices, but they actually function to process foods for raw food recipes. Cash for health - why do basic needs always cost so much?
So, I sit with feet raised and a portabella cap marinating for dinner. A bottle of apple cider vinegar beverage at my side and a tummy filled with raw almonds, half of a pear and a multitude of fresh vegetables. I can say that I feel pretty good. The feet are a little better with each day and would likely heal faster if I could simply stay off of them for several days in a row. But, needs must and work/life call. Scigirl, going ever more freaky as life goes on. It is odd that my life brings me further from the norm with each passing year, it seems. Rather than morph slowly into the accepted aging model, I am always moving in some bizarre tangential direction. Oh well, keeps life intersting!
For a week or so, I have been fighting terribly swollen legs accompanied by bruising/redness around the ankles. Painful only after inactivity or when first rising, but terrifically annoying and, of course, worrying. I have had the swells before and was hospitalized for this. Four days of intensive poking and prodding led to the brilliant and creative diagnosis of "Dunno." I was discharged with a thank you for your insurance payment and a recommendation to take iron tablets. A repetition of this waste of time will not be repeated. This time, the bruising is a new twist. I have had this, too, before, but isloated in occurrence. I had bruising, but none of the major swelling. Rest, legs elevated and ibuprofen did the trick there. Now, I am the victim of a combo platter. My legs have decided to launch a two-footed assault on me and they are doing a good job of overcoming my defenses.
So, I have been on a Detox plan for a few days now in hopes of purging the bad mojo emanating from my limbs. Diuretics - first, the over-the-counter variety. Little blue pills that are supposed to evict excess fluid. Surprisingly, they worked moderately, but not were not an unqualified success. When pills fail, look to Nature. I am now quaffing liter upon liter of an apple cider vinegar beverage made with natural vinegar, water and stevia. Over and over I fill an empty 2-liter soda bottle and drink, drink, drink...Then, dandelion root tea. Further, celery and parsley made into soups and blended beverages. Not as unpalatable as it sounds - avocado, lemon juice, sweetener, nuts, etc. round out the recipe to make for a very nutritious and tasty food. And, I've gone raw.
Not nekkid. But I am moving towards following more principles of the raw food diet. Not 100%, but definitely nearing 70% now and more to come. Now, I don't necessarity believe their entire philosophy - much of it is New Age hoohah, I feel. But, the basic nutritional ideas are not without foundation. And, it ties in quite nicely with the Paleo diet that I had been working towards in recent months. Despite what many would think, raw food is not an endless procession of salads. Rather, a highly varied repertoire of foods can be prepared and I have been pleased with the results. Just yesterday, lunch centered around soaked raw black soybeans. I was skeptical, but mixed up with Southwestern ingredients, they made for an appealing meal. Of course, the new diet plan comes at cost. I ordered a dehydrator and a good spiral slicer. An inexpensive V-slicer was sufficient and I already have a large and small food processor and blenders. I am now deciding whether or not to get a juicer. Not the Wal-Mart variety, but a several hundred dollar variety. Not, surprisingly, only for juices, but they actually function to process foods for raw food recipes. Cash for health - why do basic needs always cost so much?
So, I sit with feet raised and a portabella cap marinating for dinner. A bottle of apple cider vinegar beverage at my side and a tummy filled with raw almonds, half of a pear and a multitude of fresh vegetables. I can say that I feel pretty good. The feet are a little better with each day and would likely heal faster if I could simply stay off of them for several days in a row. But, needs must and work/life call. Scigirl, going ever more freaky as life goes on. It is odd that my life brings me further from the norm with each passing year, it seems. Rather than morph slowly into the accepted aging model, I am always moving in some bizarre tangential direction. Oh well, keeps life intersting!
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
The Porch
An extension of the house that conjures up literary references, movie scenes and fond memories from all of us. Whether at the front, back or side of the house and regardless of furnishings such as swings, chairs or couches, the porch occupies a special place in our ancestral architectural memory.
Porches can be open or enclosed, but enclosed porches do not really inspire the urge to mix a cool beverage and relax. One needs the unfettered breezes, the bumblebee-buzz near the ears, the occasional leaf landing in the hair. Porches should permit communion with nature in a civilized fashion. Feet on wooden planks, avoiding dirt and water. Chairs on solid, level footing. The slow swaying of hanging plants dangling from decorative hooks. The structure may have a cover, however, and still be an acceptable porch. A wooden umbrella covered with helpful shingles to keep dry our heads on rainy afternoons. But, the smells of the rain, the sound of the refreshed birds after the shower - none of this should be experienced with any impediment from cold glass or hard brick.
Railings are almost requisite for a good porch. They permit the casual leaning of friends engaged in conversation and a makeshift table for supporting icy cold bottles of soda or glasses of homemade lemonade. Wooden slats so arranged that they stand like soldiers in formation around the open space. Defining "your" piece of the ourdoors. That is also a property of porches, they expand the footprint of your territory. True, your yard is your own, but a yard does not command the respect and sanctity of a porch. A child will gladly chase a wayward ball into your yard, but will hesitate before retrieving the escapee from your porch. Although part of the free environment, the porch is still a fixture of your home and the mind views it differently than the surrounding ground.
Good porches make good neighbors. From a porch the comings and goings of a neighborhood can be watched. There is both safety and collegiality in this. With porches, the errant individuals have fewer opportunities to make unseen mischief. With porches, also, problems and dangers are more quickly observed. With porches, individuals are offered the opportunity for spontaneous conversation. Neighbors see each other and this, naturally, leads to conversation and the strengthening of community ties. The porch builds and safeguards the small part of society that we call ours.
There are porch-imposters, of course, but careful examination quickly discloses their true nature. Decks are not porches. Decks are not shaped correctly. They do not gently embrace entire length of your dwelling. They do not play a supporting role in the architecture, enhancing, but not dominating. Decks are boxy, robust and intrusive. They "stick out." They host many things inappropriate for a porch, such as a barbeque grill, a hot tub or a large patio set with colorful umberlla. They cry for attention. Porches are confident in their importance, history and subtle beauty. Decks do not "do" holidays well, either. A proper porch beckons trick-o-treaters and delights in lights for the winter holidays. A deck wears an invisible sign that says "keep off." It does not participate in the traditional holiday decorating ritual. It has function, but no soul.
Stoops are a poor cousin to the porch. Hard and cold, so often made of stone, cement or brick. Even a wooden stoop lacks space and atmosphere for the simplest chair. On the structure you must sit - there is no concession to comfort. A stoop cannot host a sizeable gathering where participants can look into the faces of their friends and loved ones. More than a few gathered individuals and a stoop requires extensive staring at the backs of people's heads. A railing, if it exists, is generally metallic or of stone construction. Not terribly inviting for the throughtful lean or the support of a slowly-sipped beverage. The stoop lacks grace. It lacks the opportunity for the comfortable leisure that is the glory of the porch. There is no ability to sit and hear the rain falling on the roof. You cannot stand and welcome Halloween celebrators with a bench of candles and candy. Stoops offer little purchase for strings of man-made stars or pots filled with exotic blooms. They do build communities, but with harsh price.
A porch is a monument to life as it should be. Connected to both the body of the house and the soul of Nature. The porch models what we aspire to achieve with a balanced life. The place in between the civilized and the wild. Not too extreme with either, but with a foot in the kingdom of each. A porch is a person, and a fine one, at that.
Porches can be open or enclosed, but enclosed porches do not really inspire the urge to mix a cool beverage and relax. One needs the unfettered breezes, the bumblebee-buzz near the ears, the occasional leaf landing in the hair. Porches should permit communion with nature in a civilized fashion. Feet on wooden planks, avoiding dirt and water. Chairs on solid, level footing. The slow swaying of hanging plants dangling from decorative hooks. The structure may have a cover, however, and still be an acceptable porch. A wooden umbrella covered with helpful shingles to keep dry our heads on rainy afternoons. But, the smells of the rain, the sound of the refreshed birds after the shower - none of this should be experienced with any impediment from cold glass or hard brick.
Railings are almost requisite for a good porch. They permit the casual leaning of friends engaged in conversation and a makeshift table for supporting icy cold bottles of soda or glasses of homemade lemonade. Wooden slats so arranged that they stand like soldiers in formation around the open space. Defining "your" piece of the ourdoors. That is also a property of porches, they expand the footprint of your territory. True, your yard is your own, but a yard does not command the respect and sanctity of a porch. A child will gladly chase a wayward ball into your yard, but will hesitate before retrieving the escapee from your porch. Although part of the free environment, the porch is still a fixture of your home and the mind views it differently than the surrounding ground.
Good porches make good neighbors. From a porch the comings and goings of a neighborhood can be watched. There is both safety and collegiality in this. With porches, the errant individuals have fewer opportunities to make unseen mischief. With porches, also, problems and dangers are more quickly observed. With porches, individuals are offered the opportunity for spontaneous conversation. Neighbors see each other and this, naturally, leads to conversation and the strengthening of community ties. The porch builds and safeguards the small part of society that we call ours.
There are porch-imposters, of course, but careful examination quickly discloses their true nature. Decks are not porches. Decks are not shaped correctly. They do not gently embrace entire length of your dwelling. They do not play a supporting role in the architecture, enhancing, but not dominating. Decks are boxy, robust and intrusive. They "stick out." They host many things inappropriate for a porch, such as a barbeque grill, a hot tub or a large patio set with colorful umberlla. They cry for attention. Porches are confident in their importance, history and subtle beauty. Decks do not "do" holidays well, either. A proper porch beckons trick-o-treaters and delights in lights for the winter holidays. A deck wears an invisible sign that says "keep off." It does not participate in the traditional holiday decorating ritual. It has function, but no soul.
Stoops are a poor cousin to the porch. Hard and cold, so often made of stone, cement or brick. Even a wooden stoop lacks space and atmosphere for the simplest chair. On the structure you must sit - there is no concession to comfort. A stoop cannot host a sizeable gathering where participants can look into the faces of their friends and loved ones. More than a few gathered individuals and a stoop requires extensive staring at the backs of people's heads. A railing, if it exists, is generally metallic or of stone construction. Not terribly inviting for the throughtful lean or the support of a slowly-sipped beverage. The stoop lacks grace. It lacks the opportunity for the comfortable leisure that is the glory of the porch. There is no ability to sit and hear the rain falling on the roof. You cannot stand and welcome Halloween celebrators with a bench of candles and candy. Stoops offer little purchase for strings of man-made stars or pots filled with exotic blooms. They do build communities, but with harsh price.
A porch is a monument to life as it should be. Connected to both the body of the house and the soul of Nature. The porch models what we aspire to achieve with a balanced life. The place in between the civilized and the wild. Not too extreme with either, but with a foot in the kingdom of each. A porch is a person, and a fine one, at that.
Naming the Demon
Not some deep, internal devil, but the little red guy with the pen right above here. I have yet to name him and I like to name things. I don't mean pets and children, but lunchbags, mixing bowls, appliances...I give them names.
I don't plan the names. I do not sit and ruminate about the "right" name for the object. I hold off until a name hits me like a bolt from the blue. I let instinct and inspiration guide me. So, some things are left unnamed for an extended period. Other things are named the instant I lay eyes upon them. Regardless, the names are always common.
I am not a grandiose namer. As much as I would love to mimic Tolkien in cobbling names that are awe-inspiring, grandly humorous, etc., I have not the skill. Perhaps skill is not the right word. Perhaps I simply see things with a plainer eye. Maybe I see them as they are laying about the house in sweats with their teeth unbrushed. It is hard to be inpsired to name something deliciously Elvish when you it is looking at you threatening to belch. So, my oven is Claude. My new mask is George. Phyllis brushes my hair, and Spurt washes my clothes. Bucket was my cat. Spelt was my rabbit as a child. When my naming deviates from the common, it deviates towards short and odd.
I do not quite understand my desire to name things. It might be the scientist in me. Nomenclature is a very significant concept in the sciences and, since I was born with a scientific brain, I may carry this drive for classification over to everyday life. But, scientists name things with a system. There is order and meaning. It provides organization and information. Names bespeak structure, function, relationships...I name at random. There are no patterns to my naming that would allow someone to use the names as a classification scheme. They are, basically, useless. They are not descriptive and I don't aim for that. They just seem to "fit." And I couldn't explain to you why a certain name fits a certain object. There are occasions when I can, my car is BabyRav since it is a Toyota Rav4, but these are the exceptions, not the rule. All I know is that I will get a name flash at the front of my brain, behind my eyes, that is forever branded to the object. Nothing will change it, either. I may subsequently think of something more appropriate, but I can never bring myself to dedicatedly use that name in place of the original. I have tried and I always fail. No matter what - the original sticks. I am reminded of the scene in a Terry Pratchett book, "Guards Guards," where an rather pathetic dragon is monikered "Errol" because he looks like someone's Uncle Errol. Now, the dragon had a grandiose, dragon-show name formerly bestowed upon it, but this guy just had a flash and, of course, it stuck. That's how it works with me.
Tomorrow will arrive my new rock tumbler. I am very anxious for this as longer days and, hopefully, warmer temperatures will enable me to get out and about rock hunting. A few days after that will arrive the dehydrator that will allow me to further pursue my Paleo/LowCarb/LowGI eating plan and add more of a rawist bent (better for lower GI and Paleo eating, anyway). Upon opening their boxes, a name might automatically leap into my brain. Barring that, some name will etch its way like a flame through a gunpowder trail across my consciousness as I use the devices and interact with their personalities. Time will tell. But, I still need to name the demon. Nothing defnitive yet. But...that little pen-pusher does remind me of somewhat of my Uncle Larry....
I don't plan the names. I do not sit and ruminate about the "right" name for the object. I hold off until a name hits me like a bolt from the blue. I let instinct and inspiration guide me. So, some things are left unnamed for an extended period. Other things are named the instant I lay eyes upon them. Regardless, the names are always common.
I am not a grandiose namer. As much as I would love to mimic Tolkien in cobbling names that are awe-inspiring, grandly humorous, etc., I have not the skill. Perhaps skill is not the right word. Perhaps I simply see things with a plainer eye. Maybe I see them as they are laying about the house in sweats with their teeth unbrushed. It is hard to be inpsired to name something deliciously Elvish when you it is looking at you threatening to belch. So, my oven is Claude. My new mask is George. Phyllis brushes my hair, and Spurt washes my clothes. Bucket was my cat. Spelt was my rabbit as a child. When my naming deviates from the common, it deviates towards short and odd.
I do not quite understand my desire to name things. It might be the scientist in me. Nomenclature is a very significant concept in the sciences and, since I was born with a scientific brain, I may carry this drive for classification over to everyday life. But, scientists name things with a system. There is order and meaning. It provides organization and information. Names bespeak structure, function, relationships...I name at random. There are no patterns to my naming that would allow someone to use the names as a classification scheme. They are, basically, useless. They are not descriptive and I don't aim for that. They just seem to "fit." And I couldn't explain to you why a certain name fits a certain object. There are occasions when I can, my car is BabyRav since it is a Toyota Rav4, but these are the exceptions, not the rule. All I know is that I will get a name flash at the front of my brain, behind my eyes, that is forever branded to the object. Nothing will change it, either. I may subsequently think of something more appropriate, but I can never bring myself to dedicatedly use that name in place of the original. I have tried and I always fail. No matter what - the original sticks. I am reminded of the scene in a Terry Pratchett book, "Guards Guards," where an rather pathetic dragon is monikered "Errol" because he looks like someone's Uncle Errol. Now, the dragon had a grandiose, dragon-show name formerly bestowed upon it, but this guy just had a flash and, of course, it stuck. That's how it works with me.
Tomorrow will arrive my new rock tumbler. I am very anxious for this as longer days and, hopefully, warmer temperatures will enable me to get out and about rock hunting. A few days after that will arrive the dehydrator that will allow me to further pursue my Paleo/LowCarb/LowGI eating plan and add more of a rawist bent (better for lower GI and Paleo eating, anyway). Upon opening their boxes, a name might automatically leap into my brain. Barring that, some name will etch its way like a flame through a gunpowder trail across my consciousness as I use the devices and interact with their personalities. Time will tell. But, I still need to name the demon. Nothing defnitive yet. But...that little pen-pusher does remind me of somewhat of my Uncle Larry....
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Here's to You Mom!
My mother left this world many years ago. She died of breast cancer, but gave a good fight. For an original prognosis of only 6-months to live, she pushed on for 3 years before the cancer spread to the point where she was overcome. I do remember though to say Happy Birthday and Happy Mother's Day, as appropriate, but I admit that I do not pine every day for Mom.
My mother was one of those women who should likely never have had children. She, like me, was very impatient with the young and very practical/realistic when it came to life. I do credit her with a great deal of my independent nature, both due to genetics and to her methods of rearing me, but I did not LIKE her for most of my childhood. In fact, I disliked her quite a bit. My mother made what, in retrospect, was a bad decision when it came to marraige. She married a man 20 years her senior and paid that price throughout her life. My father was 51 years old when I was born and was preparing himself to retire from life. While growing up, we did very little as a family. We didn't travel or participate in activities. This was due to my father's reluctance to do ANYTHING. My mother was a woman who enjoyed life. She loved to play cards, go bowling, travel...little of which she was able to do with my father. The neighborhood women had a weekly card game and Mom did belong to a bowling league. But, this was all with other people. She had an incredible interest in sports, but we never went to any games. She did coach in and then direct the church-sponsored softball league in which I played and played on a team herself for awhile. She was very active in my school and in the church's programs, but never with my father.
With him, she did nothing, and this was all of his doing. Therefore, WE did nothing. It was not until I was older and could drive that my mother and I participated in recreational activities. This situation did not sit well with her, I believe. As a child, my mother was a volatile, frustrated woman. With others, she was a wonderful person. She would give the shirt off of her back for friends/relatives and the other neighborhood kids loved her. But, they didn't have to live with her. At home, her frustrations would come out and I was the one to pay. She would often get angry at life and I would find myself punished. The sound of a hairbrush cracking on my butt or noggin was not uncommon. I think my knees are impaired now because of the amount of time I was commanded to that position. All was not bad, though. She did try, but I sometimes feel it was more for convention's sake than a real desire to be "motherly." She baked elaborate birthday cakes for me and I never lacked for possessions. Of course, my possessions kept me quite occupied behind closed doors in my room...
When I was older, our relationship improved greatly. I lost the immaturity of youth that she found intolerable (as do I) and gained a driver's license. She was more mobile now and had a companion at home. By this time, my father was in decline from a variety of illnesses, the most significant of which was Alzheimer's Disease. I will not recount the horror of caretaking a person spiraling downward with this affliction. Let's just say there has been nothing on television or cinema that even remotely approaches the day-to-day stress, fatigue, frustration, disgust, anger, etc. that caretakers have to endure. And, of course, it is not a fast disease. My father was in barely human condition for years before he died and the toll on my mother was literally lethal. While he was diminishing, my mother noticed symptoms that signalled cancer, but she took no action. Even when a tumor externalized, she hid the fact until he died. By then, it was too late to do much. She fought the good fight - she was a woman of formidible will. Finally, though, she succumbed.
My emotions over my mother are somewhat mixed, but ultimately positive. Fiercly so, in fact. I think the injustice of my father's selfishness, which I didn't fully understand until I was adult, explains much of her behavior. She was married to a man who, when he retired, positioned himself in a recliner and never left it until he was ambulanced to the hospital. He retired from life and his marraige entirely. I see that now and began, long ago, to forgive my mother the actions she took towards me when I was a child. I was married to a self-centered individual who shut me out of his "personal" life. I realized the feelings of entrapment, anger, loneliness and further realized that this was what my mother had felt. But, at that time, my path of divorce was not readily available. She was captive - I could be free.
I love my Mom. I admit that I have not visited her grave in many, many years, and I don't know when or if I will rectify that anytime soon. She is thousands of miles away. She does have company. Not my father, although he is buried beside her, but her sister, who died not long before Mom did. Aunt Pat is right there and they were very, very close in life. So she is not alone. I am happy for that. She was alone for so long in her life; now she has good companionship. One day I will visit the cemetary with two small bouquets of violets for Mom and Aunt Pat. I will chat about my life and the adventures that I have experienced. I will also apologize for disliking Mom as a child and explain that I now understand things pretty well. I will tell her how I learned so much from her about independence and from her life committed myself to making my own way in the world. To following my own heart and not letting my dreams be crushed by someone else. From her, I learned that I am the only one who can really make or break my life. The lesson was not pleasant for her and I learned from seeing these things taken from her, but it has carried me to this point without the help of any other being. One day, I may marry and share a life with another person again. But I will enter that relationship knowing that I am not trapped, that I can succeed on my own, that I have interests, hopes and dreams that I am free to pursue. For all of that, I will thank her.
Happy Mother's Day Mom! Hope it is an enjoyable one!
My mother was one of those women who should likely never have had children. She, like me, was very impatient with the young and very practical/realistic when it came to life. I do credit her with a great deal of my independent nature, both due to genetics and to her methods of rearing me, but I did not LIKE her for most of my childhood. In fact, I disliked her quite a bit. My mother made what, in retrospect, was a bad decision when it came to marraige. She married a man 20 years her senior and paid that price throughout her life. My father was 51 years old when I was born and was preparing himself to retire from life. While growing up, we did very little as a family. We didn't travel or participate in activities. This was due to my father's reluctance to do ANYTHING. My mother was a woman who enjoyed life. She loved to play cards, go bowling, travel...little of which she was able to do with my father. The neighborhood women had a weekly card game and Mom did belong to a bowling league. But, this was all with other people. She had an incredible interest in sports, but we never went to any games. She did coach in and then direct the church-sponsored softball league in which I played and played on a team herself for awhile. She was very active in my school and in the church's programs, but never with my father.
With him, she did nothing, and this was all of his doing. Therefore, WE did nothing. It was not until I was older and could drive that my mother and I participated in recreational activities. This situation did not sit well with her, I believe. As a child, my mother was a volatile, frustrated woman. With others, she was a wonderful person. She would give the shirt off of her back for friends/relatives and the other neighborhood kids loved her. But, they didn't have to live with her. At home, her frustrations would come out and I was the one to pay. She would often get angry at life and I would find myself punished. The sound of a hairbrush cracking on my butt or noggin was not uncommon. I think my knees are impaired now because of the amount of time I was commanded to that position. All was not bad, though. She did try, but I sometimes feel it was more for convention's sake than a real desire to be "motherly." She baked elaborate birthday cakes for me and I never lacked for possessions. Of course, my possessions kept me quite occupied behind closed doors in my room...
When I was older, our relationship improved greatly. I lost the immaturity of youth that she found intolerable (as do I) and gained a driver's license. She was more mobile now and had a companion at home. By this time, my father was in decline from a variety of illnesses, the most significant of which was Alzheimer's Disease. I will not recount the horror of caretaking a person spiraling downward with this affliction. Let's just say there has been nothing on television or cinema that even remotely approaches the day-to-day stress, fatigue, frustration, disgust, anger, etc. that caretakers have to endure. And, of course, it is not a fast disease. My father was in barely human condition for years before he died and the toll on my mother was literally lethal. While he was diminishing, my mother noticed symptoms that signalled cancer, but she took no action. Even when a tumor externalized, she hid the fact until he died. By then, it was too late to do much. She fought the good fight - she was a woman of formidible will. Finally, though, she succumbed.
My emotions over my mother are somewhat mixed, but ultimately positive. Fiercly so, in fact. I think the injustice of my father's selfishness, which I didn't fully understand until I was adult, explains much of her behavior. She was married to a man who, when he retired, positioned himself in a recliner and never left it until he was ambulanced to the hospital. He retired from life and his marraige entirely. I see that now and began, long ago, to forgive my mother the actions she took towards me when I was a child. I was married to a self-centered individual who shut me out of his "personal" life. I realized the feelings of entrapment, anger, loneliness and further realized that this was what my mother had felt. But, at that time, my path of divorce was not readily available. She was captive - I could be free.
I love my Mom. I admit that I have not visited her grave in many, many years, and I don't know when or if I will rectify that anytime soon. She is thousands of miles away. She does have company. Not my father, although he is buried beside her, but her sister, who died not long before Mom did. Aunt Pat is right there and they were very, very close in life. So she is not alone. I am happy for that. She was alone for so long in her life; now she has good companionship. One day I will visit the cemetary with two small bouquets of violets for Mom and Aunt Pat. I will chat about my life and the adventures that I have experienced. I will also apologize for disliking Mom as a child and explain that I now understand things pretty well. I will tell her how I learned so much from her about independence and from her life committed myself to making my own way in the world. To following my own heart and not letting my dreams be crushed by someone else. From her, I learned that I am the only one who can really make or break my life. The lesson was not pleasant for her and I learned from seeing these things taken from her, but it has carried me to this point without the help of any other being. One day, I may marry and share a life with another person again. But I will enter that relationship knowing that I am not trapped, that I can succeed on my own, that I have interests, hopes and dreams that I am free to pursue. For all of that, I will thank her.
Happy Mother's Day Mom! Hope it is an enjoyable one!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)