Pain, Robbery and Random Murders

Doing anything I can to keep my mind off searing pain - so, yeah the first thing that comes to mind is gobbling up any drug that is available to me (which is next to nothing) and blogging.  What is wrong with me?

Can't get into the PCP until tomorrow. I'm nearly out of my mind.  I am now almost certain I have an infection somewhere in my chest.  Not a cough, cold or flu kind of infection, but some kind of horrible thing surrounding my chest incision and what lurks beneath it.  The area is inflamed and actually hotter to the touch than the rest of my skin.  Still have fever of around 100 while taking fever reducing drugs, namely Tylenol and aspirin.  I have had constant fever since November 29, when I visited the new Neurologist (might have had it before then, but wasn't keeping track)

Since then I've been waiting for the shoe to drop - waiting for some obvious sign of sickness to appear but nothing really has.  I've had a headache the whole time.  A couple days when I was kinda stuffy, but not really anything I'd call a cold or flu.  Just general blah sick feeling--nothing I can pinpoint, and just a little worse every day.  If I think about it too hard I might get stuck in one of those worry/crying loops to which I'm prone. I have to rest my bleedy fingers, so no guitar until at least tomorrow.  So I think it's time to digress...

Three people died in Memphis today while being robbed.  I don't get it.  WTF do you have that is worth being killed for?  Absolutely NOTHING.  Give it to them.  If someone is holding you up for money, give them everything you have.  Dammit, if they look hungry while they're doing it, make them a god damned sandwich!  (Addendum: I should clarify, these were store robberies.)

I have personally said this more than once, "I will give you more than you can EVER steal from me, all you have to do is ask."  Fucking idiots.  If they DO try to steal from me, they will get dog bites and gunshot wounds, and a punch in the snoot.  If they ask, they can have the shirt off my back.

Pain Haiku x 2

Stabbed with knife-like ribs
Every deep breath is torture
Movement agony

Desperate for relief
No treatments can touch my pain
I demand an end

Back to square one. I can think of nothing else but pain. Once again, pain is my ruler.  It sucks bad, and I can't explain it to someone who has not ever had unrelenting pain. Wondering if I should gobble some more steroids, but will be right back in the same position I'm in now as soon as I wean off again. 

I am beginning to think that either the metal in my chest needs to come out, or
my ribs are separated, or my sternum has a non-union.  The pain is exquisite, and it seems I can't get anyone to listen to me.

I am considering trolling the streets for a pain pill supply. Or at least polling everyone I see for a pain pill-prescribing doctor who is accepting patients.

Tango Till I'm Sore

I worked all evening on rearranging a Tom Waits song into a tango.  Kinda hard to do that crap with only a guitar.  I surprised myself. 

It makes me wish I still had a piano.  My mother sold it for $600 when she moved to California in the early 80s--losing that piano just killed me, therefore I wanted to kill her--probably best she left town for awhile. The last song I played on it was Bob Seger's "We've Got Tonight," (the piano movers stood there until I finished) then it got carried out the door immediately thereafter.  Meh.

As for my drug intake, I have totally weaned off the steroids.  Pain has returned in full force, so obviously the steroids were keeping it in check. My body feels like I've been in a knock-down-drag-out fight, or in a 20 round boxing match. The problem is, I can't maintain that high of a steroid dose for long - it does terrible things to me.  I called the pain doc today, and he increased the Gabapentin  to 1200mg/day.  It's the only choice I have besides advil and aspirin, so I'm taking it. I can't get a real GD pain pill to save my life. I will have to pay close attention and watch for any weird neuro symptoms. 

In the meantime, I'll play my guitar.  I'm treating it like a job - playing until my hands stop working, then resting and playing some more. My memory is total CRAP.  I have to read what I play, since I can't remember a damned thing.  It's excellent that a skillion leadsheets are available online for free.  You can find just about any song you want without too much difficulty.  Playing also keeps me occupied so I don't get stuck in the "perpetual worry loop," which I actually fear.

I live for the day when I can stop hurting and stop worrying.  Hopefully this guitar and my own brand of music therapy can help me do that.

Blues, Music Industry & Yodelodehooo

I have probably mentioned before that my voice has been classically trained. Eight years of lessons and nearly constant singing earned me an unusual voice and range.  Tooting my own horn here, I can still fucking SING. 

I had my first professional gigs by age 15-16 singing and playing guitar in the nightclubs and blues bars in downtown St. Louis.  I had huge restrictions as a minor--such as I could never approach the bar, and I had to have an adult guardian present at all times while in an adult venue. 

My last gig was doing studio work with a 12-string in '95.  (Surprising how few 12-string players are available for studio sessions, and how few there are in general.)  I was doing all this while holding down a full time day job.  Ugh.  I gradually let the music business slip away. 

So I picked up the guitar again, having no day job, and being extremely ill with nothing else to do to occupy my time.  And yes, I have played till my fingers bled...not active bleeding, just a few little blood blisters on the fingertips.  I've been playing daily - still really slow, but it's coming back a little at a time.  It's not quite like riding a bicycle, but I know it's buried in my brain somewhere. (At least I'm starting to get some decent callouses again. Ouch in the meantime.)

I ran across a yodeler on YouTube today and it piqued my interest.  I wouldn't be caught dead yodeling under ordinary circumstances, but I've been yodeling all damned day and it's kind of fun!  It sounds like an indistinct cross between a Cajun swamp person and Swiss goat herder. Jesus.  I am a Bastard Yodeler! My aim is to get the dogs to yodel along with me.  If I can do that I promise to film and post!

Haiku for Time

The sun did not rise
Day not broken night not set
Grayness tells no time

Distant Weed & Ass-Dragging

I watched the first episode of "Weed Wars" on Discovery the other day.  Makes me want to move to California. I couldn't afford to live in California.  Meh.  Ok, rephrase:  Makes me want to move to one of THOSE states. 

If you haven't watched Weed Wars, it is all about the inner workings of a marijuana dispensary in Oakland, California.  Wretched people with various hideous ailments start lining up outside the store well before it opens, all of them clamoring for the best and most expensive pot money can buy.  It reminded me of old footage of the Great Depression I've seen, with people in cardboard shoes and tattered suits lining up at soup kitchens.  Apparently this impressive queueing is an everyday occurrence since that store reportedly cleared $120 million last year.  If I went to that store I'd have to send an agent, as I'd be unable to stand up for as long as it takes.  Sheesh.

Gabapentin, which is the latest offering from the pain monger, makes me sleep. I can only take it at night.  I have been warned by the neurologist to not exceed the dose I'm on now or it would be neurologically devastating.  I am on the minimum dose.  I still hurt.

When I went into the neurologist's on Tuesday I checked in with a fever of nearly 102.  That means I'm sick with something.  I feel like a wet dishrag. Limp and weak on top of my usual limpness and weakness.  Yay.  Back to riding the couch, sucking Communist Nyquil, and waiting for less ass-dragging to occur. Don't wait up.

God Damn the Pusher Man

This morning started off rough when the friggin doorbell rang at 10:00. Of course it was Jehovah's Witnesses.  Who else would visit me at that hour?  Even the goobery UPS & FedEx guys know to just leave crap by the door.

I should have known better than to open the door.  Meanwhile, one would think as soon as these people see my monster dogs through the glass storm door (particularly Tater, who likes to show teeth and who has a bark like a freight train and is not afraid to use it) they would turn tail.  I should be so lucky.

I always tell them, "You might as well stop coming here, I will NEVER be a Witness."  They always counter with "Never say never," smile, then throw copies of the Watchtower at me.  I decided on the spot to make a "No Missionaries" sign for my door.  Maybe they'll take the hint next week when they come back, since the dogs are not working as a deterrent.

Missionaries don't just annoy me, mind you...they down right piss me off.  By the way, this also applies to Missionary Baptists and Mormons, all of whom are really big into the religion-pushing scene.  I hate to have anything pushed on me, let alone religion.  Besides, shouldn't they be trying to save someone who is essentially religionless?  Shouldn't they be targeting houses with gargoyles and pentagrams, for instance?

So, the need to make a fresh sign forced me to leave my house for Hobby Lobby for a sign-making crap purchase.

While I was out, I went to Costco, since it's a block away from Hobby Lobby and the chickens were calling me.  I felt compelled to buy a rotisserie chicken..don't ask me why, since I have no idea myself.  I only eat chicken breasts - always.  It's a texture thing, I think.  So I buy the stupid chickens, bring them home, eat the breast, then throw the rest away.  I figure it's worth paying $5 to have somebody cook a chicken for me.  On the plus side, I hate chicken that is riding the cusp of becoming sawdust at any minute.  Costco chickens are never overdone.

Of course Costco is in the holiday spirit and at the end of every row was a food pusher.  You've seen them.  They're *demonstrating* various food items.  What that means is they're handing out samples. You can't get away from them no matter how hard you try. 

Today they had tiny hot dogs on tiny buns.  They were cute.  I desperately wanted one, but managed to abstain. In the next aisle was the fruity yogurt pusher.  I bought an astounding two quarts of plain Greek yogurt instead, which I hope I can eat before it expires or explodes or grows something furry.

Then there was the smoked sausage pusher, and the granola bar pusher, the flavored mashed potato pusher, and the pumpkin pie and whipped cream pusher, the chocolate baklava pusher, the imported belgian cookie pusher, and the Noni juice pusher (whatever the hell that is - doesn't matter I ain't buyin' it).

And then...and then....I spied the jarred, artichoke heart halves pusher.  I gunned my handi-cart and made for the artichokes.  So far there had been nothing there that was safe for me to eat - even in small quantities.  All those little bites add up fast, and I am limited to a ridiculously low number of fat grams per day.  I roll up to the artichoke demo cart and to my dismay, the damned things were packed in oil.  How DARE they?  Bastard pushers!

Communist Banana Pudding & Milk Ranting

Sugar-free, fat-free, generic pudding + generic skim milk + a couple freckled bananas + lame ass vanilla wafers = Communist banana pudding.

It's so tasteless and shitty, I insist it be called "Communist banana pudding." If I could have put just one more brandless item in it, I swear it would be demanding on its own to be wearing a uniform, and commence to doing marching drills on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. 

Trust me, it's a long way away from that wonderful comfort food that most people love, but apparently its the best I can have.  I blame it all on skim milk.  ::gag::

By the way, isn't all milk generic unless you buy it directly from the dairy who processed it?  (This is easiest to understand if you've spent any time around dairy farms or seen the way milk is processed and shipped.)

I hate skim milk.  HATE IT.  I can only just barely stand it if it's mixed into something to disguise it.  I grew up on Guernsey milk, the best tasting milk on the planet, incidentally.  All milk is not created equal.  Jersey milk is a close second, but nothing beats the rich, golden taste of a cold glass of Guernsey milk. 

I have had milk dipped out of a bucket, still warm from the cow. I've had non-homogenized milk that had to be shaken up before drinking, because the thick, yellow cream would be floating on the top of the bottle.  I have had unpasteurized milk, because at the time and place, that's all that was available.  Believe me when I say I know milk, dammit, and skim milk is NOT "milk."  The only similarities are it once came out of a cow, the shape of the bottle/jug is the same, and that it is vaguely white,  (yes, it's true, skim milk is NOT white in color).

I suppose it's something I'll never grow to tolerate.  I would simply rather do without milk at all, than be forced to drink nasty, yucky skim milk.  Don't get me started on the abomination they call "fat free cheese."

Hurty Parts & Other Stuff

2 weeks of walking on a broken hip and my various pains have re-prioritized themselves.  It's really too bad I'm not a masochist, since I find my current state utterly joyless.  Actually the hip is minutely better, but the chest pain is returning with a vengeance, which I assume is from using more pressure on my arms and chest to walk in order to bear some of the weight my legs would normally take.  See pain doc on the 23rd.  Can't wait to berate him. He needs it, dammit...friggin joke for a pain doctor.  "Oh, you broke your hip? Here, have some Advil."  Asshole.

I am going to attempt to walk just a little farther every day.  I can pretty much walk around the house without the walker, but I need it for any distance at all.  I cannot just lay on this stupid couch and rot.  It's killing me.  Literally.

I'll be really glad when I can start using the Rue harness. The harness making woman said it takes about a month to complete. I can understand that because it's entirely handmade to individual measurements out of latigo leather, (Yeah, like a Leather Woman would order something OTHER than a leather harness?) with a sheepskin lining and stainless hardware. They look like this with subtle variations depending on specific needs:

It beats the hell out of a stupid rollator or being stuck in a damned electric wheelchair or scooter, not to mention it forces me to get out of the house.

I bought a head lamp for my head - a little led flashlight that's stuck on a headband, so I can take Rue out walking at night.  There are no streetlamps on my street, so unless I just want to walk her back and forth in my driveway only, I  need some kind of light, and obviously I wouldn't have a free hand to hold a flashlight.  I'm wondering if I should also get a bicycle reflector to glue or clip onto the back of the headband.

I NEED to start taking Rue out into public places - I can do that now that she has her ID. She hasn't had much experience in crowds, other than at dog class and inside PetSmart -- and there she wants to bark bark bark bark bark at every dog she sees.  Need to correct that, definitely.  I also need to get her into the mall where she can learn to ride the escalators and elevators, as well as how to act in a crowd.

I have a metric butt-ton of stuff to do and having the hip setback didn't help a bit.  Grrrr.  Prime example of Murphy's Law.  I'm telling you, I'm the Murphy poster girl.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, still eating steroids, still RAVENOUS, and still can't get my blood sugar any lower than 140s.  I should probably be more worried about that than I am, however... I gotta eat with my stupid meds, and I feel like I'm starved all day long.  Not just hungry -- STARVED.  Meh.  Also, the crap that I am actually allowed to eat just doesn't satisfy me in the least. 

The oddest thing is I really have no interest in food at all....I don't want anything in particular, nothing really jumps out at me on a menu - everything is just blah and ashy tasting, and if I think about it too hard before swallowing, I'll have to spit it out or gag, because if I'm thinking about it, it's already too late.  This belongs in the strange but true files, I guess:  "Ravenous Woman is Disgusted by Food."  WTH?

2 Steps Back

I swear my last name should be Murphy.  My entire genetic line should belong to the Murphy family.  I'm talking about the Murphy's Law people - if something possibly can go wrong, it will.  It has been just one fubar after the other for me, all week long. 

I've felt kinda down the past couple days.  I thought a haircut might help.  It didn't, it just made me look more like Beethoven.  I have vowed that it will be my last haircut.  I am tired of screwing with hair - I never should have gotten it cut in the first place.  It WANTS to be long and straight and I have decided to let it be long and straight.  No more fighting it.  It will be happier and I will be less stressed.

I started playing my guitar again today after a long absence.  My hands are very slow, and I can't remember even one entire song.  This might be part of pumphead syndrome, but in any case, my illness has stolen my music from me. I used to have a footlocker full of sheet music, but no telling where that might be or if it even exists anymore.

I can barely handle the 12-string.  I have a 6-string acoustic that actually has a bullet hole in it...don't ask.  The damned thing won't stay tuned, even for one song.  I think it needs new tuners at the very least.  Anyway, I'm toying with the idea of getting another 6 string.  Since the one I have is basically unplayable, and would probably cost just as much to fix as the cost of a new/gently used guitar. 

I also need to get back to my toy-making, but that takes a little more concentration than I have available right now.

The whole point of this is stress relief. I could be out walking/training my Rue dog, but since I have a broken ass, I've been trying to move as little as possible. I still have pain issues - it's just that the pains have given themselves different priorities now. God forbid somebody should give me a fucking pain pill.  I see the pain guy on the 23rd.  Maybe he'll take pity on my broken, swollen ass, but probably not....I'm a Murphy underneath it all.

BIG SWIFFER MOMENT--ASTEROID LOOMS LARGE

Surely by now everyone has seen the newish Swiffer commercials.  Some single little ball of lint or little gray slime mold is hanging out in the computer keyboard, or on the tile grout, being all lonely and sad because it'll never be picked up.  Then a giant Swiffer mop looms large in the background...make-out/stripper music starts playing, and the little ball of lint jumps onto the mop, arms spread wide - the lint ball is clearly in love but it's a match made in hell.  The Swiffer mop will NEVER let it go, the little hapless lint ball is stuck on it forever, eventually following it to the grave, as it makes its way onto the next garbage scow or to the dumpster.

Today an asteroid is going to pass very near the Earth, looming over us like a giant Swiffer mop.  This is humanity's big Swiffer moment!  Does anyone else have the urge to go stand outside with arms outstretched and try to leap onto the thing as it hurtles by? 

Dammit, I'm fresh out of white tennis shoes and purple robes, too.  Had I only known sooner...

FREE CRAP!!

I missed my chance.  On the day before Halloween, I should have hung a sign on my gate that said "FREE DOG POOP! (inquire at door)."  There would have been flaming bags on every porch all over the damned city, but NOOOOooooo!  As per usual, I have to be a day late and a dollar short.

Seriously, I have a dillemma.  I MUST harvest my yard turds, but my hurty ass knob is saying OMFG, lay your ass down.  The poop will still be there when your knob feels better.  *eyeroll*

I have fair number of buzzards who live near my house.  Why the hell can't they come to my yard and have a poop feast now that roadkill season has slowed down?  Dog poop is ALMOST pre-digested meat.  It probably has the same amount of protein as well as having less bacteria than the average dead armadillo rind or 2-week-gone gray fox.  I don't get it. 

In the summer this is an area of the country where one can actully hire a chain gang to do physical labor on the cheap.  I think next year I might get a poop chain gang to work my yard once a week.

Sleep Eating & Other Atrocities

This morning I woke up around 9 with a banana in my hand.  It had exactly one bite out of it.  I vaguely remember getting up around 4ish.  Gotta take the steroids before 6AM, and MUST eat when I take them.  Since I was up, I am assuming I took the steroids and tried to wash them down with a banana.  I also had one unopened banana lying next to me.  Two bananas in case the first one breaks? 

Obviously my sleep is continuing in various stages of f'd-uppedness.  It has to be either from pain or effects still from the heart/lung pump. Meh.  Wish I could sleep like a normal person.

HOLY CRAP NOT WHAT I EXPECTED!

Today I felt pretty good.  Like an almost normal kind of good.  Despite the ass knob pain thing, or maybe even because of it. 

This was probably the best day I've had in a long time.  My mood is good, for starters - but the really good thing is the ONLY thing that actually hurts is my ass/hip. 

My chest is pain free, unless I cough or sneeze.  My right leg has a sensation not unlike wearing a tourniquet directly under the knee. This is the vein donation site, and also the site of nerve damage/nerve pain. It felt like it was on fire most of the time, with every bend of the knee - that's gone.  I just have the tourniquet squeezy-thing feeling, and I am guessing that is due to the swelling.  Left ribs are uncomfortable, but I did fall on them, so I expected it, but it's not that bad.  The back of my left arm apparently also took a big hit of which I wasn't even aware, since it is covered with a big purple bruise.

The brain does funny things with pain.  That's why TENS units work. (Look up TENS unit, if you don't know what it is.)  I sincerely hope my pain free portions remain that way and don't return as soon as my ass knob begins to heal.  Don't get me wrong, the ass knob pain is tremendous - like on a scale of 1-10 it's a 12, I'm having problems walking of course (and sitting and lying down), but my *other assorted screamy pains* are gone for now.

If nothing else at least it has given me a much needed break from intense pain.  I finally was able to sleep for a couple hours early this morning.  I expect to sleep tonight - I am exhausted from not sleeping, and know I'd feel even better if I could get a full night or 5 of uninterrupted sleep. 

This was not at all what I expected.  I got a benefit from an injury!  How often does that happen, if at all?  WOOHOO for a damned change!! 

Normally a hip injury makes the downhill slide that much steeper and faster. People die from broken hips - it's not all that uncommon. At the very least it is a crippling, often disabling injury, and the older someone is, the worse it can be. Probably the only reason I get off easy is I'm not that old yet.  I DO have to be more careful.  Gonna get some grab bars for the tub, I guess.

Old Dogs & New Pills

Tater is an old dog.  She's one of the best dogs I've ever had.  Yes, she's quirky and she has personality issues, but she's exactly what I need in a dog, and when I first got her, she was absolutely perfect and exactly what I was looking for.  She is a dream on a leash. She knows all her commands and even a few tricks. She wasn't the easiest dog to train, but once she got a command down, it was down pat.

Admittedly, most of her protection job consists of intimidation.  She is huge.  With hackles up and teeth showing she is an impressive sight - she is perfectly capable of protecting me and will do it in a heartbeat, but most of the time that hasn't been necessary due mostly to just the way she looks...in a word, fierce.

She is 12.  12 is ancient for a giant dog.  She is a Lab/Great Dane mix (English types refer to these as *Lurchers*) and kind of looks like a giant brindle lab, weighing around 110 lbs.  She was a rescue dog, and they wouldn't tell me her original background, but I highly suspect it was something along the lines of junkyard dog.  She has quite literally saved me on a couple of occasions. She keeps me and my house and yard safe from invaders. 

Once I even got to say to a potential home invader at the front door, "Meet my alarm system, Tater!"  as she pinned the guy to the wall by his shoulders, and her dripping teeth came out of her mouth just like in the movie Alien as she barked an inch away from his face.  The guy's eyes got big as saucers.   Then of course I had to yell at him, "Don't run, fucker, THE DOG WILL BITE YOU.  Instantly he was like, "Oh, yes ma'am, yes ma'am.  After I called her off him, he was visibly shaking.  Looking back, I'm really surprised he didn't piss himself.

I have big dogs because I am girly and weak and sick and they are my first line of defense, besides being family members.  In fact, unless I am already holding some sort of weapon, they are my only line of defense.  I am THAT weak these days.

I got Rue, the German Shepherd, to take Tater's place for when the inevitable happens, and I have to put Tater down.  Before that happens, Rue has to learn how to do Tater's job.

Today I had a conversation with a long time friend.  This guy has been my friend for more than 20 years.   He has owned several Schutzhund dogs (personal protection dogs) in the past that he himself has trained.  Sometimes we talk about training, but mostly he's just my friend.  Today out of the blue he says, "Why don't you put Tater down?"  I was incensed that he would say that, for starters.  Next, it's not his damned business. 

I asked him why he was so interested in me killing off my dogs.  He said "Well hell, she's 12, she's going deaf, she's getting cataracts, she has arthritis.  Do you need more reasons?"  "Hey," I said, "you're old (he's 56) and you're going a little deaf I noticed. Should I come over there and shoot you for no other reason than that?  "It's not the same thing," he says.  "Of course it is," I argue.

"These dogs are my FAMILY, don't you get it?  Yes, they have jobs to do and they are workers, but they are family before they are anything else.  Even Binky, all 4 lbs of her, even Binky would give her life for me, that's how much heart she has.  I'll know when it's time for Tater.  The time is NOT NOW."

Actually poor old Tater has perked up a lot since Rue came along. Plus, she recently started getting a daily arthritis pill which does help her not be so stiff. Even with stiffness, if there is any perceived threat to me, she runs as fast as she ever did and is right at my side if I need her in a flash. No dirt nap for the Tater dog. Not yet.

My Swollen Knob and Other Fresh Pains in the Ass

I saw an Orthopedic Surgeon today about my hip.  He and I had one of the most ridiculous conversations I've ever had with a health professional. 

After reviewing the skillion Xrays from the ER that were taken yesterday, he says in his sing-song-Apu-of-the-Simpsons voice, "I see a collection of fluid.  I don't see a crack in the knob but that doesn't mean there isn't one there.  If we were to take an MRI today, I might would see a crack.  We would also see that your knob is even more filled with fluid."  Despite pretty intense pain, I am trying to not snicker.

He told me that even if it is bruised/injured and not an actual break, it will still take as long as an actual break to heal. He is saying it is more than likely a hairline fracture, and since there is no actual separation of bony parts, surgery or pinning is not needed, but I absolutely cannot fall on it again, especially while it's trying to heal.

He continues, "I fully expect your knob to be swollen for at least 6 weeks."  He says this and the ONLY thing I can think of is, "But the TV says it's a medical emergency if my knob is swollen for more than 4 hours."  -.-

So I have a pain drug assortment.  (Dr. Whackadoo can go to Hell.)  A really interesting thing about pain is that the brain picks out the most accute pain and kind of focuses your attention on that pain - making any other pains not seem so bad in comparison.  My ribs still hurt like hell on the left, since I landed on them too, but I'm not really noticing any sternum pain or general chest wall pain unless I have to cough or something.  The vein graft donation site seems to be virtually pain free at the moment--very interesting indeed, especially since that is the leg that both has to bear all the weight and has the swelling problem.

I'm supposed to stay off the injured knob leg as much as I can, which is easier said than done.  You never realize how much you use an ass knob until you no longer have one to use.  I can't sit on it.  I can't lay on it.  It's a stabby hideous pain if I put my foot on the floor and worse if it bears any weight...and worst of all, it is a direct ass knob hit on any toilet seat.  *sigh*  I'm kinda hopping/dragging/limping around on the old-style aluminum walker.

Incidentally, this doctor also told me today that yogis refer to the part I call "ass knobs" as "sit knobs."  The part I'm talking about is the ball part of the ball and socket hip joint. It probably has a real name, but I can't seem to find it, and anyway, I much prefer the term "ass knob."

OK DAMMIT - DECISION TIME

Difficult to walk/bear weight. Impossible to sit. Leg turning outward, and of course hurty, really really hurty.  No bruising, but swelling.  And my entire body hurts, not just my ass/hip.  Ribs on that side are again a nightmare.

If at all possible I'm going to try to wait until my primary doc opens tomorrow to get an xray. That way I won't have to pay the huge ER co-pay from my shitty insurance co-pay rule.

If I HAVE to go to the ER at least I can drive, since this is on my left side and my driving leg still works.   GAHHHHH.

OWW MY ASS KNOBS

I fell today.  In my own bathroom.  I had just bent down to plug the drain to the tub, attempted to stand back up, lost my balance and went over backwards.  I landed on my left ass knob. 

When I say "ass knobs" that's exactly what I mean.  I have absolutely zero fat or muscle on my ass.  All that's there is bone.  So I guess an ass knob is actually a femoral head - the top of the thigh that fits into the hip socket.  It hurts, but not an awful kind of hurt like I broke something.  It feels about like a badly barked shin...throbby.  So now I have the heating pad and advil to keep me company the rest of the night, but dammit to hell, like I needed another pain on top of what I already have.  I expect to be extra sore all over tomorrow, but I think I'm ok. I should know by the morning if there's something bad wrong. 

Shit.  I have the worst luck in the world.  If I had to fall down, why the hell couldn't it be at the mall or someplace else other than my own house?  Hrmph.

TACTICAL SHOOTING & OTHER LOST ARTS

Gee, another week without pain relief.  Don't know if I'll make it to the zombie shoot or not this weekend.  It would be fun, but I just feel like crap. 

There's no Fn way I can put a shotgun on my shoulder for starters--I had planned to shoot from the hip.  The fuckers there don't believe I can do it, claiming I'd just shoot the ceiling.  After being laughed at, I had this urgent need to shove a headless zombie target up some range employee's ass, and truly planned to be there.

Btw, I can also shoot over my shoulder and under my arm. I just cannot wait until my friggin chest heals so I can go to that range and show various doofuses a thing or two.  A few St. Louis friends have seen what I can do with firearms, so I'm not just blowing rainbows up any one's ass here, dammit!

Ha! O they of little faith! They should see what I can do with a whip. Not kidding. Indiana Jones wishes he had my mad whip skills! In fact, at one time I could probably have taken a whip to a gunfight and won. Also not kidding. 

I have international witnesses for the whip skills.  These are not just *tricks* I know, using a whip without actually killing someone or permanently maiming them in the process takes considerable skill, or just hitting a tiny target and nothing else, takes that same skill. It also takes considerable upper body strength to throw a long whip, or even a short one over a long period of time--strength I no longer have with a broken chest.  Hell, I don't even have enough upper body strength to do a lot of leash work with the dog. 

I don't know what's gonna happen to me.  I miss the things I used to do. I miss the people I used to know.  I feel helpless and useless, tired and broken.  I hurt - this heart thing has hurt me more than anything else ever has. I'm not talking about just physical pain, of which there is plenty.  It has hurt my entire being.

HAIKU for CARNIES

I am a freak show
Scarred and swollen put back wrong
Movin' to Gibtown

Purple Boobs & a Pain in my Ass

I stopped taking Trileptal today, which was the epilepsy drug that was supposed to help nerve pain via Dr. Whackadoo, the pain specialist.  It did nothing for my pain, but did provide me with a host of very unpleasant side effects.  I am supposed to call them in a week after the drug has had a chance to clear my system, and then I guess he'll give me something else.  Ya know, for a pain doctor he has done absolutely nothing to help my pain.  Except give me a bigger pain -- IN MY ASS.

When I first started this whole heart business, I noticed on EVERY medical building there is a large decal that cannot be missed, right at eye height on the front door.  "NO FIREARMS ALLOWED IN THIS BUILDING."  This has happened since they modified the relatively recent concealed carry laws. 

I can fully understand why these decals are there now, because I have met Dr. Whackadoo, and can easily see why some people might want to turn his face into hamburger meat.

BTW my screamy boobs really hurt, dammit.  I'm calling the boob people tomorrow morning, since I just can't wait any longer for results without having a brain stem injury first.

Haiku for Retirement

Stop sending your shit
I am not old enough yet
Damn you AARP people

Haiku for Mowing

Asshole next door is
Mowing the grass in the dark
Flashlight in his mouth

Piss & Vinegar

It just dawned on me today that I spend a lot of time being scared lately.  Like terrified scared.  Of course since I found out I had a shitty heart my whole friggin world has been turned upside down.  Now I find out I'll probably be losing my insurance, or at least the *good* insurance.  I'll still have medicare, which totally sucks on its own and gets you practically nothing.

Tomorrow I have a date with a CT machine for my screamy hurty boobs.  Honestly they feel like two big old achy teeth that are badly in need of root canals.  I still find bras to be nothing but implements of torture. I can barely stand to move my arms or put on a damned shirt.

WTF is gonna happen to me with no insurance?  I take 15 different drugs a day, and apparently there's something wrong with my boobs that has yet to be addressed.  How the hell am I supposed to buy drugs? Especially the stupid cholesterol drugs that cost a skillion dollars each?  How am I supposed to fix my screamy boobs?

Dammit, I knew I should have moved to Canada about twenty years ago when I used to be full of piss and vinegar.  Now I'm just full of piss.

BRAND NEW NOSES and a BITCH

This is the time of year when I usually replenish my clown nose supply, since they are readily available at any pop-up Halloween store in town.  Besides the standard clown nose size, which is 2 inches, they had a GIANT clown nose, which of course I had to buy.

I bought every clown nose they had in the store.  I go through them like Pez.  I give them away, I leave them laying somewhere.  I leave them with tips, etc. Sometimes in rush hour traffic, I drive while wearing one. They're kind of my calling card, particularly since I started driving a clown car, a Honda Fit.  Not as small as a Smart car, but pretty damned small.  Especially when you consider that I am an Amazon-sized woman and sort of have to fold and unfold myself to get in and out.  (Remember, 6'3" in my ass-stomping boots.)

So now I have this wild gray hair which is a natural fright wig thanks to my grinch heart - kind of like Beethoven's hair.  My lovely red, sleek hair has been replaced by wiry white and steel gray, which I actually kind of like.  Nonetheless it is still quite shocking to me, especially if I catch my reflection in a passing mirror or window, and it probably shocks other people as well.  Meh.

I take my basket of nothing but clown noses up to the cashier, who is a muffin-topped 17ish year old girl with glitter makeup and feather extensions.  For some reason I have a huge wad of $1 bills in my purse--43 of them to be exact.  I have no idea how they got there, they just accumulate.  I pull out my wad of ones and start counting them out one by one for the girl, and I say offhandedly while counting, "Ya know, I earned all these ones by dancing!"

She curls up her lip in a sneer of disgust, flaring nostrils, the whole nine yards.  I pin back my ears in response and say flatly, "I'm teasing."   "Oh.  Ha ha."  I totally wasted my humor on the only halfwit in the store.  Gahhhhhh.

I AM THE BOSS OF YOU

For various reasons, my medical case is being reviewed by Best Doctors, Inc., based out of Boston.  In order to do this, they must collect my medical records from every doctor, clinic or hospital I've visited over the past several years.  The staff of these offices are of course uncooperative to begin with, seeing that it's extra work, but generally go ahead and send whatever they are bidden. A good review from Best Doctors is actually a big deal for them, as results are published country-wide.  All except for one, Dr. No-Fly List, and his neurology staff.

This started yesterday afternoon when the RN who is overseeing my case called me and said she could get absolutely nowhere from Dr. No-Fly List's staff.  They insisted they had no films of any MRIs I had there, that I had never had an MRI there, and I should call the hospital where I had had the MRI and jump on them. 

As it happens I had two sets of MRIs done at their office. Yes, Dr. No-Fly List has his very own MRI machine!  I tell the nurse, "Don't worry about it, I'll get it for you, and call you if I can't...but trust me, I'm like a bulldog when it comes to stuff like this."  "OOO I knew you would be!  Isn't it funny how you can tell about peoples' personalities just by talking to them a few times on the phone?"

After spending at least an hour on the phone talking to several neurology personnel, and being on hold for at least 45 of those minutes, I say to myself, "This is such bullshit," hang up the phone, get in my car and drive down to their office. 

"OMG Miss Lee, what are you doing here?"  "You know why I'm here.  I'll be staying here until I have a CD in my hand containing all my information.  Do you understand?"  "Yes, Ma'am."  "That includes the films or CD images of the MRIs, the reports, and any other pertinent information related to my case.  Do you understand?"  "Yes, Ma'am."  I had a CD in my hot little paw within 10 minutes.  Ahh Good times.  I wasn't even wearing leather.  I was in a zombie tee shirt fer cryinoutloud!  Meh.  When you have *it* I guess it doesn't matter what you're wearing, but sometimes it DOES help.

I really wish I could sit in a chair for 10 hours a day, since it's apparent they need an office manager and I would be SO perfect for the job.  *eyeroll*

I Demand Non-Smelly

This cold is kicking my ass despite the huge handful of prednisone I'm taking every morning.  This weekend I did manage to get a lot done, however...in the manner of do something for 5 minutes, then sit down, get up in awhile and do something for 5 more minutes.  I did this while "The Walking Dead" marathon was on. 

The great room, at least, no longer looks like a crazy person lives here.  It is now relatively hairless. The counter tops and desk are clutter-free. All the dog related stuff is now in its own milk crate that lives on top of Rue's cage. 

I still have a shit-ton of mail to go through - which is now in a cardboard moving carton. If you'll remember I stopped opening bills when I got to the $125k mark.  Too much stress.  It is STILL too much stress, but I probably shouldn't just leave an entire cardboard carton of mail lay on my kitchen table.

I still have the mantle to tackle, which the tv is over....it's one of those big-ass corner fireplaces, so it has all the tv related crap on it, plus its own computer, so I can use the tv as a monitor and play blu-rays. There are books and tools and  a keyboard, the stupid dvr thing, more books, and a lot of tiny little shit that I didnt want to get lost, so was put there in the hope of not getting lost, EVERY piece of which is a friggin dust magnet.

I bought a new box of swiffer duster refills. They now contain fabreeze.  Why is it everything we buy these days has to be smelly?  It annoys me. What if I don't want smelly?  Why can't I just buy a plain non-smelly dustrag, fer cryinoutloud?

Haiku for Goose Crap

Sleep disrupted by
Great big *V* of honking geese
Fall is upon us

BRAAAIIIIIIINS

Halloween weekend there is a zombie shoot at the local indoor shooting range.  Teams.  I asked them what would happen if I came dressed as a zombie.  They advised me not to do that. 

I definitely cannot shoot with a shotgun on my shoulder. Not with an open chest....geezo I can imagine the pain and probable injury it would cause.   However, taking out zombies from the hip is a distinct possibility.  I may just go to watch, since I'm tired of staying home.  Not to mention zombie killers are *my people.*

While shooting there you can choke on the burger grease permanently saturating the air. (I could feel my arteries quivering as soon as I walked over to the grill side, which is also the shotgun side). 

I'm sure there will be lame prizes, but probably not meat.  For some reason meat shoots are reserved for VFWs & Elks.  Whatever.  What's a headless zombie worth anyway?  Free hour at the range?  Box of shells?  Ahh good times.

Haiku for Nyquil

NyQuil vile liquid
Your taste is foul and viscous
Yet you are weaker

Haiku for Snot

Post nasal dripping
Kleenex disappearing fast
Being sick sucks ass

SNARRRFFFKKKK UGH

Oh no, dammit I'm getting sick.  Cold, flu, virus, whatever kind of zorch that's going around--I've got it.  I was supposed to go to the neurologist tomorrow.  Not gonna make it.  In fact, probably won't make it out of bed, other than to feed and let out dogs.

This is the first sickness type thing I've had since finding out I had a  tiny little broken grinch heart.  I'm a little worried.  I DID get a flu shot on 9/30 so lets hope the vaccine has had enough time to work and it's not flu, since there is at least one confirmed case in the area.  After all the heart-related suffering, I'll be really pissed if flu kills me.

WHACKADOO

Ok, today I had my second appointment with Dr. Whackadoo, the pain specialist, who is an actual mad scientist, if ever I saw one.  The moniker I've given him is no accident. 

This time I actually got a script he CLAIMS will help with nerve pain.  It happens to be a drug for seizures/epilepsy.  Oh goody.  What the hell, if it can get rid of the burny tingly screamy, I'll play along.  I'll try anything once, as long as it doesn't kill me with the first dose, I guess I'll be ok.

I wonder what happened to the nerve block everyone kept mentioning at the beginning.  I know my memory is total shit since I was on the pump, but I DO remember several conversations concerning a nerve block.  If this new drug does nothing for me,  I believe I'll go pain doctor shopping on my own.  

I actually had a mad Russian pain doc over in Jonesboro who did wonders for me when I had 3 bulging disks and couldn't walk upright.  Fixed me right up he did, in a matter of only three weeks and 3 sets of facet blocks.  I wanted to avoid surgery at any cost, and of course that's the FIRST thing a neurosurgeon wants to do to a bad back. I haven't had any back problems since (knock wood). As I am a former patient of the mad Russian, he'd probably take me back.  Gee, now that I think of it that was like 8 years ago.  Probably his thick Russian accent has been replaced with the Arky twang/drawl by now.

Supposedly Dr. Whackadoo was named one of the top docs in the state of LA with a practice in Metarie.  If that is so, what the hell is he doing here?  Did he land here after Katrina and decide to stay? I think I'll do a little probing.  I can't believe the people in Memphis are any hurtier than the people in Nawlins.  Hrmph.

TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!

Holy crap, I made it another year -- and what a year it was.  I am now officially fossilized.  So I went to Sam's and bought myself this:

I specifically requested "I Need Cake Dammit" but there wasn't room.   Pffft.  She didn't try hard enough.  I should have made her do it again on another cake!  Of course, everyone who passed my grocery cart complimented the cake.  Perfect. 

I intend to eat a small slice.  Ok, maybe I intend to eat two small slices.  Then I thought I'd take it to the neighbor. If they don't want it it MUST go into the trash because I refuse to kill myself with a friggin cake, no matter how delicious the damned thing is.

7 Red Hairs

So this is my hair in the sunlight.  I think I have 7 actual red hairs left.  Ignore the rest of the pic just look at the hair  lol.  So far the gray hairs have gotten me the senior discount at Sally's Beauty Supply.  I'm workin' it, dammit!

Goodbye Shoe Collection

As much as it pained me to do so, I gave the Veterans the majority of my shoe collection -- beautiful shoes and boots, gently worn and lovingly cared for, still in their original boxes, many pairs of heels, including one pair of never-worn red leather Italian knee-high four inch heeled boots.  I will never be able to wear them again, why not free up a bunch of closet space?  I tell ya, it was like a knife in my heart.

I kept the ass-stomping boots which were made specifically for me, and the *sensible shoes* but everything else is out the door - anything with an obscene heel on it, or anything deemed a "cruel shoe" -- like a fetishy type thing.

If I need a dress shoe for a specific reason, I'll just have to go buy something dressy yet sensible  (yeah, like that combination would happen in a million years).  Dammit, I am officially the owner of nothing but matronly shoes.  ::stabs self::

MMA

Wow tomorrow night there's an MMA title fight here.  I turned it down - I'm not in fighting condition yet  LOL. 

Seriously, I doubt if I could even sit on a folding chair for more than 15 minutes let alone even walk to the ring, and I damned sure don't want anyone to bleed on me.  Plus, I have never been to a fight where some altercation didn't happen outside of the ring, and sure as shit I'd be in the thick of it - just my lot in life to be "in the thick of things."  I'm staying my ass home.

FFS

I just got *rapist scratches* from my dog, Rue, who was so apparently excited to see me after having been gone all day, decided to claw the shit out of me instead...   I have three huge claw marks that go from the bottom of my ear, across my neck, and actually JOIN to my heart scar at mid-chest.  GAHHHHH. So attractive  So very hurty. Need to recover.  Too damned bad I can't have a drink. Oh wait, I have Percocet. ::looks sideways at no one in particular:: 

Hmm...interesting that the pic doesn't look nearly as bad as it does in person (cause I have those shitty squiggly light bulbs).  I'm tellin' ya if I was a man I would automatically be a suspect for something heinous.

Grrrr

First of all, stupid router is sporadic. Need a new one.  Need cash first. Sometimes it comes on and is cooperative. Other times it needs to be reset, only to go right back out.  That big red "X" infuriates me.

Secondly, Dr. No-Fly-List postponed my appointment until the 13th. *sigh* At least the 13th is not on a Friday. I actually do *feel* better on prednisone, but am not really better, if that makes any sense. It has hideous side effects, so I both love and hate the drug. It's like a magic pill - as soon as it's stopped the symptoms it was helping come back worse than ever. It is like an item in the Steven King store, Needful Things.

What I'm really holding out for is the appointment with Dr. Whackadoo on the 11th.  I have been hoarding pain pills since the last visit with the cardiologist, so I have at least one to take at bedtimes in the hope that I can at least get *some* uninterrupted sleep.  SO so so very tired of hurting and not having a full range of movement, and a whole frigging xmas list of other things related to pain of which exhausts me just to think about.

RAGWEED

Stuffy misery
Arch nemesis ragweed blooms
Gobble Benedryl

SPREE

Spent the afternoon at Macy's buying a metric butt-ton of clothing. My narrow ass has gotten even narrower and my skinny thighs even more twig-like *sigh.* Mr. Peanut would be envious of my thighs.  My legs only swell from the knee down for some reason, so lately I've had legs like Popeye.  So sexy.

I was physically unable to try anything on at the store, despite trying to ram everyone out of the way with my trusty rollator.  I need to put some chariot spike-blade things on the wheels.

I will try on tomorrow, keep the good stuff, and the rest will go back.  I have a huge problem with arm length and too-short sleeves.  I'm extra happy when I can find something with a rolled cuff, which I then just roll down, and it looks like normal.

Technically I'm a "tall" but tall women's clothing can rarely be found in stores.  Fortunately they are generally making inseams longer, which I think is due to everyone wearing high heels these days. For whatever reason, I can usually find a pair of pants that has a long enough inseam. Unfortunately the ass is always too baggy.  I have resigned myself to being doomed with "ass knobs." (It actually hurts to sit on a hard kitchen chair because of my bony ass--when I say "ass knobs," I MEAN "ass knobs!")

I also think I tried on every shoe close to my size in the store. I'm sensing a huge winter shoe problem on the horizon. I've been able to get by since May with flipflops because of swelling, but I can't wear flipflops all winter. Ugh.

NITRO

Nitroglycerin
Tiny little bitter pill
I hate you so much

(bad haiku #something I don't remember)

Jabs

Today I got an 8-tube round of  blood tests for Dr. Whackadoo. Oh, and while I was there I got a flu shot.  And I'll be damned, I had to settle up a bill of $98something to get that *free* frikkin flu shot. Deductibles suck. 

I see Dr. Nutjob "No Fly List" on Oct 5, and Dr. Whackadoo on Oct 11. 
If I don't get SOME kind of drug from either one of them there will be wrath.  I'm tired of being dicked around, dammit.  I am tired of not being able to DO anything physical because some asshole can't write the right prescription.  FFS I can't even take a shower anymore - shower water actually hurts me.  I have got to find someone to help me and it's got to be soon.  DAMMIT.

My Art being used as Art!

I sold faces on stretchers to some Dutch guy and this is what he made: 

They are also wearing my skins and autopsy scar.  OMG I love it when people actually buy my crap and then make something with it that I can see and appreciate!  This is perfect Halloween horror at its finest!  Yay Dutch guy!  lol

Meh

A lovely day of dental torture and a long ass drive = rhinoceros-sized legs and screamy chest.  Dammit I should just stop trying to leave the house.

By the way, for the rest of my life if I have to have dental work of any kind, I must take antibiotics in advance of any treatment.  Yay.  Stupid heart.

Turtles Flee Harrah's for Better Pickin's

Very few turtles were at Harrah's gangplank today. I took my camera, which has lately turned into a lame piece of shit.  Although probably at least 100 pics were *taken* only about 15 are on the drive, and out of those 15 maybe one or two is worthy of salvaging.  I'm pissed. I need a new camera.

Anyway, I must have gotten the Harrah visit dates mixed up.  I need to get there earlier in the year in order to see the hundreds and hundreds of turtles - when its still really hot outside - like July or the first part of August.  Apparently the turtles are already starting their hibernating for the year.  Bah.  Turtle trip = FAIL.

I did get a plate full of grilled oysters - a dozen or so from Paula Deen which were relatively yummy.  I tried to contain myself with the rest of the buffet since I know it's loaded with butter and other evil things. Dammit.  I actually choked down a plain boiled potato with my oysters. Yuck.

I am never again supposed to eat raw oysters due to health reasons. I am also not supposed to consume sushi, however last night I actually had an entire spicy tuna roll from Benihana with no ill effects.  I did eat about a teaspoon or so of wasabi on each slice - supposedly the wasabi kills the bad stuff in the sushi.  I always ask for extra wasabi.  They bring me a golfball sized lump on its own little plate with my order.  "Oh look, it's that wasabi woman again...I wonder what she wants this time?"
 
I am so looking forward to my next exotic disease/strange sushi parasite due to my hazardous lifestyle. Yes I am a sushi eater. Dammit, I can't help myself. At least spicy tuna rolls are fat free...mostly...what fat there is is in the tuna, and it's the good kind of fat.

FLAMING SPACE BUS SUCKED UP BY BLACK HOLE

Meh.  Of course NASA has no idea where the bus-sized space trash landed. Obviously it did not land on me.  They assume the fiery bus entered the atmosphere some time between 11:30ish Friday night and 1:09 this morning. I was in bed and not wearing a hard hat.  I actually DO have a hard hat. Probably several if I looked hard enough. How fortunate for me and for NASA that my name was not on any of the various flaming parts, since I was not wearing the appropriate safety gear.

Hard Hat

If I leave the house today, it will be while wearing a hard hat to fend off any space junk that's aimed at me.  You KNOW there's a piece of something with my name on it, since my luck is so shitty.  I can only hope it falls through the roof of my house so home owners' can pay the damned thing off. 

2nd Opinions

I decided to not go ahead with the muscle biopsy. I am now seeking 2nd and possibly 3rd opinions.  Of course I have to do this within my insurance guidelines, and the wheels grind slowly if you're not actively dying. Gee.

In the meantime I have steroids, which I intend to take. I KNOW it will cut back on all the inflammation I have. There are other symptoms it will likely improve, but the inflammation reduction is definite.  That means my pain will probably improve. Yay.  Too bad that relief will come along with  the hideous side effects the steroids always produce.

OK, NOW I'M WORRIED

I got sent home from the biopsy because I was supposed to have a driver with me.  I had no idea I was supposed to be anesthetized. I thought I'd get a local, if anything  Apparently they will take an ice-cube-sized chunk of muscle out of my quadriceps.  I'm not happy.

I thought this would be a relatively no big deal thing.  I didn't know I'd be mutilated AND have all the risks associated with general anesthetic, and have my tiny little grinch heart stressed in the process.  I'm pissed.

I'm calling the neurologist first thing in the morning -- his ass better be at the office.  I am supposed to go back to the surgery center tomorrow at noon.  I'm doubtful I'll be there...at least not without giving my neurologist a thorough reaming first.

Biopsy

This afternoon I have to go to a surgery center and get a biopsy. I'm not nearly as worried about the stupid biopsy as I was all the additional heart tests.  The Neuro guy says there is only a 50% chance of it showing something evil.

Meh, even odds aren't generally deemed good, however with everything else I've had taken into consideration, the odds of having yet another strange, odd and deadly disease are hopefully pretty slim.

(Shit, I should not have even spoken it into existence - too late now.)

If it is indeed something evil, I have big plans for many bacon sandwiches, fried bologna, liverwurst and cream cheese, cake with rose icing....you get the idea.

There is only one test remaining after this biopsy - a CT scan of my hurty screamy boobs. Then all the scheduled tests will be over and hopefully I can lay on my stupid couch and be left alone while I sleep a lot and watch shitty daytime tv.

Mayo

I am a big mayonnaise eater from way back.  I prefer Hellman's from about 10 years ago, before they decided to model themselves after Kraft and their texture got runnier and sloppier.  Blegh.

I like a good, premium mayonnaise.  The kind for which one must pay $5 per pint, if it can be had at all.  If you feed me home-made mayonnaise I will follow you around like a puppy every day for the rest of your life, never leaving your side, merely waiting for another taste of said mayonnaise.

Light mayonnaise saddens me.  There is something about it that is decidedly off--namely that they have replaced most of the oil with water and left out the egg entirely.  ::insert vomiting noises here::

Good old mayo is on the list of foods I must never never ever have.  DAMMIT!  The list gives the tip, "use mustard or catsup instead."  WTF? I suppose the list maker never tried to make tuna salad with catsup, or tartar sauce with grey poupon. What could they have been thinking? What could have possessed them?

But what if I have just a teeny little dab of mayonnaise on my tuna or turkey sandwich? Because teeny dabs turn into middle-sized dabs which turn into entire heaping tablespoons.  *sigh*

This also means I will never again be able to have one of my all time favorite sandwiches: The Arkansas Roundsteak:  A slice of bologna fried crisp, topped by a slice of melted american cheese, served on two slices of white bread and finished off with a generous slather of REAL mayonnaise.  Hrmph.

PLbbbbbbt

My brother was supposed to visit me this weekend.  Monday through Friday, his alter ego is a UPS man.  Apparently he hurt his back at work last week and has been consuming Vicodin like sweet tarts.  Probably no visit for me.

He did say that now that he knew my little grinch heart wasn't going to stop cold within the next few hours, he felt better about eating his Vicodin and staying home.  Meh.

It's ok, I don't think I could have put fresh sheets on the spare bed without screaming.  Not to mention the rest of my pigsty is not very stylish these days. I guess it evens out in the end.

Fall-like Poop Rake

What a lovely and cool day, perfect for poop raking, and otherwise tending my fragrant garden.  I can last a lot longer if it's not punishingly hot outside. I so wish the dogs had thumbs.

I stopped the mowing service for the year.  I managed to get  Starvin' Marvin's phone number (whose actual name is Li'l T) when he came here to sell candy for school. Hopefully he'll mow for me next year and I won't have to mess with the lawn service asshats.

I'm still weak and sickly but geezo, what a difference a day makes without a diagnosis of impending doom hanging over my head. 

Whackadoo's Nurse

Whackadoo's nurse called me and wanted to know how I was getting along on my new dose of prozac. I gave her a good talking-to.  I told her I was not sleeping because of pain, NOT because my prozac dose was too high.

Picture this...I'm sleeping, I turn over, the turn puts pressure on my ribs, causing a sharp pain, causing me to wake up.  Pain is keeping me up, dammit.  Pain.  Did ya f*n hear me that time, ya silly twat?  Usually when people make appointments with pain doctors it means they have PAIN.

Despite this ridiculous phone call, my mood has improved today. Now that I know my heart is not going to immediately blow up, I feel slightly better.  *eyeroll*

Grinch Heart

A tiny Grinch heart
Thumps and pumps inside my chest
Almost like normal

YAY

No new blockage!  Prayers/good vibes worked!

The heart doc actually said to me, "Your heart looks almost normal, well...except for that dead part at the bottom."   -.-  (The *dead part at the bottom* being where the heart attack actually occurred.)

I am still very sick, but at least I know it's not my heart, which is a relief all its own.

So now we look elsewhere for the weakness and shortness of breath. The Neurologist takes over at this point.  I get a muscle biopsy on the 20th, and immediately after that I begin taking a giant daily dose of steroids.  I should be  bulky and surly by the first part of October. If I have to stay on that dose, by December I should be able to make the power lifting team without even trying. (I am teasing, of course) (Gasp: maybe my ass knobs will fill out?)

They expect the steroids to also help with my pain issues, since they believe the pain to be caused entirely by inflammation.

And yes, I told the heart doc that the pain doc was a complete whackadoo.  The heart doc refilled my oxy, and will be calling the whackadoo to "give him a good talking-to."    *eyeroll*

Pain Quack

What a crock. He's reducing my Prozac dose.  I told him I was severely depressed.  I told him I cry every day all day for no apparent reason at all (well, other than I'm depressed).  He thinks it's keeping me from sleeping.  Dammit to Hell, I went there for intolerable pain, not for sleep deprivation. He wants to see me in 4 weeks.  He said they work on one drug at a time.  Fuck him.

Tomorrow I see the heart doc again to find out about any impending doom. I get the results of the hurty screamy echo test and the thallium stress test. The last time I was at this point, they ordered a cardiac cath to find out exactly where the impending doom was, and 3 days later I was having a bypass. *sigh*

I am also complaining about this Dr. Blotner character, the Pain Specialist, who apparently is of the belief that taking away an antidepressant is the same as prescribing an analgesic.  All I know is I cannot wait 4 weeks for a pain script.  SOMEBODY is gonna have to get off their ass and write one for me, and it better happen...um....7 pills from now. 

Incidentally, it pisses me off that prescription refills have to go right down to the wire.  Dammit one or two days is not gonna make a rats ass in terms of dosing, but it sure as hell can make a big difference in planning a car ride or a delivery or a pickup.  I HATE the stupid drug industry in all its various guises.

Hurty Screamy

Hurty screamy echo test went just as I expected...with my hand around the tech's throat and both of us screaming.  Actually, I restrained myself, but it really hurt a lot. My chest is so extremely sore and painful - I wish they'd figure out why and do something about it.

Thallium stress test also went off without a hitch.  It is merely uncomfortable and unsettling, not painful.

I will get the results of these tests on the 13th at my next visit with the cardiologist.  Or they will call me if they see something bad.  They did say to me today that if something shows up on these tests that is TRULY horrible, I would know right away, because apparently I would be whisked away in an ambulance.  Since I drove myself home, I am assuming I passed.

More tests and appointments next week.  What I really want to do is lay in my bed, take my drugs, and RECOVER, while everybody leaves me alone and I don't have to drag my ass all around town from office to office and torture to torture. 

Bidness and a Coot

The *Southern Bidness* I was complaining about a couple of weeks ago has finally been taken care of for the time being.  It was almost worth the 4 hour round trip "drive of horror" from which I now have to recover.  My legs are swollen into things that kind of look like rhinoceros legs and/or umbrella stands.

 I tried to pull over around every 30 minutes and get out of the car to walk around a bit - I was warned to do that by the heart doc, in case I had to take any longish drives, to try to help prevent clots.  I don't think I'll ever attempt to fly again unless it's first class, or right on the wing where the extra leg room is.  I doubt I could afford to fly first class so it looks like I am doomed to Chinese Fire drills every 30 minutes or so.

If I am needed somewhere in the country and they can't wait for my slow ass to drive there, they'll just have to do without me, dammit.  Or maybe the train if I could get a sleeper.  That might be fun, but the train is notoriously slow - it takes even longer than driving.

I met the most charming old coot today.  He was like the grandpa you always wanted and kind of resembled a human-sized lawn gnome, minus the stupid hat.  He was adorable, in a coot-like way, and and we had quite a conversation.

I finally make it home, after all damned day to find that SOMEONE (Tater) has *skizzled* the living room rug.   ::shudder::    Like I needed to scrub the damned rug after an all day torture session with business types.  Dammit.  Tater is now locked in the sick room.  I have demolished two entire cans of spot shot and ruined a bunch of bar towels.  Frikkin dog.  This will require the rug doctor.  Ugh.  Rice and chicken for the big old doofus...and I'm considering muzzling her when she goes out in the back yard to stop her from eating whatever the hell she's eating.  Nasty.  Ugh.  Phooey. Rug scrubbing hurt me - will probably be extra sore tomorrow.

:(

I cannot possibly take one more syllable of bad news. I am shutting down for the day, and possibly for tomorrow so my head does not explode.

Hanging On

One more day and I get to see the neurologist. Maybe he can help with the pain or the inflammation causing the pain, or even some of my weakness. I really hope so. I don't want another heart operation.  This has just GOT to be something else and not another blockage.  I think if it was a blockage they would have seen it the first time.  At least, I hope this is the case.

This particular neurologist I had seen last year at which time he ran a bunch of tests.  I had a follow-up visit scheduled with him, but his nurse called me and said he had left the country for whatever reason and they wouldn't let him back in - apparently he was on the watch list.  Jesus.  So now he's back, and not a moment too soon.

One more day.  I've been doing that a lot lately, hanging on for one more day.   Sometimes hanging on for one more hour. I hate grasping at straws, but the neurology straw is only one of two I have left.

420

The cardiologist's nurse actually suggested I get some smoke.  I asked if I could get a prescription.  Nope, this is not a state in which they hand out prescriptions.  Naturally.

Besides, I'm sure smoking would help my heart. She said, "No, silly, you eat it, or take it in a pill."  *sigh*

I'm sure IF I could come up with something it wouldn't be in edible form, or pill form for that matter. And I'm not in a brownie baking mood, FFS.

Look, I have a bad heart.  My bad heart is not getting better. WTF is the big deal with prescribing narcotics if I'm not gonna get better?  WTF is wrong with you people?  I HURT, goddammit, I hurt.  How much more plain can I be? You can actually look at my chest and visually see where it hurts.

I have to look into hospice care, pending next week's tests.  Maybe they won't be so tight with the friggin drugs.  This is beyond ridiculous.

Empty Bucket

I always wanted to ride a mule to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  Nope, can't do it - too physical.

I always wanted to ride standing up on the back of a circus pony. OMG too physical. Besides, I would have had to had started training for it some 45 years ago.  I did realize however that horse acts were the most reliable of all the circus animal acts and if I had to be in a circus it better be involved with horses in some way.

Tail of the Dragon.  *sigh* Riding it in a car just ain't the same.

Oyster feast trip to New Orleans, followed by bignets every morning. Yeah, right. Would probably drop over dead the second day.

Lobster feast trip to Maine.  Meh.  Not sure I could choke down a lobster without a generous supply of butter.

Hawaii - and I wanna stay in one of those tree house huts that are accessible only by taking a 4WD vehicle up a river.  (Actually for this one I probably wouldn't survive the plane ride.)

Almost forgot this one: Have a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of ice cold golden guernsey milk. ahhhhhh. My favorite dairy breed AND bar none, the best tasting milk on the planet.

My bucket gets emptier every day.

5 days

I am so horrifically sore I can barely move. My natural inclination is to wrap my arms around myself just under my boobs and press as tight as I can.  That actually does make my chest feel a little better.  It makes me wish they still taped ribs.

(Which now makes me wonder about some kind of soft corset or even if a longline bra would help me--I see more catalog orders in the future).

 My first appointment is Wednesday.  I just have to hang on until then. Until then I will just have to continue to suck. Wednesday at least provides some gimmer of hope, however small.

Oww

Surprising how much faster days are flying by when I'm trying to get better and nothing is working.  All it does is seem to amplify how much time I DON'T have. Like today I said to myself, "Holy crap, it's Friday."

I've been watching Animal Planet a lot. The news depresses me so much I can no longer watch it.  Animal Planet is pretty depressing in its own right, with their plethora of mangy, dying dogs, cats trapped in sewers, and skeletal horses. 

Maybe I should start watching nothing but cartoons with a sprinkling of comedy channel thrown in for good measure. I am attempting to find a craft or something I can do, but I just don't have the concentration or focus.  I have a complete inability to *do* anything other than lay around and try to be as numb as possible.

My standards have lowered considerably.  Instead of wanting them to fix me, now I just want the pain to stop. I hope somebody can do something soon - I can't stand much more.

No Dick! + (New Addendum)

A friend started me thinking about icky old Dick Cheney and his shitty heart.  He told me if I get discouraged about my heart, I should think about Dick Cheney, and all the multiple heart surgeries he's had.  I reminded him old Dick had unlimited money and the best health care package in the country. 

I would like to talk to icky Dicky, however, politics aside.  I just want heart info from him, if he'd even give it to me truthfully.  He is 20 years older than I am, but I'm sure his information might help me.

I want to know if everything he eats tastes like wet ashes?  I want to know if he cries for most of the day? I want to know if he feels helpless or if his ribs feel like they're going to fly open every time he coughs?  I want to know if he feels like he's going to faint if he takes more than 5 or 6 steps?  I want to know if he's too worried or too afraid to sleep.

I'll never know. With that little pump thing he's wearing I expect they're probably prepping him for a transplant as soon as a heart becomes available.  He'll be one of the few that gets a heart while the rest of us drop like flies around him.

Addendum:  My friend John E. says Dick Cheney has never cried a day in his life.

*A dear friend of mine wrote a poem/rant in honor of this particular blog post (and for me)...it warmed the little cockles of my heart, it did. The link I originally used no longer works so this is his poem, just for me:

The Two Hundred Fifty Sixth, September 13, 2011

By D. M. Lee

I have a very dear friend
hard to believe I know
her story asks a question
no one wants to address

she is trying to recover
following heart surgery
it is not going very well
she struggles each day

bills take all her money
weakness drains her too
unable to do very much
self-esteem taken away

wondering every morning
if today is her last day
will she have more life
ever able to live it again

television adds insult
floating across the screen
the face of Dicky appears
her tax dollars at work

She struggles for treatments
he has all the best care
she can't make appointments
he has doctors come to him

she has not shot a friend
she did not begin any wars
only supported a nation
that is turning their back

we conveniently forget
those that need our help
wounded veterans, the poor
lost children, and homeless

where are the priorities now
that hypocrisy becomes law
care only for the wealthy
providing for their greed

compassion is left behind
the charge of those who care
typically poor themselves
yet they can still find ways

shame upon the narrow
the greed filled and blind
who only seek their pleasures
missing the real point of life

I will pray for my friend
giving the hope that I can
knowing how she struggles
as I cry at the injustice of greed

Cancel

I had to cancel a vet appointment I had this afternoon for Tater's annual shots & stuff.  I'm just too weak to do it.  Naturally I was pouring tears the whole stupid time I was trying to talk to the vet staff.  They understand, at least.  Tater is put on hold until they figure out what's going on with me. 

I quite possibly might be all cried out for the day.  My head feels strangely far away from the rest of my body--kinda floating above me like a Macy's parade balloon.

I'm afraid. The only thing I can do is try to sleep and hope I feel a little better when I wake up.

Throw This

Short of breath and fatigued, I am riding my couch as per usual, just moving around less.  I'm so weak.  I'm trying to sleep as much as I can and not stress so much.  Easier said than done.

I can get ativan filled tomorrow. Yay. Calmer living through modern chemistry. It is a drug that actually does calm me down considerably, and usually acts within 15 minutes.  I wish they made a happy pill that did the same thing.

Rue, the German Shepherd, becomes distressed when I cry. If she's in her crate she whines, if she's out I get a furious face licking. Maybe she thinks my sobs are dog howls. 

She will sometimes pick up a dishtowel and poke me with it, wanting to play, or poke me with a ball, and by this I mean she takes it in her mouth and shoves it at me. Poke Poke Poke. I guess she's saying, "Shut up and throw this already, enough with the howling!"

Bad News :(

Back from the heart doc this morning - he thinks I have another blockage.  I am a bundle of raw nerves and my head has reached critical mass. 

I am scheduled for all the same tests I had at the beginning.  Another torturous echo cardiogram for my screamy boobs, more thallium, etc.

I am kind of wondering what the point of having a new round of tests is, since I will refuse any further surgery at this point.   I am certainly not keen on a second round of heart torture - it has only been 3 months since the first time.  I am nowhere near healed from the first surgery, and I don't think my brain can take another round on the pump so soon.  I still have lots of "Pump Head" symptoms that have not improved at all.  Maybe they can do something with drugs this time. I feel devastated. 

Note to self: seek out nearest neighborhood porch asap as future hideout.

I finally have an appointment with the pain specialist. The heart guy says he will probably want to do a nerve block. The pain appointment is the day after I get thallium. ::twitch::  Maybe he can do a nerve block that starts at the top of my head and ends just under my knees.

Today is the first time ever the heart doc did not say to me, "You're going to be ok!"

Carnival of Doom

I miss the bigtop
The smell of greasepaint horse crap
Corndogs and vomit

Dammit

The cardiology nurse calls me back from the message I left on Friday.  She says, "You really sound bad, you should come into the office."   

Oops, I already used all my energy going to Walgreens today.  Really, I'm tapped out-- I feel like a wet, wrung-out dishrag, and I explain this to her.  I'm going in tomorrow morning at 10:00. In the meantime if I get feeling any worse I should to go to the ER, per the nurse. 

WTH I've been like this for weeks and somebody finally notices, even though I've been complaining loud and long the entire time?  Also, does that even make sense?  I feel too weak to go to the doctor's office, but apparently I'll be strong enough to take myself to the ER?

So, along with sounding really bad, I FEEL really bad.  I might go missing for awhile.  Don't get excited, I'll be back when I can.

No Comprendo

Geezo I woke up at 4:00AM, my usual, but I was dreaming I was in Mexico trying to buy drugs.  Oddly, I was walking, and holding a hammer.  I have never been to Mexico, but my dreams think it's hot, dry, and dusty like an old Clint Eastwood movie. 

The Mexico of my dreams is strangely devoid of people, except of course, the girl behind the drug counter at the pharmacy who kept saying, "no comprendo." 

Even my dreams piss me off.

I have one pill left.

In the Trunk with a Wolverine

I hurt.  I'm sad.  I'm sick and broken. I can't do anything but lay here.  That's it.  Just lay here.  There is an occasional room to room forray, but mostly I lay here and herd dogs to and fro.

 I called the Cardiologist's nurse today to ask that she light a fire under this Dr. Blotner character, the pain specialist, since I haven't heard a word from their camp despite all my pestering and badgering.  (Trust me, pestering and badgering are good things.  If you're on my bad side it's more akin to being locked in the trunk of a car with a wolverine.)

I am kind of anxious about the CT scan of Lefty.  I think they've wrecked poor Lefty forever and I'm worried.  I'm mostly worried because if it's something really bad, I am too weak to survive any additional treatment.

I have two pills left.

Drugs Like Gold

I went to Walgreen's to drop off my pain script, and had planned to go into Walmart to get a few tasteless food items while I was waiting for Walgreen's to diddle my pills. 

The Script was for 60 oxy 1 or 2 every 6 hours as needed for pain.  They wouldn't let me have them.  They said I couldn't have them until the 29th.  That's 4 days from now.  SOMEBODY miscounted.  It wasn't me.  I have 4 pills left. That's one a day. *sigh*

What the hell am I supposed to do until then?  Just lay on my bed and writhe around?  Go find a heroin dealer?  WTF? I am not making another trip to the stupid ER because somebody doesn't know how to count pain pills. If I took my gold to one of those melty-down-yer-gold places, do you think they might give me pain pills in trade?

I went into Walmart to regroup.  It's across the highway about about 1/4 mile down.  I bought a bag of half-sized potato buns.  I selected 2 greenish bananas, 4 white flesh peaches (which I love dearly) I felt up all the grapes but was unimpressed. And that's when I lost it. 

I started to cry next to the grapes. I cried all the way back to the frozen food where I selected a single serving Marie Calendar's White Cheddar Mac & Cheese, grabbed a 12 pack of Coke Zero, and hurried to the checkout area, head down, trying to not make any sobbing sounds like I usually do, and of course had a fist full of snotrags at the ready, to snort into if needed.

I tried as best as I could to make no eye contact.  I paid with my debit card, sobbing, quietly sobbing. Took my basket to the car, loaded up my few purchases in the back, got in the front seat, turned on the motor and the a/c and just laid there with my head on the steering wheel, my eyes pouring tears.

And suddenly something just occurred to me.  If I'm dying I ought to be able to have a fucking cookie if I want one.  I ought to be able to have a whole fucking GROSS of cookies if I wanted.


I should be able to have a nice rib eye steak, and a nice potato with butter and sour fucking cream if I wanted.  Instead of whole wheat pasta with shit-flavor wet ashes sauce on it.


I should be able to have a piece of cake, or some pie, or whatever the hell I want. I should be able to have the WHOLE cake, if I want the whole damned cake.  Fuck the one piece of cake.  I want the whole damned cake.  And my cake better have some icing roses on it, dammit!  ::sniff::

 

Living Hurts

Breathing hurts
reclining hurts
walking hurts
standing hurts
taking a shower hurts
coughing, sneezing and hiccoughing hurts
Living hurts

When I was a little girl they told us in school to offer up our suffering for the poor souls in Purgatory.  Purgatory was a real place at that time - like Hell, only not forever...sort of like a prison for sinners. Sinners had a chance to get out of Purgatory.  If people on earth prayed for their souls or had masses said for them, of offered up some of their "earthly suffering" it could literally BUY a soul out of Purgatory and then the soul would get to go to heaven.

At some point, I don't know when, the Catholic Church did away with Purgatory and Limbo. (Limbo was an afterlife place for the unbaptized.)When they did this, they rendered suffering absolutely useless.  There is no longer any reason at all to suffer, and yet suffering still persists.

I want to call in all my suffering chips. Oh, and I suffered plenty over my relatively short lifetime, so I should have a huge pile of suffering chips amassed somewhere.   Can't I trade in a few of them?  Just a few?

When is it my turn

When is it my turn
to be fixed to feel better
Be normal once more

Bad Haiku #137

I'd leave my house except I'm afraid someone would see me crying. I'm afraid of crying in public.  Once I start, I can't stop crying no matter where I am.  I don't want people to see me - my eyes are swollen and red. I haven't put on makeup for months, because it would melt from the tears.  Then I'd look like one of my clown selves, with big black mascara tear streaks and horrible lipstick.

Maybe I should buy a burka so nobody can tell if I'm crying or not. Maybe that's what all those women under burkas are doing?

I cry because I hurt. I cry because I'm depressed. I cry because I'm sad. I don't foresee an end to any of these reasons.

Cooters

Cooters are turtles
You can count their rings like trees
If you need their age.

Bad Haiku #136

One of the coolest things I have ever seen is at the gangplank to Harrah's casino in Tunica, Mississippi. 

I rarely gamble. Most often in the past if I was going to a casino, it was to eat there.  Paula Deen has a buffet at Harrah's that is drool inducing.  Maybe I'd drop $20 in the slots, but that's it.  I can't stand to lose, and that's what I do at casinos, is lose. 

I went there at Thanksgiving, since they have turkey dinner and all the trimmings at the buffet.  Before getting to the buffet, a trip down the gangplank is required.  I noticed bubblegum dispensers placed about every 10 feet or so all the way down the gangplank.  I looked closer and noticed that inside the dispensers the "bubblegum" is brown...I walked over to one and it read across the front, "Turtle Food 25 cents."

I walked about 2 or 3 feet closer to the fence which is the side of the gangplank and looked over the edge.  I saw hundreds and HUNDREDS of turtles, all of them looking back at me, most of them with open mouths!  I could tell they were open mouths since I could see pink diamond shapes amid a sea of brown river water, and various turtle-colored turtles. Clearly it was a stroke of genius for Harrah's to put Turtle Food dispensers here. *eyeroll*

I quickly felt around the bottom of my purse for quarters so I could feed the panhandling, begging turtles because that was clearly what they wanted --poor starved little things!  There was everything from little red eared sliders, to big old snappers, some terrapins, and odd looking soft shelled turtles with their snorkely noses.  It was a friggin turtle party with all sizes  represented from little coin-sized things all the way up to man-hole-cover-sized monstrosity turtles!  I can't wait to go back.  Next time, I'm taking a camera.

New Hair

I know you're all just dying to see, but I'm waiting for a photographer who won't make me look like a 2-headed calf. Me  lol.  I'll prolly take my laptop outside on the patio table tomorrow.  You really have to see it in the sunlight to appreciate.

I HATE that long ass FB/Myspace arm thing when people try to take dramatic shots of themselves.

I acutally own a tripod, but it's either in the garage or in the attic.  In either place it would be up high, and I don't have enough energy to dig out a short ladder and carry it up there, or throw rocks at it until it falls down.  (OOO not to mention collecting and carrying a bag of rocks in the first place.  Geez, I probably should have had Rue start climbing ladders last month, now that I think of it.  Damn all the luck.

So the hair....I had it "silvered"  One of those plastic frosting cap things is jammed on the head, and using a sharp crochet hook (I swear she was drawing blood) pieces of hair are pulled through the cap, while the rest of the hair is protected by the plastic.  They were a little worried about the few actual red hairs I have left.  They suspected the red ones would turn into cotton-candy-pink, but nothing like that happened. 

Every bit of color is removed ("stripped") from the pieces of hair which are now outside the cap, making them look white, but they are actually transparent.  Silver is rubbed vigorously into the now prepared hairs.  It looks pretty cool - I like it.  It's not something everyone has, it's dramatic but not freakishly dramatic.  I think it suits me.  Yay I'm actually happy with an aspect of my appearance for a change!  lol