All I wanted today was a nap. A nap to get me ready for taking Princess trick-or-treating, but my husband took one look at me all comfy and dozy on the couch and decided that he had a lot to say. And he needed to pace the floor as he said it, and take and make many phone calls too. To shut him up I made a deal with him. He wanted to know where I had hid the Halloween candy, but I would not tell him unless he promised to quit talking and let me nap. I had hid my stash in the cupboard with the healthy snacks and foods, I knew it would never be found in there. No one else in this house would be caught dead looking in there; there is not enough fat and calories in there for them. When I told him where to find it he said he could not believe he had not found it before (!), and that a blind man could have found it. He ate so much candy he said he felt ill and pissed me off by eating more. The only way I got him to leave some was by telling him he would have to go to the store for more if we ran low. Next to my healthy food cupboard the grocery store is next in line of things to be avoided at all costs. I hope the kids will understand when they get empty candy wrappers from us this year. I hope they realize the real criminal here is him and not me, and egg and t.p. his car accordingly, not mine. He said he would just turn off the lights and sit here in the dark if the candy ran out--not hard to do when you eat yourself sick on it. I thought it was the kids that you had to warn about eating too much candy and getting sick. Hmmm, makes me think of "Plop plop fizz fizz"...
That STINKS! I am going to find out which cat pissed on the rug in my bathroom and didn't have the basic manners to give me a heads-up about it. I walked in there to take a bath and the smell was so overpowering I almost lost consciousness while simultaneously having my hair and skinned bleached by the ammonia. I hauled all the rugs down to the laundry, sprayed air freshener and even wiped the floor with Lysol wipes. My husband lit every candle and several incense, which I hate--they give me a headache--all to no avail. What is it about the smell of cat urine that just hangs on and on and on and on? I feel like I am living in the middle of a soggy cat box and I suspect that it is my oldest cat, Flea. That fat old bitch is so lazy he probably doesn't want to go down the stairs to relieve himself. He has been torturing and abusing me for 14 years now and I have not complained, but I have to draw the line at pissing around the house, in places that we can't seem to pinpoint exactly where they are. I'm not going to say I want him gone... but if one of my babies does decide to go into the light....
Digging through the fridge looking for what to make for dinner I decided spaghetti sounded good to me. As I am the cook and maid and we decided that everybody could dig up their own dinner, I yelled out to my husband and Princess to see if they wanted any. They were so thankful for my thoughtfulness they started fighting over what I could make for them. P: I want macaroni and cheese! H: I want tacos! P: Macaroni and cheese! H: Tacos! I waited for one of them to take a breath then just yelled over them that because I was making the meal, I was making spaghetti and they could eat that or make their own meal. They decided spaghetti was exactly what they were craving and thanked me for reading their minds.
Earlier I went to some home improvement stores to look at some borders for my bathroom. As I was getting ready to leave my husband told me not to get any of that "fake looking s**t". I don't care for whimsical anyway but it is my bathroom and I had something in mind for me. I would not mind others using it but they never replace toilet paper, bunch wet towels up, and if a towel falls they don't pick it up.
My husband and Princess were looking for dessert and were scandalized that I only got a small box of ice cream. They asked why I didn't go to a store on the other side of town from where I was today to get the big bucket of the kind they like.
My husband thinks his delicate skin is irritated by the laundry soap I use. Never mind that I have used it for years and he never had a problem, or that his skin is about as delicate as an armadillo's shell, I had to get him some without any fragrance or dyes and separate all his laundry out to wash, doubling my laundry.
Sometimes I wouldn't mind getting fired from this job.
Because I am, and no, you pervert, I am not talking about anything naughty here (well, maybe, but it is a funny memory from high school; I'm sure Tilly will remember.). I must not move much at night because I wake up with as much flexibility as a steel beam. This morning Princess and I woke up late--7 am. She came in and shook me and said, "We slept late!" all panicked because I usually get up about 2 hours earlier than that, but I just could not get to sleep last night. I was hot but without the covers it was too cold, my husband was over the line and crowding me, panting all over my pillows and heating up my side, my book was so good I didn't want to put it down, I had one nostril stuffed up and could get a good nose whistle going if I breathed just right so I amused myself with piping out tunes. Ugh, you get the point. Then when I did fall asleep I had stupid and disturbing dreams, and I obviously did not move enough (even though I had to pee about 10,000 times last night) because this morning one arm was asleep and I was walking like Frankenstein in desperate need of coffee. One of these mornings I am going to seriously hurt myself because what does not bend breaks, but until then I can always amuse myself by loudly asking my husband, "ARE YOU STIFF?!" because that is a funny memory.
All day my husband and I have been arguing a certain point. I made ham and bean soup today and he and I can not agree on what it is or should be.
He: It is ham and beansoup. She: It is ham and bean soup. He: You crumble up the cornbread and put it over it and eat it as one dish. She: The cornbread goes on a separate plate and is eaten with it, as two dishes. He: Less juice! She: Its soup! Its supposed to be that way! He: No, it is ham and beans.
It just keeps going around and around. I would ask what others think, but I have no hopes of any one actually voting... but if you want to, what do you think? Is it ham and bean soup or ham and bean soup, or are we both stupid?
I need to get more exercise. My neurologist told me that exercise is important for everyone but doubly important for people like me. I live in the pool all summer long, but winter... I have no good excuse for not exercising. I wish things like I'm tired, I'm lazy, quit shouting I'm napping, would hold water, but alas, they don't. I was trying to decide between getting a membership to the Y again or cultivating a crack addiction. I was leaning towards the crack idea for about 3 minutes, so I told my husband that I was thinking of starting a new career, one that would require different hours and possibly more diseases. I knew it would be a rough start, being in a smaller city and being a gimp--not exactly a promising beginning to my prostitute career. I had it all figured out, I would sell my body for the crack money because I don't want to sell off anything we own and I want the money that fuels my addiction to come from the sweat of my own... brow (what did you think I was going to say?). I was even practicing my "Paris Hilton" smirk for mugshots. Yes, I had it all figured out. When I told my husband my plans he asked me if that was my only choice. I am now a member of the YMCA again.
Anyone who knows me knows the story of my young ward, but for those who do not know me I wanted to explain as much as I can. I have no biological children, we did foster care for about 3 years before I was diagnosed and had 9 kids that way. My young ward, as I like to refer to her because she is not my bio kid, has been with us off and on for about 1.5 years. Her parents are going through a nasty divorce with a lot of turmoil, so she is with us for the time being and will be for a while longer. I refer to her as my young ward or Princess or a bunch of other nicknames because I guard these kids' identities vigorously. If you know me and know her that is fine, but I am not willing to give up any details about her and will not post pictures of her on the internet or anywhere besides my house and maybe in Christmas cards--if I did Christmas cards. So it may sound strange to call her my young ward, but that is what I am comfortable with. I am ok with putting myself out here but not any kids--doing foster care will open your eyes to a lot of things you would rather not know sometimes, so I protect these kids like a rabid mama bear. You can mess with me but not my kids; I don't want to spend my life in prison but I will gladly if someone hurts them.
I have these itchy bands around my arms, right above the elbow that are driving me crazy (short drive). I hate how MS symptoms can be asymmetrical. Like my left itchy arm band is only a few fingers wide where the right one is wider than my hand, almost from the elbow to the shoulder. My left earlobe is so itchy I had to take my earrings out, and I keep clipping my nails down so I don't tear up my skin in the night. I get electric shocks over just my right shoulder blade up my neck and into my hair, which makes it stand on end. My legs both have pain and numbness but the left one is only about mid-calf down and the right one is about knee down. But I have to say that the most annoying thing I have had so far is this RLS (Restless Leg Syndrome). It drives me crazy! I will be so tired but my legs will just kick and kick. The meds for it work really well, but make me very tired. All I am doing now is trying not to think about how itchy I am, I hate digging myself up like this, but it feels so good to just scratch--kind of like a mosquito bite. You know you shouldn't but it itches too much to ignore.
I can safely talk about this right now, because the inspiration does not have internet in their new house. I hate when someone gets mad at me because I will not do a "big" favor for them that is out of my way and inconvenient. If you don't want an answer why pose it as a question? Or maybe I should say, be prepared for somebody to say no if they don't want to do something for you. I'm sure at one point in my life I did not like to tell people no, but now I have no qualms about it and will say no even if I just don't feel like doing it. I also hate when people have a problem and the only solution they can see is what somebody else can do to resolve it, or help resolve it. I am not interested in being the solution to any body's problems. It has never ceased to amaze me how many arguments I get into with someone over my lack of interest in doing something for them. I live by the motto, "Are you worried about my house payment?" or whatever is comparable. So excuse me for not wanting to go out of my way to help you out, I find that it is inconvenient and not going to work for me. Now feel free to be mad, but don't expect me to solve the problem of making me do something I don't want to do.
The other day my young ward asked me 2 questions that really stumped me. She is always asking questions, so that is nothing new, but to leave me wondering how to answer them is new.
1. She asked me why I am always friendly and talk to everyone. I never thought I was, I just try not to make others' day worse by having to deal with me. I'm real thoughtful like that. I may be in a foul mood but I try not to take it out on others, unless they say please.
2. She asked me if I always sleep with animals. Now we could go back and forth all day about whether or not I have ever slept with an animal, but I simply told her it is just to cuddle with, because just like Nick Lachey, deep inside me is a 14 year old girl who just wants to be held.
I'm no doctor but I think I can safely say that my left eye socket has been lined with broken glass. Also, the nerves in my legs have tied themselves into knots. They just want to kick and cramp, which seems very knot-like to me. I know, I know, my gift at diagnosing should be shared with the world, but sadly I am far to busy wondering what flatfoot put this glass in my eye socket to be helping others with their ailments. Come to think of it, my little sister said her right eye was killing her and she thought the glass idea summed it up pretty well, so maybe it is an alien abduction that we have here... I'll have to ask her if she saw any green men last night.
*Update: Even though my little sister lives in a small town surrounded by cornfields, which we all know makes aliens want to come and leave circles, she said she saw no green men, strange lights or flatfoots around, and she should know because she did not get home until almost 12am.
What is it about a man in uniform that just does it for me? I had to go downtown to the courthouse (I can't talk about that right now because I am still so angry about it I don't want the anger to seep off my fingers and burn out any eyeballs) and the officer that was manning the metal detector was HOTTTT! I'm not sure what the criteria for frisking is but I was willing to undergo a mutual frisking, because I am pretty sure he had a weapon on him--I'm talking about his gun, not something else. Of course I had to look like I just dragged myself out of a gutter--ratty sweatshirt, crusty hat, no makeup--it never happens when you look decent. Then leaving the courthouse I drove by a fire station where the boys were washing down their fire trucks. I was so busy ogling them I didn't see my turn and ended up taking it without even tapping the brakes, I could feel myself whipping around the corner on 2 wheels, while they looked in surprise at the idiot who took the corner like it was the Indy 500. But I don't care, it was worth it. I will take whiplash anyday for a good cause.
I set up this whole blog so anyone can comment or look around and remain anonymous. Not that I had much choice, it was a yes or no question and I didn't want to limit myself to only people who have an account on here. I have a little counter thing that keeps track of hits, like myspace does, and even gives me some fancy pie graphs that come in your choice of colors, but those are not too damning for anyone. I hate sites that track people or make you have an account to do anything. I also hate cherry flavored anything. And malted milk candies. OK, I'm done.
*Author's note: I hate caterpillars too, and lotions that smell like food, and itchy clothes, but that is all.
*Author's note II: and people who talk loudly in the library, uncomfortable bras, and tight jeans. I'm done now.
My little sister pissed me off recently; she told me that she would rather have to depend on machines to keep her alive then have an organ transplant from me, if it ever came down to that. Her reasoning was that because there was no proof that she would not develop MS from my organs, she would rather not take a chance. She had the nerve to be shocked that it made me mad. I told her that if my own family was so ignorant, what hope did I have for the rest of the world to view me as not contagious or not needing to be quarantined (as much as I love the thought of putting a "QUARANTINED sign on my front door)? I already know how kids see people like me, but I had naively hoped adults would be a little more informed--silly me. I make a point of buying good candy for Halloween because I don't want to be the crazy gimp lady that gives out the crappy stuff that pisses kids off. I told my husband that I was the kind of person that kids would not want to take candy from because they might catch what I caught--I was the same way as a kid. I remember avoiding certain houses where the people were smelly, scary, or just plain weird, and not wanting to eat that candy. But I must admit I get a ton of pleasure as dressing up as a zombie each year. I already walk like one and we live just down the street from a bone yard... although this year I was really feeling like being Miss Havisham. Nothing like a bitter dried up old maid to really scare the kids, or adults for that matter. One of these Halloweens I am going to be a bog body and give out some nasty, dark, tarry candy--after I cough on one piece to give to my little sister.
I know some people love them because they give you energy, and we all know how MSers need energy, but I hate them. Within the first year of being diagnosed (well, 10 months, but who is counting?) I went through steroids 4 times and hated it every time. The steroids make me sick, crazy and fat--in that order. Each time I did them I figured out that I gained 13.7 lbs, which brought me to a grand total of 55 lbs of weight gain--YIKES! Very few people can gain that much weight and not be considered overweight, and I am no exception. At my highest weight I was only at the high end of what is considered "normal" for my height and I felt like a fatted pig heading to slaughter. And now without further ado, my 3 reasons for hating them:
SICK Ohhh, the heartburn! I never get heartburn. Never ever for never never and ever. So I didn't know why my chest felt like I wanted to belch flames, and this with the Zantac that they give you. I guzzled Maalox and took the maximum of it and the Zantac, maybe even over it, but still no relief. I drank milk, water, and one time only vanilla shakes--nothing helped. It is just something you have to suffer through. Even after the steroids ended (I did them for 5 days) it took a long time for my poor, burnt up stomach to return to normal. They also make everything taste like CRAP. Even if you have nothing in your mouth, your mouth will still taste terrible. So terrible that throughout the night I had vivid and disturbing dreams about eating foul things and woke up once licking my pillow and another time spitting on my pillow to get the terrible taste out of my mouth. I learned to keep mints in my bedside table for when I get an attack of shitty-steroid-mouth while sleeping, and would wake up often to eat another one when taste would start messing with my dreams again. For those of you who have never had to go through the steroids and can't believe anything could taste as bad as steroid mouth, I have one suggestion for you: go lick the bottom of a very dirty cat box and see how good it tastes. That is probably the closest thing to it, yet I will still put my money on steroid mouth tasting worse.
CRAZY Rev your body up as much as you can and keep it there for 5 days. Drink pot after pot of coffee, smoke about a carton of cigarettes a day, do anything to keep you as wired as possible and tell me how you feel after 5 days of that. Heck, even after 2 days I start feeling the crazies attack me. I know some people stay in the hospital for the steroids, but I can't stand to. They make me want to run laps around the city and trying to keep me in bed would make me crazier. I read somewhere one person's take on steroids, something like, "first day clean the house, second day jump off the roof..." and I think that nailed it. And as crazy as the being revved up is, the coming down can be just as bad. I didn't do the oral taper the first time and I crashed so hard afterwards I could barely move for 2 days. I also felt like I was on a bad acid trip, things looked wrong... I don't know how to explain it, just not a very stable feeling. Then the last time I did them, after about 3 days of the oral taper I "went crazy" and cut my wrists with a razor blade. 5 Days in the loony bin gave me plenty of time to decide that I will never do them unless I lose my vision again--nothing will change my mind on this. One trip to the loony bin is enough in one lifetime!
FAT Imagine the most hungry you have ever been, where everything looks, smells and tastes exquisite. Or the worst case of the munchies you have ever had, where you could not stop nibbling on stuff and just wanted to inhale everything in the kitchen. Now add cravings that block out any other thought and you have a recipe for a fat ass. One time it was dairy products, milk, cheese, ice cream, but mostly milk. I drank so much milk I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital to have my stomach pumped, then the ice cream took its place and all I could think about is what I could possibly put ice cream on that I had not thought of yet. I can't forget the attack of The Chunky Peanut Butter that held me in its grip for the longest of any of the cravings. I gave up putting it on bread or apples, I just grabbed a spoon and the vat o' peanut butter. I suppose if I had more self control I could have fought these craving and not gained the weight, but when food tastes better than you have ever known it to it is so hard to resist.
I think this has summed up my feelings about steroids pretty well. If I ever feel too healthy, sane, and skinny I may consent to do them--if the attack it bad enough--but I don't see that happening... ever.
Which is bad news for my husband, he campaigned hard for the youngest cat but she wasn't having any of it. Highlights of this most recent poll in my house show:
People with MS smell better. We just do, scientists are still trying to figure out this enigma.
MSers are better housekeepers and make the bed about 141% better than those without MS. This study found that non-MS persons tend to leave more wrinkles and bumps in the covers and sheets-- if they make the bed at all. The non-MSer does not get the dishes clean, over does the laundry detergent, washes delicates with work clothes, and cannot clean a toilet.
The "normal" person has a harder time putting toilet paper back on the dispenser when it runs out. On-going studies suspect there may be a misfiring in the brain that makes it difficult to realize that your ass is sitting there using up the last square so REPLACE IT. They also were less able to recognize when they needed to double flush. Also lacking was the basic understanding of when is the right time to use air freshener.
People with MS are much easier on the eyes. Again, they are not sure why but found that those polled would rather look at the person with MS than the one without.
Persons with MS are better bedfellows, they sleep sounder and are more comfortable to drape yourself on making a "dogpile" much more rewarding. They do not flop around like a fish out of water or throw you out of bed for hogging it all.
MSers have a better sense of humor. Their jokes average about 1000% more humorous and are much better story tellers. They were also more likely to be well read in this study because those polled do not work and frequent the library about once a week.
Lastly, they brush their teeth more regularly, do not tend to forget deodorant, have less gas and look better in a bikini than the non-MS person in this study.
I would have liked to put "Men At Work" as the title because it conjures up much more pleasant thoughts than "under construction", especially as I have a splitting headache and am waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in. I am starting my own MS blog for the sole reason that I need a place where I can talk about my MS without wondering if I am boring others and also because I have a lot to say--guess that is two reasons, oh well. So by naming it an MS blog one knows that it is about MS. I blog like a mad woman on my myspace page, but try not to talk about MS too much; I needed an outlet for all things MS-like in my world. Also, as usual I welcome all thoughts, comments and such, on anything, not just MS. I am going to try to put this page together as quickly as I can so I can continue on my quest to say everything I need to say before I die--its going to be a close race.