Unforgivable

I'm a pretty forgiving person in general. I don't have too many things that are absolute deal breakers, there are a few, but not many, and even then with the right apologies etc. they can usually be worked out. This morning I ran into a total nonnegotiable. At 3 am almost to the minute, I was woken up by my cluster headache. This is the usual time so I just glance at my clock to make sure we are on schedule and to track the starting time so I know when to expect the end time, then play the waiting game. I recently started new meds so the severity of my attacks has really come down, so much so that I can play games as I wait out the 2 to 2.5 hours until the hot sledgehammer is done hitting me on the left side of my face/head. Sometimes, just to shake things up, instead of the hot sledgehammer to the side of my face, the cluster will take a pvc pipe and try to force it into my eye socket with the sledgehammer. It likes sledgehammers because they can really get some force behind them and they cause more widespread pain. But the cluster headache wasn't the problem, nor was the fire that was burning in my legs, thanks to my MS that wanted to remind me that it was still there in case I forgot, because when clusters are in town, I don't notice anything else. A pack of wild rabid possums could be gnawing off my leg and I wouldn't know it if I was having a cluster headache at the same time. But worst of all, stuck in my head was that Popo Zao (or however you spell it) song that Kevin Federline did. What in the name of tarnation was that song doing in my head, actually, just that one line, "let me see that popo zao." When was the last time you even thought of that song, or remembered that he did it? I can't remember the last time I thought about him, or the fact that he wanted to be a rapper and tried by making that one song that I think I listened to maybe twice on gossip sites years ago. I tried to think of every catchy song I could. Every song that when I think of it, it is stuck on repeat in my head for the rest of the day, all to no avail, even now that one line keeps popping up. I'm so ashamed. I'm ashamed that somewhere in a wrinkle of my brain, I stored a line of that song for years and it popped up to keep me company at 3 am along with my burning eye and legs. Why couldn't my MS attack that area of my brain? It's probably too busy destroying all my happy childhood memories to worry about silly things like useless snippets of obscure songs. It's unforgivable. 

I'm bored stiff with MS, literally and figuratively, so I am going to start writing about other subjects that are of interest to me or going on in my little world. I just wanted to give the heads up so no one is surprised if they come to a MS blog and read about how my dog threw up under my bed, ate it, threw up again, and then I threw up. These are things that are so exciting that I could not possibly keep them to myself. Now I got to go get into the shower because if I get into the shower just before Princess's alarm starts going off, she will get out of bed faster than she ever has to come galloping in to make sure I don't use all the hot water, how long am I going to take, why couldn't I wait, etc. etc. and that is just too much fun for me to resist. 

Critique

As if I didn't suck enough, I now have cluster headaches. I don't know if I wrote about my eyeball pain last year when it started, but I sure didn't hold back around here. I have done all the scans, went through too much none-too-cheap medicines trying to treat a sinus infection that didn't exist, pondered the possibility that 3 times EVERY day at the same time someone took a sledgehammer to the left side of my face/head and for some reason I didn't notice them sneaking up on me, because we all know how much that happens, and finally when all those possibilities were ruled out, cluster headache was the only thing left. I figured it out by myself, because lets face it, the doctors most certainly weren't awake with me in the middle of the night trying to figure out how that person with a sledgehammer got me again. I was looking up how painful gout is and stumbled across a list of the worst pain people can have. Gout is on that list, that list that has as the number one most horrid pain cluster headaches with a description that was exactly what I was going through. Since they hit at the same 3 times every day, I prepare for them as well as one can. I take pain meds at night that make me fuzzy around the edges and make my reading comprehension so low that it is pointless for me to try reading, so I have been watching movies. I am finally getting around to all those movies that I have been meaning to watch for years (and years and years) but just never got around to. I'm trying to stick with classics and any suggestions you may have would be greatly appreciated. Here is my critique of a few.

The Godfather

I have been meaning to watch this movie for years but never wanted to take the time to do it. I don't do good with too long of movies because I get restless unless they are excellent movies. The Godfather, as I'm sure you know, IS excellent. I have watched it so many times, and even now am thinking about getting it from the library again today. My first book is going to be "Things I Would Do Sexually To A Young Al Pacino". And there would be sequels. Many, many sequels. When my eyes first clamped on to him, my pants burst into flames and every time I see young him again my pants burn up. Too bad that I wasn't even born yet when that movie was made. Such a damn good movie and such a damn hot man. That is the definition of win-win right there!

Seven Brides For Seven Brothers

Have you seen this movie? It is so ridiculous yet so much fun and the songs get stuck in my head. Even talking about it I get, "Bless yore beautiful hide, wherever you may beeeee!" playing in my head. I have watched is several times and have enjoyed it each time, damn it! It amuses me that women back when that movie was made sang at such a high pitch. One minute they are talking in a normal voice, then the next they break out in a song in a pitch that can shatter glass.

Some Like It Hot

I LOVE LOVE LOVE this movie! I am going to have to buy it because I have renewed it from the library 3 times and that is the limit. Jack Lemmon as a woman is so friggin' hilarious, and how can you not love Marilyn Monroe in it? She is so cute and I love how she has curves, she's not built like a 12 year old boy like women in movies are now. The pointy boobs are really pointy and you can tell it's a different time by how the men pat the women on the butt and the comments they make that would get them in trouble these days. When Jack Lemmon gets engaged to that man is my favorite part and I have watched it and laughed at it over and over again.

I have more that I will add later, and, like I said above, I am open to any suggestions. There are a few that I really want to mention but I don't want to not give them the full paragraph that they deserve. (If there is anyone who is interested, I can talk more about my cluster headaches, or if you want to tell me about yours, that would be great too. I would love to hear how you deal with it.)

It Better Be Coming Around The Mountain

I'm so crusty and gross. I am going to be crusty and gross until Lord Lortab kicks in and I can stand upright without a hand on my back, grunting and shuffling along, like my ancient neighbor. Once I can stand, I'm taking the longest, most luxurious shower ever had by man or gimp. I'm going to scrub and condition and pumice like there will be someone else in my bed besides me and the dogs tonight. As it is, I feel my sciatica but not my lortab yet. And I still feel how crusty and gross I am. I have been working on restoring my bathroom floor (it dates from the 1880's) and it requires a lot of scraping and dust and particle flinging. Many nose blowings to see how black my boogers may have become in the 10 minutes since I last blew my nose. Many gouges and cuts on my hands. A blister on my left palm that burst and yet keeps oozing. Countless splinters in my poor arse. Glancing down after that last sentence, I saw my fingernails. Add them to the list of things that are not attractive.

When I realized that my pain had taken over my ability to work, yet my pain meds had not yet given me the ability to lie down on anything I value, (this chair is from Goodwill) I decided to visit my poor ol' neglected blog. I keep telling myself that I need to get back on here, yet I feel like I have nothing to talk about. The only things going on in my life are things that are far too mundane and boring to talk about. Then a slide show of past blog posts plays through my mind and I realize I built my reputation on the mundane, inane, and boring. (I wanted another -ane there, but couldn't think of one that would work. Bane? Candy cane?) I have a few things I've been meaning to write about brewing right now. As I think I'm starting to feel the beginnings of pain management, I'm going to have to go and grab a very comfortable, very ugly, very sleep inviting pair of pants and shirt. I have a hot date with a pumice stone and a heating pad tonight. All this excitement on a Thursday too. Just imagine what my weekends must be like and then you will understand why I'm too busy to blog, I have the softest feet this side of the Platte river.

What Color Is Swamp Ass?

It is imperative that I know the answer to that burning question because I am trying to draw the Swamp Ass Swamp and can't seem to find just the right color. At first, I was drawing the swamp as the starting point for a game board to mark progress for my little sister, who has just started a vet tech program that is accelerated and promising to be an intense next 2 years. But then things took a turn that I was not interested in them taking, and now I find myself in that swamp with Sugarbowl, trying to navigate my way to the finish line. Why did I have to make such a long path to the finish? It wasn't so bad when I wasn't on that path with Sugarbowl -- I don't mind others' suffering, only my own -- but now all the obstacles that I have to go through seem very obstacle-y and long.

Before I go into why I am now a player in that game, let me give a rundown of the board itself. I took Cookie Monster and Burt out of my Walk Along Sesame Street game, cut out pictures of my face and Sugarbowl's, and stuck them over their faces. I am Burt and she is Cookie Monster. We start out mired in the Swamp Ass Swamp, ride the Beginner's High roller coaster, which then plunges us into the Homework Ocean. From there we must navigate our way through the I Have To Stick My Finger Where forest. I'm looking forward to that forest strictly to enjoy Sugarbowl having to lift tails and insert her digits, and hearing how she deals with it. And that promises to be a great story, she having the most sensitive gag reflex of anyone I have ever known, and anal glands being the worst thing I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. From there we will mosey into the swirly twirly Slumpy Mountains. They being so swirly and twirly one must go slow through them, hence the hideous slumpy-ness of them. I fear those slumpy mountains because I really hate the slumps. If we make it safely through those, we enter the dark tunnel of Is There A Light At The End. If we can find the light, it is the light of our goals. It's going to be one heck of a journey and I most certainly was not interested in traversing this path, but traverse it I must, because. . .

I found out earlier this month that my ex has started dating someone. The shock of that put me into a pity party in the middle of the Swamp Ass Swamp. It's not that I begrudge him dating, it's that I want to be able to go out and do those kinds of things that can result in meeting someone, instead of turning into a pumpkin at the hour when most people are gearing up to go out. And then my pity party really got rocking and rolling when I started thinking about who could possibly want to be with me. I have no money, no energy, but plenty of MS that promises more fun in the future. When I was saying this to Princess, she came and put her arms around me, told me that she wants me, and that she loves me more than I love her, which is not possible, but very nice to hear anyway. I have to be 100% honest and admit that the hurt of him moving on is at least equal to all the other hurt from not being able to go tear up the town myself. Why does someone getting over you hurt so bad? And why does it mire me so deep in that swamp? At least I have a game board to track my progress to my goal of. . . not sure what my goal is, but I will let you know when I figure it out.

Excuses, Excuses!

Why has my usually overly verbose self been so silent of late? I have a whole plethora of excuses that no one will buy into, yet I offer them for your consumption anyway. Never mind the expired date on them, you won't get food poisoning, or lock jaw (keep your fingers crossed!).

The main reason for my silence is because -- let me check the area to make sure no one is within reading range -- I have become something of a recluse. My family always accuses me of being one, and I always argue that I most certainly am not! Then I beef up the number of times I have left the house to make myself look like a social butterfly. Why have I been so reclusive and hermit-like? I was shopping with Sugarbowl a few weeks ago when I noticed that my right leg was shaking and feeling very weak, like a newborn colt's. My hands were shaking and doing intention tremors, making it very difficult to hold anything, take a drink from my soda, cross off things from our list, etc. etc. I was embarrassed to be out in public shaking like that, which may have fed into what happened next. I started having muscle spasms from about my Hug area up. My upper body would clench then release on a rhythmic cycle. I can't remember the last time I wanted to get home so bad. We were about 30 minutes from home, and I spasmed the whole way there. If you have never had repetitive muscle spasms, let me tell you how painful they are. My body hurt so bad that night and the next day, I lived on NSAIDs. I knew that my face had been spasming, to the point that my mom, who had not seen me for about 6 weeks, asked if I was having facial spasms or a seizure. (We were at Princess's basketball game and she was going to take me to the restroom to seizure in private if it was seizures.) I can feel my face contort, but I didn't know it was so obvious to others. I thought it was just a barely perceivable twitch, but Sugarbowl said I do this thing with my mouth and she can tell how bad of a day I'm having by it (how often it twitches, how deep of a twitch, and so on).

The best medicine for my spasms is not a muscle relaxer, as one would think. Yes, it helps the muscle stop contracting so tightly, but it does not help that creepy crawly feeling I get when the next spasm is building up. It is marijuana. I have been blazing it up so much at the first sign of a spasm, that I thought this hideous sore throat I have right now may have been caused by it. I finally broke down and went to the doctor after suffering with a throat that feels like someone stuck a shotgun down my gullet and pulled the trigger, spraying shot all over my tonsils, for several days. I was afraid that he would look down my throat and tell me that a massive resin buildup was causing my throat to hurt so bad I would rather let my saliva build up to the point of overspill than swallow. I have tonsillitis and Sugarbowl has a great story to tell everyone for the rest of time. I suppose it is only fair because I have the story of her being full of sh*t, and that makes it worth it.

I have done a ton of research into these spasms and was greatly relieved that they are not an attack, and are usually self limiting, so I can become the social butterfly I say I am to my family, yet have never been in real life! YEE HAW! Or maybe just go do stuff without worrying about the spasms starting up. As the day wears on and I start to get tired, they fire up, and I light up (not cigarettes; I am still smoke free). Something great came out of all this. I was getting tired of my usual movies and crap that I watch when in my down time, because keeping my spasms company is very boring, so I wanted to branch out into something new. I decided to try out The Office because I enjoy Steve Carell and had heard so many great things about it. You may now count me as a fan. A twitchy, spastic fan, but a devoted fan nonetheless. We have Netflix through our Wii, so I can watch all the seasons on that until I can buy them, and buy them I will! Along with a Schrute Farms Beets t shirt, because that is just too great to pass up. The only bad thing about it is that Princess likes it too, but she is not as far as I am so I have to keep all this great stuff to myself until she catches up. The strain of keeping my mouth shut hurts almost as bad as my resin coated throat. And that is saying something.

Treacherous Roads Part 2: The Arizona Edition

So here we are in sunny Arizona, enjoying the 50-60 degree weather while the old people freeze, thinking it the equivalent to an arctic storm. Yesterday it was raining. Not torrential rains, but you would never know that by the way everyone was driving, with their wipers on the highest setting and racing around, switching lanes without using their turn signals because they all opted out of the newfangled gadget option. Or maybe they just need to refill their signal fluid. It could happen. Yesterday Sugarbowl and I were driving around, listening to the radio, and laughing about how they kept warning people about the roads, just because it was raining, until we saw all the wrecks and people in ditches. Then watching the news, we were even more shocked by all the wrecks and people in ditches that we didn't see. It's amazing to us, who are used to much worse weather than this, that people would have a hard time driving in such un-treacherous weather. My dad told us that they get about 10 inches of rain a year here, so for them it is hazardous driving. Hope we will be able to brave this weather and get out of Phoenix safely. We have more to worry about from the other drivers than rain, who are more hazardous than an arctic storm.

Other than that, our vacation is going good. We have seen the sights, destroyed my dad's house, and lost several valuable possessions. Sugarbowl lost a stuffed cat that she has had for 7 years and sleeps with every night, because she can't sleep without a stuffed animal. She has called the hotel, where we last saw him, several times and has even offered an award if they find him. She is heartbroken and I feel bad for her. My loss is a little less sentimental and much more expensive. My laptop got stuck under the rocking recliner and got mashed, breaking the screen and rendering it useless if you want to see anything, which I generally like to do. Now I'm wondering how nice I'm going to have to be to my ex to get a new one. Much nicer than I care to be, you can bet on that. Maybe I can be half as nice as I want to be and he will go halves with me. . . hmmm, that may be a better option because I don't think he or I would know what to do if I was too nice to him.

I will be glad to be home and sleep on a bed instead of an air mattress -- my back is killing me! I will be thrilled to see my doggies again, because I don't sleep well without a living animal pressing me down into a real mattress. Sure, I have my littlest billy goat gruff with me, but 13 lbs is nothing compared to 40 and 80 lbs. It will also be nice to have my own room and not have to sleep in the kitchen. I always thought sleeping in the kitchen would be nice. I could eat my cereal in bed and go right back to sleep. I was wrong. It sucks. Princess and I are sharing the air mattress and she is blocking the cereal cupboard, so I can't eat my cereal in bed. Another loss on this trip. Hopefully that will be the last loss we have. I'm not sure how much more we can take.

Announcements

I have a few announcements to make, then it is back to all those fun things you were doing before I interrupted you. I'm such a killjoy.

*I think I'm having an attack. The pieces are coming together, like some rotten puzzle I would rather throw out than put together. Or like unraveling a big cable knit MS sweater that someone keeps on knitting, and knitting, and knitting, and KNITTING! (Sorry, just watched Pee Wee's Big Adventure.) It would explain why I was so slumpy for so long. I get this feeling when I'm getting attack-y. Like a mild bout of depression mixed with an amazing amount of fatigue. I let it simmer on the couch until new or worsening of old symptoms develop. I have been so wiped out, with no corresponding activity to explain it, that I am having a hard time staying awake, and that is not me. I'm falling asleep by 6:30 pm, after taking a 2 hour nap in the afternoon, then going to bed and sleeping until 4 am. I should feel well rested. But I don't. I only feel like I need a nap. My legs feel thick and hard to control, and the worst of all, I'm having itchy spots that feel like I'm wearing wool on a hot summer day. They crawl and tingle and feel really gross. Adding this all up, I decided I was going to have to take one for the team and call my neurologist.

*I should have waited until today to call her, instead of yesterday. It was my lucky day! They had a cancellation and I could haul my happy arse downtown to see her! I had already hauled my happy arse in to see my pain doctor for my hug, and he gave me a muscle relaxer that is not as sedating, and turned out to be manna from heaven, so I had Sugarbowl drive me, being deep in the throes of manna from heaven. I talked to my neurologist's nurse, and here is the problem: I cannot tell any story that involves her without adding the important fact that she has the most thick, luxurious mustache ever seen on a woman. Sugarbowl asked me if she was married, but I have never been able to tear my eyes away from her glorious mustache to look at her hands, so I don't know. But who wouldn't want to marry such a woman?! I guess a man who can't grow a great mustache and would feel inferior to her, that's who. Anyhoo, I told her that I knew my neuro would want me to pee in a cup and give another vial of blood, even though I have never had anything wrong with me whenever I am having MS problems, but I suppose it gives her pleasure to tell me that I still have MS. And I was right, she did want more of my pee and blood.

*Going to give more of my bodily fluids, I walk up to the desk and tell the receptionist that I was there to pee in a cup and have blood taken. She told me that I needed to get back in the elevator, go down this long hall, get into another elevator and take it to the third floor to the lab. Being in pain and cranky, I didn't bother to read the sign on the wall that said "Adult Intensive Care." She thought it was great and said that she doesn't get to see people that are so responsive very often, so it was a nice change of pace. She talked for so long, I about gave my urine sample to her floor. Sugarbowl enjoyed it so much, she was still laughing about it by the time we got to the lab, which was down a long hall and up another elevator.

*Nothing new about my neuro. Same ol' same ol'. She pooh poohed me as always, and even though Sugarbowl said I was bitchy, I thought I was being nicer to her than usual. I let slide the whole, "last MRI didn't show any lesions," without going the rounds about the inaccuracy of spinal MRIs. Sugarbowl says that if I am so unhappy with my neuro, I should find a new one. I agree with that, and some days I swear I am going to do it, but I do enjoy my anger with my current neuro and would hate to give up that pleasure. Besides, I feel like if I don't call her on these things, she may never learn and keep subjecting other unsuspecting saps to her old school ideas about MS. I want to ask her if she has to do continuing education and suggest some reading materials for her if so, and some reading materials if not.

*The last and most important announcement is that in the doctor's office, waiting for the nurse to come back with my MRI appointment -- did I mention that she has the most thick, luxurious mustache ever seen on a woman? -- I announced to Sugarbowl that I was craving KFC because I needed to swim in a bucket of coleslaw. She being the best chauffeur and sister EVER, got KFC on the way home, so I got to swim in my bucket of coleslaw before falling asleep on the couch by 6:30. I'm still picking cabbage out of my hair. I am a happy gimp.

The Worst Companion EVER!

To say something is the worst companion ever is saying a lot. Shopping with Princess is never fun. She is only interested in pointing out everything ugly she comes across. I notice the ugly stuff but I am able to move on to things that may be of interest. Not her. She has to constantly show me everything horrible she finds. It's not exactly a good way to find things that are not horrible for me to spend my $2 on. Even more annoying is going to the library with her. She goes, finds the book or two that she wants then comes and finds me to look over my shoulder at my list of books that I want and runs ahead of me to grab them for me. As a hardcore historical nonfiction geek, I usually look at the books in the same general area as the books I have on my list, so I don't appreciate someone grabbing just that one when I want to look at all the ones near it. She just wants to hurry me up; she is not trying to help me, just speed things up. She likes to keep up a constant stream of talk about how the books I read are so boring, why do I look at the ones near the one I have on my list, couldn't I just grab a few and race out of there, how much she wants to beat me over the head with a huge reference book and drag me out by my hair, etc. etc. She's a great companion when it's something she is interested in, which is only a very few things outside of the house, but nothing else.

Having just passed the 3 week mark of unending joy with my knee, I have had plenty of time to ponder how pain is the worst companion EVER! I know it is, but when you haven't had a recent bout of acute pain, you can forget just how unfun it is. Lying in bed, keeping my throbbing knee company because it couldn't sleep anymore, I was thinking about the different kinds of pain that like to keep me company from time to time. (It is so thoughtful, it never wants me to be alone.) While my knee is a deep burning throb, my trigeminal neuralgia is a stabbing screaming pain. My legs burn and ache at night, and the muscle spasms that my MS Hug give me are like a hot knife being drawn down my body. Around my left eye I have a dull ache that I usually try not to take any pain meds for because I take so many for everything else, but sometimes I have to raise the white flag. I get tingling electric shocks up my right side that feel so gross they make my hair stand on end where they go up into my scalp. Luckily I don't get that one as often.

Chronic pain can drain all and any fun out of life. My good humor packed a bag for Reno and left me without even a Dear John letter. I'm trying to be patient with everyone around me, but patience is very hard to find right now. Sometimes I can't think around the pain and just have to hold on until the pain meds catch up -- I try not to play catch up, but sometimes it comes up so fast I get to play that most not fun game. My little world has shrunk even smaller with all this fun, and I don't care because until this pain starts to abate, my bed and couch are where you will find me. Not that anyone wants to find me right now, and I can't blame them. I don't want to find me either.

Happy Anniversary To Me!

You know how in a new relationship you celebrate every milestone no matter how trivial? How you think about them all the time? No matter what is going on, they can pop into your head and drive every other thought out. Ah, the beauty of new relationships! Today is my 2 week anniversary with my hurt knee. Yes, it has been 2 glorious weeks of nonstop togetherness. My knee has been on my mind constantly, to the exclusion of every other thought. I think about it all day and without Lord Lortab I would fantasize about it all night.

I twisted my stupid knee getting into the tub. Nothing major at the time, but as the day went on it kept getting worse. The next morning I could not even put a toe down. I don't know how I made it to the back door to let the dogs out or got my coffee going, but those are 2 huge priorities in the morning so I hopped around and got it done. I figured I just sprained it, so I spent the next couple of days holding down the couch, giving myself freezer burn on that knee, and in a lewd position trying to keep that knee elevated. The only part of the RICE (Rest Ice Compression Elevate) treatment I was unable to do was compression. I can't stand even a blanket on it when it really starts to sing, so that was out. I finally raised the white flag and went to the doctor a week ago this last Friday. My guts were protesting so much OTC pain meds so I was also hoping to get a little higher end med in addition to finding out what in the hot heck hades hell was going on with my knee. My knee was already hurting but when that doctor, who I had no problem with up to this point, started messing with it I about came up off the exam table. Acorn says the only thing that was touching the table were my elbows. From that moment on, I have hated him and never want to look at his ugly (he wasn't really ugly) mug again, and have been pondering starting a smear campaign against him. He, not having to deal with the pain, told me to keep with the OTC meds, even though the recommended dose was not helping and I had been going over it -- he just told me not to do that -- because he is a diabolical servant of Satan. I was living on Sprite and crackers, in a tremendous amount of pain, busy cutting out words from magazines to glue together as a hate letter to send to that doctor, when I lost all my good humor and went to the E.R., after talking to his nurse and finding out he was out for the day, no doubt checking in with his lord and master Satan. They at the E.R. sympathized with me, after seeing my white knuckled grip on the chair, and gave me a prescription for Lortab. They are not on my hate letter mailing list, which is good, my magazines being cut to shreds and not wanting to go to the store to get more. I am seeing an orthopedic surgeon on Weds because the MRI showed fluid in my knee and God only knows what all, I don't speak Evil Bloody Hemorrhoid so I'm not sure what all the doctor spewed out.

Today I am going to spend time thinking of my not beloved, and pondering 2 weeks of togetherness. I really hate new relationships. I'm going to the store to buy more magazines now; my knee just got on my mailing list.

Calories And Strange Trees

*Update: Are those toads or frogs? I thought they were toads, but I could be wrong and they are some pseudo-toad-frog thing. Either way, I will now be accepting orders for seeds from my toad/frog tree.


I sprained my knee the other day. I was getting into the tub and nearly fell. Luckily (?) I caught myself before I could fall, but I twisted my knee in the process, which Acorn should be happy about because she didn't have to come help my naked arse up off the floor. It hurt, but it wasn't too horrible right away. As the day progressed it got worse and worse. By the time I went to bed it was really hurting but I didn't think too much of it. I woke up throughout the night from the throbbing and the next morning I couldn't put an ounce of weight on it. It was an ordeal just to make it to the bathroom and if it hadn't been 4 am I would have woken Acorn up to help me, but I knew she was going to have a long day of doing everything for me, so I let her sleep. While laid up I ate, in order, 4 donuts, 2 burritos, 2 pieces of pizza and a handful of Skittles. Ugh! I think I consumed my calories for the week with just the 4 donuts, never mind the rest of it. Yesterday I tried to eat a little less junk, but I did treat myself to another round of Skittles, polishing off the bag, so I may have to go to the store to get more because I'm worried that I may waste away just sitting on the couch not eating junk all day and not burning a single calorie. I'm bored stiff just sitting here, but when I was walking around, thanks to all the ibuprofen I ingested, my knee started hurting again, so it was back to the couch and moaning about my knee. I have been calling everyone I can think of to have long meaningful conversations and my little sister said that if I don't stop calling her she is going to press charges for harassment. I foresee another boring day today, because my knee is still sore, and more speed dialing everyone and having restraining orders taken out against me.

In my backyard, there is a tree that a bunch of toads are always on. Not just around the bottom, they actually climb up the tree and hang out up there. I don't get it. Why do they climb up that one tree, besides to make me ask questions? I've never seen toads in a tree before and am baffled why they do it. I'm sure one of you brilliant readers know the answer to this and will shed some light on this most perplexing situation for me. Until I know why, I am going to assume that I have a toad tree growing in my backyard and am going to start selling seeds from it, for others who want their own toad tree. Having a toad tree reminds me of the donut tree my neighbors had when I was growing up. The lady worked at a donut shop and brought home donuts and dumped them under the tree in her front yard. I'm not talking just a few donuts, I'm talking a pile that reached almost to my waist, and I'm a tall girl. That donut tree tortured us to no end. My mother is a health freak and we didn't have junk food in the house. Ever. We didn't even have sugar in the house for a long time, we used honey for sweetener, so to have a donut tree across the street was cruel and unusual punishment for us. Our dog would bring home donuts all the time and my little sister, who didn't get the nickname Sugarbowl for nothing, said she wanted to wrestle the donuts away from the dog, they looked so good. One of my friends said that we should hang pot roasts from one of our trees and ask our neighbors if they wanted to trade pot roast tree seeds for some of their donut tree seeds. I would love to have my own donut tree, but the calories! I think a toad tree might be a better tree for me, especially as I'm getting no exercise right now, but to have a donut tree. . . that is the stuff dreams are made of.

This Post Is Brought To You By:

The letter Z and the number 1, as in 1 enormous painful Zit. It started this life as an itchy red bump on my chin. I noticed it as we were heading to the lake and thought nothing of it. Heck, how many times have I had an itty bitty red bump of a zit, scratched it and never had any trouble from it again? Too many times to count. Little did I know that the simple act of scratching at it would cause it to bloom into a huge cauliflower-like thing. And how was I to know that nobody around me would bother telling me that I had a huge cauliflower on my chin that needed my attention NOW! Or stopped me from going out to chat with the neighbors with that thing taking over my face and resembling a parasitic twin sprouting from my chin. The poor neighbors! They probably had a hard time finding my eyes with my zit blocking my whole face.

I was hoping it would be a lot smaller this morning, but when I woke up and could hardly lift my head off my pillow because of its massive weight, I knew I was going to have another day of dragging it around with me. Hopefully I will be able to keep mountain climbers off of it, because I have things I want to do today besides chase yodelers off my humongous zit.

Nobody around me has any sympathy for me because I have such dry skin that I almost never get zits. Everyone else has oily skin and are always boo hoo-ing about some zit, so they think the behemoth on my chin is nothing. They won't think it's nothing when I get mistaken for the elephant man and they have to explain that I am not an animal, I am a human being. Or try to tell people that I am not growing a prize cauliflower on my chin, I just have a "little" zit. It's going to be a long day, dragging this growth around. I hope my neck doesn't snap under the weight of it.

Oh, Me Aching Head!

I woke up with such a headache, I wouldn't be surprised if my head split open like a rotten melon and an alien popped out. I had one of the worst nights I ever weathered, so it is little wonder my head feels so throbbingly rotten melon-like. I had those stupid irritating dreams, you know, the kind that are so frustrating they make you mad in your sleep. Where you wake up ready to round up a posse and go hang the bastards that pissed you off, even though they claim they had nothing to do with it. (Like when I would dream that my ex husband was sleeping with someone else I would be mad at him all the next day.) I don't think I ever hit the R.E.M. stage of sleep because my bladder woke me up every 2 hours. I've been having bladder urgency for the last few days. It doesn't matter when I'm swimming at the lake (be careful of warm spots when swimming with me) but it's annoying when out of my giant toilet. And don't act like you've never peed in the swimming hole, or even the pool. I used to get out of the water, but then realized that none of the kids around me ever felt the urge to get out of the pool no matter how long they had been swimming, so they might as well swim in my pee as I swim in theirs.

I used to pee about once a night. My little sister said that she and her fiance would wait until I got up to pee, about an hour after going to bed when that glass of water I drank with my night meds finally hit my bladder, then they would get it on. I am so glad I sleep like the dead because that is something I never want to hear. When we were younger, Sugarbowl had a boyfriend spend the night and even though she had her radio playing in her room, I still heard what sounded like a pig caught in a bear trap. She loves when I tell that story so much that she is now very careful to make sure the house is asleep before bringing out the bear trap.

On top of having to pee every time I am comfortable and want to read, I have been having double vision in my left eye if I look even slightly off from straight ahead. The double vision, while annoying, is accompanied with a lovely deep pain around my left eye. I've been taking so much ibuprofen I can feel my kidneys raising the white flag in defeat.

I suppose I should call my neurologist, but I don't feel like it just yet. She will want me to come in and do a bunch of tests, if not an MRI, and I don't wanna do all that right now. I want to get a few things done around here, in between all my peeing, then I will call her. Funny how when I was newly diagnosed, I would have called right away. Now I'm content to wait a bit and call when it's convenient for me. I think it will be convenient once the alien in my head hatches.

Bigger Than Me

I don't usually blog this late in the day but my eyeballs feel too dry and sore to close. This morning my littlest dog was hit and killed in the road. I adored that little thing. He adored me. He slept pressed up against me and if I moved he would readjust to be pressed up to me again. I went outside to call him because he wasn't with the big dogs and saw him lying in the road in front of the house. He had been hit so hard his eyeballs were knocked out but there was no blood, it was all internal. From that moment this whole day has felt like a bad dream that I can't wake up from. I have been swallowed up by a grief that is bigger than me right now and it has me thinking about other times my grief has been bigger than me.



There are the other pets that I have lost in my life. Those were like what I am feeling now but so far in the past that I can think back to that pet fondly without wringing more tears from my swollen eyelids. Then the obvious breakups that break the heart and leave me wondering that my sorrow doesn't show on the outside. When I'm hurting this bad, I am shocked that I can look normal to the untrained eye. I feel like my clothes should be as ragged and ripped up as my heart is. That all the ugly, bad feelings in me should be smeared across my face so the whole world knows how I'm feeling inside. So I don't have to try to smile and make small talk when I have to struggle to comprehend the most basic words.



I got the phone call at home when I was diagnosed. I knew that the doctor was going to call me after the MRI results, but was hoping that it would not be what I was dreading. When she told me that there was no other way to interpret the results other than MS, I could barely thank her and hang up the phone before I fell to the floor crying. <----This is where I got cut off last night by a thunderstorm. I have been pondering the times in my life when the pain has been bigger than me. Where you just have to keep breathing in and out and know that someday -- hopefully sooner rather than later -- the pain will come down to manageable size. The pain upon realizing that I have MS was so much bigger than me for so long, I didn't think it would ever subside and let me be something other than a big ball of pain. It did take a long time, but I learned a lot from it. I learned to be with the pain, cry when I feel like it, mourn when I need to, make no apologies for my sadness and know that someday it will be much better than it is right now. Today I have to focus on breathing in and out -- and remembering that someday it will be better.

2 Really Good Excuses

I have 2 really good excuses for why I have not been blogging much lately. 2 Exceptional and jealousy-inspiring excuses... maybe I shouldn't share them, I don't want a price put on my head for being such an object of envy. But I am willing to put myself in harm's way to keep up the integrity of honesty in the blog-o-sphere.

I have been is such a slump lately. I can't seem to shake off this apathy and depression that has wrapped itself around me. I'm having a terrible case of the "this-is-my-life?!" going on right now. I just can't care that my laundry is backed up and the house is threatening to smother me in filth. Why bother? Nobody else cares that it's such a mess or is willing to help me in any way unless I have to get bitchy about it and that never ends well. I can't find any pleasure in my usual activities and want to climb in bed and stay there for a week until I feel better. I do the things I have to do then go back to holding down the couch so it doesn't blow away. I know this will pass, but it sure is taking its sweet ass time in moving on.

The second, and just as important reason, is that I slammed my finger in the car door the other day and it HURT! Not sure if I broke anything, but my finger now looks like hamburger it is so shredded and bruised. It is making typing very difficult: I have to use my naughty finger instead of my index finger to type.

Until the swelling goes down and I shake off this depression I will have to be silent on here. And Blindbeard + Silence = a backlog of words that will pile up and drown everyone when the dam breaks. Better prepare those high water pants you have been keeping for a rainy day...

Scars

I've been pondering the different kinds of scars one racks up in a lifetime the last couple of days. There are the obvious scars we get from injury to our skin. Like all the scars I have from the multitude of IVs I've gotten. Or the rock I still have in my knee from a bicycling accident when I missed the pedal and dragged my knee along the pavement for a few feet. That was a bloody mess! By the time I got home, crying and damn near hysterical, I had blood all down my leg, soaking my sock and shoe. My knee looked like I had dragged it over a cheese grater. The rock still embedded there is a thing of envy for my nieces and nephews, who like to run their fingers over it and hope they get so lucky some day.

Then there are the MS scars that can only be seen on an MRI, but show their presence by my gimping walk, lack of balance and inability to really see something unless it is mashed into my face.

But the worst scars, by a landslide, have to be the emotional ones. The scars that can't be seen by the naked eye (what other option is there for the eye? The well dressed eye?). The ones that cut so deep you carry the scars for a lifetime, regardless of whether anyone knows they are there or not. My 2 biggest ones I would like to expand on because they are noteworthy and I feel the effects of them too often in spite of all I do to try and make them go away. Alas, the nature of a scar is it's permanence and ability to change you for life.

The end of my marriage.

Good gods, this one has torn me up (from the floor up). No one gets married thinking about divorce. Or most people don't. I didn't. When I got married, I was so happy and sure I made the right choice. I still don't think I made the wrong choice. We were very happy until MS came to stay. I shut down and pulled away from everyone and he started drinking more. We all know how this story plays out so I won't reiterate it all. He and I talk about where we both went wrong and how we could have been one of those couples that were happy until the end if we had only ________. We had the makings to be a great couple, but we handled things the wrong way.

For all his faults, I love how he still likes me best out of everyone in the world. That he is so generous, even to Princess. The last time I went up to see him, she came with because we both wanted to spend the weekend in the pool with him to grill for us. He took us shopping one morning, while we were waiting for it to be warm enough to get in the pool, and let Princess and I pick out what we "needed" without even caring what the price was when we checked out. He has always been like that. When Princess and I still lived with him, he didn't care what we bought as long as we were happy. He fixed up Princess' bedroom, painting it the color she wanted and even painting her nightstand and bookshelf a matching color. He never waxes poetic on my ass, but he doesn't need to. Actions speak louder than words.

That one relationship that messes you up for a long time.

When I was a young warthog (when she was a young warthoooooog!) I fell in love in a way that one should never fall in love. Where you love so completely, even though you know better than to love like that. I loved him more than I loved myself. I loved the sound of his voice, listening to him talk, his touch, being with him, everything about him. Sadly, there was no happy ending in the cards. I can't speak for him, even though I'm going to and say that he did not feel the same way. Or if he did, he hid it very well. I would have married him and been content to make love to him with great relish the rest of my life. I think he might have married me but things got so messed up by a series of breakups-and-get-back-togethers, that we both were scared of letting the other know the depth of our feelings. Hmmm, again, I really shouldn't speak for him. Maybe the depth of feeling was only on my side, but somehow I don't think so. I think he was too much of a coward to say how he felt for me or try to stop me when I left, when a word would have changed my mind. For years I felt like we were 2 halves of the same whole, and sometimes I think we still are. Not that that stopped us from going on and having lives, but I always think of him saying that we would never escape each other and how prophetic those words were/are. We still keep in touch, sporadically, and the depth of my feelings no longer rage and storm inside me. I loved him enough to let him go and find happiness elsewhere, because he obviously didn't find it with me, and with no bitterness. Isn't real love about wanting the best for someone regardless of whether you are a part of it or not? I think it is.

While turning over in my mind these different kinds of scars, I decided that getting a rock in your knee is the best kind to have. It makes you cool and causes the least amount of pain.

Nuggets Of Wisdom

While my migraine has not left me yet, it has loosened its vice grip on my head one tiny iota and I am not nearly as fuzzy headed as I was yesterday. I am starting to be able to process basic thoughts again, which feels so much better after yesterday when I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I was supposed to go to my exercise class this morning and went back and forth with myself whether I should go, but decided that rest would probably be best for me, especially as this migraine is kicking up some old MS symptoms. My MS Hug is squeezing the crap out of me and making it feel like hot knives are being drawn down my ribs, and my right side is all tingly and itchy. The comments to my last post inspired me to get on here and respond. You should be proud that you inspired me that way because I usually take a no-comment approach and like to let the comments stand on their own.

"Ahhh, feel better. I knew it was something since you haven't been gaming on FB. Was hoping it was some fun exciting new chapter in your life...*sigh. On 2nd thought maybe FB gave it to you. lol" -- Bubbie

I am pretty strictly a word and puzzle game kind of girl, and as I could not process the most basic thoughts, I could not game as I would have liked to. I could barely manage control over my extremities and knocked over my coffee twice yesterday, annoying the hell out of me because it spilled all over the laptops and even the surge protector. But as soon as I am able I will be back to fry my eyeballs on all those tempting games.

"Feel better. I anxiously await your earth-shattering post." -- Denver Refashionista

Me too, but I fear I have lost it to this lovely migraine and will have to wait for my next epiphany to shatter the world. One game that I have been playing a lot, and that does not require a lot of thought, is Bubble Town. Sugarbowl down loaded it for me, which made me feel very loved even though I do not doubt that she loves me because we tell each other that we love each other all the time. Every time you beat a level and/or die it gives you words of encouragement or congratulations. As I have been dying more than beating, it keeps giving me encouragement. One of the encouragements is, "Do or do not, there is no try." Every time I see that one I think of you, Ms. D.R., it sums up perfectly how I see your attitude about MS. You refuse to be beat by it and will either do or do not, not just try. I may have missed the mark, but you definitely give me that impression, which I say with the highest respect. You have my undying admiration for the attitude you express in your blog. Keep up the great attitude, my fellow MSing blogger.

Now I must go back to lounging on the couch and finishing "Gone With The Wind." Princess and I decided that we needed to watch the whole thing because this is the perfect time. I'm not moving from this spot and she has been wanting to watch the whole movie, so I get to fan the flames of my crush on Rhett. Frankly, my dear, I do give a damn.

Dense

I don't know why it took me so long to piece it all together. I was going to get on here and compose a blog of such truth and beauty it would have made philosophers weep, but it was not to be. I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking about how bad my head hurt, and fighting the urge to throw up, and I never throw up. Then it hit me: I have a migraine coming to visit. As my migraines usually last about 3 days, I will be back when this little bitch leaves town again. Until then, don't you stop being adorable (I know I have used that line before, but it is just so appropriate).

Love,
BB

Sore

I don't think there is a place left on my body that is not sore. If there is, I have no doubt it will soon get hurt and join it's brethren to make me even more miserable.

My right foot is sore because Sugarbowl and I were shopping the other day and she dropped this big hard purse thing on it. Of course it fell pointy side down and bruised my foot. I was holding a wallet and whacked her with it when it happened. She had the audacity to ask me why I hit her. Maybe because I was limping even more through the store than usual and wanted her to feel my pain. Misery does love company.

My arms and guts are sore from that damn exercise program. I have to do it all over again today and am hoping we are not doing any more arm and gut exercises today because I will be even more of a wimp than I already am and I do not want to let on that I am that big of a wimp when everyone else acts like it is the easiest thing they have done all week.

My head is still sore from when I nearly decapitated myself on a low branch while mowing. I have a nice big crusty lump from it that I have to check every few minutes to see if it still hurts. It does.

My heart is sore because I am reading Remembering Slavery right now. It is a selection of readings from the Slave Narratives that I like to read about once a year. It really puts life into perspective for me and if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend you do so ASAP. It makes me feel like all the crap I am going through is small potatoes compared to what those people went through, and they have a much better attitude about it than I do.

My ears are sore because Jabber sat next to me yesterday and barked orders into my ear about what I needed to be doing in my game, even though he has never played it, he still knows more than me about it.

My eyeballs are sore from playing that damn game so much. I finally got past level 7 but can't get past 8 now. I have been going at it like it is my full time job, hoarding the computer and bitching and moaning about how ridiculously hard level 8 is.

My hands are sore from all the splinters I keep getting from the raspberry bushes. I can get most of them out but some are so stubborn and I keep forgetting about them until something touches the place they are permanently lodged and I curse those delicious fruit bearing brambles that I must rape and plunder.

My butt cheeks are sore from Sugarbowl punching me in the arse whenever I say something rude. I told her she had a fat zitty ass the other day and she got mad and punched me in the butt. She can really nail the muscle there and has great upper body strength. She said she was going to take a nap the next day and I thought she was really going to take a nap. I wanted to tell her something so I go to her door to open it and it is locked. Being the slow thing that I am, I didn't register the fact that she had a buzz saw going in her room while having a locked door. I asked what she was doing and she yelled out, very cranky-like, "I'm BUSY!" The pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I was scandalized that she was doing that while I sat out here just steps away. She was mad that I interrupted her. I told her that if she wasn't so busy pawing at her crotch all the time, we wouldn't have this problem. She punched me in the butt cheek exactly where she had punched me the day before. I am not one to let sleeping dogs lie and like to make references to her always pawing at her crotch, which she always rewards with a solid punch to the ass. My butt is so sore it hurts to sit. You would think I would learn, but it is too much fun to get her all worked up.