Sucked Out Of My Head

I was going to blog about my new puppy. I was going to talk about how my family got me this new little chihuahua Manchester terrier mix because in my grief I wouldn't sleep in my bed because there was no littlest dog to hold me down all night. They talked me into it because they said that a puppy would give me something to love and help heal my bleeding heart. Not a dog to take my other dog's place, but a bandaid of sorts to slow the bleeding. They were right. I still miss my dog, but I am sleeping in my bed again with my new puppy pressed up against me all night. I always say that I can love a million dogs, and there are so many animals out there that need a home, so why not love one more. And I am loving one more. I love that he is not like my other dog; he is his own little puppy. I liken it to my other dog was a circle and my new dog is a triangle. Or a square. Or even an octagon. How about a trapezoid? You can choose your own favorite shape. He's just different, which is exactly what I wanted. I was not looking for the same dog, knowing that that will never happen and I would never try to make one animal be like another. I want them to be just what they are. And he is.

I was also going to blog about the flea market and how great it was. How I got some really good deals. Like an old school desk, the kind from the old school houses that were nailed in place, for $10! I also got this really cool old collection box for missionary work from the 1850's (the dates are on it) for $5. And an old toy horse for $1, and on and on. And how on the first day, as I was dragging my tired arse back to the car, a man asked me if I saw the handicapped sign in front of my car. He said it so friendly-like and I was so tired that I thought he was pointing out how great our parking was, he being parked in handicapped, too. I told him yes, I had my hang tag hung up and he said, "Oh, you seem so able." I told him I have MS and am not always so great and asked him if he had a hang tag. He said he did because "he is like me" about not always being so great. Getting into my car, my little sister was FURIOUS that he had the nerve to be the handicapped police and judge who was disabled and who was "able." Her window was open about an inch and she loudly said, "That is F*CKING BULLSH*T!" And driving away she put her window down, put out her arm and, with a gesture, showed him how she felt about him. I wish I hadn't been too tired to process the whole exchange fast enough because that man would NEVER say something like that to anyone ever again. My little sister ranted and raved and foamed at the mouth. Driving out of the parking lot, I kept asking her if she wanted to go back and "talk" to that man because I felt he should get an ear full. She didn't want to because she didn't want to punch an old man in the face and because she was unable to say anything without obscenities as every other word and she wanted to be coherent and a little more classy than that. That old bastard got lucky. The next time anyone says anything like that to me, I will be ready. And if that old bastard has the bad luck to ever see me again, he will not enjoy it. We kept our eyes open for him the next day we went because we had some choice words for him. He must have sensed the murderous feelings in the air, or he parked elsewhere when he saw my car, because we did not see him. And everyone knows that the second and last day of the flea market is the best time because everyone is willing to cut a deal so they don't have to haul their crap home.

I was going to blog about all this stuff, but this morning I found a tick in my hair. A TICK! I always joke about buying ticks at the flea market, but I didn't know it was an option. I haven't had a tick on me since I was a kid and I was hoping to keep it that way. That tick sucked all my ideas right out of my head and I can feel the Lyme disease a-brewing in me. I feel so dirty, I think I need another hot shower.

From The Ashes

Rises a few things Blindbeard didn't know about herself. After my darling little doggie died, I wanted to make him a headstone, so I bought a ton (at least it felt like a ton) of plaster of Paris and have been fashioning headstones for him and for the members of my family who want headstones for their lost pets. I was enjoying the plaster of Paris so much I wanted to branch out into other areas of clay-like stuff that will add to the mess of plaster and paint all over the place. I found out that I enjoy clay as much as plaster and have been going around with clay all over me, my clothes, all over the house, crusted into the dogs' fur, etc etc. I think my new found love of clay is due to the fact that humans have been working with clay since prehistory and I am one generation away from a cave man. I am so adept at hunting and gathering that last night I slayed a box of lemon wafers after gathering a bag of Fritos. The whole village ate good and we even have some left over to get us through until our next expedition into the wild jungles of my kitchen.

The only downside to my clay fixation is that I need a pottery wheel because I'm pretty sure cave men didn't use a kid's pottery wheel. They knew those things are not meant for serious clay workers and invested in a grown up pottery wheel. Too bad I am so poor, but too good that my mom is always willing to fan the flames of any creative spark we may have, so I think a real pottery wheel is in my future. Thank goodness because I don't need any more lopsided ashtrays. I need some lopsided "vases" and "pitchers" and whatever else one makes on a pottery wheel. I'm not sure what but I intend to find out.

I would love to continue my foray into the nonsensical, but the flea market is here and I must get ready to go buy useless crap. If there is anything I don't need more of, it's useless crap, so of course I have been drumming my fingers and checking the time every 38.6 seconds in impatience to go spend my $2. Tootles.

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.

I Guess I Didn't Need That

Good thing I have MS to play Big Brother for me and get rid of the stuff that I don't need or want anymore, regardless of how I feel about those things. According to my MS, I have been hoarding things that need to go, like my right leg. And both of my knee caps. Also my MS decided I should never forget about the trigeminal nerve on the right side of my face. It hugs my chest exactly where a bra strap goes so I find wearing anything but a sports bra uncomfortable -- it decided that I need a uni-boob because the whole "lift and separate" thing is overrated. Thank goodness it pointed out that a stagger and limp are so much more attractive than a regular walk. Who wants to blend in when you can stagger and be an object of interest to the public?

But MS is also a giver. It helped me start an interesting cane collection and knew that I needed a medicine cabinet stuffed full of drugs. It helped me fill my refrigerator with shots that I have to worry about being broken because that is a lot of money there. But MS has made sure that I don't have any money to worry about, because it is an expensive disease.

MS worries about me getting enough sleep. It worries so much about that that I never have to worry about it because it is there to make sure I get my rest. It never wants me to overexert myself so it put a limit on how much I can do before I become too fatigued. MS doesn't want me to get a heat stroke so it made me turn into a puddle of warm jelly in the heat; a puddle that runs to a cooler place at the first sign of melting.

MS decided that short term memory is too much baggage and tossed it overboard along with my ability to recall words when tired. Luckily I am still able to gesture and do a sort of charade to show people what word I'm trying to recall.

Now MS has decided to make my right arm numb and tingly, to keep my right leg company, I suppose. It enjoys giving me those "electric shocks" up the right side of my body, up into my hair, making my scalp crawl in the grossest way. Until it decides to give me my right arm back -- if it ever does -- I'm just going to have to trust its judgement, regardless of all its bad choices in the past. But we all make mistakes.

Ain't Gonna Explain Myself To Nobody!

At my exercise class the other day, we were talking about different things we do so the public won't "get the wrong idea." One lady was saying she had read that you should carry a cane so the neighbors don't think you're drunk, and keep a wheelchair in the garage so you can look at it and let it know that you are NEVER going to use it. I like the wheelchair part, but I don't feel like I should have to explain myself to anybody. I told her that I wanted to get one of those root beer bottles and put it in a paper bag to carry around with me and she laughed so hard and enjoyed it so much that she brought me a root beer bottle the next exercise class. And I have every intention of using it. I'm having daydreams of mowing the lawn with it in my hand... driving down the road with it, waving to police officers... going to the lady's house that gave it to me and slurring out, "you ready to go exercise, baby?"

When I was newly diagnosed, I carried a cane and wore my MS shirts all the time so people would know what was wrong with me. I felt like I had to explain myself to the public so they "wouldn't get the wrong idea." I agreed when people told me that I have MS, it doesn't have me. That things could be worse, which I totally agree with, but am tired of hearing. I bit my tongue when people referred to me as "sick" even though it will bring out the evil in me faster than anything else. I was patient explaining all things MS to anyone who would ask. Somewhere along the line I got over my need to explain and the shame in being what I am, and now there is hell to pay!

I enjoy saying, "MS has me" as an answer to what is wrong with me. I am thinking of getting a T shirt that says that for the upcoming MS walk. I correct anyone who has the nerve to refer to me as "sick." I let them know that I am not sick. I have a disease, but I am not sick in the sense that one thinks of sick. I will not carry a cane for any one's benefit. It makes people feel better about themselves if they get the wrong impression and, if nothing else, I am doing the public a service by making them feel better about themselves. I WILL NOT wear my MS shirts anymore because I don't want to give the answer away to those who are uncouth enough to stare at me and try to figure out what is wrong with me. Let them puzzle over it. It's not my problem whether they ever figure it out. Maybe they should approach me with that old stock question, "Whad ya do to yer leg?" Then I will explain that I have MS and watch as their eyes glaze over when they realize that it is a boring answer to the $64,000 question.

Somewhere along the line, you gotta stop worrying about what others' think of you and just worry about what you think of you. And I think I need to start carrying around my root beer bottle.

Good To Know

Now that I have Acorn with me, I have been trying to fill her in on all things MS. She hasn't lived with me since my diagnosis and hasn't spent large quantities of time with me since I became such a broken down old gimp. I've been giving her a crash course in all the things she will need to know if she lives with me -- good thing she is such a good listener to my good talker. Among the important tidbits that she needs to know are these gems:

*I'm tired. No, really, I am tired! As the day progresses, I get more tired and need to hold down the couch more and more. By afternoon I will have to balance my activities by rest, get something done, rest, try and do something else, rest, eat as much junk out of the kitchen until I need to rest, rest, I think there is still some peanut butter and cake mixes left... better get on those.

*I can walk short distances without too noticeable of a limp, but anything more than that and I will be dragging my right leg along. And that gets very tiring. I showed her how to do an arm for me the best way. My little sister has it just right; my mom grabs my arm (instead of letting me take hers) and walks so fast I get drug along behind her, great for energy conservation, bad for the knees of my jeans.

*I forget everything. I will forget what I was just talking about. I will forget what you were just talking about. I will ask the same questions over and over again and never remember what the answer was or that I have even asked that question already. I will forget what I was planning for dinner and what is in the pot that is burning on the stove. When I need to remember something, I tell whomever is with me so they won't forget and it will get done. I carry about 5 million little notebooks to write down things so I don't forget and it is VERY important that I carry them all in my purse, which resembles a suitcase more than a purse, and, yes, I must carry everything I own with me at all times. Why do you think I need to drag around my suitcase/purse? I couldn't possibly only take what I need, I must take everything.

*When I push myself too far, which I have gotten very good at listening to my body and slowing down when I feel my strength ebbing but it does still happen sometimes, I need to rest NOW! And it would be nice if you would drop grapes into my mouth while I repose like the goddess I am.

*I am showing her how to do my shots and explaining that even though she has to feel me up to make sure she is not injecting into an area that is still swollen from a previous shot, it does not mean that we have to take our relationship any further. I don't usually allow anyone to feel me up on the first date, but she and I have known each other for a few years, and even though I want to just be friends -- it's not her, it's me -- we can cuddle sometimes. She can do better than me and I only want her to be happy.

Of course I have been running her through all the ins and outs of what MS is and what it does and how it effects one, which is all that boring crap that, if you are like me, you are bored stiff with. She is a good student and interested in what it all is and is not, and she has the arm thing down just right so my jeans may last a little longer.

"Finally An Adult!"

One of my old foster kids moved in with me. My little acorn is all grown up and ready to come back to the ol' oak tree. And this ol' oak tree was waiting with open branches for her to come back. She is 20 now. I got her at 12. 12! And she will be 21 in October. Ahh, how times flies when you're not having fun. She is my all time favorite foster kid. I always said that she and the oldest boy we had, with the 3 boys we got, should have been mine. These 2 kids and I bonded and I let the oldest boy go because he was only 3 and I didn't want to separate him from his brothers, even though it broke my heart to bits to let him go, I did it out of love.

When she got to go home she was 100% against it. She wouldn't pack anything more than an overnight bag to go home because she was "going to be right back." I packed up a bunch of her stuff, but she still left as much as she could at my house. After the courts said they could go home, I expected the girls -- there were 3 of them -- to ride with their parents, if for nothing else for their parents' feelings. Both the older girls rode home with me, only the youngest, 7 at the time, rode with her parents and I remember my shock at seeing her climb into the front seat with her parents and drive off with no one wearing a seat belt.

Taking my acorn to her parents' house, we held on to each other and cried and cried our goodbyes. I know it didn't make her parents happy to see how much she and I loved each other, but it was just a fact. The girls were with us for 15 months and when they were finally able to go home, their case worker gave us the option to keep them, but it was a package deal. We kept them all or none, and as the 7 year old was convinced that she "was gonna die!" if she didn't get to go home, we let them go. My acorn -- who I will now call Acorn -- went through a hell of a time with her parents. She suffered through serious depression, and dropped out of school. When they were with us, they were all straight A students. The 15 year old had dropped out of school before she came to us, but I don't play that game. She went back to school and had to do summer school before she went back to catch up, but she did catch up and, as I said, they were all straight A students.

The 7 year old, who is now 14 almost 15, says that if she could go back in time, she would tell the courts to not let them go home, because things were better with us. She says that even though she hated when she got in trouble and got grounded, she needs that. I say what I mean and mean what I say. If I told her to do something or she would get grounded, I meant it and I still love the memory of her telling me that someday she was going to come back and ground me and make me go to bed early. I can't wait for that day! Their parents try, but their mom is working full time and trying to keep it all together. They don't have the resources that my ex and I did. They don't have an extra car for the girls to use to get a job, or even get the practice to get their driver's licenses. I respect their mother for trying so hard, especially as it is exactly as my mom had to do to keep it all together for us. I respect their mother even more for telling Acorn that she shouldn't have made her come back to them, she should have let her stay with us. That to me is a true mother. She loves her daughter enough to want the best for her, even if it was letting her go.

Now Acorn is back with me and one of the first things she said was, "Now I am on my own. I finally get to be an adult!" I'm not so sure of how adult I am, but I am glad that she is ready to spread her wings and get to make her own decisions about her life. I always say that kids need a solid platform to jump off of to launch themselves into the world. It makes it so much easier to launch yourself if the platform is solid. Not that you can't launch yourself on an unstable platform, but I think you will be more successful with something solid behind you. I may not be an adult, but I am a solid platform that she can always count on.

This ol' oak tree is THRILLED to have her Acorn back, and looking forward to seeing her get her life going the way she wants it. I know there will be disappointments and things may not turn out the way she is planning, but that is just part of the game. And I am ready to rejoice or mourn with her every step of the way. Ahh, my little Acorn, how do I love thee? I will have to count the ways in a different blog. As usual, I have blathered on for too long.