While many people participated in the Disco Era, I was someplace else altogether. I was actually as the song says "staying alive" (Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive, staying alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, staying alive...) I do however, remember the music well and now, I have to admit when I hear all the pulsating melodies, it makes me want to shake a tail feather (do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight, get down tonight). Back then, the music seemed so disconnected from where I came and from where I was headed. I now wonder if Donna Summer or Robin Gibb reside in the great hereafter along side all the other great and legendary singers and musicians who are gone, but not forgotten? It makes me wonder where John Travolta would be today without disco. Would he have forever remained just Vinnie Barbarino?
You know, sometimes I really wish I had faith and the same spiritual connection everyone else I know seems to have. Sometimes I want so much to believe as they do and wonder why my thoughts...my heart...my compass keeps me from seeing and feeling what they do where God is concerned. I don't fear death nor do I welcome it, but somehow I'm left out of the loop when it comes to believing that the hereafter is some grand reunion where all things are made infinitely perfect and we miraculously are reunited with one another. Wow! That's just way beyond my comprehension and paygrade. My beliefs seem rather sedate and quite boring compared to that. I think I'll stick to simpler things like hating Walmart. Yes, there I admitted it. I HATE WALMART! I guess that makes me among other things simply and utterly unAmerican.
I really believe if Christians want to find the true Anti-Christ, they need not look any further than their local Walmart Superstore. Who else, but the Devil Himself would coerce an innocent shopper into spending $200 when all they needed was a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread? Who else, but Satan would stock a store that prides itself on being the all-American dream corporation with goods primarily made in China? Yessiree, I think Walmart is one of the greatest clusterfucks on Earth ranking right up there with Logan Airport and driving Interstate 95 between Boston and Richmond (I'm sure other parts of the country have comparable versions of my all time favorite things). Now, that I've gotten that out of my system, I can go about my merry way and prepare for my drive to North Carolina on Thursday. Oh boy, I get to drive through Atlanta and if I'm really lucky I can hit rush hour traffic both going there and coming back.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Saturday, May 19, 2012
I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW
Isn't it funny how sometimes the smallest of things provoke the deepest of thoughts? Yesterday, just one word, a name from my past made me sad for a moment until I allowed myself the luxury of basking in the reality that I survived. My road may be a bumpy one and many times, it's a road less traveled, but there's one thing in which I have 100% confidence. I'm strong even in the presence of the greatest of pain. That name that brought me a moment of sadness yesterday also taught me some of the most valuable lessons I learned in life. While wallowing in the foulest of places, I remember writing the following words long ago:
When it's over, it's over! Except for the person who was left in the dark wondering what went wrong and asking, "did I miss something?" Break ups are never easy even under the best of circumstances, but under the normal run-of-the-mill circumstances that make you want to claw eyes out and construct life-like voodoo dolls to ravage with a plethera of painful pinpricks, they're gut wrenching! We, the survivors of a broken heart know intimately how it feels to live a complete lie. We feel as if our hearts have been ripped from our chests and then crammed back in sideways never to be the same. Where love once lived now hate, bitterness and resentment festers. Where dreams once lived now dwell a bruised ego and battered heart. Where hope once lived now is devoured by despair and loneliness.
Often times we quickly rebound into a new relationship only to drag all our hostility and hatred with us. What happens frequently is that our new love interest ends up living with all our ghosts/demons and they pay for the things someone else has done to us. The new person drowns in a sea polluted with our excess baggage and our distorted memory of the Camelot-like life that once was. In reality, Camelot always had some serious problems, but love is blind and sometimes deaf and very dumb, also.
Because we fear change and the unknown, we may become consumed with trying to make something work that is doomed to fail and was never meant to be. We may beg, plead and demean ourselves in so many ways. And for what? For love? What kind of love is worth that pain? What kind of love requires total sacrifice? And if the person who broke our heart was to suddenly do an about face, would we really want to have them back? The thought of revenge may bring a fleeting sense of joy, but why not go that extra mile and feel real lasting joy? Why not start believing that the loss was not ours, but theirs? Losing us was their biggest mistake and something they will have to live with always!
Sometimes there's a very fine line between love and hate. Both possess an all-consuming passion and are easily crossed between in certain circumstances, but hatred is never a sign of successfully ending a relationship. It simply is the same "hook" turned inside out that keeps us emotionally paralyzed and imprisoned in the past. Accept the fact that sometimes we make mistakes and give our hearts to the wrong person. Forgiveness is the only key that will open that cold, hard prison door. Remember hindsight is always 20/20 and everything will be much clearer in the future when our vision is no longer clouded by negativity and a toxic relationships. When pain no longer infiltrates our every thought and we stop believing life is always unfair, the light at the end of the tunnel will finally be within our grasp.
The only person I hate more than you is me for ever loving you.Many years later, I feel a sense of overwhelming relief that I no longer feel that way. Sometimes without even trying we're able to look back and smile when we see how far we've allowed ourselves to come. Somehow we always get through the hardest of times no matter how horrendous they may seem at the time and sometimes a name that can still bring a moment of sadness can also bring a profound sense of well-being.
When it's over, it's over! Except for the person who was left in the dark wondering what went wrong and asking, "did I miss something?" Break ups are never easy even under the best of circumstances, but under the normal run-of-the-mill circumstances that make you want to claw eyes out and construct life-like voodoo dolls to ravage with a plethera of painful pinpricks, they're gut wrenching! We, the survivors of a broken heart know intimately how it feels to live a complete lie. We feel as if our hearts have been ripped from our chests and then crammed back in sideways never to be the same. Where love once lived now hate, bitterness and resentment festers. Where dreams once lived now dwell a bruised ego and battered heart. Where hope once lived now is devoured by despair and loneliness.
Often times we quickly rebound into a new relationship only to drag all our hostility and hatred with us. What happens frequently is that our new love interest ends up living with all our ghosts/demons and they pay for the things someone else has done to us. The new person drowns in a sea polluted with our excess baggage and our distorted memory of the Camelot-like life that once was. In reality, Camelot always had some serious problems, but love is blind and sometimes deaf and very dumb, also.
Because we fear change and the unknown, we may become consumed with trying to make something work that is doomed to fail and was never meant to be. We may beg, plead and demean ourselves in so many ways. And for what? For love? What kind of love is worth that pain? What kind of love requires total sacrifice? And if the person who broke our heart was to suddenly do an about face, would we really want to have them back? The thought of revenge may bring a fleeting sense of joy, but why not go that extra mile and feel real lasting joy? Why not start believing that the loss was not ours, but theirs? Losing us was their biggest mistake and something they will have to live with always!
Sometimes there's a very fine line between love and hate. Both possess an all-consuming passion and are easily crossed between in certain circumstances, but hatred is never a sign of successfully ending a relationship. It simply is the same "hook" turned inside out that keeps us emotionally paralyzed and imprisoned in the past. Accept the fact that sometimes we make mistakes and give our hearts to the wrong person. Forgiveness is the only key that will open that cold, hard prison door. Remember hindsight is always 20/20 and everything will be much clearer in the future when our vision is no longer clouded by negativity and a toxic relationships. When pain no longer infiltrates our every thought and we stop believing life is always unfair, the light at the end of the tunnel will finally be within our grasp.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
LIFE CHANGING DECISIONS
December 7, 1996 at precisely 8am was the last time I smoked a cigarette. I have to admit quitting that nasty habit was one of the better things I've done for myself during my lifetime, but like with so many other things in life the good comes with some bad things attached. I've often wondered why so many things in life are defined by that infamous double-edged sword. Why is nothing just sheer bliss and harmony?
Within months of quitting I noticed my clothes were becoming snug. I hadn't replaced cigarettes with food so the weight gain was a bit of a mystery to me. My first thought was to wonder if my crappy gene pool had finally caught up with me. Was I developing diabetes? Off I went to the doctor to solve the mystery. After lots of blood tests to rule out the obvious things that might cause an unexpected weight gain, my doctor reported back to me that I was as healthy as a horse. That news didn't make me want to whinny, but left me with the question of WTF was happening to my body. My doctor quickly cleared up the mystery for me by informing me that I was battling the same thing he was. He had stopped smoking also and had started to gain weight. He told me that once a person stops smoking their metabolism slows down and even though nothing else changes, due to that slowing down process pounds will slowly start to pad their once slim physiques.
He advised me to increase my activity level and to cut back on my calorie consumption. Like everything else in life, I didn't heed what he was telling me. I was hell bent on doing it the Mildred Ratched method. I immediately thought he was crazy if he thought after working outside all day long in the brutal Florida heat and humidity that I was going to come home and then go to a gym for a nice little workout for an hour or so. What was he thinking by telling me to cutback back on my food consumption? I don't eat breakfast. I rarely eat lunch. I didn't snack on junk all day. Dinner was my only meal most of the time. Was he telling me just to starve myself? Sure thing, Doc! Consider food off my daily routine!
By the time I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes six years later, I had gained about 10 pounds per year. After the diabetes came an avalanche of other diagnoses until reality started slapping me in the face. Now I have to admit I'm going to die at a young age unless I do something to change my deteriorating health. After much deliberation and careful thought which by the way is totally unlike me because I like to live in the moment and make impulsive decisions, I have decided to start the rather lengthy process of having gastric bypass surgery.
For those not familiar with how health insurance companies work, let me tell you that they truly dictate what your doctor can and cannot do. They deny coverage of medicines that are prescribed simply because they're expensive. I do understand that they are a business and the bottom line is to make a profit, but their bottom line affects people health and lives. In order to have gastric bypass surgery the insurance company requires a 6 month process before the surgery will be approved which includes seeing a psychologist, a specialized bariatric nutritionist, being on a 6-month supervised diet, going to support group meetings and various other educational seminars along with of course, seeing a bariatric surgeon. Usually, by the time people have gotten to the point of deciding to undergo gastric bypass surgery diets, both supervised and unsupervised, have been tried many, many times with no real success.
Most people simply view obesity as someone with no willpower and no self-esteem PERIOD, but actually under all that fat are problems far greater than simple willpower or self-esteem problems.
Willpower? For Christ sakes, I stopped doing drugs! I stopped smoking! I have willpower! And as for self-esteem, I think I'm a pretty amazing woman. I'm intelligent. I'm witty and on a good day with a little make-up and the right pair of shoes, I can be rather stunning. The only missing ingredient is good health and that I've decided to work towards accomplishing. Hopefully, the people who have stuck by me through thick and thin and those of you who have listened to me whine and rant via this blog, will support me throughout my transformation where I will reemerge a glorious butterfly ready to fly away into a world of good health and dreams fulfilled.
Within months of quitting I noticed my clothes were becoming snug. I hadn't replaced cigarettes with food so the weight gain was a bit of a mystery to me. My first thought was to wonder if my crappy gene pool had finally caught up with me. Was I developing diabetes? Off I went to the doctor to solve the mystery. After lots of blood tests to rule out the obvious things that might cause an unexpected weight gain, my doctor reported back to me that I was as healthy as a horse. That news didn't make me want to whinny, but left me with the question of WTF was happening to my body. My doctor quickly cleared up the mystery for me by informing me that I was battling the same thing he was. He had stopped smoking also and had started to gain weight. He told me that once a person stops smoking their metabolism slows down and even though nothing else changes, due to that slowing down process pounds will slowly start to pad their once slim physiques.
He advised me to increase my activity level and to cut back on my calorie consumption. Like everything else in life, I didn't heed what he was telling me. I was hell bent on doing it the Mildred Ratched method. I immediately thought he was crazy if he thought after working outside all day long in the brutal Florida heat and humidity that I was going to come home and then go to a gym for a nice little workout for an hour or so. What was he thinking by telling me to cutback back on my food consumption? I don't eat breakfast. I rarely eat lunch. I didn't snack on junk all day. Dinner was my only meal most of the time. Was he telling me just to starve myself? Sure thing, Doc! Consider food off my daily routine!
By the time I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes six years later, I had gained about 10 pounds per year. After the diabetes came an avalanche of other diagnoses until reality started slapping me in the face. Now I have to admit I'm going to die at a young age unless I do something to change my deteriorating health. After much deliberation and careful thought which by the way is totally unlike me because I like to live in the moment and make impulsive decisions, I have decided to start the rather lengthy process of having gastric bypass surgery.
For those not familiar with how health insurance companies work, let me tell you that they truly dictate what your doctor can and cannot do. They deny coverage of medicines that are prescribed simply because they're expensive. I do understand that they are a business and the bottom line is to make a profit, but their bottom line affects people health and lives. In order to have gastric bypass surgery the insurance company requires a 6 month process before the surgery will be approved which includes seeing a psychologist, a specialized bariatric nutritionist, being on a 6-month supervised diet, going to support group meetings and various other educational seminars along with of course, seeing a bariatric surgeon. Usually, by the time people have gotten to the point of deciding to undergo gastric bypass surgery diets, both supervised and unsupervised, have been tried many, many times with no real success.
Most people simply view obesity as someone with no willpower and no self-esteem PERIOD, but actually under all that fat are problems far greater than simple willpower or self-esteem problems.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
THE GIRL MILDRED BUILT
I was tall, wore glasses and was kind of nerdy without even knowing it. Instead of just accepting who I was and making the best of what I had to work with, I over compensated for all those things I deemed as imperfections and flaws by never letting anyone see how vunerable and self conscious I really was. I was the class clown. I was the first to do anything and everything. I had no fear...no regard for my personal safety. I wanted to fit in and be noticed. I just wanted to be loved. I overkilled everything I did until I woke up one day and I really was what I tried so hard to be. I was that cool kid who had friends from all socioeconomic back grounds. I didn't judge people by the standards most people were judged by. I tried very hard to look inside and as I came so very close to being what my heart ached to be, I started to gradually shutdown. The horrors of life, my life could no longer be kept at bay. Those addiction demons found me. I no longer could hide from them so I started to run. I run fast and furious to a place I felt safe. It was a place no one could touch me or hurt me. It was that place all addicts become familiar with as they become comfortably numb.
When I emerged unprepared many years later, I looked at myself in a new way, but instead of a real change I simply traded drugs for other addictions. Yes, life was nothing more than a huge, confusing barter system with many interesting trade-offs along the way. My metamorphosis had truly begun and I once again spun out of control. I allowed the slow road of self destruction to mold every aspect of my life. As I aged I grew weary and my body started to breakdown. Years of abuse had finally caught up with me. I was no longer that skinny, self-conscious girl who just wanted to be loved. Instead of choosing to find love and happiness, I chose the path of chaotic, unhealthy, drama-filled relationships that never had any chance of succeeding. I chose a road that would only bring me misery and despair.
I sit here now wondering why I felt I needed to punish myself so severely for such a long time. I wonder why I was always able to forgive others, but never myself. I sit here now afraid of what the future will bring and want so desperately to change the road I chose so many years ago. I wonder if all the harm I've done to myself in so many ways can be reversed. I wonder if I can heal and finally feel the peace there must be in being healthy. Have I waited too long? Sometimes a change in course takes drastic measures. Yes, my health is bad, but I have taken the necessary first steps in attempting to correct the ills that have ravaged my body for the past decade. Those steps I'm sure may be viewed as being drastic measures, but anyone who knows me wouldn't expect any less from me than a new journey started via drastic measures and the tenacity of a hard-headed Irish lass.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
A TOUCH OF SPRING FEVER
I always come to the same conclusion about love and relationships. That same lightbulb goes off over and over again telling me actions really do speak louder than words. Words are easy and often times cheap and meaningless! If someone isn’t willing to back up all their verbal sunshine and roses with stepping up to the plate when it really counts then why do so many of us feel the need to make excuses for their stupidity? Why do we waste our time on people who don’t call us when they say they will, who always are too busy unless they want something from us and who never want to put our needs first? Doesn’t spending time and energy on something that we get nothing from in return become more damaging than being alone? Why do we let ourselves love someone who isn't capable of reciprocating that love?
When I start thinking about what a great catch I am I can smile now instead of feeling rejected, neglected and confused. I no longer beat myself up over anyone's inability to love me. I like myself and just don’t want or need the aggravation of headgames and evasive tactics...either you’re with me or you’re not!!! It’s as simple as that. No shades of gray this time...it’s all clearly black and white. I don’t want or need someone who’s not physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually ready for whatever lies ahead. My babysitting, coaxing and coercing days are behind me. If it takes that much work then I don’t want the job! What I do want sometime in the future is that when the time is right and I reach out again in search of an emotional connection what I grasp is a hand and heart reaching out for me.
When I start thinking about what a great catch I am I can smile now instead of feeling rejected, neglected and confused. I no longer beat myself up over anyone's inability to love me. I like myself and just don’t want or need the aggravation of headgames and evasive tactics...either you’re with me or you’re not!!! It’s as simple as that. No shades of gray this time...it’s all clearly black and white. I don’t want or need someone who’s not physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually ready for whatever lies ahead. My babysitting, coaxing and coercing days are behind me. If it takes that much work then I don’t want the job! What I do want sometime in the future is that when the time is right and I reach out again in search of an emotional connection what I grasp is a hand and heart reaching out for me.
MSN SPACES ALUMNI ON FACEBOOK
For anyone who was part of the insanity on MSN Spaces, there's now a group on Facebook for old blogging buddies to reunite.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
I'll be the first to admit that at times I can be a real cold, calculating, conniving bitch. On occasion, my claws come out and I aim for the throat. I guess that doesn't paint me as being the kind of person I strive to be most of the time. What it does show is a side of me that emerges at times when I feel threatened, insecure or angry. That ugly side is the side that most of us try to avoid confronting and when it does raise its ferocious head we try to rationalize it away as being human nature and nothing more.At my age I really do know where not to tread, yet sometimes I find myself going there anyway. Perhaps it's nothing more than old bad behavior which is a hard habit to break. Like an addict who "slips" every now and then, I sometimes allow myself the luxury of exploring my dark side. I always hate what I see and vow I'll never go there again. HUH! Not until next time! I don't strive for perfection. I strive to understand myself and to love the person I am. In order to do that I have to embrace and forgive that dark side because it too is a part of me.
I've been single since the late 90's and in "time out" for almost 7 years. Sometimes I think this self imposed hibernation is just another act of being self destructive. In 7 years I have become a well established troglodyte with having only a few moments of contemplating a return to relationship insanity. Those moments I have discovered are as self destructive as anything else I have done in my lifetime. During my last blast of irrational thinking I seriously considered getting back together with my ex-husband. Admitting that makes me shudder and I am truly thankful that the tangled web I was weaving went no further than just talk! After dancing with the notion for awhile, I decided that my ex is as big a player as he always was and that I couldn't allow myself be sucked back into his glorious madness again. Time, distance and age hasn't cured his mental illness. Nothing will and I've always known that but somehow I jumped into an emotional tag of war and like most women caught up in an emotional triangle, I aimed all my negativity at the wrong person.
Below is a message I recently sent to his present significant other:
Jan,
I'd like to make a long overdue apology for the rude, unkind and unnecessary comments I've written in the past. I won't attempt to make any excuses for what I wrote because there is no excuse for my negative behavior. I do want you to know that during the time Jim and you have been together, our relationship has been strictly platonic. What Jim and I had is in the past. We've both moved on and all I want is for him is to find the happiness and stability that he so desperately seeks. Jim has many wonderful qualities, yet it's his illness driven behaviors that seem to dominate his life much of the time and keep him from maintaining the status quo that most people seem to be able to achieve. I know you must love him as I once did. Please know I only want the best for both of you and that I really am not the horrid person I came off sounding like by attacking you. I'm sorry and I hope you can forgive me.
Sincerely,
Karen
I received no response and that's okay because I know I ultimately did the right thing.
Thursday, March 08, 2012
BLINDED BY THE LIGHT
The night was laden with the unseasonably warm Gulf of Mexico air. As I lay awake listening to the symphony of sounds winding down into its usual nightly slumber, I was suddenly startled by the blinding light that filled my bedroom. My eyes widened as the outline of several figures drifted slowly towards me. Fleeing became impossible because my limbs had become paralyzed with some unexplained fear of the unknown. The relentless void finally engulfed me. When I opened my eyes, I was in a parking lot. The engine of the car I had obviously been driving was still idling and waiting to be turned off.
As I became oddly familiarized with my surroundings I realized I was at school. Beside me was someone I hadn't seen in years, but how could that be? Feeling the need to leave, I threw the car into reverse and quickly departed freeing that parking spot for the next in line. When I realized I was driving in reverse with ease, I stopped. Confusion and frustration filled me when I tried shifting gears, but the only direction my car seemed to want to go was backwards. So backwards it went, but I knew I needed help when I was unable to leave the parking lot. The number I dialed tugged at my heart. As I looked at the display on my cellphone, a familiar voice answered. I had called my ex-husband begging him for help.
He quickly came to my rescue, but when he arrived in the medium blue Ford F150 truck he once drove many years ago the obvious question of why my son and his wife were with him wasn't what I wanted to know. I wanted and needed to know was why he was driving that truck. With no real explanation, they quickly rushed me to a location I called "Sanctuary" so the surgeon I once worked with could alleviate the excruciating pain in my lower back. I hobbled around Sanctuary trying to find Dr. Rubey to no avail. Each door I opened was the wrong one. I found no offices or waiting rooms. All paths in Sanctuary were a circuitous route back to the ornate entrance where the receptionist sat poised and ready help anyone who entered the facility. She greeted me once again with a radiantly artificial smile. She paged Dr. Rubey and sent a runner to find him. Why are doctors never on time for their appointments? Don't they know I too have places to go? People to see? And things to do? The thought of having to wait once again for something that wouldn't help me annoyed me.
I shut my eyes and rubbed my brow. All optimism silently fled Sanctuary and when I opened my eyes again the room was dark. I was alone. The clock boldly displayed 3:36. As usual I got a few hours of sleep before waking in pain, but what was different about this time was that I had dreamed and the dream was as lifelike and vivid as being there in person. But wasn't I there in person? I found Sanctuary or it had found me, but Sanctuary was like life...optimism was bountiful, but fleeting. I never dream or I guess I should say I rarely dream. REM sleep where dreams are made is a place I rarely visit.
When I repositioned my body and found a spot that slightly eased my deep, consuming pain, that spot immediately secured my place on The Sleep Express. Destination: a huge outdoor market where hundreds of merchants were selling jewelry. A wide cuffed bracelet caught my eye. The fine Mosaic pattern of large flowers outlined with silver brought a smile to my face. It looked right and felt right on my wrist as I admired its beauty and superb craftsmanship. I knew that bracelet was meant to be mine and so did the merchant. After he refused my money, I gently kissed his cheek and I whispered, "thank you". Ah! Sanctuary once again!
I gazed out the sliding glass doors onto the beach where the waves had begun to gain momentum as they crashed onto the shoreline. The book I had been reading about ancient Egyptian artifacts laid open at the section showing bracelets the Pharaohs had once lavished on their favorite concubines. There it was! There in all its glory was my bracelet. The gift from a Pharaoh from long ago. How could I not smile? Naturally, I called Jim to let him know the storm was strengthening. The waves were now starting to reach the doors. He entered the room just as a huge wave crashed into the house completely submerging it underwater.
I awoke struggling to breathe. Sleep apnea sometimes does that to me, but tomorrow I receive a new CPAP machine which I know I NEED to use. No more lame excuses! My latest sleep study revealed I stopped breathing 55.9 times per hour during apnea related episodes. My lowest oxygen level was 73%. Ooops! My bad! Normal levels should be 95-100% with anything under 90% is considered being in respiratory distress. My doctor was amazed that I haven't had a heart attack or a stroke in my sleep. He also was amazed that I can function during the day after having been deprived of oxygen all night long night after night. Is "functioning" what this is called? If he only knew!
As I became oddly familiarized with my surroundings I realized I was at school. Beside me was someone I hadn't seen in years, but how could that be? Feeling the need to leave, I threw the car into reverse and quickly departed freeing that parking spot for the next in line. When I realized I was driving in reverse with ease, I stopped. Confusion and frustration filled me when I tried shifting gears, but the only direction my car seemed to want to go was backwards. So backwards it went, but I knew I needed help when I was unable to leave the parking lot. The number I dialed tugged at my heart. As I looked at the display on my cellphone, a familiar voice answered. I had called my ex-husband begging him for help.
He quickly came to my rescue, but when he arrived in the medium blue Ford F150 truck he once drove many years ago the obvious question of why my son and his wife were with him wasn't what I wanted to know. I wanted and needed to know was why he was driving that truck. With no real explanation, they quickly rushed me to a location I called "Sanctuary" so the surgeon I once worked with could alleviate the excruciating pain in my lower back. I hobbled around Sanctuary trying to find Dr. Rubey to no avail. Each door I opened was the wrong one. I found no offices or waiting rooms. All paths in Sanctuary were a circuitous route back to the ornate entrance where the receptionist sat poised and ready help anyone who entered the facility. She greeted me once again with a radiantly artificial smile. She paged Dr. Rubey and sent a runner to find him. Why are doctors never on time for their appointments? Don't they know I too have places to go? People to see? And things to do? The thought of having to wait once again for something that wouldn't help me annoyed me.
I shut my eyes and rubbed my brow. All optimism silently fled Sanctuary and when I opened my eyes again the room was dark. I was alone. The clock boldly displayed 3:36. As usual I got a few hours of sleep before waking in pain, but what was different about this time was that I had dreamed and the dream was as lifelike and vivid as being there in person. But wasn't I there in person? I found Sanctuary or it had found me, but Sanctuary was like life...optimism was bountiful, but fleeting. I never dream or I guess I should say I rarely dream. REM sleep where dreams are made is a place I rarely visit.
When I repositioned my body and found a spot that slightly eased my deep, consuming pain, that spot immediately secured my place on The Sleep Express. Destination: a huge outdoor market where hundreds of merchants were selling jewelry. A wide cuffed bracelet caught my eye. The fine Mosaic pattern of large flowers outlined with silver brought a smile to my face. It looked right and felt right on my wrist as I admired its beauty and superb craftsmanship. I knew that bracelet was meant to be mine and so did the merchant. After he refused my money, I gently kissed his cheek and I whispered, "thank you". Ah! Sanctuary once again!
I gazed out the sliding glass doors onto the beach where the waves had begun to gain momentum as they crashed onto the shoreline. The book I had been reading about ancient Egyptian artifacts laid open at the section showing bracelets the Pharaohs had once lavished on their favorite concubines. There it was! There in all its glory was my bracelet. The gift from a Pharaoh from long ago. How could I not smile? Naturally, I called Jim to let him know the storm was strengthening. The waves were now starting to reach the doors. He entered the room just as a huge wave crashed into the house completely submerging it underwater.
I awoke struggling to breathe. Sleep apnea sometimes does that to me, but tomorrow I receive a new CPAP machine which I know I NEED to use. No more lame excuses! My latest sleep study revealed I stopped breathing 55.9 times per hour during apnea related episodes. My lowest oxygen level was 73%. Ooops! My bad! Normal levels should be 95-100% with anything under 90% is considered being in respiratory distress. My doctor was amazed that I haven't had a heart attack or a stroke in my sleep. He also was amazed that I can function during the day after having been deprived of oxygen all night long night after night. Is "functioning" what this is called? If he only knew!
Friday, January 06, 2012
MY DOCTOR'S BEDSIDE MANNER
I was at one of my doctors yesterday for a follow-up (the list seems to be growing longer each day) when my doctor felt the need to tell me an off color joke. He asked me what were the 3 words a woman hates to hear during sex. As he's asking me this I'm thinking, "WTF! Why is he telling me a joke?" I shrugged my shoulders as an indicator to show him I'm pretty clueless. I barely even remember the last time I had sex let alone what I might have hated to hear in the throes of passion. Enlighten me, doctor...PLEASE! QUICKLY! The suspense was killing me! When he said, "Honey, I'm home!" followed by telling me he works til 10 some nights and rarely sees his wife, I really thought WTF. I left his office wondering if I had just been hit on or if it was just his style to break the ice in this peculiar manner. Next time I see him, I'll ask him if he knows why women have such problems with depth perception. When he looks as puzzled as I must have looked, I'll smile sweetly as I tell him, "It's because they've always been told this much |____________________________| is 6 inches!" And for all those who might be wondering....no, he isn't my gynecologist!
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
TRIPPIN' DOWN THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD
Wimpy Daughter gave me a gentle nudge today as I began to "work" the waiting room at the yoyo inspector's office while waiting for the empty pod (my mother) to reemerge. What better place to start up a conversation with strangers than at a therapist's office? Wimpy Daughter simply reminded me Mildred has not written very much lately. When I tried running the excuse that I haven't been in the right frame of mind to write, she gave me "the look". Okay Wimpy, here I am! In between listening to a man tell us how in his youth women used to be shy and reserved and knew how to dress and act like ladies, I scanned the room for interesting architectural details. I like to multitask and realized I must have been skipping school the day they taught all that being a lady stuff since being shy and reserved is definitely not my forte!
He went on to tell us that in those days men didn't chase after women to get into their pants! REALLY??? It must have been due to all the saltpeter their mothers sprinkled on their Wheaties every morning. The climax to his dissertation about women was when he revealed the fall of womankind happened as a result of the drug revolution. I immediately jumped to my feet, threw my arms stretched upward to the heavens and hollered, "HALLELUJAH!" Not really, but as his wife was ushered into see her therapist, I wondered what being married to someone that narrow would be like. Missionary style sex for 40 something years must be as inspiring as his dissertation was. I know it made me hot...and moist in just the right places! As we left the office, Wimpy Daughter later told me that she had forgotten how people always just seem to open up and talk to me wherever I am. Lucky me to be cursed like that!
And now for the rest of the story: Yesterday morning I got a phonecall just after 8am from my primary care doctor's office to let me know my mammogram came back with abnormal results (again). It's difficult to keep going through this each year and feeling like I'm a timebomb just waiting to go off. So far each time I've rolled the dice, luck has been with me. This time I was immediately referred to a surgeon who I see on the 10th. I've been struggling since yesterday to remain positive. Hopefully, it'll be nothing, but I have to admit I'm tired of those people who have been through previous abnormal mammograms and breast biopsies who have reduced my situation to being "nothing to worry about". Hey, guys it is something to worry about and minimizing it doesn't make me have any less anxiety especially when my mother is a breast cancer survivor and one of my closest friends is going through chemo now after having a mastectomy. I know whatever happens next week, I'll handle it because what other choice do I have? So instead of being off to see the wizard this year, I'm off to see the surgeon! The way I see it is that starting the year off badly is much better than starting it on a good note because the only direction I can go is up! So that's my story and I'm sticking to it...at least for a day or two! You know how pathological liars are!
He went on to tell us that in those days men didn't chase after women to get into their pants! REALLY??? It must have been due to all the saltpeter their mothers sprinkled on their Wheaties every morning. The climax to his dissertation about women was when he revealed the fall of womankind happened as a result of the drug revolution. I immediately jumped to my feet, threw my arms stretched upward to the heavens and hollered, "HALLELUJAH!" Not really, but as his wife was ushered into see her therapist, I wondered what being married to someone that narrow would be like. Missionary style sex for 40 something years must be as inspiring as his dissertation was. I know it made me hot...and moist in just the right places! As we left the office, Wimpy Daughter later told me that she had forgotten how people always just seem to open up and talk to me wherever I am. Lucky me to be cursed like that!
And now for the rest of the story: Yesterday morning I got a phonecall just after 8am from my primary care doctor's office to let me know my mammogram came back with abnormal results (again). It's difficult to keep going through this each year and feeling like I'm a timebomb just waiting to go off. So far each time I've rolled the dice, luck has been with me. This time I was immediately referred to a surgeon who I see on the 10th. I've been struggling since yesterday to remain positive. Hopefully, it'll be nothing, but I have to admit I'm tired of those people who have been through previous abnormal mammograms and breast biopsies who have reduced my situation to being "nothing to worry about". Hey, guys it is something to worry about and minimizing it doesn't make me have any less anxiety especially when my mother is a breast cancer survivor and one of my closest friends is going through chemo now after having a mastectomy. I know whatever happens next week, I'll handle it because what other choice do I have? So instead of being off to see the wizard this year, I'm off to see the surgeon! The way I see it is that starting the year off badly is much better than starting it on a good note because the only direction I can go is up! So that's my story and I'm sticking to it...at least for a day or two! You know how pathological liars are!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
WALKING THE GANGPLANK WITH MARTHA
Occasionally we meet people who can give their friendship without some kind of price tag attached. I was fortunate to have found several friends at an early age who not only loved unconditionally, but also withheld making judgment calls as well. My first memories of having friends date back before I went to school. My neighborhood was filled with families who had children of all ages. In my minuscule world that encompassed 4 or 5 houses, Linda was among my first friends. She was a soft-spoken, friendly child who later became the hot vixen all redheads seem to become. Our time together was always an adventure as we went from playing with dolls and hopscotch to skipping school and lusting after boys to becoming reunited after missing all those years in the middle where people become adults and have families.
I’ve always tended to gravitate towards the edge and tested any boundaries that stood in my way. It’s where I felt most comfortable. Maybe it was the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that made teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days of our adolescent angst. When I think of what a bad influence I was on so many of my friends, I now feel a little regret, but I won't lie...I also smile as I remember the progression of things and the fun involved. Back in those days among many other things, we became quite familiar with 5 finger discounts. As we built our collection of free make-up, jewelry, records, clothes and whatever else struck our fancy at the time (all things we really didn't "need"), it was the thrill of seeing how outrageous we could be that kept us going back for more. Why we were never caught is beyond me, but I suppose it was more dumb luck than skill that keep us on the right side of the law.
By the time we were teenagers, my attic was transformed into a place to wile away the hours skipping school, while we waited for my mother to go to work at 2:30 each afternoon. Anything in my house that wasn't being used seemed to always found its way to the top floor making the attic a true cornucopia of treasures. As our collection of discarded paint cans grew, the whole spectrum of colors was represented. We had purple that was used to paint one of the bathrooms and blue from the other. I snagged what was left from when my mother had painted on an old sea captain's trunk a most delightful shade of tangerine. Buttercup yellow from the kitchen and lime green from my bedroom were among the many colors we collected. As we collected our decorating materials, we decided that what needed to be done was some original artwork to adorn our sanctuary. Jackson Pollock's "drips" had nothing over the hand prints we put all over the walls and large-planked wooden floors. My only regret is that I never took any pictures of it. Years later after my house was sold and the new owners discovered my magical hideaway in attic, they made several inquiries to my cousin who lived next door about the artwork in the attic. What a surprise it must have been for them stepping into what appeared to be a colorful insane asylum (if they only knew how true that was).
Many, many years later my eyes twinkle as I think about last summer when I was "home". Somehow it seems fitting that the person who blossomed into a ravishing redheaded vixen is the saucy tart who insisted on giving me a blue streak in my hair that "would wash right out". Ha! All I can say is "thank you, Linda" for reminding me that growing old may be inevitable, but growing up especially when in the company of old, dear friends is quite optional and never preferred.
I’ve always tended to gravitate towards the edge and tested any boundaries that stood in my way. It’s where I felt most comfortable. Maybe it was the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that made teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days of our adolescent angst. When I think of what a bad influence I was on so many of my friends, I now feel a little regret, but I won't lie...I also smile as I remember the progression of things and the fun involved. Back in those days among many other things, we became quite familiar with 5 finger discounts. As we built our collection of free make-up, jewelry, records, clothes and whatever else struck our fancy at the time (all things we really didn't "need"), it was the thrill of seeing how outrageous we could be that kept us going back for more. Why we were never caught is beyond me, but I suppose it was more dumb luck than skill that keep us on the right side of the law.
By the time we were teenagers, my attic was transformed into a place to wile away the hours skipping school, while we waited for my mother to go to work at 2:30 each afternoon. Anything in my house that wasn't being used seemed to always found its way to the top floor making the attic a true cornucopia of treasures. As our collection of discarded paint cans grew, the whole spectrum of colors was represented. We had purple that was used to paint one of the bathrooms and blue from the other. I snagged what was left from when my mother had painted on an old sea captain's trunk a most delightful shade of tangerine. Buttercup yellow from the kitchen and lime green from my bedroom were among the many colors we collected. As we collected our decorating materials, we decided that what needed to be done was some original artwork to adorn our sanctuary. Jackson Pollock's "drips" had nothing over the hand prints we put all over the walls and large-planked wooden floors. My only regret is that I never took any pictures of it. Years later after my house was sold and the new owners discovered my magical hideaway in attic, they made several inquiries to my cousin who lived next door about the artwork in the attic. What a surprise it must have been for them stepping into what appeared to be a colorful insane asylum (if they only knew how true that was).
Many, many years later my eyes twinkle as I think about last summer when I was "home". Somehow it seems fitting that the person who blossomed into a ravishing redheaded vixen is the saucy tart who insisted on giving me a blue streak in my hair that "would wash right out". Ha! All I can say is "thank you, Linda" for reminding me that growing old may be inevitable, but growing up especially when in the company of old, dear friends is quite optional and never preferred.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
STEPPED OUT
When Adi told me she had composed a song and had done so "with me in mind", I couldn't wait to hear it. Needless to say, I was blown away by it when I heard it and have listened to it at least a hundred times by now. Undiscovered talent like hers always amazes me. She has a few other songs in the Music Room at MSWorld.org a website specifically created to "discover creative and inspirational works by people living with Multiple Sclerosis." I took the liberty of setting her song to a few images. I hope my first attempt at doing something like that doesn't detract from the beauty of the song.
Thank you, Adi. You helped make my Christmas one I'll always remember.
Thank you, Adi. You helped make my Christmas one I'll always remember.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
A NEW DAY
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas-
Gradually I have come to realize I really do have the ability to differentiate between those things I can change and those that are better left in the hands of fate. With age and experience come wisdom...sometimes! Perhaps my antiquated philosophy that everything happens the way it was meant to happen is flawed...or perhaps it's perfect! As I have surrendered myself in the last decade to the belief that my life is no more than an enigmatic demise, I awoke this morning feeling that perhaps it's really been an elusive rebirth instead. Is Mildred really a butterfly awaiting to fly? A crack has appeared allowing a sliver of light to shine through the emotional and physical pain. The path I was afraid to walk upon before has started to knead at me with a perverse appeal and an unfamiliar, yet welcomed anticipation. I long to feel the freedom I once called mine and I am willing to do whatever it takes to find that freedom again. I can and will explore until I find what I've lost in this lifeless abyss in which I have existed for far too long.I thank the powers that be whatever they are for setting me straight and allowing me a honest and much needed peak at myself. Yesterday as I sat watching an accident victim struggle to regain her independence through the means of a grueling physical therapy session, I realized the last several years have robbed me of certain aspects of myself or I guess I should finally admit I willingly gave myself to those things that would only bring me more pain and keep me trapped. It was easier to surrender, to submit, to give up. No robbery or rape occurred! No violation of spirit happened! I was not a victim, but a willing participant of having my zest for life sucked slowly from me through some gigantic straw. What replaced it was a quiet hunger to slowly destroy myself through isolation. I saw death and it quietly beckoned to me.
Oh, the sweet temptation of playing the final note of the song and knowing that there will be no more music! No, not now! Not today because the song still lingers and the tune, a melody I have heard somewhere before feels as though it isn’t quite finished. I, the composer search for the perfect note to complete the harmony and go in peace many, many years from now. Yes, good people of cyberspace, Mildred Ratched may make no sense, but today she does…she speaks of death and music and then sensually dances out from the shadows in which she exists into a new beginning. I will not go down without a fight! I will live in the sunshine again! It's a new dawn. It's a new day.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
BEYOND A SIMPLE OUCH!
After reading about Hunter S. Thompson’s suicide in 2005, I started wondering how many people who suffer from chronic pain eventually decide to end their life. I have to admit my views on that subject matter scare me, but nonetheless I revisit them quite often. For some people, acknowledging pain is a sign of weakness and talking about pain may be perceived by some as participating in pity party or as a grand stand ploy to elicit sympathy from people. In reality, talking about it helps the chronic pain sufferer stay connected to other people and the world around them, but sometimes there is a very fine line between staying connected and dwelling on the pain which amplifies it tenfold. I tend to think this is why so many chronic pain sufferers gravitate towards becoming hermits.
Anyone suffering from chronic physical pain goes through arduous periods of adjustment as their pain becomes more intense at times. We each have our own ways of coping and at times, those coping mechanisms may be pushed past their limits. What many people fail to understand is that pain and the ailments/conditions that cause the pain have a very debilitating effect on both the mind and body. The chronic pain sufferer is forced into accepting unwanted limitations and what's often thought of as restrictions brought on by the normal aging process are actually things expedited and amplified by chronic pain.
10 important things I've learned about chronic pain in the past 10 years:
1. Chronic pain is unlike acute pain which comes on suddenly as a warning signal that something has gone wrong inside the body and goes away when the cause is treated.
2. Chronic pain is caused by long-term conditions like arthritis or progressive illnesses like cancer.
3. Chronic pain can last for months or it may last an entire lifetime.
4. Chronic pain takes a psychological as well as a physical toll on a person. It can lead to anxiety, anger and insomnia.
5. Chronic pain sufferers may find it difficult or impossible to work and hard to do the things they once enjoyed.
6. Chronic pain can change a person’s relationships with family and friends and alter their own self-image and diminish their self-worth.
7. A person experiencing chronic pain becomes easily depressed, withdrawn, and exhausted.
8. No diagnostic tests can convey to your doctor what you are feeling. Even when pain is intense, many people struggle to the find words to accurately describe it.
9. Chronic pain is treatable, but it never completely goes away.
10.Chronic pain changes every aspect of a person's life.
Anyone suffering from chronic physical pain goes through arduous periods of adjustment as their pain becomes more intense at times. We each have our own ways of coping and at times, those coping mechanisms may be pushed past their limits. What many people fail to understand is that pain and the ailments/conditions that cause the pain have a very debilitating effect on both the mind and body. The chronic pain sufferer is forced into accepting unwanted limitations and what's often thought of as restrictions brought on by the normal aging process are actually things expedited and amplified by chronic pain.
10 important things I've learned about chronic pain in the past 10 years:
1. Chronic pain is unlike acute pain which comes on suddenly as a warning signal that something has gone wrong inside the body and goes away when the cause is treated.
2. Chronic pain is caused by long-term conditions like arthritis or progressive illnesses like cancer.
3. Chronic pain can last for months or it may last an entire lifetime.
4. Chronic pain takes a psychological as well as a physical toll on a person. It can lead to anxiety, anger and insomnia.
5. Chronic pain sufferers may find it difficult or impossible to work and hard to do the things they once enjoyed.
6. Chronic pain can change a person’s relationships with family and friends and alter their own self-image and diminish their self-worth.
7. A person experiencing chronic pain becomes easily depressed, withdrawn, and exhausted.
8. No diagnostic tests can convey to your doctor what you are feeling. Even when pain is intense, many people struggle to the find words to accurately describe it.
9. Chronic pain is treatable, but it never completely goes away.
10.Chronic pain changes every aspect of a person's life.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
LOOKING FOR MR. GOODBAR
Many years ago when I was in search of Mr. Right, I initially sifted through the online personal ads with great hope and fervor. As my optimism waned, I realized that perhaps my perfect match isn't tall, dark and handsome afterall, but someone who is witty, slightly twisted and ready for anything. The following is the final personal ad I wrote and posted online. The response to it was overwhelming and ranged from many serious-minded gentlemen concerned about me having a self-esteem problem to the slapstick funny responses from men thinking my ad was written by their ex-wives. Without a doubt it was a great source of amusement even though I didn’t find Mr. Right. What I did discover were a bunch of people searching for everything from a friend with benefits to a sugar momma to an actual soulmate.
I’m short, fat, ugly and the fashion police are always trying to bust me. I never smile and I’m a total bitch from hell with a terminal case of PMS. I’m demanding, cynical and judgmental. I’m always right and I have to have the last word… ALWAYS!!! My goal in life is to spread misery and discontent where ever and to whomever I can. Physical contact with me could result in serious frostbite and tissue damage. I have nasty habits and should never be allowed to go out in public or to mate!!! I should be avoided at all costs and only approached with extreme caution under dire circumstances.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
A TIME TO PAY IT FORWARD
It probably comes as no surprise that my house is not adorned by the tons of usual Christmas paraphernalia that most people seem to need to celebrate the holiday season properly. No, I don't decorate a Christmas tree. The exterior of my home isn't ablaze from a gawdy display of Christmas lights. The stockings are hung by the chimney with care in other people's homes, but not in mine. I'm sure most people must think I'm as horrible as Scrooge and the Grinch all rolled up into one massive anti-Christmas campaign. But those who really know me, know that still waters run deep.For me, the season is not a lavish affair. I keep it simple. I try to pay it forward by giving money to the less fortunate and by doing small acts of kindness whenever I can. I don't go into debt from overspending, but I do manage to make sure all my loved ones are remembered in some special way.
Over the years as my need to participate in the commercial hullabaloo surrounding Christmas has dwindled, I've devoted much thought to the holiday season and what makes it so depressing and unbearable for so many people. As children, this season breeds an unbridled anticipation of Santa Claus and wonderful gifts. Then as the years roll by, that anticipation for many people somehow morphs into the dread of overspending and into bittersweet memories of all the things they no longer have and of loved ones who no longer are with them. What may start out as a little self-pity often times turns into depression on steroids.
For people celebrating the holidays totally alone or without a significant other, the holiday season always seems geared towards celebrating it with that special someone and with a loving family oozing with holiday spirit. Each time I used to see the commercial that asked, "What would you do for love this Christmas?", it made me want to vomit. Some bright, young advertising hotshot envisioned two people being separated at Christmas with impossible obstacles to overcome. Somehow and of course quite miraculously, they find their way to each other just in time and of course, bearing an armful of great gifts for one another. Does that ever happen in real life? If not, it should, but better yet it should happen all year long!
I applaud anyone who generously give of themselves, but necessarily through monetary means at Christmas. I applaud those who see a need to keep the romance and passion alive in a relationship because the person they love is still worth that kind of effort. I applaud those fortunate families who manage to celebrate Christmas together each year not from obligation or duty, but because they love one another. If you really want to get into the spirit of the season and adhere to the philosophy that "it’s better to give than to receive", then do something that might really make a difference in someone’s life.
If you know someone who is alone or doesn’t appear overflowing with a festive spirit, take the time to be that person's friend. Sometimes all it takes is a kind word or some small deed to make a person believe they too are worthy of love and happiness during the holidays. Extend an invitation, give an anonymous gift or just act like you sincerely understand and care about someone in need. Alienating that "grinch" is the worst thing that can happen to that person. They may appear to want to be left alone, but underneath that gruff exterior lies a person needing a visit from a real Santa Claus. It's really quite simple! Give yourself the best Christmas gift you can ever receive by paying it forward this Christmas season.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
DEAR SANTA
I’ve been fairly horrible this year, but not as bad as I have been in years past. In lieu of my ever improving behavior I thought I’d give you my Christmas list in hopes you’ll find something special just for me this year.
1. World peace (Okay, I know I always include this one, but you can’t blame me for hoping.)
2. A new 8-Ball (It seems mine isn't working properly. It keeps giving me all the wrong answers and everyone else the right ones.)
3. The drive to finally finish writing my book or bring a creative co-author to help me finish it. (Santa, how are your writing skills? You're free 364 days a year!)
4. Could whatever you bring me be made in America and not in China? (I'm not a racist, I'm just concerned about the U.S. economy)
5. Most of all I'd like Santa to have the night off...Happy Holidays, Santa! (Kick back and enjoy! You deserve it, big guy. I think we all receive enough and it's our turn to give!)
Always naughty, but nice,
Mildred Ratched
1. World peace (Okay, I know I always include this one, but you can’t blame me for hoping.)
2. A new 8-Ball (It seems mine isn't working properly. It keeps giving me all the wrong answers and everyone else the right ones.)
3. The drive to finally finish writing my book or bring a creative co-author to help me finish it. (Santa, how are your writing skills? You're free 364 days a year!)
4. Could whatever you bring me be made in America and not in China? (I'm not a racist, I'm just concerned about the U.S. economy)
5. Most of all I'd like Santa to have the night off...Happy Holidays, Santa! (Kick back and enjoy! You deserve it, big guy. I think we all receive enough and it's our turn to give!)
Always naughty, but nice,
Mildred Ratched
Sunday, December 11, 2011
COUNTING MY BLESSINGS
I'm sure all of you who visit here have noticed over the last month or so I seem to have been blessed with someone who feels the need to attack me and my subject matter. I have to admit I really don't understand this person's need to go where he's obviously unwelcome, to judge me so harshly and unfairly and to write such cruel, antagonistic things. Usually I'm quick to stand up for myself, but right now I honestly don't feel the need to defend myself or to try to set the record straight because his accusations are so bizarre that they don't merit a rebuttal on my part. I do, however want to thank the people who came to my defense and who continue to give me their unconditional compassion and support.
Thursday, December 08, 2011
WHEN THE COLD WIND BLOWS
Dragging myself out of bed each day seems to be getting more difficult. If it weren't for my dogs needing to go out first thing in the morning, I probably wouldn't even roll out of bed at all. Then on top of what seems to be an inevitable decline, this damn slow moving cold front is killing me. Is anyone else out there physically affected by the weather? It seems like every spot in my body that already hurts is amplified by ten. Yes, I've been to the doctor (many times) and yes, I was referred to a pain specialist who told me that because I have so many areas of pain throughout my body, he's very limited in what he can do to help me. His main concern at the moment is the neuropathy in my lower legs and feet.
Each time I go to a doctor and I'm told something I'm not prepared to hear, it immediately transports me into a surreal setting where I emotionally shutdown. I did exactly that when I was told I have liver disease. How the hell did that happen? With all the alcoholism that runs rampant in my family, I, the person who doesn't drink, am the lucky recipient of liver disease. Isn't that special? Now, I'm told that I'm at a high risk for falls. Wait a minute! I'm 50 something and I'm at a high risk for falls??? That can't be right! Okay, so I'm a trooper. I will snap back and deal with all of this, but the next day after learning that my neuropathy has gotten a lot worse, I get the results of my last blood tests in the mail with a note from my doctor attached. He wanted me to contact him regarding how I want to handle this new problem. Is being put out to pasture an option? How about one last grand brouhaha in the style in which I am accustomed? Is laying on a beach and soaking up the rays in some tropical location while being brought fruity concoctions to drink by some buff cabana boy an option?
My previous lab results revealed my A1C had gone down. Although my number still wasn't quite where it needed to be, it was a definite step in the right direction. It made me feel as if I had really accomplished something. Now, as I sat reading my most current results all I could do is shake my head. My A1C has risen higher than it's ever been. My mind started to scramble and I felt immediately overwhelmed. Many things started running through my head, but the one thought that has stuck with me is regarding the role my liver plays in my diabetes. Since I have a diseased liver and glucose is secreted into the bloodstream via the liver, could it be possible that my dysfunctional liver is the culprit of my higher numbers? I suppose I'll run my theory by my doctor when I see him again in a couple of weeks and hopefully, he won't give me the "I know you sit around eating bags of cookies and swilling Coke all day" look. Hopefully, he can suggest a replacement medication for the one my insurance refuses to cover because it's too expensive. Perhaps going from 3 diabetic drugs down to 2 daily caused the drastic increase in my A1C. And perhaps my insurance company is trying to kill me so they won't have to pay anymore claims! Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm part of some sick, sadist Catch 22 with no way out.
Each time I go to a doctor and I'm told something I'm not prepared to hear, it immediately transports me into a surreal setting where I emotionally shutdown. I did exactly that when I was told I have liver disease. How the hell did that happen? With all the alcoholism that runs rampant in my family, I, the person who doesn't drink, am the lucky recipient of liver disease. Isn't that special? Now, I'm told that I'm at a high risk for falls. Wait a minute! I'm 50 something and I'm at a high risk for falls??? That can't be right! Okay, so I'm a trooper. I will snap back and deal with all of this, but the next day after learning that my neuropathy has gotten a lot worse, I get the results of my last blood tests in the mail with a note from my doctor attached. He wanted me to contact him regarding how I want to handle this new problem. Is being put out to pasture an option? How about one last grand brouhaha in the style in which I am accustomed? Is laying on a beach and soaking up the rays in some tropical location while being brought fruity concoctions to drink by some buff cabana boy an option?
My previous lab results revealed my A1C had gone down. Although my number still wasn't quite where it needed to be, it was a definite step in the right direction. It made me feel as if I had really accomplished something. Now, as I sat reading my most current results all I could do is shake my head. My A1C has risen higher than it's ever been. My mind started to scramble and I felt immediately overwhelmed. Many things started running through my head, but the one thought that has stuck with me is regarding the role my liver plays in my diabetes. Since I have a diseased liver and glucose is secreted into the bloodstream via the liver, could it be possible that my dysfunctional liver is the culprit of my higher numbers? I suppose I'll run my theory by my doctor when I see him again in a couple of weeks and hopefully, he won't give me the "I know you sit around eating bags of cookies and swilling Coke all day" look. Hopefully, he can suggest a replacement medication for the one my insurance refuses to cover because it's too expensive. Perhaps going from 3 diabetic drugs down to 2 daily caused the drastic increase in my A1C. And perhaps my insurance company is trying to kill me so they won't have to pay anymore claims! Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm part of some sick, sadist Catch 22 with no way out.
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