I know what you’re thinking. “This is the first time they’ve thought of it in all the years they’ve owned you?!” In all seriousness, I made the appointment myself, long before my Urgent Care fiasco of last Tuesday.
However, at 5:00 a.m., I really don’t need Large Paws (Kitten) walking all over me from head to toe to shove me out of bed. I’m not sure what that was about, other than to annoy me and get me into the kitchen to give them their breakfast. Five a.m. Really?! Since when is that acceptable?! I mean, it was still dark out (at the time). This is what happens when you raise food-aggressive cats, people.
When I woke up and started making actual sounds, having dragged myself to the cough medicine, I heard Cat plummet down from wherever she was with a little “Boom!” onto the hard wood. The second I do anything even remotely interesting, day or night, I am subjected to the “Boom!” and her elephant steps come flying down to see what I’m up to. I walked into the kitchen and said “Are you both in here?” before turning on the light. There is NOTHING normal about that kind of behavior, or discussions with cats who only want food and nothing else. I swear, I won’t see either of them until I get home from the doctor. Unless I’m feeding them, they now have zero use for me whatsoever. Can you feel the love?!
Later today is my first appointment with a new doctor in a little over five years. My last one went a little something like this “I don’t want anymore pain patients!”, which was practically yelled at me, disdain as long as a month on this doctor’s face. Yeah, and I don’t want a doctor with a stick up his ass, but “pain patients” are probably the reason you can pay your student loans from the subpar ‘medical school’ you went to and we’re probably the reason you can make your car payment each month, so shush.
If you’re a D.O. and not an M.D., you didn’t go through the same training methods or learn the exact same things. If I wanted someone to treat me holistically, I’d go to a naturopath, not a D.O. Call me a snob, but I want someone who has their shit together, regardless of the two letters after their name. I’m a person, not a number in a chart. I don’t want to be passed on to the Physician’s Assistant (especially not this doctor’s assistant who could have killed me if I wasn’t a smart patient that spoke up last week.), Nurse Practitioner, etc. I just want to keep it real. If I have to wait weeks on end for an appointment with the actual doctor, then I want to SEE the actual doctor. It’s not a lot to ask.
I go in today with zero expectations. Honestly, they couldn’t be any lower than they are. I did write up a detailed medical history for her since it’ll be a while before she gets mediocre-at best records from my previous physicians. The lab is next door to the doctor’s office, so I suspect my first order of business is to be thoroughly vamped. Good luck. The only way you’ll get so much as a drop of blood is by going into my hands or wrist. You might have better luck with a paper-cut. At the mere mention of blood work, my veins disappear. I typed that and only two are visible in my left wrist and forearm. The others have gone bye-bye. They’ve been through a LOT over the years. 😦 My appointment is a little before 3:00 PM, so there’s no way in hell I’m fasting on the potential she wants to run tests I don’t actually need. I don’t have diabetes (Thank God and Goddess.), but she can run a hemoglobin A1C ’til the cows come home. The only thing I think will be high is my cholesterol, because it runs in the family, but it’s always been good previously, so I’m not going to agonize over it. My white count will be elevated, as it always is, which is indicative of an infection OR an autoimmune disease. This time, it would be hard to tell which because I’m fighting off two infections. I’m usually just fighting my body. 😦
In the history report I started with concussions and worked my way up to the reason I’m going there. Not once in this report do I use the words “Chronic Pain” or “Fibromyalgia”. I decided I want to be diagnosed properly, and therefore, she can refer me to a Neurologist and a Rheumatologist, and whomever else for that matter, but I’m not using those words until a new doctor does. I do not want or need another doctor treating me like crap because the words “Chronic Pain” and “Fibromyalgia” make them uncomfortable. Or worse, label me as a “drug seeker” when I am not. I’ve never once asked or demanded pain medication from a doctor.
I am still recovering from the infections I have and the case of Bronchitis. I missed a couple of doses of antibiotics, so I still feel pretty awful. My sinuses are terribly painful. I keep hoping it’ll rain and that some of the pressure will ease, but thus far, not a single rain drop. Figures.
I won’t lie; I’m concerned that so much is wrong with me and that no doctor on this planet will ever get to the bottom of it. I’m sick to my stomach, wondering what I’ve inherited genetically considering my brother has had a quadruple bypass, which the doctors said was not anything he did or didn’t do health-wise, but a genetic issue. Both of my parents had heart issues young; my mother died as a result of her heart giving out. My Grandfather died at 40 from a massive heart attack. More than half of my family has had or had cancer. So while I’ve got good genes in the looks and youth department, internally, I have just cause to be concerned.
I am the only person in my family with any form of Chronic Pain. My brother told me that his migraines got better post-bypass surgery. Ever since then, I’ve wondered if my heart is a ticking time bomb waiting to take me out, despite being told twice that it’s healthy and working as it should. And when it comes to cancer, I have a lot of cause to worry as a non-smoker who was subjected to secondhand smoke for the majority of her life, which is precisely how my Grandmother got cancer, twice. She also hid from the sun my entire life and still managed to get skin cancer. I’ve spent the majority of my life covered in sunscreen, and now and then, I still get a little burn here and there if I haven’t reapplied and have been out in direct sunlight longer than two hours. We talk about global warming, but we should also address the holes in the ozone layer when we discuss the need for sunscreen. People are developing allergies to the sun, and are wearing SPF 100 just to be outside for 10-30 minutes a day, if that. Hell, they have to wear it indoors too, because UV rays can and do come through the glass.
Less than an hour has passed since I fed Large Paws and Bunny Paws. I haven’t seen them or heard from them since. They’re doing a lot to boost my self-esteem, let me tell ya!
And so, today’s journey begins with pulling my shit together, preparing myself for this appointment, and going. Like I said, my expectations are low, but I’ve managed to work myself up into some very respectable panic attacks between Sunday and this morning. 😦
Wish me good luck. I keep hoping I’ll just be hit by a MACK truck and be able to call it a day. What can I say? I’m tired of this crap.
I zoomed in on this photo, so you could see that Cat is sitting inside a bag of bags. She’s OBSESSED with bags from Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods. She’s also annoyed that the camera comes out every time she does something even remotely cute. Doesn’t she look bunny soft? She is.
I’d like to thank the two people who reached out to me with messages of encouragement, respect, and kindness after my last post about how horrible I am feeling (My feelings have only worsened.). Steven & Tasha; your words genuinely helped me and, from the bottom of my heart, they meant the world to me. Thank you both SO much. I don’t even have the words for how touched I am.
As for the rest of the world; I’m not really feeling people too much these days. Granted, I am not a people person on a good day, but it would certainly be nice if some people were more aware of their words, behavior, and attitudes towards me. I’m sick of being told how I am speaking, how I sound, how I’m behaving, etc., because I’m well-aware of my intent when I’m being human. If you don’t know my tones, then you don’t know how I’m speaking, how I sound, or precisely how I am behaving. I’m not two, and I don’t require psycho-analysis by people who really ought to save that for those who need it. You’ll only piss me off, and at the moment, I’d shy away from that if at all possible.
I believe that life, and people, has/have highs and lows, but what do you do when you’re stuck on LOW and don’t know how to rise, and cannot find a reason why you should? I’m hardwired to get up each morning, feed Cat and Kitten, sometimes feed myself, but of late, I’m so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained that I don’t know how to do it any more. “It” being “anything”.
I adopted Cat and Kitten to help keep myself alive. Cat was a foster from a kill shelter, so I felt like by rescuing her, I was saving my life, along with hers. Win-win. Kitten is from a no-kill shelter; and I love to support no-kill shelters because they’re crucial to the survival of so many animal’s lives. Unlike Cat, who has divided love/loyalties (I’d like to say she has a big heart, but I’m genuinely not sure she even likes me most of the time.), Kitten is my faithful companion. Even when I move her off of my blanket at three in the morning so I can get comfortable or grab a few hours of sleep, she forgives me in minutes. Cat holds a grudge if I move her or rearrange her on the bed. In fact, as I am typing this Kitten is making little sounds in her sleep and giving me her belly, instinctively knowing that I am by her side. She is named in honor of my original Tortoiseshell. I’ve noticed over the past two years that she is basically a gift from her; a true companion sent to go through life with me. She’s not a “replacement cat”, she’s a piece of my original cat that I know in my heart was sent to me. But lately, caring for both of them each day has been physically and emotionally taxing.
I have reached out to organizations to try to get emergency help in order to feel better, but after applying for insurance MONTHSago (which should be underlined ten times), I still haven’t been approved, nor have I received anything in writing from them, which they’ve repeatedly promised each time I’ve called. The answer I’ve gotten is “You’re in the system. You should hear from us in approximately 2-3 weeks by mail.”, before I’ve been hung up on! There’s a reason they call them Massholes, and it’s NOT because they’re all perfectly well-mannered (a small percentage, yes. The rest? Not so much.). I believe they had roughly 30-45 days to approve or deny me from day one, and that I’d then have a period of time to appeal, if denied, but at this moment I feel like I’m stuck at square one. In turn, after giving them one final call this coming week, I am reapplying. I’m utterly tired of the bullshit, because this is clearly a runaround, so I am going to fill out the application they deigned to send me (I have my original documents from last year, all I have to do is insert the same answers), attach copies proving that I’m a legal citizen with a bank account, and fax it instead of mailing it. That way, I’ve confirmed receipt of the documents and won’t feel jerked around, as I have clearly been for all these months. I’m sick of paying for medication out-of-pocket when that $20-$35 (it ranges based on the discounts I’m able to find) could feed me, or my cats. Overall, I’m sick of the struggle of trying to live, and failing miserably. I need to be able to see doctors without cringing over out-of-pocket costs that frankly, I can’t do.
Everyone’s definition of “failure” is different. Not being able to take care of what is most important in my life; that is true failure to me. Not being able to protect my loved ones and keep them safe; that is failure. Thankfully, I care, I am emotionally present, and I’m not a vile human-being, so on that front, I am NOT a failure. I’d hate to be a heartless, cruel individual who only cared about herself. Thankfully, I was raised by two wonderful women (My mother and Grandmother) and selfishness wasn’t a part of their make-up, so it isn’t a part of mine. I miss them both more than words can say. Everything feels like yesterday in terms of loss; at least for me.
This evening I merely want to survive the mind-numbing migraine that exploded on me this afternoon in the grocery store, to the point where I had to run to the ladies room to be sick. 😦 That has never happened to me in public before (except after having blood work done, and that was one time), but after that I quickly made my way to the register and went outside for some fresh air, despite the fact that it was indeed freezing and took over forty-five minutes before I could feel my ears again. The smells inside the store were making me violently ill and the noise wasn’t much better. This afternoon I indulged in silence, darkness, and a nap, but it only made the migraine that much worse. At the moment, I am praying that three ibuprofen will kick in, along with caffeinated tea I’ve been nursing since three o’clock this afternoon. Some people need coffee to feel human; I need strong Earl Grey with real sugar.
This week and this weekend, I am definitely out of sorts, but don’t worry… I’ll be back soon with something I’ve been dying to write, but have kept under wraps for years. No more. The Beast Is Back.
Cat when she was a kitten. Three pounds of energy and attitude.
Today is National Kitten Day! 🙂
You’ve all heard me go on about my love for cats, and have heard me talk about Cat and Kitten. My relationship with cats evolved from childhood into adulthood.
My mother’s cat was rescued out of a rose bush as a kitten. My mother was a dog person, so she was committed to cleaning her up, making her feel safe, giving her all she needed, but she made it clear to my father that he HAD to find her a home. He kept saying he was “looking”, but inevitably, that tiny kitten became a cat and remained the family cat until the end. She never forgot that my Mom was the one to save her, so she was truly HER cat.
She was there before I was born, and she didn’t take kindly to me trying to ride her like a miniature pony, pulling her tail, or her whiskers. She once stood up on her back paws and pushed me down on the floor (My mother was trying not to laugh, because I became hysterical.). In my young child’s eyes, she was far larger than a domestic house cat. I reacted to her gentle shove as if a dinosaur had tried eating me alive. It was that day I learned to respect cats.
Before Cat and Kitten came along, I had a very special cat in my life who will forever mean the world to me. She was 100% my baby. She taught me how to love unconditionally, be a mother, and blessed my life from the moment she chose me to be her person. She passed away with me sleeping beside her, holding one of her paws. It was one of the worst moments in a life full of “worst moments”. However, I know she had a long, amazing, predominantly healthy life with me full of love. My last words to her were that it was okay to leave because I’d be okay, but that she couldn’t hold on for me any more. I assured her we’d be reunited and told her how loved she was. It was the goodbye she deserved, for no one alive or dead had ever been so loyal, faithful, or committed to me, except maybe my mother.
When I adopted Cat ten months later, I didn’t expect to fall in love meeting this beautiful little face at the front door. I did not expect to be so charmed by this sweet, beautiful creature, but every single day she does something affectionate, kind, caring, and reminds me that she loves me. She’s truly one of the sweetest cats on the planet.
I adopted Kitten as a companion for Cat, who truly needed another cat to play with. She was lonely, and she was acting out multiple times a day, biting me, attacking me, etc. I researched her breed and found out they do well with companions, that it helps them thrive, and that their sweet nature will become aggressive if they’re not given companionship of another animal. I wasn’t enough for her, and I had always intended to get her a friend, but so many opportunities that presented themselves did not feel right to me.
Their initial meeting wasn’t a good one, but she quickly fell in love with her, often using her as her very own personal teddy bear (She’d kill me for telling this story.). Kitten is the HAPPIEST CAT I’ve ever met. She’s extremely loving and while a little rough around the edges at times, she and her sister are the reason I’m alive.
Kitten is formally named after my previously aforementioned “special cat”. I translated her name out of several different languages into English, as an homage to a cat that was one of the finest creatures I will ever know in life. Unbeknownst to me, they’re actually a lot alike. It’s not just the fact that the first cat was a Tortoiseshell and I intentionally searched for another Tortie. Kitten is by no means a “replacement cat”. Her coloring and markings are different, she’s a darker Tortie, but she looks like someone painted spots of light on different parts of her body. The first photo I saw of her looked like sunshine had been painted across her face. I knew immediately that I had to take her home. Her shelter name was a close match for my previous cat’s real name. Her foster mother and I also have the same name. We laughed about it, because it was clearly fate.
Driving home that evening with my new little friend in the backseat, I was inspired to give her a special middle name as well. Her response to all the excitement was to fall sound asleep in the cat carrier, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d found her forever home and her forever person.
This little cat with the enormous paws is my best friend (I LOVE Cat, too. However, she prefers others over me. I’m not her whole world.). I’ve lost count how many times she has taken care of me when I’m sick or come running to stay with me the second she knew I was upset about something. Her favorite place is next to me. That’s precisely where she is now. She’s all tucked in like a baby that simply wants to be close to her mother. Safety, warmth, and love are easy to provide. G-d, please don’t ever let me fail either of them.
So today, I honor Kitten (and Cat, because she’s used the word “Mutiny” in their communications, and they out-number me.). Thank you for coming into our lives and bestowing us with love and sweetness. You’re a blessing many times over.
Last month, a client booked me for the first two weeks of September. Upon receiving her manuscript two and a half weeks early (She genuinely seemed to think that was okay.), I put my foot down and said I would not start until September 5th since she had not booked an earlier spot. She, surprisingly, agreed. I’m not being paid enough to do all that she’s demanding, and I mean it when I say the list keeps growing, but I made a commitment and I’ll honor it. Pray for my eyeballs and back, please. You know where I’ll be for the next two weeks. 😦
Normally I don’t mind proofreading and providing notes for someone, but this time I realize it’s the money that’s insulting me. It’s not befitting of my experience and what I bring to the table. The client hired nine other people, along with me. In my opinion I find it more cohesive to work with one proofreader. Conflicting thoughts and opinions is best left for your beta readers, not a proofreader. Demanding pages upon pages of notes when you’re not even paying my hourly rate for the entire job is enough to enrage me. However, it’s 100% my fault. I agreed to do it, knowing in advance that the money might cover 26 cans of cat food or a tiny amount of food for a human. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 😦
If you’re an inexperienced high school or college student, this would be a little play money or Ramen noodle money for you. For an experienced adult, it is insulting, but again, 100% my fault. I have no room to complain or bitch, despite doing so, because I agreed to do it knowing what was involved, partially. Please, someone schedule me for a brain MRI, stat. I want to make sure it’s still in there.
I am in the midst of a week-long flare-up, after spending less than a week walking over fifteen miles. That’s nothing for most people; fifteen miles. They don’t even know they walk approximately ten miles a day (this is considered the national average of walking a person does daily, but a lot of my friends have told me they do the bare minimum, which means I actually move more than they do!), but for a Fibromyalgia patient, walking fifteen miles over the course of five days is the equivalent of running a marathon or winning Olympic Gold. It’s impossibly painful at this advanced stage, and yet I somehow managed it. I have yet to claim my reward. 😉
Between migraines and the pain in my back; I’ve found it immensely difficult to sleep. I’m struggling with my allergies as well, so all of these things keep me awake when I want to be asleep and make me sleepy when I want to be awake. Melatonin and/or my allergy meds have provided up to 12 straight hours of sleep some days. My body always goes through this before the Fall Equinox, but a lot of this began in August, so anyone who thinks Global Warming is a joke is wrong.
And so, I sit here on Labor Day, isolated from the world. I’ve felt alone most of my life, truly alone, but this year it’s worse. There’s no one to watch baseball with. There’s no one to ask if I am making hot dogs or hamburgers, if I’m making fries, or inquire as to whether or not I got pie. Being intentionally isolated by family and friends is incredibly hurtful, but feeling like I have to withdraw even harder to keep myself in tact is worse.
I have spoken to one friend via Facebook messenger, another via e-mail, and received a few text messages inquiring about my health. The only genuine concern I’ve received today, the only genuine love, has been from Cat and Kitten. Of course, Kittens’s love is a continuous thing, growing each day. She chooses to spend time with me when she could be off doing silly cat things or sleeping. Cat, not so much. She has been better these past few days; bringing me toys and giving affection. She is being sweet, which is her general disposition. Perhaps she has felt much as I’ve felt these many months; unhappy. The only difference is, she is given love and care every single day. I’ve never abandoned her. I’m allowed to feel less than human, and what’s worse, I’ve been told I am less than human. It’s a wonder I haven’t killed anyone yet.
Ultimately, there are worse things in life than someone trying to be cruel and failing. There are people who have lost their homes and everything they own due to floods and fires, there are people who are homeless through no fault of their own, people who have died or been injured in earthquakes, and there are people who are sick and dying because no one gives a damn. “Band-Aids don’t fix bullet holes.”; this is one of the most honest phrases ever written and yet, I have continually found it to be true. Far too many people think a politely worded lie will mend the damage done. I’m certain I live in a world where things get more bizarre by the day.
If you are in the States, I wish you a happy unofficial end to the summer. If you’re not here, be glad, for we’ve got a maniac running for President and crazy shit happening on the daily. Nothing is as simple as it seems. Nothing is ever so cut and dried.
I, for one, will be glad to see this day end, and hopefully everyone dealing with the remnants of the tropical storm is safe and sound.
There is something about summer that causes terrible insomnia for me. It’s not just the blistering heat & humidity of the days (and many nights). Even on cooler nights, I find myself completely and utterly unable to sleep. It’s awful, especially when I’m yawning at 7:30 PM thinking “I can’t wait to be in bed before 9:30.” I typically have to be in the midst of an excruciating migraine, Fibro flare, on allergy meds, or take a hefty dose of Melatonin to be in bed early these days. And let me tell you something; I’m not the least bit entertained by it.
Normally when I cannot sleep, I read or watch something I’ve seen a million times. Eventually I get bored/sleepy and it’s lights out. Sometimes I listen to music and that will help, but other times it makes my brain even more responsive, and that’s not helpful at all. I have tried re-reading some of my favorite books and every time I do, the next thing I know it’s 5:30 a.m. and I’ve got at least one cat crying to be fed or both of them wreaking some kind of havoc that annoys me and lulls me into the belief that if I feed them, they will calm down. Generally, they just walk away from the food and go back for it later on, but much meowing or pawing of the Mommy occurs before the “calming down” process. It irritates the hell out of me. I am NOT a morning person. Hell, I’m not even a day person!
Thursday morning I sat here unable to sleep. Kitten was 100% OUT next to me. She’d been sleeping soundly for about four hours or so while I’d done everything I could think of to put myself to bed. I eventually got about 2 1/2 hours of sleep, but after that, I was a prisoner to the day. I was so sleep-deprived that when I went outside around 3:30 to water the plants and herbs, I kept visualizing myself being found there at some point, ravaged by the neighbor’s dogs. It wasn’t just the heat and the sun’s intensity, it was that delirious state you often reach when you’re so sleep-deprived, you’d kill for 12 hours of solid, uninterrupted rest. Lack of proper rest screws with your body over time. I can’t remember the last time I truly slept well.
Last night, severely determined, I took a dose of Melatonin and was in bed by 9:15. The downside? I was up by 3:30. Not what I had in mind, AT ALL. 😦 Despite suffering pain-wise, I’d prefer not to need a nap by 10;30 in the morning. I’d also prefer to avoid additional encounters where I cannot account for 2-4 hours of my day.
For the next week, the forecast is 80’s and 90’s. Only one day is slated for rain and thunderstorms. Heat and humidity make me viciously cranky and unpleasant. It makes me feel even more like a prisoner than I already do. 😦 I cannot enjoy “the great outdoors” when the heat index dictates that I need to drink a gallon or two of water, especially when I feel like it’s so hot I cannot breathe, or when the heat affects my eyes and makes my contact lenses cloudy and/or gooey. My allergies are awful. Even just typing these words makes me feel like a kvetchy bitch, but I’d rather be honest than pretend. Extreme temperatures are NOT my friend. Insect bites and sunburns are not a badge of honor that you’ve enjoyed the summer. I NEVER enjoy the summer, and I’d like to avoid all things involving damage to the skin.
There are no good suggestions for “things to do” when it’s this hot. Sure, you can walk the mall for no reason whatsoever, you can go to the movies, you can mindlessly walk around the book store, you can hit up a museum, but all of those things require energy I don’t always have. My patience is nil and my ability to make small talk is nonexistent. I don’t want to talk about anything serious either, because I am up to my ears in serious and do not care for or want any additional drama. I’m doing my best, my best is never good enough, and that’s the way the cookie crumbles, apparently. At this point, I’d rather discuss absolute nonsense, and that’s sad, because I am NOT a nonsensical conversationalist.
On one level, I could take the opportunity to hibernate and watch the Olympics, but let’s face it; that’s not going to happen. I will watch what I can of the opening ceremony (I already have it set to record on my DVR. I do not plan on watching it live.), some gymnastics, and the closing ceremony. The problem with watching gymnastics is that, as a former gymnast, I do gymnastics in my sleep. I remember every routine I’ve ever done and my brain works in mysterious ways. I’ve been lucky to retain nearly my flexibility, but NO, stretching does not minimize the pain of Fibromyalgia and things like yoga annoy the shit out of me. I am a physical kind of person, so if I’m going to workout, I need to be punching things or doing something that brings about results. I do pay an immense price for punching things; it kills my arms, back, and muscles I didn’t even know I have or utilize, but it makes me feel better mentally. I have many creative outlets, but so few mental outlets. Clearly, it’s time to search for something new.
The whole library debacle is ongoing. After sending a formal complaint to the Director, the only results I’ve seen was the removal of $50+ in late fees they slapped on to my account because no one ever picked up the 14 items that were sitting here, half of which had been delivered five days after being checked out. I was so annoyed that I didn’t have time to read any of the books (I started one and got about 100 or so pages in, but I really wanted to be able to finish it.) and I still haven’t listened to any of the music I burned. I do hope the issue is resolved soon. On the plus side, I am caught up on The Good Wife after discovering six seasons of it are available on Streampix as part of my cable package. I was able to watch season four, which is apparently when I started watching in the first place. That was precisely what I thought originally, so now I’m over it. I can barely watch an hour of TV most days. I am so focused on getting work done and acquiring more work that it’s easy for my DVR to fill up and for me to miss things for months on end. At one point, I hadn’t turned it the TV on in a few months. It’s new, so it had calculated the energy/electricity saved and how many hours it had been since I’d last had it on. I had one of those moments where I thought “Wow! You have NO life whatsoever.” Of course, I tend to think that daily, but realizing that my new flat screen is basically collecting dust pissed me off. It was a gift, a “sense of normalcy to help me transition” after my move, but nothing is normal, I am not “transitioned”, and I have little time to enjoy the things I normally love. 😦 My life feels like it is dictated to me, as opposed to my choice. That doesn’t make me feel good about myself and I suspect it’s not supposed to.
And so, another day begins. Sun, heat, prepping for an interview for next week, being ignored by Cat (Kitten has already had breakfast and is sleeping peacefully beside me. She talks in her sleep. LOL.), and a zillion thoughts facing through my head. I’d like to go through the next few days without an interrogation, stress, deepening depression, or thoughts of walking in front of moving vehicles. I can’t afford to deal with broken bones (physically) and I really cannot handle dealing with anyone giving me the third, fourth, or tenth degree. I’ve bitten my tongue for far too long. One more push will likely send me over the edge and it won’t be pretty. However, it’ll feel damn good not to hold back the force of my personality any longer. I am only an opponent when someone forces me to be one. I make no promises if you continually push my buttons. In this, I think many of us are the same. We don’t actively go looking for the craziness that comes our way, but we won’t back down if you get in our face, either.
Wishing you all an easy Friday and a wonderful weekend to come! 🙂
As I will explain in a future post, I’ve been having some incredibly bad days (it’s been many, many months, actually. I am not pointing any fingers in saying that, life is simply unpredictable as hell.). Some of it is health-related, but the rest is not worth repeating twice, so I’ll save it for the other post, which I’ve been working on for the past few days. I’m not quite ready to emotionally complete it.
This morning I was struck with the realization that there aren’t a lot of constants in this life. You can only hope that your true friends and family know who you are, as opposed to pretending they know you, and will love you unconditionally. You learn from the people who place conditions on every aspect of their “love”. God & Goddess, please don’t EVER let me be such a selfish, vindictive person that I use “love” against people. It’s not meant to be used as a weapon, much like a child is not meant to be used as a pawn during divorce proceedings. With each passing day, I feel like some people become uglier on the inside and quite frankly, it makes me sick to my stomach.
I went to bed early last night with a migraine I can’t seem to shake. Inevitably, due to the medication I took for it, I ended up wide awake by 1:30 this morning. I’ve been writing ever since, thinking, and doing a lot of soul-searching.
When I entered my sleep time into the Migraine App this morning (it doesn’t always pick up the exact time if I go to bed earlier than usual), I found a message from my brother that is quite telling. I’ve been explaining a few situations to him for many months now and at times he has been supportive and other times, quite vacant. I understand his anger and frustration. He’s been through crap I wouldn’t wish on a single soul and is still kind, caring, forgiving, and devoted. He tells me to forgive people on a near daily basis and insists that I pray for them instead of being angry. I’m often thinking “Hello? Have we met?!”, because I’m more likely to react than he is, at least these days. I haven’t reached any Zen states, mostly because too many people are taking shots at me. However, his message is a reminder of so many things. “You keep being yourself. Fuck everyone else! You are great as you are, do you understand? Don’t ever change for anybody.”
When you hear negative shit every single day, and you’re told it’s “merely feedback”, you occasionally start wondering if it’s true or if you’re going insane. It is 100% a form of brain-washing. You either shrivel up into a ball and believe the lies you’re told about who and what you are, or you put your hand up and say “Wait one fucking second! I KNOW who I am. You don’t get to define me with your negativity and issues.” Some people are not happy or satisfied unless they are hurting others verbally. Being emotionally abusive is still being abusive, and it’s not okay. I wish people could hear themselves 24/7 because if they could, they’d be apologizing for a lot of the crap that comes out of their mouths when they are tired, stressed out, worried, etc. I will always apologize if I’m wrong, even if I realize it three days later, but never being apologized to is incredibly hurtful to me.
This year is NOT going as I planned. I have gotten a lot of doors slammed in my face, have had a lot of promises made to me broken in ways that are incredibly harmful, not to mention unforgivable, and I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced such severe despair before. Every day, week, month, etc., is a battle of pure survival. I am not happy. I am not enjoying any aspect of my life, and I loathe certain times of each day when I am forced to place every single ounce of who I am into a Tic-Tac sized box and pretend it doesn’t exist. It is nearly as bad as aspects of my childhood. The only difference is, back then I knew one of two things would happen; I would kill the abuser (my father) and spend the rest of my life in jail or my mother would finally gain the strength and courage to leave. Obviously, the latter happened. I don’t know that she ever truly had the strength and courage, but she did have the emotional support, and when she didn’t, she leaned on me. I was her rock.
Sometimes I feel as though the few people who remain in my life forget what I’ve been through, denounce what I am capable of, and try to make me feel guilty for being ill. People underestimate me. But when accusations regarding my character come into play, you’re asking for more trouble than you can handle.
I’ve said it before, but perhaps it bears repeating; I’m not a nice person. I don’t strive to be someone people trifle with and through experience, I have seen what nice brings. I can certainly be nice, I have my moments, but I don’t suggest testing me to see if you can reach the point of no return. Most people will interact with me and find me pleasant and lovely to be around, and that’s because they’ve chosen not to challenge my existence. They’ve chosen to treat me like a human-being. They’ve chosen not to start crap with me. I don’t respond kindly to threats, accusations, or anything negative. I might be looking at you and/or listening to you, but I may also be plotting your untimely demise in my head. That doesn’t mean I’ll act on it, but we’ve all reached a point with someone (or multiple people) and had a thought we might not normally have, leave alone share with others. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with us. If anything, it means we’re human. If you haven’t contemplated slapping someone, knocking their teeth out, breaking their jaw, or killing them in their sleep and telling G-d it was an accident, then I don’t trust you, because these are common thoughts. I know, because I’ve done a poll.
Nine times out of ten, it is mere words. “I’ll beat his ass.” or “I’ll slap the rude right out of her.” It’s not what you truly intend to do, it’s not even what you’re going to do when you calm down, it is simply a manifestation of anger in the initial moment. These are total “heat of the moment” reactions, and they are entirely human. Unless you’re a saint, you’ve had these thoughts. Unless you’ve reached some type of Zen Master level that I am not aware exists, you too have had these thoughts at least once in your life. No one is perfect and no one should claim to be. I will not pretend that thoughts haven’t crossed my mind. It makes killing characters off so much easier, because you can take your anger and write it out of your system. Or at least, I can. Sometimes all a person has to do is breathe wrong in my general direction and my first thought is “I’ve figured out fifteen different ways to kill you off in book four. In another minute, that number will go up to sixty.” You’ve managed to react without raising your voice or harming another person physically. In my case, the reward for this is bigger than chocolate, cupcakes, or a shopping spree at Sephora. This is HUGE, it warrants going all out. 😉
Again, this is all human. It does not mean I will be on the ten o’clock news having done something heinous. Will I have thought about it? The probability is quite high, yes. But acting on something and thinking about it are two completely different ends of the spectrum.
I have been battling pretty much the same killer migraine for almost a week now, getting 3-4 hours as a “break” until another one slams into my head. Stress is the number one killer in this country, causing all different types of health issues, and when you suffer from migraines, they are often borne out of stress. Even if you think you lead a relatively stress-free existence, migraines are migraines and they don’t necessarily give you a break when medication doesn’t help.
This week it’s been migraines and my allergies taking me down. I’ve either been completely erratic with my sleep schedule or I’ve been unable to get out of bed, there hasn’t been a lot of middle-ground.
Through all this, Kitten has fiercely become my companion again. Both Cat and Kitten have been distant all these months. Less affectionate, less happy-go-lucky, less relaxed. They’re afraid of hands and they get snippy over the most basic things. They aren’t as open to affection as they once were, but I’ve done my best. They are an immense priority in my life, but you cannot force animals to change their behavior or to spend time with you when they’d prefer not to. So, waking up several times this week with Kitten glued to my side has been a nice change. She has patiently stayed with me while I’ve been ill, has been her normal, loving self, and has insisted on giving me kisses and trying to eat my hair again. This is progress; she is seeking me out for more than just food. Seeing them playing and not being fearful makes me smile. Unfortunately, they scare easily these days. 😦 I pray that one day, they will feel secure again. They are little blessings. I know they were both sent to me, that they’re both gifts of the highest order, so I pray their fear dissipates and their happiness and health surges. All I can do is keep being me, which shows them that while life has changed, Mommy has not. I always tell them that I’m their safe place. Apparently, Kitten is listening and Cat pretends to listen in case the treat bag makes noise. 😉
I ordered their food online because the price was unbeatable and you don’t always see large bags of grain-free food on sale (Occasionally I am able to get a local store to price-match, but this time it simply wasn’t worth the effort.). You’ve never seen two cats happier to see a shipping box. I’m schlepping in a thirty pound box Saturday morning (Thank you FedEx and Chewy.com for saving my butt!) and they both watched and waited to see what had arrived. I opened the box and they both stared at the packaging and each other before they each lifted a paw to swat in sync. I quickly unboxed everything and they stared at each other to see who would get into the box first. Kittens defers to Cat on most things, especially if she’s unsure about something. Cat wasn’t happy with me for breaking the box down so quickly. But give her a purse and she just might go anywhere with you! This is new behavior I’ve never seen before. A lot of their behavior is new. Kitten is now extremely interested in my purse and I keep saying “Get your paws out of that bag.” I caught her trying to take my makeup bag out of my purse and drag it off like prey. It’s cute once, the second time makes you question all that you carry around (I’m like Mary Poppins, with a different accent. LMAO!). I haven’t weighed it, but I’m certain it weighs more than they do, combined. It would explain why my shoulder hurts every time I am out for more than twenty minutes with my bag on my shoulder. Clearly I am a masochist. 😦 Clearly, Kitten is trying to get me to see the error of my ways.
The week ends with the birthday of one of my best friends. She is my soul-sister; beautiful, talented, and as afflicted by Fibromyalgia pain as I am. I am wishing for her a healthier, prosperous, and supremely happier year. If there is good in me it is most reflected in my friendships, which are pure platinum.
Welcome to all the new followers; I appreciate both your readership and comments. 🙂
I will attempt to decompress as much as possible and I wish you all a wonderful weekend to come.
LMAO! My youngest cat wouldn’t even use the door, she’d jump right over the damn gate. Thankfully, I don’t have a dog. I barely have the energy for Cat and Kitten.
Hello everyone. 😀 I’d like to welcome all the new readers. For those who have been on this journey with me from day one; thank you for sticking with me.
This has been an incredibly stressful month for me. A friend of 20 years passed away this week, which saddens me because she was such a special person. My migraines and Fibro flares have been completely out of control, which is why I haven’t written much of anything. To add insult to injury, I got hit in the mouth with the pet gate this week (Bottom teeth, right in the front.). I don’t have any bruising, but MAN, it fucking HURTS. I can handle a lot of pain, but my hands, mouth, and feet are three of my “NO” spots for anything lasting more than ten minutes. Here’s hoping it passes soon.
I hadn’t realized it had been so long since I’d written a real post. I cannot convey how nice it is to check in and see messages from some of you simply inquiring as to how I am doing, as a person. Very few people treat me like a real person, so for those of you that have and do, I cannot begin to convey how much that means to me.
Happy Full Moon to all my fellow Wiccans! )O(
Tonight is the first night of Passover (Yes, I’m Jewish AND Wiccan. I don’t hide that.). I got a surprising message last night from my cousin, who lives about 30 minutes away, asking if I’d like to join him and his wife for a Seder. He knew it was super-last minute and that I might already have plans, so he was apologizing while asking. I was SO unbelievably touched by the gesture, truly. It is legitimately one of the nicest things an extended family member has done for me in more years than I care to count.
I make no bones about how I feel about the family dynamics in my life. Please do not misconstrue my honesty as being “bitter”. I’m not, but I am honest and sometimes that may seem harsh, but you don’t know these people. Roughly 85% of my biological and extended family members could be on fire in front of me in the next thirty seconds and I wouldn’t get them so much as a glass of water, but the other 15% I actually care about, like, and/or love quite fiercely. If a person isn’t related to me and I consider them family, that is the highest praise I can give you because to me, family SHOULD be everything and they SHOULD be prioritized over bullshit, but that’s me. Not everyone is living life with my ethos.
I am touched by the invite, but I did have to decline. I’ve had a migraine for two weeks, and the Fibro flares intermittently. The last thing I want to do is ruin a holiday for someone else. Some people enjoy Passover. I’m still scarred from the last Seder I had to sit through. It is probably my least favorite holiday, and while I respect the traditions and the meaning behind it all, I choose not to take part when I am sick and need to prioritize my health above all else.
I also have an invite to a feminist Seder Saturday night. I don’t know if I’m going or not just yet. I do worry about this migraine getting worse and being someplace I’ve never been before, especially as I sit here unable to sleep. As other migraineurs know, it is often better to be sick at home, even if you’re miserable about it, then to be sick somewhere else and not have everything you need within reach. Imagine showing up to a stranger’s house with ice packs, a heating pad, essential oils, pillows, medication, etc., demanding that they all be quiet because you have a migraine and cannot tolerate noise on a good day, leave alone during a full-blown migraine. I do NOT want to explain that to people I don’t know, and I really don’t care to explain it to people I do know, but lately I keep getting asked the same questions over and over. Ultimately I’m going to say this: I don’t ever use my migraines as an excuse NOT to do something if I am well enough to do it, so if anyone insinuates that, they deserve a good smack upside the head. I’ve never used Fibromyalgia as an excuse either. If I am too sick, I simply make that known. If a person cannot see how badly I am struggling and suffering each day, then I refuse to explain it as if they’re deaf, dumb, blind, and mute.
I openly admit I’m sick of spending my days with the cats. On top of being allergic (I’ve been allergic even to my own cats for probably ten years, if not longer), it makes me feel like I have no time for myself. Cat and Kitten are such Mama’s Girls. They are almost fully integrated into the house. This week has been one of great progress. Whenever I’ve been working, researching, reading, or resting, I will check on them and find one in the picture window baking in the sun, another might be hanging out with me or asleep in her own bed, and OGK is either sound asleep in his bed or sprawled on the living room rug, also baking in a sun beam. But as the day progresses and his blood sugar drops, he loses patience for them and will sometimes get a little nasty and/or aggressive. It’s only happened a few times this week, but his medication appears to be helping him and that’s a good sign. He’s gained some weight, he’s smacking me less, is being sweet at times, but he still insists on waking me nightly. He stands next to the bed and screeches as loudly as possible, and like an idiot, I get up and do whatever he wants, regardless of how much sleep I have or have not gotten.
I’m pre-programmed to respond to three things in the middle of the night: An intruder that needs to be taught a lesson, a baby crying, and a cat crying. Some cats mimic the cry of a baby and as a woman, I’m biologically programmed to respond to that. I’m the woman in pretty much any store (Walmart, Target, any mall I happen to be in…) shushing crying babies while their mothers ignore them and keep on shopping. It drives me insane and makes me want to call CPS on them. If your child is screaming, there’s a reason, so respond. <End of rant>
OGK is willing to auction me off to the highest bidder. His demands include two large ocean-caught salmon, filleted and deboned, and five cooked chicken breasts, cut into tiny pieces. I’m pretty sure there’s a sign on the front door for the cats of the neighborhood that says “Trained Human For Sale”. Every day he looks at me with these gorgeous green eyes (You will legitimately NEVER see green eyes like this on a human-being unless they’re colored contacts and even then, they’ll look fake.), huffs out a sigh, and thinks “Ugh, she’s STILL here. How do I get rid of her?” If there was a kitty Craigslist, which I highly believe would be called Morris’ List, I’d be sold to the highest bidder in a New York Minute. He’s sick of me, until he’s hungry or thirsty and then he can’t wait to find this wonderfully trained human who’s at his beck and call. That’s me: The Beck & Call Girl. Feel free to let people know that. LOL. (Sorry Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa, but it’s a rich line and I can’t afford not to use it.).
So my lovelies, this is me checking in with all of you. More to come soon. I hope you all have an amazing weekend.
I would apologize for not writing anything of substance over the past few weeks, but I’m not sorry for sparing all of you. I’ve had little I’ve wanted to talk about, not just where writing is concerned, but in my daily life as well. When that occurs, I find it is best to retreat inside myself and wait until things are quieter, calmer, less insane, or I reach some semblance of ‘all of the above’. I do have things I will discuss moving forward, things I’ve psycho-analyzed or things I am in the process of psycho-analyzing, but the day-to-day shit? Absolutely no one wants to hear what goes on inside my head. They’d either drop dead from the speed of my thoughts or run screaming into the great unknown. I know, because I’ve tried to do both. It turns out that, at times, your mind is your own worst enemy.
I have been busy working on my passion project. I rebranded it, as I have been doing it for three years and wanted to make it something special and unique to me. I am now able to see it with new eyes. It is becoming rewarding and refreshing, and I believe that with determination, strength, and fortitude, it will continue to grow into precisely what I’ve envisioned it to be, if not end up in a different direction, far larger than I could ever dream possible. I am trying to devote a lot of my “free time” to this because ultimately, it is a career change and is helping break me out of my comfort zones.
My mother used to say “Do not be afraid to dream big, for the dream precedes the goal.” Inspirational words considering I was pretty young when she said it the first time, but she continued to repeat it whenever I’d lose faith and/or get discouraged. There is NO expiration date on your dreams.
In case you were wondering, this is how Kitten rolls in hotels. She jumps from the floor to sit on top of the refrigerator. See the defiant little face? #JustLikeMama
Cat and Kitten are slowly making progress in their new environment. Cat is such a sweet, loving, gentle soul, but she’s generally passive by nature, so I was concerned about how she would integrate. I don’t want her to be bullied or get hurt. She’s not a fighter. She has learned how to jump over obstacles, like the pet gate, in order to get to me and/or explore. She’s been dealing with OGK quite a bit in face-to-face moments. Some of their interactions go well, others do not. He chases her out of the living room most of the time, if he sees her at all. Often times, he sleeps through 99% of her living room antics. She’s stealth, I’ll give her that. It’s hard not to laugh as she darts around corners, looking for my approval before she goes exploring. One night he chased her and cornered her in my room. He hissed like a lunatic, but she stood and watched him. She refused to back down and I was so proud of her. She is coming into her own and showing how strong and brave she is. She has finally gotten to a point where she’s back in my bed, sound asleep, whenever possible, and has gone out of her way to remember her kitten days and crawl into my lap, despite the fact that she no longer fits. I know this normal part of our Mommy/Cat routine is why she has often looked dejected and depressed these past few months. It makes me sad whenever I see her big gold eyes staring at me as if to say “Can I come out now? Why is this gate here? I want to be with you.” I know that in another month or so, there will hopefully no longer be a need for the gate, but for now, I can say it has truly been a God-send.
Kitten took much longer to emerge, and she’s the Alpha of the two, so I decided to physically remove her from her foxholes. I had to pick her up, bring her downstairs, and force her to immerse herself in the new. She fought with me like a toddler as I carried her downstairs, and immediately tried to leave the second I secured her behind the pet gate. She discovered almost instantly that the new gate is easy for her to jump over (I’m pretty sure she could scale a six-foot wall with ease. She’s huge, and taller than most domestic cats.), so I often find her un-corralled, but only when there’s food involved. If she senses OGK; if she sees or smells him and no one is with her to get in his way, she will hop right back over the gate and either watch him or hide. She’s still hissing at him on occasion, but it’s an innocent sound, a “back off” warning that she is giving him for getting too close. What bothers me the most is her visible unhappiness and depression over not being with me 24/7. She’s a Mama’s Girl, and she does not appreciate having her access to me blocked, yet getting her into my room practically required pulling teeth. I am proud to say that she is finally comfortable enough to come downstairs on her own, albeit under my watchful eye. I was coming out of the kitchen one day and she was sitting in the picture window in the living room, staring at me. Unfortunately, in my joy of discovering her out and about with such confidence, I locked OGK in the kitchen and when I went to check on him, the doorknob fell off in my hand. I spent a good 30 minutes trying to re-attach it in order to get him out, feeling terribly stupid. I nearly broke a tweezer and a scissor in my efforts. Thankfully, the handyman is quite handy and was able to fix it in less than a few minutes. He then lapsed into a story about keeping a screwdriver in his bathroom, as the very same thing had happened to him one night, leaving him to try to unlock the door in the dark. It was a little TMI, but he was just trying to make me feel better in a time of great stress.
For roughly the past two and a half weeks, she’s been making it into my room safely, all on her own. She is now comfortable getting into my bed and plopping down beside me for a belly rub and kisses. She’s slowly exploring “our stuff” and is so much happier to spend an hour or two with me as opposed to being solo. So, that’s progress. 😀
I miss them because they’re not with me all of the time. They’re my babies and I love them, but the exhausted, drained, Fibromyalgia part of me is glad that I get some alone time because I spend a lot of time these days feeling physically weak.
As for the Fibromyalgia; essentially it means you are fighting a war inside your body. I need to remind myself that self-care isn’t selfish or wrong. I need to stop being so hard on myself. However, I also NEED to push myself physically and not allow this disease to rob every single day of my life. When I hit the point where I am unable to write, which is usually by 10:00 a.m. most days, I feel terrible amounts of guilt. It’s not that my brain is lacking in ideas, it’s that the pain is overwhelming and when you physically cannot do something, the creative process has to take a break.
I stay in bed when I have to, merely to rest, but I’ve been here for almost four months and I have absolutely no social life to speak of. I do nothing fun. 😦 That’s got to change, ASAP! I’m starting to feel like OGK’s vet’s office is my second home. I am by no means ungrateful or unappreciative, I simply need a reminder that I am young and have a life to live. It’s hard doing that when you spend five days a week talking to cats for 8-10 hours, and harder still when the weekends come and you find yourself sick (my migraines have been brutal), or unable to form complete sentences without sounding like a lunatic.
For anyone who thinks that Fibromyalgia doesn’t affect the brain in some way; you’d be wrong. I am normally sharp, quick-witted, loquacious, intelligent, and direct to the point where it makes people squirm, but lately I cannot handle conversations that require a great deal of thought, and I absolutely cannot deal with stressful shit. I’m already on the high-end of having no patience, but I am currently so frayed at the ends that there’s damn near nothing left. To add insult to injury, I fell in the shower a week and a half ago. I didn’t break anything, but I expected an epic bruise. After all, I fell entirely on my left side from shoulder to knee. Surely that leaves a mark? Either I am extremely slow in the bruising phase or the aches under the skin simply didn’t warrant bruising. Who knows. It took a full week for me to be able to sleep on my left side again, and the fall sent me into a terrible flare-up. Even as I sit here now, I am in a world of pain. In that world, pain laws are changing, and not for the better.
I am disgusted at pain patients being labeled as “drug addicts” simply because many of us require the use of opioid pain medications in order to do the simplest things a healthy person can do, like walk the dog, take a shower, take out the trash, grocery shop, etc. When I was healthy, I walked endless miles in Spring/Summer/Fall day. It never occurred to me not to walk ten miles one way and ten miles back, because I was out and doing things I wanted to do. I was an athlete. My world came crashing to halt as the early stages of Fibromyalgia began surfacing. One after another, these evil things made their way into my life, but it took years before I agreed to take pain medication. I’d worked for professional athletes and experienced firsthand what genuine addiction post-injury is like. Many of them lost their lives before age 40. I refused to go the same route over pain, though my doctors were calling certain things “injuries” and sending me to physical therapy and other useless wastes of time and co-payment money back then. It took research before I demanded to be tested for Lyme Disease and Lupus. I’d been tested for everything else, so I was convinced I had one or the other. When both tests came back negative, my doctor told me the only plausible explanation for every single thing I was experiencing was Fibromyalgia. Perhaps I’d heard the word in passing, but I’d never given it personal credence until that day, where I was unfortunately way too focused on the fact that I did not have Lupus, to ask the questions I should have. I’ll never walk out of a doctor’s office with a diagnosis again and come away with unanswered questions. I don’t care if it’s a challenge to the physician or not, it saves me from agonizing over it online, which isn’t always the best resource for someone newly diagnosed with anything, especially not during a time when the word Fibromyalgia was barely used. I think research is an excellent tool once you’ve gotten a second, third, or even fourth opinion, but don’t let it make you feel powerless as you read other people’s stories.
Pain patients are NOT addicts. I have yet to meet someone who suffers as I do, as many of us do, who did nothing but pop pills all day long. We’ve all looked at alternative forms of treatment, we’ve all tried different things in order to manage our pain, but in the grand scheme of things, we are NOT criminals for needing the medication and no one should ever make you feel as though you are. If you meet a pharmacist that refuses to fill your prescriptions, please contact the main office of whatever pharmacy you use and file a complaint against them. Also, call your state’s pharmacy board and file a formal complaint. You won’t cost him/her their job, but they WILL be sent to continuing education courses before they are allowed to return to work handling controlled substances, and in some instances, that might very well be a crucial move to save others from what you may experience.
I had to do this myself when a portion of a controlled substance I take went missing from the bottle after it had been counted and bagged. I didn’t have time to count them in the store, who does? I was encouraged, in fact, by my cousin who is a pharmacist and deals with pain patients regularly where she works, not to worry that I may have cost the pharmacist her job (she assured me that they rarely get fired for a first time offense), and that I had the right to demand the full pill amount that was not in the bottle. If it had been a pill or two, I wouldn’t have said anything, but it was nearly 60 pills missing (an enormous cut from my monthly script) and the pharmacist implied that “Maybe I’d taken them myself”. She actually said that to me. My response was “In three days?! I would have OD’d if I did something stupid like that, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” If she’d said it to my face, she would not currently have one. I was enraged and we’re not even talking about a prescription for pain medicine.
My brother, post major open-heart surgery, was given very small prescriptions for pain medication, despite the fact that breathing, coughing, and moving around too much were excruciating. The pain has only recently stopped, but I assure you that it was not properly managed except when he was in the hospital and that knowledge sickens me. He’d never in his life experienced so much physical agony, but the first thing I was warned about in caring for him post-op was to make sure he wasn’t “becoming addicted”. I nearly laughed looking at the pill count on the prescriptions. You cannot become addicted with 40 pills, nor can you become addicted on 20. Not when it’s your fourth time in your entire life taking prescription pain medication. I looked at the hospital staff like they were all mentally disturbed. I suspect the subject, as it floats all over all forms of media, will continue to produce angry moments and thousands upon thousands of stories. Don’t hesitate to take to the written word if you aren’t treated with respect as a pain patient. But don’t get discouraged if more than one doctor doesn’t treat you as the used to moving forward. Nothing would shock me. 😦
I hope everyone is enjoying Spring and had a wonderful Ostara (or Easter). Passover is later month and while I, personally, don’t celebrate it the way I did when I was younger, I find that this year, I care more about being around family than the holiday itself. Of course, this requires energy I don’t currently possess, but perhaps Patient X will visit. He was released from the hospital on Monday, minus the Life Vest he has worn since being released in November post-surgery. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing (no longer wearing the Life Vest), especially since the additional surgeries he was supposed to have/need are currently off the table because he is too young. I do know that if my brother ends up dead because someone was negligent, there will be hell to pay. I might very well call one of his doctors myself and try to get some answers. My brother’s not big on words at the moment. 😦
I’m glad that my current state of insomnia finally produced something worthy of being posted.
I woke up far too early this morning to a dark, grey day. Normally that wouldn’t bother me (it rarely does), but it’s the fact that the weekend is hanging over my head…the artifice of it darkening my mood.
Under normal circumstances the weekend is a dear friend I welcome with open arms, but it isn’t at the moment. The weekends are now Loki; the trickster. Instead of being able to enjoy them, because who doesn’t enjoy Tom Hiddleston (I would usually say it’s the accent, but the truth is, I find him charming as a human-being.), I am almost certain to contemplate purchasing rope, and not for Fifty Shades of Grey type activities. More’s the pity.
I miss Cat and Kitten. They are my constant companions, the only two ‘little people’ who’d notice if I went missing. I don’t get to spend any time with them. Last night, while in the process of feeding them, OGK came creeping up the stairs and refused to heed the warning Kitten gave him with her baby hiss. It was a non-threatening “Back off!” kind of hiss. If you hadn’t been standing in front of her, you wouldn’t have heard it. Instead of realizing he wasn’t welcome at the moment, he took it as a challenge, as he always does. Thankfully I blocked his little stampede and herded him down the stairs away to diffuse potential drama. I’d plugged the Feliway diffuser downstairs earlier on in the evening to try and help keep him calm (It already helped diffuse the tension the girls experienced from the move.) and maybe allow him to adapt, but so far, no dice. Next step: A baby gate. The girls can jump over it with ease, they have a lot of energy, especially the little one (who I am sad to say, is no longer little. She’s actually taller than all three cats. I often wonder if she’s part hybrid. I’ll never know unless her new vet mentions it.). So, I’ve come to the conclusion that once I clip their nails this weekend, I’m not going to baby OGK any more. It’s been nearly a full month and I can’t allow this to go on any longer. It’s stressing me out and making me sick. He needs to adjust. The Feliway diffuser will help, but there’s no way it will do anything if the girls remain behind closed doors 23 hours a day. I didn’t adopt them to keep them locked away. That’s no way for any animal to live. Perhaps next week, progress will be made. It’s exhausting, to say the least.
Sadly, I’m already exhausted enough. Between the migraines, smacking the back of my head into the wall this week (an accident on my part, as I am not used to being that close to a wall), and the bitter cold causing my body to go into varying degrees of Fibro flares, I’m not very pleasant to be around. That’s okay though because there’s no one here to listen to what I have to say. My life could easily be a reality show: “Three Cats & A Kitchen Knife”. Because unless I am caring for them, writing, or in absolute agony, I am probably chopping vegetables and making something. My cousin thinks I should become a “celebrity chef”. I disagree. The thought of making tasteless food for egos the size of Russia is not something I could ever become accustomed to, unless it came with a seven-figure salary. I bristle when someone says “Don’t put any salt into that.” I am a traditionalist. The only salt you will see me use is kosher salt or sea salt. I don’t buy anything else and I will not use anything else in the cooking process. I’ll be damned if I put something tasteless on the table for anyone. It’s an immense pet peeve of mine.
This past week I learned that there are a few words I NEVER want to see on an item I spent nearly $5 on and that is: Hearty Minestrone Soup: VEGAN. My percentage of Italian blood boiled, wondering what psycho came up with that idea. Trader Joe’s, you’re damn lucky it didn’t taste like crap or I would have gone after one of your cheerful employees this weekend upon returning. Of course now, I don’t trust them and will be obsessively reading labels in the store, thus adding a good hour to my grocery shopping time from here on in. I will keep the vegan concept in mind for my few vegan obsessed friends, but in the future I want all of my groceries to be marked “We didn’t screw with it, Lisa!” That’s right, I want a special section with my name on it for things I buy weekly. Thus far, only Polar Seltzer has received the memo. Kudos to the Vanilla Pear. 🙂 The only holiday flavor I was able to find was Blackberry Apple and it was good, but it wasn’t stellar. C’est la vie.
I am torn between desperately wanting a nap and trying to organize a few things for the weekend. Oh screw it! I’ve already done 95% of what’s on the list, I’m allowed a two hour migraine-induced nap.
As I attempt to recover in order to embark on my Loki-filled weekend, I wish everyone a weekend full of happiness and productivity. Here’s hoping no one has to hear about me on the news. I can’t promise I’ll behave or be very nice though. In fact, I might take up hissing myself. I already hiss at the next door neighbor’s dog because she viciously barks at me. Now while she does bark at everyone, she liked Patient X just fine as soon as he tossed her a few Milk Bones. I refuse to succumb to her pleading for treats. I may be a trained human for cats, but uncivilized dogs can kiss my ass!
Written by LISA MARINO-Molchanova 