What I Know, What I Don’t Know

Okay, first of all, a very specific search appeared on my radar yesterday: “Indian sites for compression hose fetish.” Hats off to your freak flag flying proudly, whomever you are. Also, hats off to wanting your objects of desire not to have to suffer from varicose veins. I’m sorry that my mention is probably repeatedly bringing you back to my blog; I wish you luck.

Second, I got a diagnosis.

I’m going to start where I think I should, and that is May of 2009. I was living with the very controlling and very violent Drummer #2 in a beautiful 3 bedroom/2 bath on a man-made lake. My friend who is a CPA and has taken care of my taxes for 16 years as of this year flew down from Cincinnati. Drummer #2 was on the verge of nearly smashing my head with a drinking glass, but I didn’t know it. He made me feel like absolute dirt because my friend was visiting, so much that the friend had to stay at a hotel rather than in the spacious home we occupied.

My friend rented a car so that we could run around the state of Arizona, and most importantly to the Grand Canyon. We hiked down into part of the canyon; it was not easy for me because I had already had fibromyalgia since I reached adulthood, but I did my best to keep up. I was so happy that my friend had made it down to visit, even though the nastiness of Drummer #2 put a damper on things. Drummer #2 didn’t accompany us and that was absolutely fine with me. I wanted to be able to relax. My friend flew home and life went back to walking on eggshells to try to not make Drummer #2 angry – which proved impossible. The week after that trip was when everything went down with the asshole and I moved out in a hurry.

Fast forward to October of 2009: I went to the emergency room because I developed a stiff neck and excruciating pain. Every time I moved my neck I cried. I didn’t sleep for four days and was starting to hallucinate. The ER doctor had no explanation for me because I didn’t have any other symptoms like a sore throat or a fever. He sent me on my way with muscle relaxants. The pain didn’t abate for a full week.

Around the same time, the naturopath I was seeing started documenting new symptoms for me, mainly that I had a constant rocking feeling, and I was always nauseated. We tried different remedies including Dramamine, but nothing even made a dent.

Have you thought up a diagnosis yet? Just wait.

In July 2010, I developed crushing fatigue. I drove over to San Diego mid-month to spend time with a man from Germany who made yearly trips to Comic-Con, the big one. I struggled to walk a few blocks between my hotel and nearby restaurants. He was used to walking up to ten miles a day; I felt a bit ashamed because I felt as if I embodied the lazy American stereotype. I was also plagued by deep bouts of vertigo to the point where I nearly fell down an entire outdoor cement staircase.

During the last week of the semester at school in July, I had to drop out and not take any finals. Fatigue and vertigo ruled my life. My parents were concerned because I spoke like a zombie, no intonation – very unusual considering I was a theater major in school. My speech was slurred, the top portion of my face became paralyzed, and my head began to nod uncontrollably. Because my body was under so much stress, my cortisol levels shot up to ten times the normal amount.

Have you guessed it yet?

In July of 2011, I finally started getting relief from the pressure in my head because a neurosurgeon installed a shunt. However, I had a total of 10 shunt surgeries in 46 months because my body fights them, clogs them, breaks them, strangles them. I have had horrible abdominal pain since July 11, 2011, because that is the first day a drainage catheter began living within my peritoneum and my small and large intestine, and there is a war being waged 24/7.

46 doctors and two states later, a naturopath in Saint Paul suggested I get some blood tests for Lyme disease. I ended up having to pay full price for them up front because they were not covered by insurance/medical assistance. I will admit that I didn’t think I had Lyme but I just wanted to rule it out like I had done with everything else up to that point. Two of the tests had inconclusive results; the third one lit up like a motherfucking Christmas tree.

I have late stage aka chronic Lyme, and have had it for nearly seven years. It wasn’t on anyone’s radar. Why should it be? I didn’t have a bull’s eye rash. I lived in Arizona, a state with a very small tick population compared to other states. The CDC has very strict guidelines about what can be reported for Lyme and I may not fit their parameters; however, I am still going to contact the state health board and let them know I was infected while I was a resident in the state. I think that only 8 cases have been reported to the CDC for Arizona. I don’t even know if they will take my data because I was diagnosed based on antibodies specific to bacterial exposure, and they only want tests showing the bacteria, which may not be detectable because of the time that has passed.

I know that most of the doctor visits and labs are not covered by insurance, so I will truly be destitute in short order. They are not covered because insurance companies and even the government get bucky about late stage/chronic Lyme, sometimes refusing to acknowledge it exists. There are now temporary laws in place in Minnesota that allow physicians to prescribe antibiotics far longer than they have before, for years instead of months, and the law is set to expire in 2019. I feel like my diagnosis is sitting on the cusp of being dismissed and being accepted. I don’t know how they will deny that my facial paralysis ties into the positive results on the blood work, but I’m sure they’ll find a way to tell me I just need counseling. It wouldn’t be the first time I heard that.

I don’t know what will be irreversible with the neurological problems when treatment starts. I think the facial palsy and ptosis may go away. I think the tremors will take years to adios if they stop at all. The left side of my body has lost some sensation. For example, when I am descending stairs, I have no concept of the pressure my foot exerts on the steps (and vice versa) and so must go very slow. I have been doing exercises to counteract the bed rest and try to gain some of the muscle I have lost, but I always feel like my nerves are disconnected on my left side, and I tire much more easily when I work on that side. I’m also having some cognitive difficulty including word recall. As I type, I fight to spell words correctly – I have developed some weird form of dyslexia. If you knew how particular I am about spelling, you would be as alarmed as I am. Sometimes it takes me a dozen tries to write single words correctly that would have been a breeze previously. Ultimately there is a 50/50 chance that treatment will work, and it may take years to get any positive results.

Besides notifying the board of health in Arizona and Minnesota, I have decided to write letters to my team of doctors in Arizona to let them know about the diagnosis. I am not trying not to think in terms of, “Oh, if only someone would have tested for Lyme, I wouldn’t have had to have 10 brain surgeries.” Honestly, the disease has really fucked up my body, and it’s possible I would have needed the surgeries even with the right diagnosis.

If my symptoms do abate, I’m going to have a serious conversation with some neurosurgeons about removing the current shunt. It has adhered to my chest and the abdominal pain is still constant, and I just think I would have an easier time without it. However, that also leaves me more vulnerable to CSF leaks – and I don’t ever, ever want that pain again.

Lastly, I don’t know if this is a “rare” disease. The data is poor. On a survey of health, chronic Lyme rated the worst for quality of life as outlined in this article – worse even than congestive heart failure, multiple sclerosis, fibromyalgia, diabetes and depression. In other words, I truly won the shit cookie.

Chronic Lyme Disease

 

What to Say to Death (Talking to my Dad when he could only listen) – By April V. Walters

Some fantastic points to remember and carry with you, even if you think you don’t need them immediately. Death is a part of the life cycle. If you are lucky enough to be able to have a conversation before that option is taken out of your hands, use that time wisely.

Kindness Blog's avatarKindness Blog

One of the synchronicities of life is that when my Dad’s cancer returned my sometimes boss, Wendy Macnaughton, was Artist in Residence at the Zen Hospice Project.

We talked in her studio one afternoon and she mentioned that in the hospice center volunteer training program there’s a set of phrases that might be helpful to me. She could only remember a few of them, so I got home and googled. What I found was a handful of blog posts based off the idea of Hoʻoponopono,

“an ancient Hawaiian practice of reconciliation and forgiveness.”

Artist - April V. Walters

Included in this idea is a list of phrases. Things to say to a dying person: Thank you. I love you. I’ll never forget. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I accidentally wrote forgive me as “I forgive you” but I’m glad to have had both.

I put those words on a post-it and stuck it…

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Speak Easy

Last week Friday, February 5th, Nikki (http://ilivebreathe.com/) and I had our first chat on Blab. The agenda was to talk about toxic people, the diverse challenges we face when interacting with them, and when to let them go. The recording went much longer than we planned at 1 hour 45 minutes, but if you are interested, here is a link to the show:

https://blab.im/82740adeac204a028576bc288ef25703

We decided to come back this week with another show, and this time the topic is self-care. What do you do to bring yourself back from the pit of despair? Do you allow yourself to laugh or cry? If you have seen the movie “Amelie” (French with subtitles), you know that each character is assigned a list of things that seems like a very simple pleasure. Amelie’s father likes to take all of his tools out of the toolbox, clean out the box, and very carefully put the tools back in. A patron at the eatery carries a mini tape recorder with him everywhere, and then records unusual laughs. Amelie likes to stick her hands into barrels of dried peas.

What do you do to make yourself feel better about your circumstances?

Join us on Blab for a discussion on self-care; we’ll start at 6 pm EST/3 pm PST Friday, February 12th.

https://blab.im/nikkiseefeldt-sickadilly-chat-2-self-care-strategies-rare-dis-disability-chronic-illness

Someone Needs To Get Their House In Order: A Follow-Up

People enter a hospital to treat a disease, not to acquire one. Chipotle is doing a major overhaul in their disease prevention practices to make sure more customers don’t become gravely ill. If a restaurant can do it, so can a hospital.

Nikki's avatarAs I live And Breathe

One of my friends from Twitter passed me this link this morning.  I do not cry easily but after I read it I was in tears because I was so upset for Che Duvall  (& his family) whose trust & care was violated by this center.

Transplant is hard enough without dying from preventable risks like this & suffering needlessly for months. His center did wrong by him (& by the three other patients whose trust was so flagrantly violated).

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Super Bowl Sunday will feature another powerful anti-domestic violence PSA

Domestic violence happens in all financial demographics from the poorest of the poor to the richest of the rich. Domestic violence is a part of the lives of the football players and their domestic partners, first because they take their violent sport home with them, and second because they have repeated blows to their head that cause permanent damage (CTE – chronic traumatic encephalopathy). When you watch the Superbowl, just keep in mind that a portion of those players are going to go home and punch, kick, strangle and humiliate their partners while you eat chips and talk game highlights and best commercials.

Source: Super Bowl Sunday will feature another powerful anti-domestic violence PSA

Lemme Tell You a Wake-Up Story

Warning: Adult Language

The Shit Theory

Nashville (https://thesickandthedating.com/2016/01/18/i-saw-another-ghost/) sent me messages saying, “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.” When I asked him why he ghosted me, he just said, “Don’t be mad” again. He “hates to fight.” Then he said he didn’t call me back for a few weeks because he “had his dog.” Zero explanation, unless that dog dials his phone for him. No response at all to my repeated asking of why he disappeared. I even resorted to saying, “Did my infection make you uncomfortable?” I mean, seriously, I would say the words for him if he couldn’t. But he couldn’t even respond to that. So I told him that if he can’t communicate with me, then there’s no point in seeing each other anymore.

I know he’s sleeping right now because he wakes up right before he has to go in for his third shift hours. When he wakes up, if he gets all whiny again, I’ve decided I’ll have to lay the shit theory on him. It’s something I’ve thought up just this afternoon that I think will explain what I see happening and what I think he needs to do.

Most of us who have had chronic illnesses for years (or even decades) are familiar with the “spoon theory” that a very clever woman came up with on the fly to teach her good friend about what it’s like to have a chronic condition that greatly affects the quality of life. Sufferers have even self-identified as “spoonies,” which makes it hella easy to find each other online.

I don’t expect this theory to find the same fame, but it would be funny if it did.

Okay, let’s say Nashville got up from a full 7 hours of sleep and did his business in the toilet, including a #2. (I know dudes are super regular like that, all of them that I’ve lived with are like clockwork.) But instead of flushing his shit down the toilet, he reaches down into the bowl and picks up the shit. He looks around the bathroom, and then he starts smearing. He gets a good amount on the floor and the shit cakes up a bit in the grout between the tiles. He also goes for the walls – big smears, maybe some letters. He even saves some shit for the sink and the dookie gets into the joints of the faucet handle. Nashville stands there for a minute, looks at the shit on his hands and fingers, and then yells for me. I come to the door, take one look and I say, “What the fuck, Nashville? Why did you smear shit all over the bathroom?” He says, “Don’t be mad at me. I have to go watch my dog wag her tail.” I say again, “Why the fuck did you smear shit all over every single part of the bathroom instead of just flushing it down the toilet like a healthy person?” Nashville says, “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Can you stop being mad at me? I love my dog.”

Nashville (as well as many people in general) claims he hates chaos. Chaos = shit, in this story. He could have just flushed the shit down the pipes. In other words, if you don’t want chaos, then don’t bring it into your world. You have a choice. If you choose to reach down into the bowl, cradle it in your hands and start smearing it around, it’s not okay to 1. Keep doing it until it’s in every nook and cranny of your life (no matter how much you B.S. yourself that you’re keeping it separate), and 2. Ask for someone to clean up the shit that you chose to spread. Certainly don’t ignore it (as Nashville did when he ignored my questions). All it’s gonna do is dry where it sits and be even harder to clean (aka all I’m going to do is get pissed, and he’s STILL going to have to deal with it). Sometimes a person has to hire a plumber (psychiatrist, psychologist or counselor) to help figure out clogs in the pipes (brain), but it’s better to take care of that sort of thing before the problem becomes completely out of control.

So, Nashville, the moral of the story is: Clean up your own shit.

The End

 

 

Isn’t That A Co-inky-dink?

This year began on pretty rough ground. First, Quato from Total Recall was growing in my left ass cheek and trying really hard to bust out. Every day for three weeks (including some weekends) someone had to look at my bare ass. Then my body got so stressed out from not being able to stay flat every day that my tremors came back. I have been feeling just exhausted. I wish I had a Keebler elf that I could pull out of my pocket and demand that s/he do all of my dishes and scrub my tub and toilet.

But here’s the thing: I’ve been getting some validations.

The start was getting the image of a lemon cake, the kind like my mom made when I was a kid, in my head. I could picture myself mixing the lemon curd to make the frosting, putting that on the layers, and then cutting myself a slice, still kinda warm. Later on, before I left to go to the meditation class, I caught up with a friend I haven’t talked to in about a decade. She told me that she made herself a lemon cake that afternoon to celebrate her own birthday.

Last night I thought to myself, “Call S. in Scottsdale.” I didn’t know why I thought that, because we talked two weeks ago and I figured that update would have carried us over for a bit. Ten minutes later she called me to tell me she had moved (somewhat abruptly) and her plans changed from what she told me two weeks prior – she decided to stay in Scottsdale rather than pursue a job opportunity elsewhere.

My final ride for the evening yesterday on the short bus involved me being picked up from the grocery store and redeposited at home. It ended up being a really, really long ride – since it’s a ride share, rarely is one rider picked up and then brought to their destination without stopping elsewhere first. The driver and I started chatting while we waited for one rider to finish with her church group. I heard, “Tell her you’re selling your car” in my ear, or brain, or however you’d like to think about it. Anyway, I worked it into the conversation. She became serious and asked me what kind of car it was because she and her husband were looking for a second vehicle. I didn’t really do a hard sell with her because ultimately I didn’t think it would be something she would seriously consider; my car is a hatchback, and she was talking small SUV. Still, it was worth a shot.

I’m not really sure what I have to do to keep connecting with the universe, but I guess I had better get a move on.

 

Life Lessons Learned From Being Homeless – by Kenny Murray

These are all wonderful points; some of them will save you from homelessness if you ever find yourself close to it. (The only one I don’t practice is believing that it can always be worse. As I like to say, it’s not a competition for the shit cookie.) Be well and be loved.

Kindness Blog's avatarKindness Blog

I’ve been homeless four times in my 25 years on this planet.

When I was 7 my father kicked my mother, me and my four siblings out of the house.

When I was 9 my father had found where we lived and my mum fled with us for our well-being.

When I was 11, he found us again. We ran.

The last time I was homeless was when I’d refused to get involved in my local gang in Easterhouse (one of Scotland’s poorest housing estates), so drew attention from one of the local hooligans. I was beaten up so badly that we left the area for our own safety.

I’m not writing this so people feel sorry for me, rather I’m writing it to illustrate that yes, whilst I was homeless four times I’ve not let it dictate my life in a negative manner — rather I use it as a means…

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The final resting place of Charles Darwin and Queen Elizabeth I will soon be a fashion runway

Source: The final resting place of Charles Darwin and Queen Elizabeth I will soon be a fashion runway

 

I have my own pictures from my second trip to Europe in 2006. This is truly an awe-inspiring place. I just can’t imagine a fashion show taking place here! I mean, will everyone attending be in awe just like I was?? I had to take two pictures as we were driving by because the structure is so tall, and I didn’t want to miss any of the beautiful details.

Europe 2006 087 Europe 2006 088

This solar innovation by a Swedish artist uses surprisingly simple technology to save lives

Source: This solar innovation by a Swedish artist uses surprisingly simple technology to save lives

I cannot stress enough how exciting it is to read about this, and how many lives are benefiting from this invention. It seems so simple – which means that there is less of a chance of failure of parts for this water purifying system.