Life Playlists

 I've been slowly recovering various abilities... today's physical therapy was trying to get into our van (last week I was able to get in and out of the Element, but the Element has the suicide doors, so there's way more space to get in and out. The Element is great, but I need the van to carry my wheelchair.) Anyway... 

As I managed to get ready to get in (with my entourage of floor shark pups swarming around), the radio burst out with "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", giving me lots of positive energy to get in and get it done.  I was able to sit down but I couldn't quite get my knees in. But that gives me something to work on - we'll get it Monday. As I was getting ready to get back out, we switched over to Stand By Me... again, perfect timing. 

Nothing Much Can Be Everything

 It's Sunday here on the ranch - not a lot going on today, other than Roger cooking up a lovely pork roast for pulled pork, and various puppies cruising by for a snuggle in between supervising the pulled pork thing. I treasure these kinds of days - watching some political news on TV, doing a little FB surfing, and just relaxing with my loved ones.

The Universe: "I'll Give You Something To Write About, Girlie!"

 Lately, it feels like life has just been a "a series of unfortunate events".  Even more than usual, I've felt like the universe is tilted against the wind, and while I recognize that I've got absolutely no call to complain when I've survived far longer than my doctors ever thought I would, still... it would be nice to get some breathing room.  But I think I've finally figured it out.

It started out with the double Dad deaths - in the same week, both Roger's father and my own passed away.  At that point, I recognized that yeah...  I had some serious issues that I really hadn't processed around my relationship with the Original Roger (I was thinking of referring to Dad as Roger Prime, but really...  he was grade b chuck at best. My husband is such an upgrade, frankly.) I thought I should probably go ahead and write it out, give myself some thinking room... but I moved on to holiday madness and the feeling passed.  

Then there was my 10 year anniversary of being diagnosed with uncurable cancer and given 18 months... I should have wrote out my feelings of survivor's guilt and my questioning whether or not my current life is worth the pain I live with (yes, by the way - it is. But I can see the day coming when it isn't anymore.)  But I handled that by throwing a party and buying everyone temporary tattoos of a cosmic hourglass on it's side, making light humor out of a morbid day.  It's a coping mechanism and I recognize it as such... but it works.  

So...  the universe apparently decided that I was not paying attention, and maybe I needed a more severe nudge - possibly with a cattle prod.  Necrotizing fasciitis, aka flesheating bacteria eating away half my thigh and putting me flat on my back in a hospital then a nursing home for two months - that ought to get me writing again, right?  Nope. I was too busy/tired/in too much pain to pay attention.  

Which leads us to where we are now...  vague writing, because I can't actually say what's happening, but I get the point.  I'm writing, ok?  I'm writing.  Praying that the talisman of putting words down in this blog of mine will save my family from further savaging by the whims of fate.  I'm going to try for every day, but I'll commit to once a week.  

I am so freaking tired of this... Whining Warning

My body is seriously pissing me off. Actually, no...  my brain is pissing me off. My body has been recovering nicely - I'm getting back to the point where I can do things that I was not able to do (like use the freaking toilet.) But my brain... is terrified. I hadn't realized how bad I was, until I ran out of the anti-anxiety medication I've been on for physical therapy.

See, in the rest home, I found myself frozen when I was trying to transfer from the wheelchair back to the bed. I had my first big panic attack over the fact that I might not be able to lock my knees when I stood up (mostly because I was having trouble locking my knees when I stood up, naturally.) So, I was prescribed Hydroxyzine to help with the panic attacks. It helped - I hadn't realized how much it was helping until... 

I ran out on Saturday, and at that point, I had figured that hey... I've been doing well. I was able to stand up fine off the toilet, I've been moving around the house well since the catheter was taken out... I even managed to get in and out of the car for the first time since May. I was well on my way to mobility - even celebrated with some Chinese take-out. The local economy celebrated with me - I always go big when I order hungry.

But yesterday, I noticed I was having some hesitancy issues - it was harder to make myself get around, although I did it. But this morning...I was brought to tears by my inability to make the damned Poise stick in its place (I've been taping them down, but the tape fell and of course, rolled away). Then, it took me 10 minutes to get myself psyched up to getting up off the toilet. I knew that I could do it, I've been doing it for the past 4 days... but my brain was busy catastrophizing, knowing that I would fall and be laying there, dachshunds licking my face, until Roger woke up and tripped over my bloody corpse. 

I'm not sure what all to do about this - other than put in an urgent request for a refill of the hydroxyzine. Of course, that means going through Tiffany the Tyrant, my doctor's nurse, who a) never returns my phone calls; and b) has a history of "forgetting" to follow through with refill requests, especially for things like pain medication or depression/psych meds. So... that'll be my Monday adulting task.

And I'll be doing it on no sleep...  I couldn't make myself go to sleep last night, because every time I put my Kindle away and closed my eyes, I started to panic about Roger. I don't have any clue what I'm going to do if I lose him... but that's another post.