Me v. Plants

Plants win.

This past summer, I moved back into Austin to be near work. I was just so tired of losing two hours a day to driving and of all the associated expense.

I have lately been reminded, quite harshly, of why I was willing to commute an hour into and out of town for work rather than live near work. Austin is a sink for pollution and pollen. I have severe allergies. We are not a good combination.

At any rate, this past summer has been mild and moist, a perfect growing environment for nearly any plant. And what plant is most annoying come August? Ragweed. And it is everywhere, and worse than usual, and I feel hellish. I’ve been on steroids since Friday and can’t say that I feel particularly better. I can’t get the crap out of my lungs, and the medicines I’m on, while keeping me out of the hospital, add their own layer of lethargy, stupidity, and clumsiness to that so helpfully already provided by asthma. I do OK as long as I am semi-reclining in bed. But bills get paid by me getting out of bed and hauling my ass to work, so into work I must go even though I get exhausted just surfing the net.

And work? The air conditioner is broken. Lovely. Nothing to filter the air or remove a few ounces of water from it. Yesterday, I ended up begging to go home for a bit, just so I could rest enough to close up the office later. Since it was either that or me slowly crawling on hands and knees unable to summon the strength to get up, the boss agreed. Fact, people: Oxygen is vital to good health.

Enough whining. I have to get myself ready to go in again. Maybe the AC will be working.

Look, Ma, an update!

It was bound to happen. The past few weeks, I had been thinking how well I feel, how I was able to get all sorts of things accomplished and that my pain levels were completely manageable with hardly any narcotics at all. Oh, sure, there were other things. Asthma attack. Gluten contamination. Some minor narcolepsy-type events. But nothing all that serious. Thus, I planned a busy Easter weekend doing housework and getting paperwork taken care of.

Which means, of course, that first thing this morning, my right foot went out of place and all I can do is wait for it to reduce itself. As long as I stay completely off it, I’m fine. But as soon as I get up, I’m hurting. I can’t do housework, can’t cook, can’t rummage through my files looking for the papers I need, because all that requires that I stand and walk and use my hands. And I can’t stand and have free hands since I need them to hold onto the canes to keep the weight off my foot. Not even my fancy-schmancy shoes help.

Here’s hoping tomorrow is better, because there is so much I need to do. I want to at least put my new plants in pots.

The end of the world is nigh

Yes, boys and girls, the unthinkable has happened, and we had actual snow that caused the people in suits to send us home early from work. Just a smattering of snow, you say? Aha! Spoken like someone who lives where there are enough sand trucks to get to all the bridges before the carnage mounts.

Frankly, I would have preferred to have been told not to come in at all, since driving in a mix of hail, sleet, and snow is not my idea of a fun time for all.

A friendly warning

If you get cinnamon shower gel as a gift, do not use it on your face. Or more personal areas.

In the Reception Room

I went to the doctor’s today, just to get a new prescription for orthopedic shoes. It was cold and rainy, and I was glad to find parking and get inside without falling down. I signed in and took a seat.

Across from me, a pleasant woman maybe a decade older than me spoke in soft Tejano accents with a man near my age. Their level of ease with each other indicated they were family. The man was called in for his visit and after he left, the woman looked at me and smiled like she had something she just had to say.

“Are you here to see the doctor?”

“Yes, just to get a prescription.”

“You are so lovely. You look very good.”

Well! Well! Now, that’s a good start to anyone’s day!

A bit embarrassed, I thanked her and asked how her Christmas had been. “Oh, very nice.” She was visiting her niece, she told me. I asked where she had come in from. Laredo. I said I hoped she’d flown, because it is too long a drive.

“And how was your Christmas?” she asked, turning the subject back to me.

“Good. I spent it with my daughter and son-in-law.”

A moment’s pause.

“Are you a widow?”

I suppose I looked confused, so she repeated herself, and I realized I just hadn’t accounted for her accent. A widow.

“No, just divorced for many years. Are you widowed, then?”

Yes, she told me, eight years now. Her eyes focused on an inner place of her heart.

“It was a freak accident, the day before Thanksgiving. My husband was diabetic.”

“A car accident?” I was thinking of the diabetics I have known who have misjudged their sugar level and had serious, though fortunately, not fatal, accidents.

“No. We were at home. I was busy in another part of the house. He was painting the bathroom. Somehow, he fell. He must have hit his head, and he cut himself badly. By the time I came to check on him, he had bled to death.”

She smiled. “I get through the days because I know he waits for me. I look forward to when we are together again.”

Her family member came out and sat down, apparently needing to wait for his shot to take effect and preferring the drafty reception room and the company of his aunt to the sterility of the examination room.

“Until then, I must live everyday.”

“Because that’s what he would want for you, to live fully?”

“Yes.” She looked at the man beside her, and smiled. I’d say she beamed with love, but that would give the impression that she wasn’t beaming with love before. You could tell, from her despairing heart, she pours her love into those around her.

You know what? She was so lovely.

Xmas: survived!

It isn’t that I hate Xmas. I don’t have any negative feelings about it. I just don’t love it, not the way that the incessant carols and advertising and build-up since before Halloween insist that I should. I enjoy New Year’s Day much more, with its simple meal and quiet contemplation. And the week preceding, when I put away all the claptrap of Xmas and try to get out of the way any business holding over from this current year so that I can start freshly on the 1st.

But I did have a lovely Xmas. I got an unanticipated phone call from my brother, who merely wanted to chat and ask when I would come to see him. And I spent the day with my daughter and son-in-law, in their underheated, drafty abode, warmed by the fire of my silly girl’s love for Xmas. As much as I am indifferent to the day, she is downright bouncing off the wall with excitement for. But, then, she’s like that with everything, and it is one of the many endearing traits she has. I came away with tons of gluten-free cookies, all home-baked, and what feels like a literal ton of Japanese language learning magazines. The cookies are becoming ever lighter, but the magazines are still in my car, awaiting the assistance of someone who can not only pick them up but do so without collapsing immediately. So, maybe tonight, then, if the son-in-law comes by.

To everyone, whether your Xmas was good, bad, or indifferent, may the last week of 2009 be the perfect preface for the new year to come.

Thankful

The past few weeks have been exhausting. Between a hellish pace at work and my joints, I have been beat. Too beat to even think about having something witty, useful, or at all worth reading to write. And not hardly the energy to read anyone else’s blogs or answer emails.

For Thanksgiving, hoping to contain the general family mayhem, I had everyone over, knowing that the lack of TV reception would have them all eating and leaving in short order. Yes, I am devious that way. It was tiring getting up early when I so needed to sleep in, but rewarding to see my vegetables being eaten, eat my mom’s turkey and ham, and celebrate a new step-nephew’s inclusion into the family. And then, today I slept. And slept. And slept. I think the muscle pain may finally be wearing down.

I saw the ortho Tuesday, told him I wasn’t going to do the PT or see the neurologist again because I think his diagnosis was wrong. And he agreed, encouraged me to essentially keep being bullheaded, and said we will just take things as they come. I’m thinking I may be past the defensive medicine stage with him, so that is good.

The wound on my back from the removal of the carcinoma seems to be healing OK. It has stopped oozing, and the skin around it, that had started to break out and blister from the bandages, has calmed down and is looking mostly normal. The scabs are sort of half on and half off, and still itchy, but at least I can lie down on my back now when I sleep. Another good thing.

Most importantly, I have the desire to research again. Finding the time to do it will be the trick, but my efforts at learning Japanese and my interests in pop-culture and disability issues are all sort of coming together at the moment. My money, time and employment issues are the same dragging forces as ever, but my interest is back. And maybe even some of you will want to know what I come up with, despite my lack of useful affiliation with any institution and absence of peer reviewed publication? Or maybe I’m just at a stage where I no longer care about those things, and will just do what I want.

Derm test results

The dermatologist’s office called yesterday with the results, and, sure enough, I have a basal cell carcinoma. I’ll get it removed Monday morning, then go to work. I hope there is something better to do that just put vaseline on the wound, because that is what he is having me do for the wound from the biopsy, and, man, I am getting sick of my shirt sticking to the oozy scab.

I’m not worried about the surgery itself. It should be fast and hopefully completely remove the offending skin. I’ve had a basal cell carcinoma in the same spot before, but it was treated with topical chemicals rather than just getting rid of the damned thing.

Dermatologist comes complete with clue!

Wow!

I went this morning (well, now it’s yesterday morning) to a dermatologist to have my back checked since Carapace had thought she spotted some problematic moles.

Once the dermatologist began his check, he noticed my ring splints and asked me what they were for. I told him, “to keep my thumbs on.” Then I told him that my daughter has an official diagnosis of EDS, hypermobile. (My own official diagnosis is much more vague and scattered.) He’s touching and pulling on my skin, and says “I was going to ask you about that.” Then, “what other symptoms do you have?” I told him all my joints are generally lax and that some people say I have soft skin. And he said, “It is soft.” Then asked me some more questions about Carapace and other family members.

Now, you may wonder, why I am impressed with this. After all, I am pretty obviously symptomatic, right? And I always give a complete medical history, both personal and family. But doctors hear what they want to hear, see what they want to see, and will tell you to shut up if they don’t like you rocking their world with conditions they don’t feel adequate to treat. They’d rather send you for endless pointless testing in the hopes that it will lead to something they know about than believe the evidence in front of them. But this doctor was different, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I can trust a doctor, and my confidence in my own ability to assess what is going on with me is better because of that.

So. That ortho? He can either pull his head out and pay attention to what I say, or I can see a different one who listens in the first place.

and the ortho says….

Frozen shoulder. He didn’t think the tear was significant.

I don’t know. Maybe? He didn’t seem convinced himself. He kept asking me if my shoulder was stiff, and I kept telling him I couldn’t move it through it’s full range. That’s different from stiff, right? Stiff is where you move slowly, but after a while, it isn’t so bad. I wish doctors would use the same language the rest of us use. It would make things so much easier.

And he doesn’t seem to understand the connection between shoulder problems and hand problems. Or he doesn’t talk as if he understands.

Anyways, he prescribed PT. I’m willing to try just about anything, but I am dubious since he decided against any specific instructions to the therapist, on account of him being not so sure himself. Well, maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised with an unusually good therapist.