A Brief Pause While I Whine

I've been in this weird place between too much activity, too many ideas and not enough time. Thus I've got a whole series of posts written in my mind yet I've got to pause them and whine about myself.
It's my body. It's betraying me.
The betrayal in minor in nature, at this juncture. It's hives. It might sound like nothing and in fact it started out as sort of a rather run of the mill "Hmmm I wonder what I touched that I'm allergic to" sort of thing.
Then it continued, and got worse.
The hives arrive in swaths, on my arms, my legs, my back, my butt, my abdomen and now this week my neck and face. They arrive intermittently and leave after I get to the point where I think "OK NOW I REALLY CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE" they simply fade away. They come they go. They arrive when I'm working, when I'm walking, when I'm dining. They erupt during work outs and fade away as it suits them to do. I'm in some sort of hell driven by burning, itching patches of skin that are driving me mad.
I've been a good sport these past few weeks. I have complained intermittently. If you're on my Facebook it might feel like I've been complaining constantly but rest assured, if that were the case you'd have removed me by now. In fact I'd be over there complaining this very instant if that were the case. But my foresight in complaining on Facebook and taking pictures actually provided me with very good documentation and timeline for my doctor, even if it was peppered with commentary like "IT WAS MUCH WORSE THAN THIS I PROMISE YOU" when I shared it with him.

It's been going on for weeks and basically according to the internet I'm going to die a horrible death. That's pretty much all I could discern. I tried apple cider vinegar and essential oils but alas science had to come into it and thus I sat in Dr Sexy van Gogh's office today. (That's what we call him).

I was fortunate to be having a righteous flare up that he was able to watch come to life on my arm. He asked me a bunch of questions including some that may in fact end up being pertinent.

1. Does Benadryl make it go away? Yes - for a while.
2. Am I allergic to anything? Yes - I AM ALLERGIC TO ALL THIINGS THAT GROW ON THE EARTH

The latter is only a slight exaggeration. I'm the person that when allergy testing is done they can't exactly tell what I'm allergic to because the test they do on your back just causes my entire back to become one huge swollen hive. "All the things," is pretty much my diagnosis. The things which grow in the earth and the things which have hair and live on the earth - I am allergic to them. I am allergic to beef. I have ISSUES clearly.

An autoimmune disorder is a possibility however, usually autoimmune related hives don't respond to antihistamine as they are NOT histamine related. This isn't an absolute but - it's most often true.

I have to admit that autoimmune thing has me spooked. My mom had various autoimmune issues and I'm terrified of walking her path due to a bad DNA load that I can't avoid. 

So he took many vials of blood and is running the gauntlet of bloodwork to see if anything jumps up. He's changed my medicine to basically keep me on one antihistamine or another at all times. With a dose of another antihistamine thrown in. 

While we talked, he explained that if it's an easy diagnosis and treatment we'll just devise it and go from there. If it's complicated he'll send me to the right specialist depending on what the tests say. 

His opinion is that because I'm what he calls "Hyper-allergic" (fancy medical talk for allergic every damn thing) that one of my allergies has chosen to express itself in a different way. I personally might have opted for interpretive dance or mixed media art but I guess I don't get to choose. 

I'm sitting here zoned out on the antihistamine he told me to take earlier and realizing I'm gonna go full zombie when I take one at bed time. I was going to go run but I don't see that happening. In fact the idea of finding pajamas to put on becomes more and more dear.

I'm just hoping I'm not fucked in some irreversible way. This is not fun.

A Brief Pause While I Whine

I've been in this weird place between too much activity, too many ideas and not enough time. Thus I've got a whole series of posts written in my mind yet I've got to pause them and whine about myself.
It's my body. It's betraying me.
The betrayal in minor in nature, at this juncture. It's hives. It might sound like nothing and in fact it started out as sort of a rather run of the mill "Hmmm I wonder what I touched that I'm allergic to" sort of thing.
Then it continued, and got worse.
The hives arrive in swaths, on my arms, my legs, my back, my butt, my abdomen and now this week my neck and face. They arrive intermittently and leave after I get to the point where I think "OK NOW I REALLY CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE" they simply fade away. They come they go. They arrive when I'm working, when I'm walking, when I'm dining. They erupt during work outs and fade away as it suits them to do. I'm in some sort of hell driven by burning, itching patches of skin that are driving me mad.
I've been a good sport these past few weeks. I have complained intermittently. If you're on my Facebook it might feel like I've been complaining constantly but rest assured, if that were the case you'd have removed me by now. In fact I'd be over there complaining this very instant if that were the case. But my foresight in complaining on Facebook and taking pictures actually provided me with very good documentation and timeline for my doctor, even if it was peppered with commentary like "IT WAS MUCH WORSE THAN THIS I PROMISE YOU" when I shared it with him.

It's been going on for weeks and basically according to the internet I'm going to die a horrible death. That's pretty much all I could discern. I tried apple cider vinegar and essential oils but alas science had to come into it and thus I sat in Dr Sexy van Gogh's office today. (That's what we call him).

I was fortunate to be having a righteous flare up that he was able to watch come to life on my arm. He asked me a bunch of questions including some that may in fact end up being pertinent.

1. Does Benadryl make it go away? Yes - for a while.
2. Am I allergic to anything? Yes - I AM ALLERGIC TO ALL THIINGS THAT GROW ON THE EARTH

The latter is only a slight exaggeration. I'm the person that when allergy testing is done they can't exactly tell what I'm allergic to because the test they do on your back just causes my entire back to become one huge swollen hive. "All the things," is pretty much my diagnosis. The things which grow in the earth and the things which have hair and live on the earth - I am allergic to them. I am allergic to beef. I have ISSUES clearly.

An autoimmune disorder is a possibility however, usually autoimmune related hives don't respond to antihistamine as they are NOT histamine related. This isn't an absolute but - it's most often true.

I have to admit that autoimmune thing has me spooked. My mom had various autoimmune issues and I'm terrified of walking her path due to a bad DNA load that I can't avoid. 

So he took many vials of blood and is running the gauntlet of bloodwork to see if anything jumps up. He's changed my medicine to basically keep me on one antihistamine or another at all times. With a dose of another antihistamine thrown in. 

While we talked, he explained that if it's an easy diagnosis and treatment we'll just devise it and go from there. If it's complicated he'll send me to the right specialist depending on what the tests say. 

His opinion is that because I'm what he calls "Hyper-allergic" (fancy medical talk for allergic every damn thing) that one of my allergies has chosen to express itself in a different way. I personally might have opted for interpretive dance or mixed media art but I guess I don't get to choose. 

I'm sitting here zoned out on the antihistamine he told me to take earlier and realizing I'm gonna go full zombie when I take one at bed time. I was going to go run but I don't see that happening. In fact the idea of finding pajamas to put on becomes more and more dear.

I'm just hoping I'm not fucked in some irreversible way. This is not fun.

The Genetic Lure of Codeine

While nestled into my bed, waiting on the effects of codeine cough syrup to come over me, I had a series of thoughts. I was partially convinced I was having one of those moments where I needed to get up and write them down because there were some good things floating past my slowly drug induced mind.The other part of me, the part in control of actually get up or nah, decided to stay firmly tucked into my well made bed. I was waiting on what I've come to think of as The Wash to take place.

I'm particularly susceptible to codeine. Any sort of opiate thing, in fact, and I don't tend to get along terribly well. They gave me morphine after a surgical procedure once and the intense vomiting that occurred moments later is post-op legend. But codeine is morphine's saccharine cousin. I'm sick, need to sleep and not cough all night so I carefully ladle out the dose prescribed - not more - and wait.

Last night I did the same and The Wash was quick and strong. About ten minutes after having slipped into bed the itching began. This is apparently a sign that I've got a wee allergy but I don't mind it. It's indicative that the sleep is coming and that's what I crave.

Deep, relaxing slumber - a sick girls best friend.

My face began to itch, my nose and my chest, my legs and feet. The itching rolls across my skin like a weird "Hello" and I know that behind it is a pull down into blissful rest. I slept so well last night that I probably built up tonight's rest too much.

I dosed myself, again exactly the right amount - never more. I climbed into bed and waited. I waited some more. Soon I realized it had been 30 minutes with no sign.

I rolled over and considered why I might not be sleeping. The addiction demon on my shoulder encouraged me to TAKE SOME MORE. I get the addiction demon very honestly from my father's side of the family. He comes out when I'm out drinking apparently also. I try not to listen to him because he's real and he destroys lives. Also opiates can stop you from breathing so I definitely ignore him in terms of medicine. But that lure, the idea that "just some more" is starting to pull.

I remind myself that while codeine isn't morphine it's a bad thing to take too much of any medicine. I remind myself that they give you morphine when you die and eventually it helps your body forget to breathe. Codeine is also an opiate, I remind myself, and everyone reacts to drugs differently. "You don't want to be one of those people who died in 2016 and everyone thinks is so great now that your'e dead," I tell myself and roll over again.

The problem begins to gnaw at me as I cough again, and again. Dry coughs, the kind that hurt and are small, but shouldn't exist if my cough medicine would just kick in. I want to sleep, why am I listening to Miles sing in the next room? 

I want to sleep. I want the deep dark night to pull me into it and out of this terrible sickness for a few hours. I want escape. I drank the thing that said drink me. Now please, take me out of here.

It was right about then, when my mind was twisting with frustration over it's lack of sleep that I woke up. My husband was placing his hand on my forehead to check my fever, and to check on me to see if I was alright. 

I had been asleep all along.

The Genetic Lure of Codeine

While nestled into my bed, waiting on the effects of codeine cough syrup to come over me, I had a series of thoughts. I was partially convinced I was having one of those moments where I needed to get up and write them down because there were some good things floating past my slowly drug induced mind.The other part of me, the part in control of actually get up or nah, decided to stay firmly tucked into my well made bed. I was waiting on what I've come to think of as The Wash to take place.

I'm particularly susceptible to codeine. Any sort of opiate thing, in fact, and I don't tend to get along terribly well. They gave me morphine after a surgical procedure once and the intense vomiting that occurred moments later is post-op legend. But codeine is morphine's saccharine cousin. I'm sick, need to sleep and not cough all night so I carefully ladle out the dose prescribed - not more - and wait.

Last night I did the same and The Wash was quick and strong. About ten minutes after having slipped into bed the itching began. This is apparently a sign that I've got a wee allergy but I don't mind it. It's indicative that the sleep is coming and that's what I crave.

Deep, relaxing slumber - a sick girls best friend.

My face began to itch, my nose and my chest, my legs and feet. The itching rolls across my skin like a weird "Hello" and I know that behind it is a pull down into blissful rest. I slept so well last night that I probably built up tonight's rest too much.

I dosed myself, again exactly the right amount - never more. I climbed into bed and waited. I waited some more. Soon I realized it had been 30 minutes with no sign.

I rolled over and considered why I might not be sleeping. The addiction demon on my shoulder encouraged me to TAKE SOME MORE. I get the addiction demon very honestly from my father's side of the family. He comes out when I'm out drinking apparently also. I try not to listen to him because he's real and he destroys lives. Also opiates can stop you from breathing so I definitely ignore him in terms of medicine. But that lure, the idea that "just some more" is starting to pull.

I remind myself that while codeine isn't morphine it's a bad thing to take too much of any medicine. I remind myself that they give you morphine when you die and eventually it helps your body forget to breathe. Codeine is also an opiate, I remind myself, and everyone reacts to drugs differently. "You don't want to be one of those people who died in 2016 and everyone thinks is so great now that your'e dead," I tell myself and roll over again.

The problem begins to gnaw at me as I cough again, and again. Dry coughs, the kind that hurt and are small, but shouldn't exist if my cough medicine would just kick in. I want to sleep, why am I listening to Miles sing in the next room? 

I want to sleep. I want the deep dark night to pull me into it and out of this terrible sickness for a few hours. I want escape. I drank the thing that said drink me. Now please, take me out of here.

It was right about then, when my mind was twisting with frustration over it's lack of sleep that I woke up. My husband was placing his hand on my forehead to check my fever, and to check on me to see if I was alright. 

I had been asleep all along.

Sleep of the Not So Dead

If I lay down in bed I can be assured of a visitor or two. Or three. It usually starts with this boy. Yesterday I was in the grips of sinus hell and the medicine combating it which sent me to nap repeatedly throughout the day, leaving my oldest child in charge as the husband was even sicker than I.

This boy came into bed, draping his legs over mine and whispering "SHHHHH" as he prodded me into the snuggle position he wanted. He thought it was hilarious to take a picture snuggling in bed. Shortly after he found his spot, the girl showed up, shoving into the other side and saying she needed mommy.

My head was spinning, and aching, and I closed my eyes and tried to drift off despite four legs draped across me and an elbow in my side. I might have gotten fully asleep except that then the door opened again and Charlie came in, and demanded a spot beside Miles but he actually wanted to be beside me so he grabbed my arm, draping it across Miles, and resting my hand in his.

By that time I weighed about 500 pounds, cold medicine pressing me into the good mattress we'd bought using my mom's brand biases. I slipped in and out of sleep, based on which child was poking me, prodding me or fighting for the spot closest to me. 

At some point my husband sent in the oldest boy to remove the ruffians from my clutches and I slipped into the dark silence of medicated sleep. It's a really good sleep, isn't it? I love it when I don't feel good. Such a heavy, healing sleep happened for the next hour that I woke up feeling human, which was a nice surprise.

I think I'm chalking yesterday up to allergies - which is good because I'm not up for being sick AGAIN. I'm also not up for allergies but I'll take what I can get. It beats the living hell out of being sick yet again.

Sleep of the Not So Dead

If I lay down in bed I can be assured of a visitor or two. Or three. It usually starts with this boy. Yesterday I was in the grips of sinus hell and the medicine combating it which sent me to nap repeatedly throughout the day, leaving my oldest child in charge as the husband was even sicker than I.

This boy came into bed, draping his legs over mine and whispering "SHHHHH" as he prodded me into the snuggle position he wanted. He thought it was hilarious to take a picture snuggling in bed. Shortly after he found his spot, the girl showed up, shoving into the other side and saying she needed mommy.

My head was spinning, and aching, and I closed my eyes and tried to drift off despite four legs draped across me and an elbow in my side. I might have gotten fully asleep except that then the door opened again and Charlie came in, and demanded a spot beside Miles but he actually wanted to be beside me so he grabbed my arm, draping it across Miles, and resting my hand in his.

By that time I weighed about 500 pounds, cold medicine pressing me into the good mattress we'd bought using my mom's brand biases. I slipped in and out of sleep, based on which child was poking me, prodding me or fighting for the spot closest to me. 

At some point my husband sent in the oldest boy to remove the ruffians from my clutches and I slipped into the dark silence of medicated sleep. It's a really good sleep, isn't it? I love it when I don't feel good. Such a heavy, healing sleep happened for the next hour that I woke up feeling human, which was a nice surprise.

I think I'm chalking yesterday up to allergies - which is good because I'm not up for being sick AGAIN. I'm also not up for allergies but I'll take what I can get. It beats the living hell out of being sick yet again.

I Deal With More Poop Before 10 AM...

It was a dark and storm night. Ok it wasn't. It was a cold but sunny morning. Things were pretty much normal for a Saturday. There were twins in bed with us, and it was prior to 8 am but it was quickly apparent that no one was going to sleep if Mom didn't get up.

I didn't mind. There was coffee to be had and some stretching and relaxing in my future.

Things went pretty normally for a while. I changed diapers, I watched Spongebob with a hot cup of coffee in my hand, giving alternate drinks to whichever child is standing nearby to mooch a drink. I actually made them their own cup but my cup tastes better it seems.

Somewhere around 830 or 9 the poop parade began. "What's that stinky smell?" Julia asks and at our house it only means one thing, twin poop. So I found the culprit and changed him. As I headed back down the stairs I hear "Mommy I NEED TO THROW UP!"

We rush to the bathroom where nothing happens but she declares her tummy hurts. I tell her that perhaps she needs to poop (see more poop talk) and so she endeavors to make that happen while I discern that twin #2 needs changed so back upstairs I go.

I come back downstairs in a while, grab another cup of coffee and settle back into the couch for some more Spongebob and consider breakfast. I ask her what she wants, and she tells me she thinks she doesn't want to eat. That's a bad sign.

I wandered into kitchen and gave Miles his cereal choices and reminded him he has his OWN coffee cup. Dropped the bread in the toaster when I hear Julia say " I need to potty again." I said "Ok," not really considering that she JUST WENT.

I kissed Miles on the head and grabbed the sausage from the fridge when I hear a shriek and "MOMMY HELP ME HELP HELP HELP"

I run to the bathroom, throwing the sausage in the sink (why? I don't know) and behold my bathroom floor. And her legs. And her feet. Oh, she's unwell. She's just had an explosion of epic proportion. She's sobbing "What do I do Mommy?"

Mommy duty is amazing. If it were any person I hadn't given birth to I am pretty sure I'd be like "Good luck with that mess." But those big eyes crying huge tears and I'm not even bothered by the situation. First get out of those clothes, call Louis to resume breakfast.

"OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED?" He moans in horror when he comes to my aid.

One shower, one set of clean jammies later it's like it never happened. Much cleaning happened. Much Lysol was used. She still doesn't feel like eating much but she definitely feels better.

And as for me, I have been promised a nap today.

I am so going to take him up on it.
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I Deal With More Poop Before 10 AM...

It was a dark and storm night. Ok it wasn't. It was a cold but sunny morning. Things were pretty much normal for a Saturday. There were twins in bed with us, and it was prior to 8 am but it was quickly apparent that no one was going to sleep if Mom didn't get up.

I didn't mind. There was coffee to be had and some stretching and relaxing in my future.

Things went pretty normally for a while. I changed diapers, I watched Spongebob with a hot cup of coffee in my hand, giving alternate drinks to whichever child is standing nearby to mooch a drink. I actually made them their own cup but my cup tastes better it seems.

Somewhere around 830 or 9 the poop parade began. "What's that stinky smell?" Julia asks and at our house it only means one thing, twin poop. So I found the culprit and changed him. As I headed back down the stairs I hear "Mommy I NEED TO THROW UP!"

We rush to the bathroom where nothing happens but she declares her tummy hurts. I tell her that perhaps she needs to poop (see more poop talk) and so she endeavors to make that happen while I discern that twin #2 needs changed so back upstairs I go.

I come back downstairs in a while, grab another cup of coffee and settle back into the couch for some more Spongebob and consider breakfast. I ask her what she wants, and she tells me she thinks she doesn't want to eat. That's a bad sign.

I wandered into kitchen and gave Miles his cereal choices and reminded him he has his OWN coffee cup. Dropped the bread in the toaster when I hear Julia say " I need to potty again." I said "Ok," not really considering that she JUST WENT.

I kissed Miles on the head and grabbed the sausage from the fridge when I hear a shriek and "MOMMY HELP ME HELP HELP HELP"

I run to the bathroom, throwing the sausage in the sink (why? I don't know) and behold my bathroom floor. And her legs. And her feet. Oh, she's unwell. She's just had an explosion of epic proportion. She's sobbing "What do I do Mommy?"

Mommy duty is amazing. If it were any person I hadn't given birth to I am pretty sure I'd be like "Good luck with that mess." But those big eyes crying huge tears and I'm not even bothered by the situation. First get out of those clothes, call Louis to resume breakfast.

"OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED?" He moans in horror when he comes to my aid.

One shower, one set of clean jammies later it's like it never happened. Much cleaning happened. Much Lysol was used. She still doesn't feel like eating much but she definitely feels better.

And as for me, I have been promised a nap today.

I am so going to take him up on it.
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At Least There Are No Wampas

I've had a steaming hot, soapy shower and three cups of coffee. My intention today has been to shake off the stress and strife of yesterday and last night.

I'm medicated you see.

Round two of prednisone is being no kinder to my personality than round 1. I can't help it. I go from fine to rage, happy to despondent in moments. I'm also on a cough syrup that's got phenergan in it and that's making me sleepy, dopey and sad. All in all, it's a pretty terrible combination of drug induced feelings. That being said - I can breathe.

I can inhale. I can COUGH. I can exhale without feeling like two wet heavy sponges have replaced my lungs. If my lungs were any measure of my health - I'd say I'm better. But I can't tell that I'm better because I am so fucking medicated. Levaquin, my current antibiotic on deck (having replaced azythromycin which didn't make the grade) is wreaking havoc on my internal workings in a socially unacceptable way.

But I'm tired. I didn't even take the cough syrup because I don't want to be dopey and drive.

Last night I fell into a lovely, deep medicated sleep as my husband made one of his unfortunately necessary late night runs to the store. All the children were in bed, and I drifted off, letting the phenergan take me into dreamless sleep when sounds of the twins fighting woke me up about 20 or 30 minutes later. After that point I was up and down repeatedly, getting water, refereeing and then finally moving Miles into bed with Julia and I.

There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over...roll over...

And then I couldn't sleep.

I slept on and off, I heard my husband come home, I heard him doing the dishes and I could hear music sometimes. Miles finally stirred and I whispered "Go to bed now" and he got up and wandered back to his bunk without argument. Then I slept.

My husband came to bed and talked to me for a bit. I don't know about what, I hope it wasn't important.I rolled over and looked at the clock - 5:58. So here I am.

I extracted myself from the arms and legs of a five year old, made coffee, showered and am considering exiting the house with wet hair like it's the 80s again. I'm not so tired as I am fatigued. I'm tired of inactivity. I'm tired of feeling this way. I want to do like 60000 things but instead I need to rest.

It's boring as hell.

But, I'll take my happy thought from my Star Wars weather forecast for the day - at least there are no Wampas.

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At Least There Are No Wampas

I've had a steaming hot, soapy shower and three cups of coffee. My intention today has been to shake off the stress and strife of yesterday and last night.

I'm medicated you see.

Round two of prednisone is being no kinder to my personality than round 1. I can't help it. I go from fine to rage, happy to despondent in moments. I'm also on a cough syrup that's got phenergan in it and that's making me sleepy, dopey and sad. All in all, it's a pretty terrible combination of drug induced feelings. That being said - I can breathe.

I can inhale. I can COUGH. I can exhale without feeling like two wet heavy sponges have replaced my lungs. If my lungs were any measure of my health - I'd say I'm better. But I can't tell that I'm better because I am so fucking medicated. Levaquin, my current antibiotic on deck (having replaced azythromycin which didn't make the grade) is wreaking havoc on my internal workings in a socially unacceptable way.

But I'm tired. I didn't even take the cough syrup because I don't want to be dopey and drive.

Last night I fell into a lovely, deep medicated sleep as my husband made one of his unfortunately necessary late night runs to the store. All the children were in bed, and I drifted off, letting the phenergan take me into dreamless sleep when sounds of the twins fighting woke me up about 20 or 30 minutes later. After that point I was up and down repeatedly, getting water, refereeing and then finally moving Miles into bed with Julia and I.

There were three in the bed and the little one said, roll over...roll over...

And then I couldn't sleep.

I slept on and off, I heard my husband come home, I heard him doing the dishes and I could hear music sometimes. Miles finally stirred and I whispered "Go to bed now" and he got up and wandered back to his bunk without argument. Then I slept.

My husband came to bed and talked to me for a bit. I don't know about what, I hope it wasn't important.I rolled over and looked at the clock - 5:58. So here I am.

I extracted myself from the arms and legs of a five year old, made coffee, showered and am considering exiting the house with wet hair like it's the 80s again. I'm not so tired as I am fatigued. I'm tired of inactivity. I'm tired of feeling this way. I want to do like 60000 things but instead I need to rest.

It's boring as hell.

But, I'll take my happy thought from my Star Wars weather forecast for the day - at least there are no Wampas.

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Major Victories Minor Setbacks

The setbacks started just before NYE. I was feeling this nasally, congested-not-good feeling sort of way that you feel when THE SICK is upon you. Except, I didn't really quite feel sick. It didn't morph into THE SICK but it seemed to settle into my chest by New Year's Eve.When I got home from work the tightness in my chest and ensuing coughing fits that brought no relief made me sit down with the nebulizer, hoping to shower my lungs with drugs to relieve inflammation and dilate bronchial tubes.

Every day since then I've felt worse.

But not in a "hey I'm sick" way. No fever to speak of. No aches and pains. I just can't breathe correctly. As someone with asthma that told me just one thing, an attack was in progress. That's the funny thing about asthma attacks. While the kind where you go from fine to suddenly wheezing in distress DO exist, for me I find them to be things that creep up and you go from sort of not ok to wow really not ok to hmmmm something is terribly wrong to BOOM you are in the ER with plummeting pulse ox levels and and suddenly you're being pumped full of all sorts of drugs to keep you from dying.

I decided this was a bad idea and went to the new doctor. I was a little apprehensive about going to a new doctor WHILE sick, I usually want to meet and greet when I'm well and get to know them. I feel a bit like when I'm sick, I'm in a helpless position and if I don't like them well hell I'm sick so I need them anyway.

This guy was amazing. The first thing he said after we talked was "Let's do a chest Xray" and I responded "For Asthma?" feeling like wait that's dumb. His response wasn't. "I tend to find that long term sufferers of asthma don't have a good litmus for their lung health, because your lungs never feel what others consider GOOD/NORMAL. So you can be sicker than you realize, and not even know it."

And guess? This girl has pneumonia.

I went to work with an RX for antibiotics and steroids, and with a couple of shots IN me of same to kick start the healing. I'm OFF any sort of exercise until I have finished all my meds.

BOO.

We're 8 days in and so far this year and I aren't getting along that well. Thus far:

Minor Setback: Pneumonia. I haven't worked hardly out at all in 2016 and I can't for another ten days at least. I had a lot of plans to really start pushing myself and they are delayed which frustrates me to no end.

Major Victories:

• I did a lot of research on how to eat based on my health, my body, my age etc. I decided to adjust my macros based on the fact that I've lived as "pre-diabetic" for about 25 years. Both of my parents were diabetic and I would like to be NOT diabetic so I'm really striving to prevent this through diet, weightloss and working out.
• I dropped my caloric intake just slightly also based on other research and my bodies propensity to hold on to weight. It's working well. Yay.
• My new doctor TOOK ME OFF MY BP meds. This was a major life goal for me. Almost more important that weight loss, I wanted off this pill. My blood pressure was so low yesterday he said "Why the HELL are you on bp meds?" I explained my heart condition and he said that drugs aren't indicated for that UNLESS it's coupled with HIGH bp AND serious obesity and at my height he's amazed I'm not dizzy all the time. I said "Oh funny you should mention that...I am." 

That being said, these steroids are KILLING me today so I'm having a day of rest which is much needed. Thus, I'm off to bed so sleep, perchance to dream.

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Major Victories Minor Setbacks

The setbacks started just before NYE. I was feeling this nasally, congested-not-good feeling sort of way that you feel when THE SICK is upon you. Except, I didn't really quite feel sick. It didn't morph into THE SICK but it seemed to settle into my chest by New Year's Eve.When I got home from work the tightness in my chest and ensuing coughing fits that brought no relief made me sit down with the nebulizer, hoping to shower my lungs with drugs to relieve inflammation and dilate bronchial tubes.

Every day since then I've felt worse.

But not in a "hey I'm sick" way. No fever to speak of. No aches and pains. I just can't breathe correctly. As someone with asthma that told me just one thing, an attack was in progress. That's the funny thing about asthma attacks. While the kind where you go from fine to suddenly wheezing in distress DO exist, for me I find them to be things that creep up and you go from sort of not ok to wow really not ok to hmmmm something is terribly wrong to BOOM you are in the ER with plummeting pulse ox levels and and suddenly you're being pumped full of all sorts of drugs to keep you from dying.

I decided this was a bad idea and went to the new doctor. I was a little apprehensive about going to a new doctor WHILE sick, I usually want to meet and greet when I'm well and get to know them. I feel a bit like when I'm sick, I'm in a helpless position and if I don't like them well hell I'm sick so I need them anyway.

This guy was amazing. The first thing he said after we talked was "Let's do a chest Xray" and I responded "For Asthma?" feeling like wait that's dumb. His response wasn't. "I tend to find that long term sufferers of asthma don't have a good litmus for their lung health, because your lungs never feel what others consider GOOD/NORMAL. So you can be sicker than you realize, and not even know it."

And guess? This girl has pneumonia.

I went to work with an RX for antibiotics and steroids, and with a couple of shots IN me of same to kick start the healing. I'm OFF any sort of exercise until I have finished all my meds.

BOO.

We're 8 days in and so far this year and I aren't getting along that well. Thus far:

Minor Setback: Pneumonia. I haven't worked hardly out at all in 2016 and I can't for another ten days at least. I had a lot of plans to really start pushing myself and they are delayed which frustrates me to no end.

Major Victories:

• I did a lot of research on how to eat based on my health, my body, my age etc. I decided to adjust my macros based on the fact that I've lived as "pre-diabetic" for about 25 years. Both of my parents were diabetic and I would like to be NOT diabetic so I'm really striving to prevent this through diet, weightloss and working out.
• I dropped my caloric intake just slightly also based on other research and my bodies propensity to hold on to weight. It's working well. Yay.
• My new doctor TOOK ME OFF MY BP meds. This was a major life goal for me. Almost more important that weight loss, I wanted off this pill. My blood pressure was so low yesterday he said "Why the HELL are you on bp meds?" I explained my heart condition and he said that drugs aren't indicated for that UNLESS it's coupled with HIGH bp AND serious obesity and at my height he's amazed I'm not dizzy all the time. I said "Oh funny you should mention that...I am." 

That being said, these steroids are KILLING me today so I'm having a day of rest which is much needed. Thus, I'm off to bed so sleep, perchance to dream.

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And Then They're All Sick

It's breathing treatments and cold medicine and lounging about for this crew. We have had many conversations about how it's too many weekends without activity, we haven't done enough, everyone is stir crazy.

Now everyone has a fever, a cough that sounds like the plague and a general malaise.

It sucks when they're all sick. My  husband has been in bed all day in a pool of sweat. I feel for him having been there recently myself. So I've watched movies, braided the hair of some my little pony and dried the tears that occurred when Tianna's head broke off.

She bought the Tianna doll (am I spelling that right? I have no idea) with her own money at the dollar store so I'm not sure if that's the reason for her sorrow or it's just being sick.

She sobbed. "SHE'S DEAD SHE'S DEAD" she sobbed. She also mentioned that she's blind now. I'm unsure if that's in addition to being dead or instead of.

I need to work out but ache from yesterday and can't remember the conventional wisdom of aching, do I work out more to stretch out the aches or do I not because the muscles need to rest. I don't really care I'm sort of thinking about pie.

Pie is damn good.

Today is fascinating at our house. Unfortunately that's how it is most of the time. Full of snot, poop and very little adventure.

This glimpse into a not so exciting day was brought to you at the expense of Princess Tianna. May she rest in peace.
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And Then They're All Sick

It's breathing treatments and cold medicine and lounging about for this crew. We have had many conversations about how it's too many weekends without activity, we haven't done enough, everyone is stir crazy.

Now everyone has a fever, a cough that sounds like the plague and a general malaise.

It sucks when they're all sick. My  husband has been in bed all day in a pool of sweat. I feel for him having been there recently myself. So I've watched movies, braided the hair of some my little pony and dried the tears that occurred when Tianna's head broke off.

She bought the Tianna doll (am I spelling that right? I have no idea) with her own money at the dollar store so I'm not sure if that's the reason for her sorrow or it's just being sick.

She sobbed. "SHE'S DEAD SHE'S DEAD" she sobbed. She also mentioned that she's blind now. I'm unsure if that's in addition to being dead or instead of.

I need to work out but ache from yesterday and can't remember the conventional wisdom of aching, do I work out more to stretch out the aches or do I not because the muscles need to rest. I don't really care I'm sort of thinking about pie.

Pie is damn good.

Today is fascinating at our house. Unfortunately that's how it is most of the time. Full of snot, poop and very little adventure.

This glimpse into a not so exciting day was brought to you at the expense of Princess Tianna. May she rest in peace.
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I Hate Being Sick Part Two

It was my hope that a solid night's sleep would change my world. A solid night's sleep was not mine for the having.
Around 3 am I realized my cough had transitioned from tight.dry and painful in the throat to deep, wet and rattling. My sinuses began to burn and ache, and the sinus draining and filling from one side to the other kept waking me up. By the way, apparently if your sinuses drain and fill based on the side you are laying on you have a deviated septum. I learned this when I got mine fixed about oh, 25 years ago. Apparently it's grown back deviated. They warned me it would happen so I'm excited about that.

At around 5 am I staggered down the stairs in search of medicine for me and Julia, who had crawled into my bed with her own wet, rattling horror show of a cough. Two contacs were consumed and I got her inhaler and had her  breathe in & sent her back to her own bed so I could be sick in peace.

Of course at 7 am Charlie decided I had to get up.

Contac nuit formula working full strength makes you feel like your sinuses are a desert and your head is the size of a giant boulder. It also makes you lethargic and slow. I'm four cups of coffee in and I'm still combating my lack of hand-eye coordination. However I managed to feed the smallest offspring and got the oldest boy to agree to bus the dishes so I could return upstairs.

I don't know if I want to go to sleep or what I want. My throat hurts, my body hurts, my ears ache, my sinuses hurt, my teeth hurt, everything is bad. My goal today is simply to remain in my pajamas and only sit at the computer, on the sofa, or lay in bed. Possibly to lay on the sofa. These are my lofty goals.

I can't actually imagine performing more activity than that.

I just had the butteriest toast in the world because I couldn't quite scrape off the butter properly and decided fuck it, and because I realized my body needed some sort of fuel or my blood sugar was gonna go wonky. So I consumed it, not even groaning at the carbs. Who cares? NO ONE.

Being sick derails every single thing I hoped to accomplish this weekend and I'm so frustrated. I'm trying hard to be at peace and focus on getting better, I'd like to get better without having to go to the doctor but it's not looking good. I'm thinking of things like chicken soup, and orange juice, and other things that are supposed to make you better. Zinc, that's one right?

That being said, it might be time for a lie down.

I wonder which of these work? Maybe I need to do them all. Assuming it's a cold....and spice tea? WHICH SPICE?

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I Hate Being Sick Part Two

It was my hope that a solid night's sleep would change my world. A solid night's sleep was not mine for the having.
Around 3 am I realized my cough had transitioned from tight.dry and painful in the throat to deep, wet and rattling. My sinuses began to burn and ache, and the sinus draining and filling from one side to the other kept waking me up. By the way, apparently if your sinuses drain and fill based on the side you are laying on you have a deviated septum. I learned this when I got mine fixed about oh, 25 years ago. Apparently it's grown back deviated. They warned me it would happen so I'm excited about that.

At around 5 am I staggered down the stairs in search of medicine for me and Julia, who had crawled into my bed with her own wet, rattling horror show of a cough. Two contacs were consumed and I got her inhaler and had her  breathe in & sent her back to her own bed so I could be sick in peace.

Of course at 7 am Charlie decided I had to get up.

Contac nuit formula working full strength makes you feel like your sinuses are a desert and your head is the size of a giant boulder. It also makes you lethargic and slow. I'm four cups of coffee in and I'm still combating my lack of hand-eye coordination. However I managed to feed the smallest offspring and got the oldest boy to agree to bus the dishes so I could return upstairs.

I don't know if I want to go to sleep or what I want. My throat hurts, my body hurts, my ears ache, my sinuses hurt, my teeth hurt, everything is bad. My goal today is simply to remain in my pajamas and only sit at the computer, on the sofa, or lay in bed. Possibly to lay on the sofa. These are my lofty goals.

I can't actually imagine performing more activity than that.

I just had the butteriest toast in the world because I couldn't quite scrape off the butter properly and decided fuck it, and because I realized my body needed some sort of fuel or my blood sugar was gonna go wonky. So I consumed it, not even groaning at the carbs. Who cares? NO ONE.

Being sick derails every single thing I hoped to accomplish this weekend and I'm so frustrated. I'm trying hard to be at peace and focus on getting better, I'd like to get better without having to go to the doctor but it's not looking good. I'm thinking of things like chicken soup, and orange juice, and other things that are supposed to make you better. Zinc, that's one right?

That being said, it might be time for a lie down.

I wonder which of these work? Maybe I need to do them all. Assuming it's a cold....and spice tea? WHICH SPICE?

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I Hate Being Sick

It all started with an intense need to clear my throat. I realize that now, this urge wasn't allergies, it was the hearkening of legitimate illness. I was in Montreal, working, enjoying the icy cold air (man it was cold) and really my other idea was that if it wasn't allergies it was simply the dry air playing hell with my windpipe. It wasn't a tickle or an ache, I just had to keep clearing my throat.

Late night into watching TV it turned into a feeling of sort of being congested, but still not sick.

Morning came and when it was early morning it still felt like "oh not so bad". I was still deeply convinced that dry air (did I mention it was cold, super cold) was drying out my sinuses and so I didn't think I could be actually sick. Then the chills started.

Being sick when you aren't at home is about the worst thing ever. Being sick when you can't go home RIGHT THEN is even worse. At least when you're sitting in your office and a fever spikes up you can usually go home. "Hello boss, sore throat, hella fever, shaking, might die, gotta leave," something like that.When you are in a whole different country though it's not that simple.

I made my way to a pharmacy and acquired a medicine I recognized (YAY CONTAC!) and purchased it. The lady checking me out told me I should go lay down. I apparently looked lovely.

There is nothing like anticipating a 2 and a half hour flight when your entire head feels like it's melting with snot. Then your medicine kicks in and you feel that otherworldly medicine head that so many profess not to cause (lies, all lies). Contac is apparently loaded with enough speed to cause you to feel other worldly as well as full of false energy. My brain knew it was false as my entire body was screaming REST REST NOW as my brain was saying NO LETS GO! I entertained my brain by engaging the passenger next to me who is a physicist collaborating on a paper with someone here at Georgia tech. They are doing something where they say that micro lasers pointed into a molecule in short bursts will illuminate electrons within the molecule.

I was actually stoned enough on cold medicine that I dared to ask what the practical application of this technology to me would be. He had an answer as to why it would matter, beyond just because we can do it, even. However I've lost the thread of what he said. It made sense at the moment. I felt like I had communed with Sheldon and been accepted into his world.

He probably thought I was crazy.

By the time I got home I was deep in the sick, deeper than I had been. I was vaguely aware of my husband covering me up with more blankets in the night as I chattered and shivered in my sleep. I'm now two solid days sick and I'm hoping I get to turn a corner. Such as my throat could stop hurting or maybe I could stop sounding like Kathleen Turner.

Before I left I stopped and picked these up for my kids.

If you don't know what these are, it's ok, they're illegal here. Or they're something. NOT ALLOWED. There probably isn't an actual LAW against them. They are chocolate eggs with toys inside of them. Yes they're a choking hazard. Don't let your kids eat them unsupervised, right? I am excited to have them, I've never seen them in the wild so I think the kids will really think they are fun.

Now, I'm home and sick, have on my jammies and I'm done for at least the next 24 hours. I am hoping that by Sunday I feel like a human again.

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I Hate Being Sick

It all started with an intense need to clear my throat. I realize that now, this urge wasn't allergies, it was the hearkening of legitimate illness. I was in Montreal, working, enjoying the icy cold air (man it was cold) and really my other idea was that if it wasn't allergies it was simply the dry air playing hell with my windpipe. It wasn't a tickle or an ache, I just had to keep clearing my throat.

Late night into watching TV it turned into a feeling of sort of being congested, but still not sick.

Morning came and when it was early morning it still felt like "oh not so bad". I was still deeply convinced that dry air (did I mention it was cold, super cold) was drying out my sinuses and so I didn't think I could be actually sick. Then the chills started.

Being sick when you aren't at home is about the worst thing ever. Being sick when you can't go home RIGHT THEN is even worse. At least when you're sitting in your office and a fever spikes up you can usually go home. "Hello boss, sore throat, hella fever, shaking, might die, gotta leave," something like that.When you are in a whole different country though it's not that simple.

I made my way to a pharmacy and acquired a medicine I recognized (YAY CONTAC!) and purchased it. The lady checking me out told me I should go lay down. I apparently looked lovely.

There is nothing like anticipating a 2 and a half hour flight when your entire head feels like it's melting with snot. Then your medicine kicks in and you feel that otherworldly medicine head that so many profess not to cause (lies, all lies). Contac is apparently loaded with enough speed to cause you to feel other worldly as well as full of false energy. My brain knew it was false as my entire body was screaming REST REST NOW as my brain was saying NO LETS GO! I entertained my brain by engaging the passenger next to me who is a physicist collaborating on a paper with someone here at Georgia tech. They are doing something where they say that micro lasers pointed into a molecule in short bursts will illuminate electrons within the molecule.

I was actually stoned enough on cold medicine that I dared to ask what the practical application of this technology to me would be. He had an answer as to why it would matter, beyond just because we can do it, even. However I've lost the thread of what he said. It made sense at the moment. I felt like I had communed with Sheldon and been accepted into his world.

He probably thought I was crazy.

By the time I got home I was deep in the sick, deeper than I had been. I was vaguely aware of my husband covering me up with more blankets in the night as I chattered and shivered in my sleep. I'm now two solid days sick and I'm hoping I get to turn a corner. Such as my throat could stop hurting or maybe I could stop sounding like Kathleen Turner.

Before I left I stopped and picked these up for my kids.

If you don't know what these are, it's ok, they're illegal here. Or they're something. NOT ALLOWED. There probably isn't an actual LAW against them. They are chocolate eggs with toys inside of them. Yes they're a choking hazard. Don't let your kids eat them unsupervised, right? I am excited to have them, I've never seen them in the wild so I think the kids will really think they are fun.

Now, I'm home and sick, have on my jammies and I'm done for at least the next 24 hours. I am hoping that by Sunday I feel like a human again.

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Beneath An Angry Star

Visiting my dad this past weekend was surreal. I knew what to expect. He's in the part of the nursing home where the people are most invalid. It stinks. It reeks of poop and pee, and other non-descript yuck no matter how much air freshener they try to spray. There is moaning and indistinct sounds of pain and suffering.

What can be hard to quite fathom is that those things are coming from your dad.

Matt said it would be the worst part of my trip home. I'm not sure if visiting dad was the worst, it was the hardest in ways I didn't expect. I wasn't prepared for the bewildered but somehow also expressionless look on his face that either stroke or dementia had created. Being there in person was in many ways exactly like being on the phone. We talked about the kids. I said lots of cheery, positive things.

Then his mind took a turn. He told us he couldn't wait to show us Aunt Ruth's farm. We both said yes we'd like that.

Aunt Ruth's farm, the mecca of my childhood tales, was the best place in the world. They had an orchard and cows and chickens. There was a fruit cellar. Bread was baked. Everyone worked hard. They rose with the sun and went to bed with the sun. On Sunday Night they listened to old timey gospel on the radio. There were small metal heaters that were put into the bedrooms when it was cold. It was a place of Rockwellian perfection, with a wrought iron fence out in front of it. Peace and plenty were in great supply there, and Dad wants to take us there.

He doesn't recall that I've been there. The white clapboard house that needed painted, the three trees that don't quite constitute an orchard I don't think, the scraggly front yard, all of these things were a great surprise to me as a child. The fence was leaning and in disrepair.

There is a great secret about Aunt Ruth's farm, however. A reason it is so magical to him that I didn't divine until I was an adult, having listened to tales from Aunt Ruth's farm for my entire life.

My father was a child born to a teenager and a young man shipping out to war. Unwanted doesn't cover it. My grandmother actually left the hospital WITHOUT HIM when he was born. My great aunt had to go back and get the baby. The way the stories go, my great aunt actually took care of him as a small baby.

My grandparents would dump him off starting when he was a toddler at Aunt Ruth's farm, for months at a time. When he entered school he'd spend whole summers there. It was a place where no one drank nor smoked. He was cared for, fed well and most importantly - he was loved. He was safe and they loved having him there. My spinster great-great aunt Ruth, who was never allowed to marry, and her brothers lived together. One worked in town and the rest of them kept their little farm going. It was the best place he ever was growing up. In many ways it's a tragedy they didn't just leave him there. He probably would have had a much better life all around.

It's no surprise then, as his mind makes it slow and painful exit, that it wanders back to his happiest place. A place where there is no pain, and he's free and loved.

When I left him for the last time, after reminding him repeatedly that no, I had already seen Aunt Suzie I wasn't going to miss her that evening all was well, I took his hand and promised I would be back soon. I took his hand, that was motionless due to stroke and squeezed it, and told him I loved him. He answered, "I love you more."

Now that I'm a parent, I know what he means. He looked me right in the eye when he said it, he was himself at that moment. He meant what Cersei said to Tommen, "I would burn cities to the ground for you." We never really know what I means to love someone so fiercely until we have our own children. My dad hasn't been big with the I Love You's ever.

If that's the last one I ever get, it will also stand as the best one I ever get.
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Beneath An Angry Star

Visiting my dad this past weekend was surreal. I knew what to expect. He's in the part of the nursing home where the people are most invalid. It stinks. It reeks of poop and pee, and other non-descript yuck no matter how much air freshener they try to spray. There is moaning and indistinct sounds of pain and suffering.

What can be hard to quite fathom is that those things are coming from your dad.

Matt said it would be the worst part of my trip home. I'm not sure if visiting dad was the worst, it was the hardest in ways I didn't expect. I wasn't prepared for the bewildered but somehow also expressionless look on his face that either stroke or dementia had created. Being there in person was in many ways exactly like being on the phone. We talked about the kids. I said lots of cheery, positive things.

Then his mind took a turn. He told us he couldn't wait to show us Aunt Ruth's farm. We both said yes we'd like that.

Aunt Ruth's farm, the mecca of my childhood tales, was the best place in the world. They had an orchard and cows and chickens. There was a fruit cellar. Bread was baked. Everyone worked hard. They rose with the sun and went to bed with the sun. On Sunday Night they listened to old timey gospel on the radio. There were small metal heaters that were put into the bedrooms when it was cold. It was a place of Rockwellian perfection, with a wrought iron fence out in front of it. Peace and plenty were in great supply there, and Dad wants to take us there.

He doesn't recall that I've been there. The white clapboard house that needed painted, the three trees that don't quite constitute an orchard I don't think, the scraggly front yard, all of these things were a great surprise to me as a child. The fence was leaning and in disrepair.

There is a great secret about Aunt Ruth's farm, however. A reason it is so magical to him that I didn't divine until I was an adult, having listened to tales from Aunt Ruth's farm for my entire life.

My father was a child born to a teenager and a young man shipping out to war. Unwanted doesn't cover it. My grandmother actually left the hospital WITHOUT HIM when he was born. My great aunt had to go back and get the baby. The way the stories go, my great aunt actually took care of him as a small baby.

My grandparents would dump him off starting when he was a toddler at Aunt Ruth's farm, for months at a time. When he entered school he'd spend whole summers there. It was a place where no one drank nor smoked. He was cared for, fed well and most importantly - he was loved. He was safe and they loved having him there. My spinster great-great aunt Ruth, who was never allowed to marry, and her brothers lived together. One worked in town and the rest of them kept their little farm going. It was the best place he ever was growing up. In many ways it's a tragedy they didn't just leave him there. He probably would have had a much better life all around.

It's no surprise then, as his mind makes it slow and painful exit, that it wanders back to his happiest place. A place where there is no pain, and he's free and loved.

When I left him for the last time, after reminding him repeatedly that no, I had already seen Aunt Suzie I wasn't going to miss her that evening all was well, I took his hand and promised I would be back soon. I took his hand, that was motionless due to stroke and squeezed it, and told him I loved him. He answered, "I love you more."

Now that I'm a parent, I know what he means. He looked me right in the eye when he said it, he was himself at that moment. He meant what Cersei said to Tommen, "I would burn cities to the ground for you." We never really know what I means to love someone so fiercely until we have our own children. My dad hasn't been big with the I Love You's ever.

If that's the last one I ever get, it will also stand as the best one I ever get.
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