Recovery

Here is our Christmas tree.  My mom indulged me and we went and picked out a noble fir at Fred Meyer the day before Thanksgiving.  We are started fresh with a new theme, new ornaments, etc.  You know what happened to mine (I donated them except the star and the one from my gram) and my mom's had fallen into disrepair.

It was hard to get a good picture and this was the best I've got.  What you can't really see is that what we are starting with are some bulb ornaments and some ornaments we've made out of silk poinsettia flowers.  Now for the next three weeks we are going to be on a quest to find perfect ornament that match the gem color scheme (red, green, gold, white, and purple).

I also bought some ornaments for my tree - my future Christmas tree.  The one that will be all mine.  Pink and sage.  Lovely.

I think it was last Friday morning when I woke up ready to take on the world.  Since then I feel like I have.  Christmas cards are made.  I've purchased everything for various gifting plans.  Monday I even started swimming again.  I thought since I'd been out nearly a month, I'd have to start back into it slowly but instead I swam longer than ever; I am at 1/2 mile!

So it would appear I am over my miscellaneous infections (knock on wood, please).  And it would also appear I'm moving on with my life, the parts that still make me a little melancholy when I think about them.  I miss some of my old tree ornaments because they were so varied and carefully cultivated.  But I'm sure there will be a time when I don't think, "this is my first year without my ornaments" just as I'm sure there will be a time when I won't think, "this is the first year I'm divorced from my husband... okay, second year apart from him".

What can I say, recovery is a journey.

Thanksgiving

Today my family had a little bit of an unconventional Thanksgiving.  Our Plan A didn't work out, so we moved to a last minute Plan B.  The oyster stew was divine and I hadn't had it in years - just a hint.

As I was getting ready for bed tonight I realized the ice that had formed on the inside of the window by my bed (not a little, but a lot of ice) had melted and soaked through most of my bedding.  I was instantly in despair because everyone had gone to bed and I had to make do with what I could find for bedding and clean up this sopping window mess in the dark.  Then I remembered to count my blessings, particularly apropos the holiday, neh?

I looked up my Free Will Astrology horoscope and was floored by it.  The message really seemed to fit here.  It made me almost as teary as watching It's a Wonderful Life today.  Remember there is a link on the right side of my blog if you want to check your Free Will Astrology!

"We cannot have any unmixed emotions," said poet William Butler Yeats. "There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike." I hope that's OK with you, Taurus. In fact I hope you regard that as a peculiar blessing -- as one of the half-maddening, half-inspiring perks of life on earth. The fact is, as I see it, that you are in the thick of the Season of Mixed Emotions. The more graciously you accept that -- the more you invite it to hone your soul's intelligence -- the better able you'll be to capitalize on the rich and fertile contradictions that are headed your way. 

I invite you to keep a running list of all the ways life delights you and helps you and energizes you. Describe everyday miracles you take for granted . . . the uncanny powers you possess . . . the small joys that occur so routinely you forget how much they mean to you . . . the steady flow of benefits bestowed on you by people you know and don't know. What works for you? What makes you feel at home in the world?

Snow dogs

What unbelievable weather.  It's nine degrees here, but at least the wind isn't blowing so hard.  There haven't been ground blizzards today... knock on wood.  My mom's school district cancelled school for the week because of the snow and the wind causing serious drifting.  The roads around our country home have been so crazy yesterday my dad had to dig his pick up out twice on his way to work (he insisted upon going).

But my dogs seem to be doing fine.  Libby does her Libby thing - walking the perimeter and doing her Libby inspection.  But Sully has been diving head first into the two to three feet high drifts, doing barrel rolls, and making Sully snow angels.  She just rolls around in it.  It's hilarious.  She runs around and has such a great time.  So here are some pictures.

Petri dish teaming with bacteria

That's right.  You read it here.  My body is a petri dish just teaming with bacterial infection.  For the last month or more I've complained about the switch from Norco to Percoset and all that noise.  A few weeks ago the coughing started.  Two weeks ago I started antibiotics for a bronchial infection.

Last Thursday my mom took me to the ER because I was having this horrible stabbing pain in my right side. The ER staff started three tests simultaneously - blood, urine, and contrast dye CT to look at my organs (specifically appendix) because I had to drink this awful red dye solution that would take an hour.  That's the picture above  - me about to polish of the end of what seemed like half a gallon of the vile stuff.

Here's where it got fun.  Yes, there was the pain, but it was also eventful and entertaining.  After the initial blood draw and urine samples were taken, they sent in an EMT (who was just helping out because they were busy) to place an IV for the intravenous contrast dye for the CT.  They wanted a vein close to my heart and but good places are mostly in my hands and forearms because I've had a lot of blood draws and IVs and have a lot of scar tissue over those sites.

This poor woman was apologizing because she kept sticking me and losing veins and trying the other arm and she was a wreck.  I tried to put her at ease by telling her about how I used to go in about every other week to get my pump filled and that "professional" was so incompetent I'd walk out with at least half a dozen injections in my stomach "so this was nothing".  She final poked through some scar tissue and let me tell you, that sucker was a gusher.  It went everywhere.  She was not prepared.  The radiology tech who came in to get me for the CT soon after, saw the blood bath after the attempts to clean it up and commented about how the EMT must have gotten a good one.

I had my CT, which I think are fun because the machines are interesting and not claustrophobic.  The contrast dye they inject you with makes you feel like you peed your pants.  Since it was 9PM in Burley, Idaho, they sent the images to Salt Lake where a radiologist reviewed them and sent a report back to my ER doc.  Then all the tests were in.

And I had a bladder infection.  Did I have any symptoms of a bladder infection (beyond elevated white blood cell count/fever)?  No.  But did all my organs from my kidneys to my ovaries look just lovely?  Yes.  That's good to know.  I mean, you always go around assuming but to know definitively is kind of nice.

They put me on another antibiotic which I was to take with my previously prescribed antibiotics.  I asked the doctor basically, what the hell man?  I've never gotten one of these and there's no real reason for me to get one now.  Also, I have no symptoms of a bladder infection.  I think I got the medical equivalent of a shrug.

It's starting to feel less and less like I have shards of glass in my lower abdomen and although I'm still coughing a bit, my chest isn't feeling as heavy.  But Friday night I DVR-ed the Boise State game and went to bed at eight.  That says something. :)

Here's what WebMD says:

http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/urinary-tract-infections-in-teens-and-adults-topic-overview

A note on the morose

I am generally depressed about specific circumstances in my life, yes.  That's readily apparent from reading this blog.  But it should also be apparent that there is more to my life than being depressed about things.  But lately... whoa.

And I think I've got it.

Four years ago, two days before Thanksgiving, was the last day I worked.  The last day I worked a job I really liked, a job with potential, a job I thought I believed would soon lead to a raise.  It was supposed to be temporary.  It never was.  My brain remembers and I am inadvertently and now obviously, sad.  I've always taken meaning from work - like the whole worth of my self is wrapped up in it.  A remembrance that I haven't worked a day in four years is doing a number on me.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to outright sabotage my efforts as part of our "Biggest Loser" competition because I felt like every time I had been at a healthy weight, I had been victimized in some way by some creep.  Creeps aren't around when you are fat.  Then we were watching "The Biggest Loser" and something the trainer Jillian said resonated with me (which is weird because I've always been a bit skeptical of her methods):

"Do you want to be a victim or a victor?"

I decided to stop with the self sabotage in the household contest arena because I'm going to be a victor - even if that means I have to carry a knife or learn Kung Fu to feel comfortable enough to do it.  Maybe this also applies here?  Am I going to mope about being a victim of circumstance, blaming myself, and hurting myself with my horrible self-talk?  Or will I be a victor in putting one foot in front of the other and learning to call it progress?

Regardless of anniversaries and days worked, I'm here now, I'll be here next week, and I'll be here the week after.  Victim or victor?

Kitties, germs, and antibiotics

This bronchial infection crap is pissing me off.  I haven't been able to swim in forever, the coughing is ongoing, I'm more exhausted that usual, and it seems to have settled right in.  Bitch.

Perhaps this is why I have so identified with White Cat.  But let me back up and begin for you The Saga of the Cats.

When I arrived at the homestead in April there were two farm cats - Dad's cat (black and white) and the other grey-ish one.  The latter gave birth two four kittens, made off with two of them, orphaned the other two, and was never seen again.  My mom and brother heroically attempted to save the two infant kittens and one survived (see picture above).  We call her Grey Cat.  When she was weaned and ready to go outside, Dad's cat had given birth to a litter of four kittens just a few weeks younger than Grey Cat.  Amazingly and miraculously, Grey Cat was welcomed into the family and given all the love and attention all the others were given.  Then we lost one black and white cat suddenly and mysteriously to some unknown death and another black and white cat decided to go live with the neighbors.

This left us with three young cats: White Cat, Grey Cat, Black Cat.  My brother's dog constantly tries to eat them, but my dogs love them and Grey Cat is known to hang out in their hours at all hours.  But White Cat got really sick and last Friday my mom and I took her on an emergency run to the vet.  With a wild farm cat on my lap for an hour or so, we learned she had an upper respiratory infection and ear mites.  But she'll be okay.  And we really need our cats to be okay this winter to kill the mice and voles that come in from the fields.

Everyday I've been giving White Cat dosages of the same antibiotic I'm taking for my bronchial issue (only hers smells like orange Popsicles and mine smells like poo).  I give all the cats ear medicine and let me tell you, they freaking hate it.  My hands and arms are covered in scratches and bites.  But we're starting to be really good friends as I hold them, cuddle them, whisper soothing things to them, helping them get better.  Oh, and did I mention I'm freaking allergic to cats?

Taking care of my dogs has long sustained me when I've felt like my life has no meaning, purpose, or use.  But  trying save kittens has admittedly helped.  I just sitting here with tears welling in my eyes wondering if it's enough.  I once had such high standards and goals, such high hopes and dreams for my life.  An existence where I manage to give a cat her antibiotics and then take a bath hardly seems worth the time it took for my gestation.

PS Since it's difficult to round the cats up these days since I'm the mean medicine lady, I couldn't get a more recent kitty picture, but the one above is from when Grey Cat was just a couple of weeks old.

Pretty low on the "give-a-s@#$-o-meter" these days, hurray?

Last week my GP diagnosed me with a a bronchial infection and after being on antibiotics for a few days now, it's starting to feel less like there's a sumo wrestler standing on my chest.

But the weird this was - the only symptom I had was a cough, this annoying, hacking cough that was actually making my back pain worse so I brought it to his attention when I had an appointment to refill my pain medication.  The Percocet covered all the other symptoms.  I really thought it was just this annoying cough.  He said to come back if the antibiotics didn't help because although it didn't sound like pneumonia, it could become an issue.

It does that for pretty much every part of my life. I was wondering the other day why my anti-depressant didn't seem to be working very well anymore.  I mean, I don't seem to care about anything anymore.  Then I got it.  It's the Percocet.  It works by making my brain not care about the pain.  It also happens to make my brain not care about anything else.  These days what I care about is sleeping, making sure I poo (constipation is very bad when you have low back pain), and taking care of the animals, especially my doggies and the sick kitty.

Writing?  Who cares?  Losing weight?  Hardly registers.  Participating in my family?  Minimal effort.  Keeping up on TV?  Not even making an effort (now you know that's serious).

Maybe this is what I need - to finally let go.  Or maybe I'm just giving up and giving in.  All I can say is that right now, I'm going to sleep.  If I wake up from one of my epic naps and you are all sitting around the living room in folding chairs, I'll know you're ready to host an intervention.  And I will try very had to care, deep down, about you caring! :)

Pain is boring

Here's what I've noticed - not just lately.  Pain is boring.  It tends to spread boring and dull throughout your life.  Now, you can do your very best to choose not to be affected by it, but inevitably it will hit you.  You will end up smacked out on pain killers fighting to stay awake with everything else besides sleep seeming ridiculously uninteresting to you, or you'll be in horrible pain and have to deal with it in ways that cut you out of life to the point where even lying in bed reading a magazine is too much and once again, there you are, staring into space.

I write about this like it's some kind of immutable law.  And right now it feels like it is.  But I've been a little sick lately and the side effects of the pills are getting to me.  But I have lists of things I'd really like to do.  And even when smacked out staring into space, I'm still dreaming of doing them.  I think that's a good sign, right?  And being a drama queen means the boring hasn't completely taken over - so another good sign, right?