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The ride to work this morning was exciting. The woman in the car in front of me was looking in the rearview mirror and applying her mascara. The woman in the car in front of her was texting as she drove. We were all moving at 45 MPH. It's at times like these that I feel closest to the Lord. "Dear God," I prayed, "if I'm killed this morning because of these two women, please let me live long enough to beat the holy crap out of both of them. Amen. Oh yeah. Please help me be a nicer person. Amen."
This was one of the few mornings that I didn't do things "my way." My way would have been to pass both of them, give them the happy one-finger salute, call them a few names that I shouldn't think much less say, and then leave them with a wide grin on my face. Instead, I did a "half-way" and made snarky faces at them in my rearview mirror as I blew past them. I let 'em off easy. Wonder what's wrong with me!
Let's see.....that was the Starland Vocal Band who did the song "Rear View Mirror" (written by Bill Danoff and Jon Carroll). "There's got to be a Heaven somewhere...I hope I know it when I get there...I can see my life in a rear view mirror (but I don't see Heaven)...and I don't see Heaven getting any nearer". Or something like that. I couldn't find the lyrics online. Anyhoo, this group was truly a vocal band. They played their voices like instruments and their sound was amazing. Not many groups have that kind of harmony and fabulous vocal arrangements. The group "Ollabelle" comes close. For pete's sake, you haven't heard of Ollabelle? Get your tush down to Barnes & Noble and give them a listen. (Have I mentioned that I started off as a music major in college? Well, now you know. I'm a geek!)
Sometimes I just want to moon somebody! Whew, I feel better now! Confession really is good for the soul. Who knew? I wasn't planning on getting into that tonight. The whole mooning thing is my little secret. I find myself wanting to drop my drawers and flash the cheeks in the oddest situations and places. A couple of weeks ago, someone at work whom I don't care for (no one that I work directly with, in case someone I do work directly with is reading this) made the snidest remark to me in the elevator. I had the strongest urge to lose my pants, bend over, and give her the universal sign for "kiss my ass butt, you piece of shit fecal matter, yes, you." Of course, I didn’t do that because I’m a grownup (sigh) and a professional (I'm grateful to have a job). Of course again, being a grownup and a professional doesn't keep me from declaring a "bitch alert" every time I see her.
My brother Steve wants to know how DVDs know what screen size your TV is. ("This film is formatted to fit your screen.")
I see Dr. Dracula again next Monday. This time, I'm thinking that I'll just keep all my blood for myself. That'll fix him. :-)
And somebody please explain this "Jersey Shore" to me. A judge called this Snooki person a "Lindsay Lohan wannabe" or something like that. When I see her, the word "skank" comes to me and that goes for "The Situation", too. I would love to be in charge of the world for just one day. I'd be tossing lightning bolts at people like them all day long. Paris Hilton, too. Some people are just a waste of space on the planet and I'm getting tired of them breathing my air. I'd fry up those two idiot ministers in Florida and Kansas and use them for pig slop. Then I'd send just about the entire Congress to live on another planet and start our government over with people who have some sense and sanity. And I'd do all of that just in the first hour.
So I'm thinking about writing my own funeral. That's not as weird as it sounds. Think about it. You're lying there dead and people are talking about you and telling other people how you were and who you were. Uh-uh, not at my funeral. There will be things that I'd rather tell and say myself. And I want to choreograph it. No, not dancing. The order of things and what's done. There are certain songs that I want to be played at particular times and certain people whom I want to read my words. Yep, I'm thinking that I need to put it all together myself, so that it's really me and it's done how I want it. I know who I am and I know what I am, and I should be the one to tell the story. So when I die, you may not want to miss my funeral. It should be very interesting.
It's late here now. Blogger will say that this was posted at 10:01 PM, but it's actually just after midnight. I have to get up early to go to work and I have to do the morning exercise walk before that. And between now and then, I've got to get in a few hours with this danged sleep mask that I don't like so much, but I love how much better it makes me feel. I hope this post tonight has satisfied everyone who's been after me to update the blog. If it hasn't, I have some pants I can drop..... :-)
Almost forgot....I guess you're wondering who the "Other Twenty-Eight" are. Well, one night I looked at Ginger and teasingly said in my best please-don't-hate-me-because-I'm-beautiful-voice, "Give us a little kiss." To which she replied, "Just how many of you are in there?" My answer, of course, was "29!" And now you know the other 28.
I have gained two pounds. It started this past Thursday when I went to Frisch’s for lunch. I ate a Big Boy for which I had requested extra tartar sauce. Then I added even more after the server gave it to me. I also dipped each and every french fry—yes, I said FRENCH FRY—in miniature tubs of tartar sauce. I had enough of Frisch’s famous yummy tartar sauce to fill my entire right leg AND the "big one" flopped on my belly just above it.
It gets worse.
Saturday morning I headed back to Frisch’s for their lovely breakfast buffet , and boy-howdy did I belly up to the trough. I filled my plate with a pancake, strawberry jam, a sausage patty, and approximately 15 to 18 slices of bacon. No, unfortunately, I am not exaggerating.
It gets even worse.
I bellied up to the bar one more time. Another pancake, more jam, more sausage, and approximately 20 slices of bacon. Again, I am not exaggerating. Halfway through this demonstration of gluttony, I started feeling sick. I was pretty sure that I was about to gag up the second plate’s food eaten so far. Did I have the sense to stop? Does a bear go potty in the woods? No, I sat there and stuffed every bite left down my throat and looked for more. I was nauseous the rest of the day. My hiatal hernia threatened to sue me for domestic abuse and my colon wouldn’t even look at me, much less speak to me.
Why do I do idiot things like this to myself?
I took a shower earlier this afternoon. As I stood in the bathroom naked as the day as I was born (no, don’t try to picture that, you’ll go blind!), I looked down towards my feet. I don’t say "at my feet" because I couldn’t see my feet. I could barely see the ends of my stubby, little Barney Rubble toes. When I look down, I see my boobs. I see the "shelf." I see the triplets that I’m evidently carrying. That’s it. No hoo-ha, no knees, no ankles, no feet. My legs could fall off and I wouldn’t know it if the only way I could tell was by looking down and seeing them.
Something has to be done. I’m thinking liposuction (eat less!), gastric bypass surgery (exercise more!), wiring my jaw shut (EAT LESS!), and paying Julia Roberts to pretend she’s me (EXERCISE MORE!). These are all good solutions, but I would have to ask my boss for a humongous raise to pay for them, and I just don’t see that happening.
I’ve got it! I’ll eat less and exercise more!
Well, guess what. I've already started doing that. This big binge episode I just went through was me falling off the wagon. Two weeks ago, I started walking through our neighborhood with Ginger every morning before I go to work. I've also stopped visiting the McDonald's drive-thru each morning on my way to work for a bag of hash browns or a cinnamon melt. I'm eating more vegetables and fruit. I’m also getting much more fiber in my diet. My irritable bowels haven’t been this calm and mellow in a long time.
After the breakfast debacle yesterday morning, I spent the day with my dad. When I returned home last night, I was so disgusted and pissed off with myself that I couldn’t stand it. I finally told Ginger what I had done. She gave me a pep talk and told me not to beat up on myself about it. Of course, after she went to bed, I flailed away at myself to the point that I decided that I couldn’t succeed in anything. Not with losing weight, not with wearing the sleep mask, not with writing a book, nothing. I wasn’t going to take my medications anymore. I’m tired of them anyway. I was just going to sit on my fat ass, eat whatever I want, and die whenever Death wanted to fetch me. We all have to die of something, right?
And then I started thinking, slowly but surely, how dumb that would be. Going on a binge was stupid, but sabotaging myself and my health and the work I had done so far would be beyond stupid. It would be fatal to my dignity and my self-esteem, not just my life.
So here I am tonight blogging about every ignorant thing I’ve done this week with food and everything that goes with it. Good for me. I’m not proud of the binge, but I’m happy with myself for all of the things I did correctly before it happened. As I told Ginger, I fell off the bike, but I’m back up on it and starting the ride again.
Be glad that I haven't done any significant posting in a while. Be very glad. I let Dr. OhMyAchyBody talk me into doing Prednisone for 15 days and thought I was going to die. I didn't have hot flashes like that when I went through menopause. OMG! Felt like my flesh was melting right off my bones. And don't even get me started on the diarrhea. When I have to have something to read when I'm sitting on the toilet, you know that I'm going way too often and way too long. Can anyone say "20 minute stretches of pouring like a faucet"? You get the idea.
Someone just shoot me now. The Prednisone was bad enough. What was worse is that being on it didn't prove anything. I had to let go of 2 more tubes of blood. (The total is now 31.) We still don't know what's causing all of my problems. The anemia is still bad, the extra pain is still bad, the SED rate and C-RP are still not right. The SED rate and C-RP levels both decreased by half while I was on the Prednisone, but that's still close to 3 times what they should be. And how many times can I write "still" in one paragraph? Cripes! Dr. OMAB is now thinking that it's something autoimmune and she is consulting again with Dr. Dracula. There are over 100 autoimmune diseases and I already have 2 of them: fibromyalgia and eczema. Woe is me.
I know. It could be a lot worse. I just needed to feel sorry for myself and wallow in it for a little while. I've been pretty good about not whining and complaining. I've done all these doctor appointments and let them suck out blood whenever they wanted. I've got appointments with Dr. OMAB, Dr. Dracula, and Dr. SnoozeAndDoze all coming up next month, and I'm just tired of the whole doggone mess. I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired, and sometimes a person just needs to let it all out. I'm finished now. Thank you for listening. Let's move on to things more fun.
So anyway, after I got that last set of blood test results, I was feeling pretty depressed. That's not so good since I'm only seeing the therapist every 4 months now. But after 15 years of therapy, I know what I need to do to head that nasty depression off at the pass. Fortunately, Ginger and I had planned a fun, long weekend away in Nashville, leaving on the very morning that I dropped by Dr. OMAB's lab to give blood. Wow, did we have a great time!
We left for Tennessee that Thursday morning and checked into our fabulous hotel that afternoon. This is a view of the lobby from the hallway outside of our room on the 19th floor. Isn't that elevator cool?
After we checked in and dropped off our stuff, we headed 10 miles or so south of Nashville to the outdoor Chihuly exhibit at the Cheekwood. We wanted to see the exhibit all lit up at night. Who is Chihuly? Dale Chihuly is just the most amazing glass artist in the world. See for yourself......
Unfortunately, it wasn't to be. The skies opened and a deluge followed. It was a terrible storm. Trees and branches were breaking and falling all over the place. There was spot flooding. The electrical power was lost over part of Nashville and the surrounding area including the Cheekwood. So we turned around, found a wonderful Italian restaurant for dinner, and went back to our hotel. On Friday, all was well weather-wise, so we drove back to the Cheekwood and saw some terrific Chihuly's. That evening, we went to the Grand Ole Opry at the Ryman Auditorium where we saw, among others, Ricky Skaggs, the Grascals, the Whites, and Vince Gill.
On Saturday, we walked back to the Ryman and took a tour of the building including the backstage dressing rooms. It was a great tour. Yours truly hopped up on the stage and belted out a verse of Emmylou Harris's song, "One of These Days". Really. Honest. Here's the proof.
I hope never to do that again in my life. I was so nervous!
On Sunday, we drove back home and had a happy reunion with kitty babies. That break was just what I needed and we enjoyed it so much. We'll have to do another trip soon.
One last picture......When we went back to our room after breakfast on Sunday morning, there was a rainbow outside our window.
It has been two years since my mother died. She left us on Saturday, August 23, around 10:30 in the evening. I was trying to write about my last visit with her and what it meant to me, but I keep having to stop and blow my nose. Silly me, what can I say. I may be 57 years old, but I still want my mommy.
Mom, I love you and miss you, every hour, every day. Always have. Always will.
Mom and Me
These days, it seems like I'm always playing catch-up. Fortunately, I finally got to the point where I can update the blog. I have a lovely schedule this week.
Today - Dr. Dracula at 9:00 AM
Tuesday - Dr. LoveMyPrettySmile (dentist) at 9:00 AM
Wednesday - Dr. SnoozeAndDoze at 1:45 PM
Thursday - Labs at Dr. OhMyAchyBody's office sometime between 9:00 AM and 5:00 PM
Forget the calendar. I can tell you the date according to which doctor I'm seeing. Dr. Dracula reported this morning that my SED rate and CRP level had risen in the last set of labs he did. He took more blood this morning. 29 tubes and counting. Dr. OhMyAchyBody put me on prednisone for 15 days starting 12 days ago. 10mg twice a day for 5 days, then 10mg once a day for 5 days, and then 5mg once a day for 5 days. I'll have more blood drawn at her office on Thursday to see if the prednisone made the SED rate and CRP level go lower. If it does, that will be a big clue that something inflammatory is going on. Also, we'll see if there's any effect on the anemia,which, in the excitement of the SED/CRP and sleep apnea, I had totally forgotten all about (pretty pathetic since that's what we were working on to begin with).
Prednisone sucks. O-M-G. I didn't have the sweats this badly when I was going through Menopause-with-a-capital-M. Even shoving my head into the freezer doesn't help. If it were winter, I could heat this entire house through the Thanksgiving/Christmas season. I could melt snow with just one look. Speaking of melting....I mentally blasted a woman with my inner flamethrower this afternoon at Kroger. The way the store is set up, you can get two carts past each other in the aisle, no more. A gentleman and I were wheeling our carts toward each other in the aisle. A woman came barreling out of an aisle perpendicular to ours. She didn't bother checking the traffic first. Then, when she saw us, she kept right on coming into our path. He hit a display on his right side. I hit a display on my right side. She barged her cart and her fat ass (sorry, but it's true!) through the middle of us and didn't say a word. Of course, being the delicate and shy little flower that I am, I yelled "WELL, EXC-U-U-U-UUUUSE YOU!" in my very best projectve Broadway voice. That was the most people I've ever startled at one time. She didn't bat an eyelash. Didn't have a clue. MORON. As usual, I mean that sincerely. I just don't have the patience for rude people anymore.
So where were we? Oh yeah, the sweats. Again, OMG! Sweat pours down my face so thick and fast that my BIPAP mask ends up on my big left boob instead of my nose. I've never sweat like this in my life, not even at marching band practice at summer band camp in high school with it 100 degrees on the practice field. I can water the plants outside just by standing over them and letting the sweat drip. And don't even get me started on the diarrhea. It got so bad that I took a vacation day from work last week just to stay home and sit on the toilet. Yes. It's been that bad. You don't want me to describe it. Just don't even tempt me. As I said, prednisone sucks. I only have 3 more days of it and then I'm home free. YAY! And I mean that sincerely, too.
What else has been going on? Well, the missus and I (just kidding, sweetie!)....Ginger and I had the pleasure of her 3-year-old granddaughter's company this past weekend. Sophia is 3 going on 30. She's so grown up that it startles you when she acts like a 3-year-old. This kid had me laughing so hard Friday night that I almost wet my pants and drooled, too. She's just so much fun. We hit up the Children's Museum on Friday and had lunch at El Pueblo. The kid loves chips and dips. She was sucking down the salsa and the cheese dip like they were chocolate and sugar cookies. She loves good food, especially cherry tomatos fresh from her grandpa's garden. On Saturday, Sophia, mom, and grandma spent the day at Parky's Farm and Parky's Ark while I visited with my dad. That evening, all of us girls dined in elegance at Germano's in downtown Montgomery. We all got dressed up, including me! Then we walked around for a bit, and Sophia and I played the "Play Me, I'm Yours" piano installed on Montgomery Road a few doors down from the restaurant. Sophia went back home to Tennessee on Sunday. I already missed her before she even hit the end of our street. This is a picture of Sophia ringing up her groceries at the Children's Museum.
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