Tool Time!

There is a cool country song out right now by Rascal Flatts that is my theme song and my motto and my anthem. It's called Every Day.

I come around all broken down and
Crowded out
And you're a comfort
Sometimes the place I go
Is so deep and dark and desperate
I don't know, I don't know

Every day, every day
You save me
Every day you save my life.

Okay, now some folks are singing that about Jesus and some are singing that about their significant other, but I'm singing it about the wonder drug LYRICA.

It's the definitive drug for fibromyalgia pain, which isn't affected by normal pills like Advil or Ibuprofin or Vicodan or Demerol or Opium. I love it and I say it saves my life. Every Day.

But there's just this one thing that bothers me about Lyrica: THE COMMERCIALS.

The ones on television depict a spiffy middle aged woman prancing around in a flea market with a big heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Or dancing into the wee hours with the ubiquitous grey haired man who in real life would just be GAY he looks so good. Or standing in a windy field of daisies leaning on a white rail fence jabbering on about how she has just hoofed it over 40 acres with her mule. That's right, 40 acres and a MULE.

I think they should show it like it really is: Every day it's like somebody took one of these:

and pulverized the hell out of every soft tissue and muscle in my body. Every day. And I mean beat me up good, too, not some light percussion massage.

So when I saw this latest print ad I laughed in Wild Peals of Angry Mirth...

Because I'm like: PUSH PINS????? PUSH PINS????? Is this somebodys idea of an understated joke? Because for ME, what is sticking into my feet all over are THESE:

And it feels like THIS:

And what's worse? I have to WALK AROUND LIKE THAT.

Wheals of Fire

Wheals on my skin keep on burnin'

I don't know if I'll see tomorrow

Wheals on my skin keep on turning

I think some salve I must borrow...

There I was, just cruising along in life, work going smoothly, managing my fibromyalgia, no drama, no pain, dancing on lily pads, cavorting with the nature spirits, when SUDDENLY!!!I'm a mass of itching burning scary welts and wheals that look like GIANT mosquito bites that travel from place to place on my body and cause me to itch so badly I want to dig out my own eyeballs and slice my skin off like a cleaned carrot..I like this picture.

Don't I look PISSED OFF?

I think I look PISSED OFF!!!!

Are these pictures too graphic for you?

Be thankful I am sparing you the ones of my ASS!!!!

What If?

I just heard today that of the people who see those drug commercials on tv and run to their doctor and ask for them, 82% recieve that prescription.

82%!!!!

Does that mean the same 82% are running around with side effects?

ProActive's Plan for World Domination

Does anyone ever see those ProActive commercials and actually pay attention to them? I started noticing them when Jennifer Love Hewitt was the spokesperson and garbled her English. I felt she should have come across more polished and less like a dunce.

But I think they just want to target stupid teens who never learned any grammar and who don't know to lay off the pop and the candy to help clear up their faces.

The ones that get me are the ones that mix up their syntax something awful. Like the boy who says, "I went to bed at night after putting on ProActive and you wake up in the morning without acne!"

I just scoffed at such Bad English until I realized! OMIGOSH! I DID wake up without Acne!

A Three Hour Tour

Well, I know you gentle and faithful readers have been wondering why I haven't posted in days and days, and its because I have not been at home where the quill and writing desk reside. Indeed, I have been sitting at the County Clinic waiting for my number to be called.

Yes, for 4 or 5 or 6 days, I believe.

The facts of the matter are these: I got an actual BILL from the county in the mail, which sight sent me into hysterical fits of mirth and laughter. But once the sober truth hit me that they actually want me to PAY for my medical appointment and hundreds of dollars worth of Crazy Psyche Meds each month, I realized I had better get on down there and see about it.

It was only the work of a moment to grasp that my year-long medical plan had expired unbeknownst to me, as there is no expiration date written anywhere on any of the documents.
Therefore, to my reasoning mind, it should only be the work of a moment to pop in there, pick up an application to reapply and be on my merry way.

Au Contraire! Je suis Desolate! Upon entering the building I could clearly see the lines of halt and lame trailing down the hallway, looks of pure resigned boredom on their faces. I secretly smirked because I was not going to the clinic! Oh no! My destination was upstairs to the billing office where I planned upon sweeping in and grabbing my application with aplomb and then ditching the joint.

Upstairs, alas, I also saw trails of people lined up down the hallway, leaning on the wall or even downright snoozing in place upon the floor.

But never one to feel that she is unentitled to receiving an immediate answer to a 'quick question' I mildly barged to the front of the line and got the attention of the weary, brain-fogged reception clerk.

She told me that in fact, I could not be processed until I had a referral form from Lobby A downstairs. Where the Halt and Lame were lazing about in droves. That place of Woe I had just sped past with a smirk in my eye.

And, she suggested, I take a number before I went down there, and as I did so I saw that I had drawn the lucky number of 93 when the little red number on the wall read "Now Serving #25"

Down the stairs I went, implementing my plan to barge to the front of the line again and ask about getting a quick referral form so I could be on my way, but wisely picking a number as I went by. I drew #172. The board with the red indicator number said.....15. And thus you now know why I was at the county clinic for 4 or 5 or 6 days. Just waiting for a referral slip.

Stay Tuned for Part Two where I reveal the scintillating details of waiting in line at the billing office to be told that my appointment for Renewal of Benefits will be held on April 23, 2009 as that is the first available opening.

The Human Paloma Picasso Virus

I'm always disturbed when pharmaceutical companies trying to make big money use scare tactics to get us to buy expensive drugs that they've just invented whether or not they work or whether or not they have any basis in reality. For instance, Aricept, the drug that may or may not slow down the progress of Alzheimer's. That is what they claim, It MAY slow it down, but how would you know? If you are taking the drug and surviving the diarrhea, the dizzy spells and the Alzheimer-like side effects, how could you tell you were progressing slower than you would have progressed to begin with?

It's the same thing with this Human Paloma Virus, or is it Pamplona where they run the bulls? Either way, it seems completely ridiculous to me that they can say a VIRUS may or may not create Cervical Cancer in you, at some vague future point in your life, so you need to get inoculated against possibly getting it 20 years down the road. Maybe. Perhaps.
First of all, who ever heard of a VIRUS causing Cancer? If that were true, wouldn't it be the biggest breakthrough for all mankind, EVER? You could immediately use the same shot to prevent breast cancer, lung cancer, etc;

Secondly, don't viruses MUTATE? Isn't that what they DO? Don't they practically morph the moment they go from one host to the other, and isn't that why the annual flu shots are such a joke (and an expense?) They maybe protect you from one form of flu, but by the time that flu gets around to your neighborhood it's no longer recognizable as the original strain?

People who swear by those flu shots cannot convince me that they wouldn't have avoided the flu that season anyway. You cannot prove that those shots kept you from getting the flu! They even tell you in the small print "You may get some form of flu this winter, just not the flu that this shot will protect you from."

In the case of the Human Paloma Picasso Virus, how can they tell that 15-20 years from now that particular virus will have stayed exactly the same so that the shots you got are still valid?

My cousin Tivo Jane Coggins has cervical cancer. It's a scary thing, but as she says, "I haven't used that plumbing in years so yank it out!" She is really a kicker, to say the least. Her husband Vernelle Coggins collects antique cars. He's got bunches of them up on cinder blocks in the front and back yard, gathering rust. It was perhaps this love of all things vehicular which led them to name their two children Rotary Motor Coggins, Jr. and Chassis Axle Coggins.

Gramma Frosty Baker has decided that Chassis Axle needs to get her some of them Human Paloma Picasso Shots, because she firmly believes that since her daughter Tivo has cervical cancer, her granddaughter Chassis Axle is soon to follow, 20 years from now.

If she thinks cervical cancer is hereditary, then why bother with the anti-viral shots? It makes no sense to me. But she's getting on the bandwagon and so are millions of others, and all I can think is that 20 years from now all those girls will be sterile.

Or have mutant multi-colored babies that have their eyeballs on the sides of their faces like this:

EEeeeeeg!

Another Day another Medical Procedure.

I had to get up at the crack of dawn this morning and head on over to Mercy for my long-awaited EEG. Hey, it only took 10 months to get this scheduled!

Mercy is an older hospital and parking is at a deficit. I ended up on the roof of the parking structure and when I left, there was a line of cars completely blocking me in, two of which had to be moved so I could get out of my parking space. I told the toll booth attendant I wanted 10 minutes cut off my parking fee. He laughed in my face. Laughed in my face, I tell you!

But first, I parked and raced over to the hospital and went up to the EEG department, which was locked up tighter than a drum. I had to wait for someone to come along and put in the little keypad code to open the door and then I was told I had to go back downstairs and register. Nobody tells me anything! Fortunatly, registration is quick and I was back upstairs in 15 minutes flat.

The EEG tech was such a sweetheart, and she explained the procedure in depth before we got started. I was suprised to learn it takes about 20-30 minutes for the test itself. I got to lay down on a comfy bed and close my eyes while she glued 27-29 little diodes on my head using school paste. I'm not kidding, this isn't the gel stuff they use for an EKG, this is actual glue. She warned me I'd have to go home and shampoo when this was over.

She then explained I'd open my eyes and shut them and then do some slow breathing for 3 minutes then lay perfectly still for 15 minutes and then she would turn on some flashing lights for 3-5 minutes and then we would be done. The whole thing was soothing except for the flashing lights which were very uncomfortable.

When all this was completed she took the thingies off my scalp and earlobes and forehead and then did a little scrubbing to get the most obvious glue off and then handed me a comb and told me to look in the mirror and fix my hair.

I wish I had a photo of the fright that I confronted in the mirror! My hair was sticking out like Brillo Pad Weeds! I had to crack up, because although I never consider myself fussy, my friends say I am quite vain. There was no way to salvage this mess and I was wishing for a hat or a burkha.

As I was driving home I put my hand on my scalp and felt little dollops of sticky glue all over the top and back of my head! Ewww! So I raced home and shampooed before that stuff could dry on there.

Now it will be weeks before I hear any results, alas, but at least this test was finally done!

My Bionic Eye

Well, it's official! I am now the recipient of Two Bionic Eyes. I survived the second cataract/lens implant surgery much better than the first one, and when they took the bandages off today I could see that I won't even be having a black eye, this time around! Or, not much of one, anyway. Not enough to go out and pick up some Rescuer-type men, at least.

Of course this looks scary enough that I could go out and attract some Psychotic-type men!

Sigh.

I will tell you a little bit about the surgery! Since last time I was awake and could feel the entire thing and it was agony, I was pleasantly surprised to be totally unconscious for this one. I know they don't technically put you all the way under, but I just begged that anesthesiologist to knock me out this time. He was so sorry and appalled that I had been in so much pain last time that he said he'd take care of it.

When I'm nervous, I babble. I feel so sorry for the people around me who think, for the first run-on paragraph or two, that I'm this bright cheery sort, but whom are surely backing away with fear and panic in their eyes after I've jabbered and jibbered non-stop for 20 minutes straight on any number of topics without so much as pausing for comments or breath.

As I was being wheeled into the operating room, I was blathering on about Kenya, where I've never been and have no desire to go, to the surgical nurse who had told me she'd just gone there. I waxed eloquent about elephants, and Isaak Dineson, and the Somali People. When I caught sight of the surgeon, I abruptly switched gears and started excitedly pontificating all about bass fishing. Dr. Peabody is a trout fisherman, but hey, bass-trout-bluegill, what's the difference? My goal is to be charming and to keep the conversation flowing! The life of the surgical party!

I reminded him and the anesthesiologist about my desire to feel nothing and then I went back to the topic of fish and a moment later I heard, "Okay, that's a wrap!" and I was being wheeled into the recovery room! I was so happy! I think I thanked everyone I could spot through the haze.

Patrick told me this morning on the way to the follow-up exam to have the bandages removed, that I was babbling about shoes in the recovery room. What's wrong with that, I ask you?

One Pill Makes You Larger...

Anytime I get a new medicine prescribed I like to read up on it so I can get an idea of what to expect. Here's an excerpt from an independant review of the drug:

Killopill (killyou deadacus) is notorious for two things - making you sleep until next Tuesday, and giving you a hangover when you eventually wake up.

Otherwise expect the usual short-term side effects for atypical antipsychotics - headache, nausea, dry mouth, sleepiness or insomnia, diarrhea or constipation, not giving a damn about anything (a.k.a. the zombification effect). Most, if not all of these will go away in a couple of weeks. Except for the excessive sleepiness, which could hang around for as long as you take this med. The other big issue with a lot of people is weight gain. While not as bad as Zyprexa (olanzapine), like that med Killopill is a potential triple threat when it comes to weight gain, as it could slow your metabolism, may make you want to sleep 10 or more hours a day, and often make you want to eat more. And since it hits the H1 histamine receptor, and hard, it's going to make you crave carbohydrates like there's no tomorrow, so good luck sticking to that Atkins diet. But, hey, at least it's the damn med's fault and not any lack of willpower on your part.

Well, that's not good. Let's see what the manufacturer says! That should be more positive, right?

SIDE EFFECTS that may occur while taking this medicine include blurred or
double vision, constipation, decreased coordination, diarrhea, dizziness, drowsiness, headache, nausea, runny or stuffy nose, stomach upset, trouble sleeping, vomiting, or weakness or fatigue.

DISCONTINUE USE if you experience painful urination, persistent sore throat,
involuntary trembling, swelling of the hands, ankles or feet, unusual weakness or fatigue, vaginal itch or discharge, vision changes or weight gain, calf pain, chest pain, dark urine, fast or irregular heartbeat, anxiety or depression, restlessness, irritability, or panic attacks; new or worsening seizures, pale stools, red swollen or blistered skin, severe or persistent stomach pain, severe muscle pain or tenderness, shortness of breath, sores in the mouth or around the eyes, suicidal thoughts or attempts, swelling of your hands, lets, face, lips, eyes, throat or tongue; difficulty swallowing or breathing, hoarseness, swollen lymph glands, unusual bruising or bleeding; or yellowing of the eyes or skin; or a rash.

But those are the symptoms I had already! Welcome to my world...

Farsighted????

I was such a biddable child! Always affable! Willing to please! Yes, Uncle Augie! I'm delighted to hold these two fresh-kill pheasant carcasses up by their feet for a photo op! Let me just park my convertible under this tree over here and then I'll pose! Smile Pretty!!!!

I think my early childhood programming has snapped like a brittle twig and is no longer in effect. Or at least it's bent like a stalk of limp celery soaked in gin. I still perceive that others have expectations of me they would like me to fill, but the will to comply is missing.

Yesterday, I had yet another social security medical review, this time I got to take the same arithmetic tests I took before. All over again. And answer problematical questions such as:

You are in a movie theatre and you are the first one to notice smoke and fire. What do you do?

My answer did not please the psychologist: " I would get the hell out of there!"

She frowned at me, No! "You are in a crowded movie theatre. You are the FIRST one to notice smoke and fire. What do you do?"

I tried and tried to figure out what she wanted me to say. Did she want me to say I'd stay and be trampled by a crowd? Or perhaps duck and cover? Or lay low and crawl to the nearest exit? Or was I supposed to sit there and die of smoke inhalation while waiting to be rescued?

"I would get the hell out of the theatre. That's what I'd do. Final Answer."

Later, I realized she wanted me to say I'd yell FIRE! Oops. Thousands of burning women and children with cell phones will perish now because I wasn't quick enough to do the altruistic thing! I just chose to save myself! Sorry, humanity! Can I get a refund on my movie ticket?

The next question was even tougher: You are stranded in the Denver Airport with only one dollar. What do you do?

I told her there would be nothing I could do. Nothing. She didn't like THAT answer, either. So I told her, "Look. What would I be doing in Denver anyway? I don't know anybody there. There would be nobody to call. Do I have a plane ticket? If I do, I'll just wait for my connecting flight and board it. " I was so frustrated. She didn't give me any back-story. Was I on my way to Paris, perhaps?Did I have a good book with me? Was it winter or summer? Because if it was winter in Denver, I'd probably freeze to death in the airport lobby right away and that would be the end of my need to problem solve. Can we change the airport? Couldn't I be stranded in the Mexico City Airport instead? Because in Mexico that dollar could be converted to pesos and I could buy a 3rd class bus ticket to Oaxaca and still have money left over for a hot chocolate in the zocolo.

Later, I realized she wanted me to say I'd use the dollar to make a phone call. As If! Is that supposed to be a test of my common sense? Because frankly, a person hanging out for too long at the Denver Airport is going to have more to worry about than only having a dollar in her pocket. After a few hours, she'd have all kinds of airport and Homeland Security all over her ass! She'd probably spend the night in an FBI detention Facility and be shipped to Guantanamo Bay where she would receive free medical, dental and therapy and probably horseback riding lessons as well.

(And yes, I saw Sicko and I loved it! It was BRILLIANT!)

Then, she showed me a picture of a door on a blank wall and asked me what was missing. I told her some pictures on the wall, maybe a shelf and some quilted wall-hangings. She interrupted me and said, NO! Look at the picture and tell me what's missing!

Really, there was no pleasing this woman! She wants my answers, but all my answers are wrong! So why have me there at all? If she wanted the correct answers she could have just filled them in herself and I could have stayed home in bed. It turns out the door was missing a doorknob. I would have spotted it eventually, but who notices a doorknob when there is a WALL, a completely blank WALL in need of some clutter and chatchkes and geegaw's?

Well, if she thought I did badly on the common sense interpretive skills, she was really sorry when she started giving me math tests and sequences of numbers to repeat back to her. I couldn't do math even before my stroke, so forget about it, now! I told her, "I guess you won't be hiring me to balance your checkbook."

Finally, she gave me pairs of words and told me how they were similar. I did okay with pen/pencil because they are writing implements. And banana/apple because they are both fruit. But she stumped me with mosquito/tree. I told her I couldn't see any similarity at all. Of course, she didn't like that answer. I finally told her they are from the earth. THE EARTH? She practically YELLED at me.

"Well, one is a BUG and the other is a VEGETATIONAL LIFE FORM, so the only thing they have in common is they are both LIVING ON THIS EARTH" Really, that woman was so stupid, didn't she see the connection? What other connection could there be?

Then, as if that was not enough torture for one day, I had my 1 month exam for my post-surgery cataract eye. I was fully expecting to be given the go-ahead to get a contact lens so I could SEE again! But NOooooo!

After the girl did all the tests, the opthamalogist came into the room looking at my chart and saying, "hhhmmmmm." I asked him, "Are you hmmmmming at me?" He said, "Yes, it appears your eyes have taken an odd turn. When before you were nearsighted with astigmatism, now you are FARSIGHTED. I wasn't expecting this! But, this will correct itself in about a month, but it means your eyesight isn't stable enough to bother fitting you with a lens right now."

Okay. Still Blind. And stuck in the Denver Airport. With a tree, a bug, and all the wrong answers. But at least I'm not on fire.

Happy 10th Birthday, Mackie Manns!

Separated at Birth

It's Me and Number Two, separated at birth!

Here I am without the sleeping patch, why am I smiling?

This hurts worse than anything and I still can't see. It hurts to move my eyeball around. I should have gotten some books on tape or something! I was totally NOT PREPARED for this surgical aftermath. Everyone always told me that cataract surgery is just a piece of cake. I can't see to pour a glass of water because I can't get my left eye and my right eye to work together to do anything. Very weird! The surgical nurse told me it would be like my eyes thought I was riding in a boat, and that's just what it's like.