Another Day, Another Migraine.

I had my first real migraine in a while, and it did not disappoint.

That's exactly how I feel right now.

Last night, I was just lying on the couch, watching the Simpson's marathon...

 ...playing with the idea of working, and just generally minding my own business when it hit me.

Then the visual disturbances arrived.

This is seriously what it looks like through my eyes during a migraine.

I knew I was in for a long night.

Doug was upset, because he had to go to bed, but he wanted to stay up and take care of me. He kept telling me to wake him if I needed him. I figured I could lie around, drooling on myself, having seizure-like and stroke-like activity (I have hemiplegic migraines which often mimic a stroke), and crying without an audience.

I ended up lying on the couch, alternating between sleeping, crying, and watching what seems like the never ending Simpson's marathon on FXX. (Why are there two x's?) Then, my migraine moved on to the headache phase.

This went on for several hours.

Sometime after five, I decided to crawl from the couch to the bed.

That's honestly about as far as I made it on the first try.

Doug woke up and asked me if I was okay. I insisted that I was fine just so he'd go back to sleep.

He hugged me and went back to sleep. I made sure my alarm was set so I could make sure he was awake and getting ready. (I wasn't kidding when I said he could sleep through a nuclear war.) I don't think I woke up, and if he roused me to ask me how I was, I probably responded with something like this:

I took some more pain meds. Things were a blur from there. I vaguely remember The Cleveland Show on Adult Swim, and I think I may have heard the intro to King of the Hill.

The above gif is how I felt while lying down. No matter what position I tried, I felt dizzy and like I was floating when I shut my eyes.

Then I fell into a deep and not so dreamless sleep.

When I woke up, I realized just how badly last night's migraine had destroyed me.

I had to go to the loo...

where I was attacked by sunlight pouring through the bathroom window.

I'm so glad it's dark in my bedroom.

I forced myself to crawl to the kitchen and somehow managed to prepare a cup of coffee. (Thank God for whoever invented the Keurig.)

The coffee offered a little relief, but it also woke me up enough to allow me to realize that I am in the postdrome phase. During the postdrome phase, some people experience euphoria. I wish I were one of them, but I experience the sadness of having a setback.

So instead of lying in my bed, crying over the fact that I've just endured a bad migraine for the first time in weeks, I decided focus what little energy I had on this blog post, with the hopes of making my readers laugh. It took me several trips, but I got my laptop, and a pair of sunglasses, and crawled into bed. I turned down the brightness on my computer, because even with my sunglasses on, it's too bright, and I giggled as I looked through the pictures and gifs I had that I could use in this post.

Don't let the blog post fool you though.

For, me, it's mostly the die aspect. I rarely have nausea/vomiting with my migraines. It just seemed like an appropriate gif to share since most migraine sufferers do have those symptoms with their migraines.

People always try to offer helpful advice, but I've heard it all.

• Drink more water. (Tried that. No effect whatsoever.)
• Drink less caffeine. (I cut back to one cup of coffee and two sodas per day.)
• Get more sleep. (It's not like I don't try.)
• Get less sleep. (How can I get less sleep when I bloody have insomnia?!?)
• Avoid food triggers. (Good luck with that.)
• Avoid stress. (Giggles hysterically and uncontrollably.)

And the list of not so helpful advice goes on. Then, there are the naysayers who have never really and actually experienced a migraine or chronic pain of any kind, so they have the audacity to say things that make me feel like punching them dead in the face.

As a matter of fact, here is a handy list of what NOT to say to someone with chronic migraines or any other chronic illness.

Most of these make me want to smash things.

I have improved slightly since last night, but not enough.

Here are two pain charts that accurately describe migraines. They also made me giggle.

Here's what they chart above says:

0. Fine. What is a headache?

1. Wait...It's coming...

2. This sucks.

3. Ow ow ow ow OW

4. Blaargh! $#@?! This hurts!

5. Was there a time before pain and will a power drill make it better?

6. Am I dying? I think this is what dying feels like.

Number 7 is my favourite!

Number 10 made me laugh so hard it hurt.

Doug is on his way home to fuss over me.

I'm totally making him sing it, too!

Until he gets here, I will do my best to entertain myself while listening to Gadi Mizrahi. (His music sounds like the series of noises that one would hear during an MRI, and I find it oddly comforting during the postdrome phase, but during a real MRI, I'm having a full on panic attack.) I will try not to focus on the lack of euphoria that I get to experience. 

So until next time, please say some prayers for me.

Cheers.

Tired Tuesday.

I had so much to do yesterday that I barely made it to eleven o'clock last night!

Doug had the day off, so he asked me to pick his mom up and take her to the hospital for the nine o'clock ICU time slot. I am not a morning person, but my husband deserves a day to sleep in. Tuesday is his only day that he doesn't have somewhere to be in the morning. Every other day, he has to be at work, and Sunday, he has to be at church to take care of the media during both morning services, which is four, almost five hours of work. I understand why he wants to sleep in. So, I agreed to go pick her up and take her to the hospital. Unfortunately, I got an entire half hour of sleep on Monday night, I rush out the door at 8:30 yesterday morning, original sized can of Starbucks Double Shot in one hand, and a bottle of vanilla frappucino in the other. I cranked up the music and sped off, downing the double shot as I go.

Since I'm a coffee addict, I'm not big on energy drinks. But, when I'm that tired, I'll break down and have a double shot. It's expresso and cream, not a carbonated drink loaded with taurine, ginseng, and God only knows what else. I used to drink an energy drink called BAWLS. It tasted like strong Sprite, and I could work out for hours if I had one before aerobics class, but they stopped making it, or perhaps they just don't sell it around here.

I arrive at my mnl's around 8:45. The first thing she asked is if I'm drinking an energy drink. No, not really. Then, she goes on to ask if those energy drinks are healthy and if Doug should be drinking them. I don't go there. I just say, "I don't know," because I'm tired, cranky, and manky, and if someone starts asking me a bunch of questions, it can get ugly. The subject gets dropped, and we get on interstate. I downed my frappy. We got there in ten minutes, and I dropped her at the door. I decided to go in and see my fnl. I was already there, I had several other things to do before I could go home, and I wanted to see how he was.

My mnl was talking with the nurse when I got up to the fourth floor. I walked into my fnl's room. Usually, he's covered up, including his hands, which are still restrained, and for good reason. If he could move his hands, he would pull the tubes out. He always waited until my mnl went to sleep, and he would pull his NG tube out. Chances are, he would pull his vent out too. Where he has dementia, and the fact that he used to be a small engine mechanic, once he pulls the tube out, he will try to work on it with imaginary tools, or he will connect it to the other things he pulls out or off of him. Then, of course, the nurses have to put the things back in, which he HATES, but you can't reason with him. Yesterday morning, his hands were uncovered, so I could see that his hands, his right hand anyway, was swollen. I spoke to him and told him I was there. He's still had his eyes shut, but he moved around.

Usually, I'm in there with my husband and my mnl, and I'm the one telling them to leave him alone and let him sleep, explaining that he might be in pain, he needs his rest, and I certainly wouldn't want anyone to bother me if I was able to sleep through pain. I also stress the importance of not touching him or holding his hand very tightly due to swelling from IV fluids and dialysis. I don't touch him or get in his face, but my mnl insists on doing so. I say hello to him incase he's awake and he hears me, and I leave a few minutes early to let my mnl have the last ten minutes alone with him. Doug usually goes back to the ICU waiting area with me if he's there.

I stayed with him from 9:00 until 9:20, and I tell my mnl that it's 20 after nine, then I go to the ICU waiting area, giving her the last ten minutes of the half hour time slot. I checked my Facebook messages until she comes back. Then, we made our way to the cafeteria and sat down over a couple of cartons of Fat Free chocolate milk. I stayed until ten, then I left to run my errands. I made it home around eleven, and I was awake, so I sat down and got online for a bit. I transferred some files over from my book, then took a half hour nap. I was up to an entire hour of sleep.

I needed to pick up a tote bag for my mnl, so Doug and I went to the mall. I went to Old Navy and got her a lunch bag, and a small tote bag, and then, since I had birthday money, I perused the clearance aisle.

Seriously, I HATE SHOPPING. I am a hunter gatherer. I go to the store, buy what I'm there to purchase, hardly ever straying from the list, and I go home. Most guys would love that! My husband likes to look at things. I'm the one sitting there on the benches by the doors with all of the other husbands who are waiting on their wives to get their shopping finished. It's hilarious. They look at me like I'm crazy until they find out what my purpose there is. Like them, I am waiting on someone. That's the common denominator. Unlike them, the person I'm waiting for is in the electronics department.

Anyway, I find this shirt that I have been looking for in my size. I'm not an exact size. My shirts consist of XS, S, M, and a few L's. My jeans/dress pants consist of 3's, 4's 5's 6's, and S, or M. I have a few L's in those two, but mostly in my pajama pants. The baggier, the better. The shirt is a medium. I found a few more things, which took me a total for five minutes, and I go back to the fitting room and try them on. The shirt fits, that's the main thing I wanted. The jeans also fit. The tee shirt, which I found out was 49 cents, fit, and the other shirt fit. The two pairs of pants I found fit, but I didn't like the way they looked. I made my purchases, and we headed to Deb to peruse the clearance racks there. I knew they sometimes had totes for a good price, and I found a huge tote bag for cheap. I got it for my mnl too. So now she has two totes and a lunch bag, that way she can carry the things she needs with her while she's at the hospital.

Doug took me to eat a late lunch. At this point, I was starting to feel like I only slept for an hour, but I had a meeting to go to around seven. I stopped by the house to pick up the tiny laptop, and headed to the church. After the meeting was over, we went to visit my fnl.

My fnl was the same as he was before, eyes closed, unresponsive, and laying there in bed. My mnl talked to him and tried to wake him up, despite my protests. She said he squeezed her hand earlier and opened his eyes when she asked him to. Doug said hello, as did I, and I took a seat in the chair until the last ten minutes.

Once my mnl returned from the visit, we all head to the car. I leaned back and slept...UNTIL...Doug starts asking me where I want to go eat. That's when the sleep deprived rage came out. I'm nearly in tears as I tell him I really don't care. So he goes to Arby's, where we almost wreck into some red car, who is trying to back up, and we aren't even in the parking lot yet. To make matters worse, the red car pulls into the driveway. Doug pulls in behind him, and the red car tries to back up AGAIN! No sleep for me! We order the food, and we head home, hoping we don't run into anymore stupidity on the road.

I got home, ate half of my sandwich, and passed out on the couch. Doug and my mnl kept waking me up, so, the cranky version of me asks Doug to put me to bed. This was around eleven. He walks in with me, I change into my pajamas, run to the loo, and go to bed. I'm so tired I'm in tears. I lay down, laptop next to me, and sleep. Doug leaves to take his mom home.

For some odd reason, I wake up at midnight. I got on the computer for a few minutes. Doug came back home, surprised to see me awake. I looked at him and said, "I'm going to have a dekko at my book." He smiled and said, "Okay." He knew I was going to fall asleep with the laptop on my lap, fingers poised, ready to type. And he was right. I ended up laying my head on his shoulder, and that was it. I crashed into a deep and dreamless sleep. I'm guessing Doug had to put away the laptop, put it on charge. The next thing I know, Doug was taking me to the bathroom. I must have asked him to, and I was grasping for Tylenol in the dark. I asked him what time it was, and I think he said six, but I don't remember clearly enough. I took the Tylenol, my head was pounding, got a drink, and went back to bed. I remember Doug putting his arm around me, and then, it was one o'clock this afternoon.

I woke up. Doug was gone. There was a dull ache in my head. When I reached for my mobile phone and saw what time it was, I was shocked. I got twelve and a half hours of sleep, not counting the sleep I got in the car, and the sleep I got on the couch. I was shocked. I had set my alarm for eleven. My alarm tells me how much sleep I will get when I set it. Usually, it says something like, 4 hours and 21 minutes, or 6 hours and 1 minute. That's about what I average per night. I got double, almost triple, my average amount of sleep! It was like paradise!

Now before the lectures begin, I understand the importance of sleep. I understand it a great deal. I've done the research. The problem is I'm an insomniac workaholic perfectionist who is consumed by the book I'm working on. I've got until October of 2013. That is my goal for the first book. That's all the time I have. Is this an unrealistic goal? I don't think so. I've got 80% of the work done. I just need to finish the transfer, the editing, and rewrite some things from memory, and I do have an eidetic memory.

Here's the thing. A few days ago, I had this gut wrenching fear that just overtook me. I don't know if it was what somebody said, or what? It was just one of those things that made my heart stop. What if I fail? This thought came suddenly out of nowhere. What if I do all of this work and I fail? What if my dreams don't come true? Where the heck is this all coming from? I'm an excellent writer! I know this! I've written since I knew how to write! I have stories and poems and even books that I've written, I don't have them in my possession, but I wrote them! I was published in a church newsletter in 1998! The church didn't believe women had any business behind the pulpit, but even that preacher, who hated my guts, recognized that I was an excellent writer! He handed me the national newsletter and said, "Do you think you would be interested in writing for them?" I was floored! I said, "Absolutely." That was the only time that man ever told me he had confidence in me. If someone who didn't think very much of me as a person can recognize my talent, then why the heck can't I? *sighs* Maybe it's because I'm under stress, sleep deprived, exhausted, whatever the case may be. I don't know. Failure is not an option here!

If I'm good, why am I worried about failure? And, if it's not okay to fail here, why is it okay to fail in other areas of my life?

My other dream, most of you know, is med school. That's a thirteen year commitment, and it requires hard work, determination, dedication, and so much more. I have health issues. I'm not the healthiest person by any means. I'm a chronic migraine sufferer. I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), and I sort of have panic disorder. I say sort of because I used to have panic attacks all the time. I've had maybe three in 2011. (So far, in 2012, I came close to having one, but that was it.) I'm a perfectionist, I'm afraid of getting fat, and because of my OCD, I have some strange and irrational fears. Recently, I discovered that some of the odd fears I have are shared by many people. Sorry, I won't talk about it, but I will say that it's good that I'm not the only one. So you can see, I have so many reasons working against me.

People have asked me, "Are you sure you want to do this?" Yes, with all of my heart, I do. And there are people who have told me they don't think I can make it. A few of my friends are like, "We're definitely going to have to pray for you." I'm glad they will because I'm going to need it. I know I can make the grades. I can do the book work, the research, all of that. Those are my strong points. It's the rest of it I'm worried about. I've got to give it a try. I don't want to be sixty years old, looking back, wondering if I could have done it.

Despite having OCD and knowing I may very well not be able to handle it, someone told me not to let it stop me. She reminded me of the scrubs character, and said if he could do it, (even though he's not a real person) that I could. And I'm sure there are doctors out there with OCD. She has no idea how much it meant to me.

Bottom Line: I can't fail my first dream, because my second dream depends on it. Publish the books, get the money, go to med school. I can do this...

I think...


I think I need more sleep...

April Has Arrived...

April arrived yesterday, with a bang for me, anyway. I'm still recovering from my migraine. I'm doing a little better, just exhausted. And I have good reason. This first two weeks of April are just jam packed full of events.

The first thing that happens for me this week is my birthday! 



And since I'm getting older, I have a feeling we're going to need the fire department on hand. *lol* For those of you are wanting to know how old I am, I am going to be nice and tell you. I'm 29 for the 6th time. It's up to you to do the math.

I was born on a Tuesday. My mother says I was due on April 12th, which was also a Tuesday, but she jokingly announced that I would be arriving on the fifth, and was accused of doing something to force herself to go into labor. April 5th was also her father's birthday. He had died several years prior in a tragic work accident. I was also born on my mom's neighbor's birthday. The neighbor was like a grandmother to my mother. Her name was Kate Leffingwell. She was a very nice lady. She left us in August of 1995.

People always talk about birthday wishes, what they want for their birthdays every year. I have so many things going on that I'm not certain what to wish for, not that making a wish while blowing out the candles has some magical power. I don't know. First and foremost, I want a healthy, happy year. The biggest project I'm working on is my book series. My goal is October of 2013 to have the first book ready. I've decided to be mean and do the prequel last, like V. C. Andrews did with the Flowers in the Attic series.



But in order for my dreams to come true, I have to get out of bed. *smile* I am exhausted! But, the sooner I recover from this migraine, the better, so I can resume working on my book!

The next big event is Easter!



I thought this picture was lovely! I love to make centerpieces like the one above! Doug and I don't do anything special for Easter, really. We color eggs. I know, pathetic for a couple who has no children, thus no excuse to color eggs, but it's fun. I get real creative with it and draw designs on the eggs and write messages to my husband. It's fun. It's tradition for us.

And of course, we go to church for Easter, but not just on Easter Sunday. I sort of have a dress. I hate dresses, but I usually wear one on Easter Sunday. This year's number is a little black dress, simple, tasteful, elegant. I may wear a string of pearls to class it up a bit. Black and Gray are my favorite colors.



Spring is beautiful. I love seeing the kids enjoy it for sure. Easter egg hunts are so fun. My mother has a picture of me that was in the paper, where I'm probably just around one, maybe two, depending on when Easter was that year, and I'm wearing a little white dress and matching bonnet, carefully navigating my way through some tulips. I have the article in my baby book. I assume I was on an Easter Egg Hunt. I'll have to scan it, but it's a black and white picture. Not as pretty as the thought of a toddler walking through colorful tulips may sound.



Just one time, Easter has fallen on my birthday. I thought that was so cool when I was little. I was still a little tomboy, but I was so excited that when my mother took me shopping that I selected a pink and white dress with a matching hat because Easter and my birthday were the same day! I loved that dress.



This picture sort of shows some the designs I draw on the eggs prior to coloring them, but for the life of me, I've never seen black egg dye. Black and white together are so elegant.



And, finally, our last big event for the first two weeks of April is Friday the 13th!



Many of you are wondering why I would celebrate such a thing. It's just another day that happens to be labeled as bad. Doug and I had our first date on Friday, August 13th, 1999. So every time a Friday the 13th rolls around, we go out, just because our first date was on a Friday the 13th. We still celebrate on August 13th, if it occurs on a Friday or not. And no, we don't watch Friday the 13th with Jason on it. I tried to watch those movies when I was a teenager, and I was bored out of my mind! *lol* My mother said Salem's Lot would change my life. I slept through it when I was a teenager, then again when I was an adult. But The Exorcist really scared her. It wasn't the scariest movie I have ever seen, but I can see why it upset her so.



A month that begins on a Sunday will always have a Friday the 13th. Since we have one this month, we will also have another in July. Seriously, it's just another day. Jason does not live. Black cats are just that, cats that have black fur! I used to have several black cats that were so sweet. Walking under ladders and breaking mirror are dangerous, and common sense says you shouldn't walk under a ladder or mishandle glass! Thirteen is my favorite number because that was the day I had my first date with Doug. It's just another number, more or less. Maybe not to him or me, but it is.

That's about it for now. I need to give my right arm/hand a break. I'm going to find a snack and relax.



Have a great day!

Migraine.

My month did not start out the way I was hoping it would...




I've been sick with a migraine all day today...

I got up at seven, and we took my mother-in-law to visit my father-in-law in the hospital ICU. She goes and stays there and visits every three hours. And the ICU hours are weird anyway. It looks something like this:

ICU Hours:

6:00 a.m. to 6:30 a.m.
9:00 a.m. to 9:30 a.m.
12 noon to 12:30 p.m.
3:00 p.m. to 3:30 p.m.
6:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m.
8:30 p.m. to 9:00 p.m.

The only ICU visit my mother-in-law doesn't attend is the 6 a.m. to 6:30 a.m. slot.

Doug and I drop her off for the 9:00 a.m. to 9:30 a.m. visit, and she stays there until after the last visit, the 8:30 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. time slot. Then, we take her home or she stays here on our couch. This schedule has been going on for almost a week now.

After we drop her off, Doug drives us to church. He is the director over the entire media production that occurs during service. He usually works both morning services, so he has to be there at 8:30 a.m. every Sunday morning. I am not a morning person, so I will usually drive back home, have another coffee, and get ready. Unfortunately, this morning's routine didn't work out.

As I drive home, I literally forget which way I'm going, and I end up on the other side of town. I assume it's because I'm not awake. I turn around and head for home. I crank up the music. I'm doing okay. I pull into my parking spot and stop the car, grab the keys, set it to lock, and get out. That's when pressure and dizziness hit me like a ton of bricks. I somehow make it into the house and sit down. That's when the vision loss occurred.

For those who have never had a migraine, they're evil. They're horrible, evil, and cannot be reasoned with. My migraines, however, mimic strokes. And since some of you have asked me to describe the anatomy of one of my typical migraines, and the fact that I sort of have my wits about me, I'm going to give it to the old college try.

It usually starts out with an aura. Sometimes, I recognize the auras, other times, I don't. My auras consist of, and these are in no certain order;

1. Deja vu (I've done this before.)
2. Vision loss
3. Foot cramps (The debilitating kind that make me drop to the ground and cry.)
4. Memory loss (I'll be in the middle of something and not remember what I'm doing, like when I was driving home this morning.)
5. Intense shoulder pain
6. Aphasia (I will know what I want to say, but another word will come out, usually a related word for me. For example, jacket may be coat, and coat may be paint. Other times, my speech is slurred, and what I'm trying to say makes absolutely no sense at all.)
7. Unexplained Fatigue/Weakness

I've had foot cramps for two days, and mild shoulder pain off and on since last night. I attributed it to stress, being on my feet (a mile walk to the ICU for two time slots), and not getting enough sleep.

So I make it inside, and I sit down on the bed. And I text Doug. I try to keep it simple because I know the further into the migraine I get, the worse my text messages become. I stretched out and tried to focus on something, and that's when the vision loss began. This usually consists of total vision loss in one eye. (Sometimes, I'll have sparkles in my vision, where everything will glitter. It looks pretty, but it's a sign of impending suffering for me.)

Once the vision loss occurs, I need to get somewhere and lay down immediately. Vision loss is followed by one sided numbness, in which the right or left side of my body will go totally numb. I can't use any part of the numb side of my body. I can't even walk without assistance. One time, I could not swallow, which scared the heck out of Doug. This is also the phase where nausea, photophobia, and phonophobia will happen. I rarely have nausea or phonophobia, but I always have photophobia.

Once the numbness stage is over, the intense head pain sets in. I lay in bed and wait for welcomed unconsciousness to overtake me. And when sleep comes, the worst is usually over. For this, I am grateful.

Whenever I wake up, which can be as long as eight to twelve hours later, whatever side was affected by the migraine is quite wonky, uncooperative, and sometimes doesn't work at all. It can range from weakness, to pain, to useless. I'll have to use my other arm/hand to do everything I need to do, and my foot/leg will be weak and sometimes drag. I also can't wear my floppies (flip flops to the natives) after a migraine. These after effects can last for up to three days before I regain full strength/use of the affected area.

Because my migraines are intense and mimic strokes/TIA's, I'm supposed to make a trip to the emergency room to make sure I haven't had a stroke. They also check for seizure activity and other neurological issues that would or could cause these or similar symptoms. I'm usually given a clean bill of health and sent home.

Unfortunately, going to the emergency room is not always convenient. Doug works and goes to school full time. He has responsibilities which often means I have to fend for myself. If my symptoms are severe, he will drop everything to take care of me. We have to determine when we both agree that I should go to the emergency room. If I have a new symptom, such as the swallowing issue, we go to the ER. That's a given. The first few times I had nausea, since it rarely occurs, we took a trip to the ER. My first experience with phonophobia, we went to the ER. If my symptoms/after effects last longer than usual or are more intense than usual, we will go to the ER. I will sometimes panic, which doesn't help, and Doug will have to try to calm me down. This is often futile. Today's migraine was not ER worthy.

Forgive me for being all over the place. I'm still a bit clapped out.

I sent the text message to Doug. I stretched out in bed, covered myself up, and shut my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to stop, waiting to hear the message tone indicating that Doug had received my text. He knew what was going on. He asked if I made it home before the migraine hit, and I managed to reply with, "sort of." He was just glad I made it home and was safe in bed. The problem was that I had the car. Driving with a migraine is quite dangerous. I said I would try to sleep it off. I was experiencing extra fatigue/weakness today, and was able to go to sleep before the numbness really got to me. Doug called me several times to check on me and make sure I was okay.

Thankfully, I slept through the worst part of it, and woke up at one. Church was over. I let him know when I was leaving, and he allotted a certain amount of time for my arrival before threatening to send out a search party. He prayed, I prayed. I made it to the church, crawled into the passenger side of the car, and slept until he was finished shutting down the media equipment. He spent the afternoon taking care of me. He got me a venti nonfat chai tea latte. He brought me some glazed donuts to munch on, then he took me home and put me to bed. That's where I've been ever since. He stopped in to visit his father. I feel bad that I couldn't make it to see him today. I didn't even work on my book today. I just don't have the mental capacity, plus my right side is affected, and it hurts to type. Most of my typing was accomplished with one hand. Thank God I'm ambidextrous! If not, I would be in serious trouble...

Anyway, I'm still feeling ill, but I made it through. It wasn't the worst migraine I've experienced, but still not ER worthy. I always wonder in the back of my mind if I will be so lucky next time...

Under the Table and Dreaming...

Yes, I'm already dreaming about Fall...

Before I begin, I must apologize to Dave Matthews for using a song title as my blog title, but it describes exactly how I feel.

Anyway, I feel horrible, physically, mentally, emotionally.

Physically, everything hurts. Everything. Especially my head. It hurts so bad that by the time I got in the car to leave the hospital, (I'll get to that in a moment), my entire body was shaking and I was nauseated. Migraine or sinus headache? Perhaps both. Whatever the case may be, I am sick from the pain.

Mentally, I haven't written today, which means in fact that I haven't breathed today. I know that may sound ridiculous, but I'm serious when I say I eat, sleep, and breathe writing. I do. It's the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I go to bed. I sometimes even dream in words. I see them spell out before me. I feel what my characters are feeling, which should honestly be the other way around, but I get into this. I haven't breathed today, I haven't bled today. I write when I'm happy, sad, angry, ambivalent, when I feel bad about myself, when I feel good about myself, I write when I'm ugly, pretty, feeling fat, have eaten too much, have not eaten enough, when I'm sick, when I'm in pain, and when I'm hurting. Sometimes, I write about the things going on in my life. I put in 80+ hours per week writing! No joke.

Emotionally, I'm sad. I'm freaking sad and I'm not sure anyone sees it. I'm just freaking sad! "Shellye, are you sad?" "No. What gave you that idea?" But seriously, I AM SAD! There are lots of reasons why I'm sad, but the topic of the day is my father-in-law. I'm sad over what's going on with him, but not just him, the elderly in general.

My father-in-law has Lewy Body Dementia, and I've discussed this in great detail. And he had to go through another surgery, which I will get to later. I've seen him being shuffled around from room to room. I've seen him taken care of, but not really cared for. The fact of the matter is that he's a GOMER (Get Out of My Emergency Room). And the first thing ER doctors want to do is get rid of GOMERS. In their defense, 90% of the time, there is nothing they can do for the elderly. They treat their symptoms and send them back to their nursing homes, skilled rehabilitation facilities, assisted living facilities, or home with their son or daughter who is their sole caregiver. Once they return to these facilities, they are put back in their rooms. Nurse's Aids have, oh let's say about 50 patients, and one hour in which to check on each patient, and they've got to be quick about it. Lifting assistance is not taken into account. General assistance (washing, bathing, helping them comb their hair, feeding them, helping them dress) is not taken into account. Having to turn bed fast patients over is not taken into account. ONE Nurse's Aid has less than four minutes per patient, one. Read it. And do you know what happens as a result of this? The patients get a lesser quality of care. My mom described a nurse's aid feeding a patient as, "squirting pureed food into an old person's mouth," which is due to their high patient load and low amount of time the nurse's aid is able to spend with the patient. Does that sound enjoyable to you? Is this what America does with its elderly? My heart is broken. I AM SAD, just freaking flat out depressed over the thought of this. What the heck happened to compassion? What happened to nurse's aids having the time to sit and spoon feed a patient and interact with them? The nurse's aids at my maternal grandmother's facility were great! I saw them going into rooms, interacting with the patient and his or her family, feeding them, talking to them, even if they couldn't talk back! Now I hear horror stories of nurse's aids and nurses being openly prejudice to their elderly patients who lived a homosexual lifestyle, or being negligent because they either don't care or have no time. Listen, there is no room in medicine for prejudice. Medicine is not black, white, gay, straight, young, or old. When you go into the medical field, you take an oath to do no harm. It doesn't matter if the bully who picked on you in high school walks in that door with a gunshot wound, MEDICINE KNOWS NO PREJUDICE! Healing is not just for a select group. When Jesus healed the sick, he didn't say, "Sorry, can't heal you because you're a homosexual," he said, "BE MADE WHOLE!" (This was usually followed by, "Go and sin no more," but that's not the point I'm trying to make right now, but I wanted it to be said.) Back to medicine, there is an oath involved to do no harm. DO NO HARM. That means DO NOT HARM!!! I think negligence or lack of quality in care is just as harmful as blatant abuse of a patient. It's the same thing. You can't tell me there's a difference. I want to be a doctor with all of my heart, and even if I don't make it, I'm going to be able to say I tried. Even if my OCD stops me, I will do everything I can from a non medical standpoint. I will speak out against this. I will do something to change it. This is where my heart is. Someone needs to stand up and fight for those who can't fight for themselves, like my father-in-law.

My father-in-law had surgery today. He had another bowel blockage, which may have caused kidney failure, (they say "near kidney failure" because his kidney function is dangerously low). Let me back up a bit. Last week, my father-in-law was taken to the hospital via ambulance due to abdominal pain. They admitted him for observation. He started regurgitating without explanation. They put in an NG tube, said his bowels and kidneys weren't working, and waited several days before deciding to do surgery. His belly bloated. The IV fluids weren't helping because they were all going to his stomach, but not exiting the body. My father-in-law somehow keeps getting his NG tube messed up, coiled, or out because he hates it. I know he does. I swear that the man is pulling it out on his own! And now that his hands are restrained, he is using his stomach muscles and his throat muscles to move the thing around and will it out of his body! They've had to replace it three or four times! The good news is that they do keep checking it to see what he's done with it this time. *lol* I feel bad for him, but it's funny how he's been able to get it out while his hands have been restrained! We were told they would probably have to place another one. Poor guy. He hates those things.

My father-in-law is in the ICU on a ventilator with his hands restrained so he doesn't pull it out. He was calm. He opened his eyes. He kept trying to talk to us. Doug and my mother-in-law (mnl) warned me about going back there. Fortunately, I was able to remain vertical instead of ending up horizontal. They let all three of us back there, which the sign said two only. So my mnl came back a few minutes later. I was fine until I saw this chart that the patient points to in order to communicate. My father-in-law has Lewy Body Dementia. He barely knows us. His speech was unintelligible the last time we visited. I don't understand how he's going to be able to speak for himself. When he looks at that chart, he could see anything but what's on that chart. He may tell them the chart is written in a foreign language he can't understand. How's he going to speak for himself? How is he going to tell them what he needs? How? Because I don't get it! And as I looked at that chart, I started crying. I made some excuse for Doug and I to leave the room because I didn't want to cry in front of my mnl. She often mirrors my mood, and I'm supposed to be strong for her. If she saw me fall apart, she may have fallen apart. So Doug and I went out into the lobby and I cried. I just couldn't help myself. This whole situation just sucks! It totally freaking sucks!!! And my hands are tied. I can't do a thing to help him. None of us can even stay in the room the whole time because of the odd hours at the ICU. It's a half hour to visit your loved one every three hours. I'm worried that he is going to freak out once the vent and the restraints are taken away, and none of us can stay there with him.

Why am I under the table and dreaming?
Because my dreams are big, and somewhat intimidating.
Because I need to escape from reality every once in a while.
Because my life really sucks right now and I can't deal with it.



Because all of the above...

When It Rains, It Pours...

I do love this picture...

The last two days have been...interesting. For starters, our electric got shut off on Wednesday, which shocked us both because we had it switched over in February. We owed a past due amount, and our request was denied, but we weren't told it was denied, so the shut off came as a shock. Thankfully, we were able to make the payment yesterday and get it turned back on today.

If that isn't bad enough, the gas was shut off yesterday morning. We couldn't get the gas switched over but that was the gas company's fault. They have implemented stricter rules about getting service switched over. They informed us that we had to send in a notarized statement from our landlady stating that we are new tenants and not the former tenants. When Doug asked why, the gas company representative informed us that the previous tenant never paid their gas bill. It amazes me that we're the ones getting punished for it, and our landlady has to be dragged into it, but still, we made plans to get this accomplished today.

So the gas got turned off. The man who came to turn it off yelled at Doug for not paying the gas bill. Doug tried to explain to the man that it wasn't even our gas bill, that he gets paid tomorrow and was going to do what the company instructed and have it switched over then, but the man was a real jerk and continued to yell about how we're keeping his family from eating, then he turned it off and left. I don't really care about the gas because we have an electric stove, and we can heat up water to shower/bathe if we have to. That's no big deal. We've been there and done that before. What upset me was how the man acted. They kept insisting we were the ones who didn't pay our gas bill, and acted like Doug was lying. As the man could plainly see, Doug is NOT the same name as the name on the gas bill, not even the same last name, and secondly, Doug is not a female, but I guess we were lying anyway. *lol* I still don't get how we were keeping his family from eating while he yelled at us before we could get a word in edgewise. We weren't telling him he couldn't turn it off, it wasn't even our gas service! *shrugs*

Doug called the gas company today to see how much the deposit would be to get it switched over, and if the notarized letter was still required. Everything seemed like it was a go, but then they tried to tell us we had a past due bill of $1000.00! First of all, we've had the gas shut off before, and they don't wait for you to rack up bills that high. They shut us off at $200.00 last year because they couldn't wait two days until Doug got paid. Secondly, they said it was a bill from 2009 for an old address, a place we only lived at for one month during 2009, so now we have to prove that we didn't live there past January of 2009. And thirdly, even if we did not pay the gas bill in January of 2009, the bill could not have reached $1000.00. My fourth and final point, they let us switch it over to the apartment we just moved from to here. So, if we incurred a bill that high, why didn't they make us aware of any past due amount at that time? Case in point, an investigation is going to be conducted because there's no possible way that we owe $1000.00 to the gas company. We've lived without gas service before, and while it was inconvenient, we can get through it again until we figure out what can be done to prove that it's not our past due bill. *sighs* Craziness.

I lost two days worth of work on my book. I eat, sleep, and breathe writing. I felt like my life was over because I couldn't write!

When I don't have any electric, I can't write. When I can't write, I think, and when I think, I worry, and when I worry, it's a vicious cycle because I have OCD, which is why I can spend countless hours of research for my book perfecting every letter, every word, every sentence. And when I can't manage my OCD, I panic. Don't get OCD. Go to DirecTV. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I also have ADD if you can't tell. *sighs*

How I feel about my book series!

I was experiencing some intense nausea on Wednesday afternoon, after having a late lunch. I went to church that evening, and despite feeling lousy, I enjoyed the service. Then, I picked Doug up from school. Since we had no electric, we hit the McDonald's across from ITT so I could get online. I felt horrible, but I knew I had to eat something, so I grabbed a coke and a couple of apple pies. I took one drink of the coke and my stomach started rolling. I wasn't sure if I was going to be okay, but I took a bite of the apple pie, and suddenly, I was okay. It was really strange. I posted something about it on Facebook yesterday, and got some funny responses. One of my friends asked, "Do you think it's made with real apples?" Doug jokingly said that the secret ingredient must be Pepto Bismol, and he kept calling it "Pepto Pie". *LOL* I don't care what was in it, all I cared about was that it worked!!! *lol* I HATE being nauseated! So when I felt nauseated yesterday afternoon, the first thing I did was go to McDonald's and get an apple pie, and I was fine once I ate it. Whatever was going on is better today. I don't know. Just glad I'm feeling better.

Not much going on at this point at the cozy cottage. Despite the mess we've been through the past few days, I love it here! It's so peaceful and happy, and inspiring! I'm stretched out on the bed with my boy kitty laying beside me, and my girl kitty sleeping around my feet. I'm about to bust a mad slizzice in my book. So glad to be able to get some work done! I can't live without writing. (Of course, I can't write without living, but that's another story for another time.)

And my book series... *LOL* True story!

This quote made me giggle!

I wish I owned a typewriter...although I would end up typing, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," repeatedly while giggling.

I guess even fiction writers bleed a little of their lives through their characters. All of my characters reflect some of my attributes, and possess attributes that I wish I had.

Anyway, hope everyone is having a good day day, and if I don't post anything this weekend, you know where I'll be and what I'll be doing!

Let's hope it doesn't rain as much as it has in the last two days!