thisismydisease.com

before i say what i have to say i’m going to tell you:

(1) you can’t fix this;

(2) you can’t make it better;

(3) you can’t take it away.

but i have to say what i need to say. this is my blog and my disease.

i don’t feel well.

my feet hurt so much that, today, i sequestered myself in the wedge and relaxed in an attempt to  make it all go away. it worked for a while - until little dog decided to be even more annoying than usual and had me running from the bedroom to the living room to the kitchen to the patio and everywhere else he dragged me. oh and let’s not forget the repeated head-butts and the bite to my right foot.

so i don’t feel well.

so i’m just going to try once more to relax. maybe watch some tv or a movie. sleep. cry. dream (but hopefully not repeat last night’s dream, in which sarah palin turned her nomination over to someone - but i’m not sure who because i woke up).

…and although the memory of yesterday night still exists, I’m feeling almost like myself now. I’m not going to go into detail - not because I want to keep anything from you dear friends - but because I don’t want to relive it again in any way, shape or form. And it’s all about me, after all. (For those of you who really want to find out what happened send me an email. I’ll be more than happy to provide you with a step-by-step outline on how you, yes you, can come within minutes of having to go to the ER for emergency surgery.) I will share a few things:

(1) Diet is important - and when you find something that works and your doctor says it works stick with it. Don’t listen to the “you have to try this” and “you have to try that” crap (especially when it comes to vegetables and grains and the like) that gets forced upon recommended to you by well-wisher. Instead, tell the well wishers to try it out themselves and report back (in this case that would most likely be after they’ve returned from the ER and that emergency surgery).
(2) The door of the dryer does not make a comfortable pillow, even when padded with clean laundry.
(3) Short dogs think it’s really funny when mummy’s face is at their face’s level for extended periods of time. That’s when their sense of humour comes out - and they take great pleasure in smacking you in the eyes and the face and across the head repeatedly - all the while laughing and going “keh keh keh” (which is the sound Little Dog makes when he’s laughing).
(4) Short dogs with water-intake-related OCD really don’t care what they find in the toilet. They’ll drink it regardless. (Let’s have a collective and huge “Eeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwww” here, please. On the count of three…)

So, yeah, with another day almost done and myself getting closer to feeling like the “myself” I am these days, all is status quo in the neighbourhood.

Excuse me while I go beat Little Dog senseless. His water-intake-related OCD is in high swing tonight. I swear I’m just going to throw him in a swimming pool and let him at it. Oh now wait…he doesn’t know how to swim. Is that a problem or an opportunity

I’m feeling better. ‘Just wanted to drop a quick post to keep you informed. I’m going back to sleep now, though. Nighty.

I’m not feeling well tonight. I’m going to bed to cuddle my pillows and Zachy and Boo Boo. I’ll respond to comments and write a real post tomorrow.

Sorry, folks.

If you want to have a lot of fun today, go out and get yourself a bad case of neuropathy - and add a case of poison ivy on top of it. Scratching the itchies on top of the nerve pain should provide you with hours of enjoyment.

This PSA is brought to you by someone who just wants to share the fun with people who might actually find it fun. Me…not so much.

Is there any particular reason why all drugs must be provided in child-proof bottles unless otherwise specified?

Do I really look like the type of person that’s going to leave my bottles o’stuff laying around where one of the two children in the neighbourhood can find them and, *shudder*, eat them thinking they’re candies?

Is there any reasons we assume children are stupid and don’t know the difference between sweet smelling and tasting sweets and foul smelling and tasting drugs?

I agree children should be protected at all possible costs - but geez, let’s be real here. Let’s be responsible - take responsibility - and not rely on bottles to police the little ones.  Let’s police them ourselves and, by doing so, save our pathetic and crippled hands from further pain.

Can you tell I’ve had to break into no fewer than seven child-proof bottles so far today and am feeling a bit more than surly because of it? Now that I’ve gotten them open there’s no shot they’re going to be fully closed again. So, if you’re afraid your young ones are going to mistake poop-stinky chemo and other assorted stinky drugs for sweets don’t bring them near my desk.

You’ve been warned.

Well that reprieve was short-lived.

I’ve managed to go a week without needing any oxycodone to get from “Point A to Point B”. That record broke just about an hour ago when, after two doses of ibuprofen since 6:00 AM, the pain in my hands was too much to continue to power through. So here I am, high on narcotics and fuzzy-eyed, trying to type with gloves on and feeling out of sorts. And drinking orange juice. 40 ounces so far. Crap. My tongue is going to hate me for this tonight or tomorrow morning.

For the first time since being in the hospital, I took the oxycodone with food instead of milk. For the first time since being in the hospital I’m feeling the effects of it.

The oxycodone taken with milk instead of food makes me “happy high” - upbeat, feeling overall good, just enough edge off the pain to function almost normally…you know, feeling like “me”. Idiot that I am, though, I took it just after eating real food - the way I had to take it in the hospital. Now I feel like zombies look - and probably look worse than they do. I’m shaking, dizzy, listless - and the pain hasn’t subsided even to the “edge off” level. And my vision is all wonky on top of everything else. Note to self: Remember oxycodone experiences from in the hospital. Do not wash. Do not rinse. Do not repeat.

I wish I could just take DL-phenylalanine for this. I don’t like the drugs. But, alas, the drugs are the lesser of the evils considering DL-phenylalanine, if not taken properly, could kill me (especially with the weight fluctuations I’m going through).

So here I am feeling pathetic and needing a fresh new puppy to hug and snuggle (since Little Dog is being particularly dorky today) with Dwight the dear deer hunter giving me that evil look of his.

Oh well…it could be worse. I’ve got an Amazon order en route - so at some point this late afternoon I’ll have a new coffee beaker and saute pan to cut my way into. That’ll be fun. Well, OK, not fully fun (especially when it comes to the coffee beaker - it’s a replacement for the one that broke in the dishwasher) - but fun enough.