This Space is Blank
I have no title for today's blog because I think it is just going to be a mish mash of stuff. I guess I could have called is "mish mash." But I didn't.
First, a correction. In the blog about my Kidney Stone I wrote that stones above .5 mm. were considered too large and needed to be removed. Ummm, yeah, no, not really. That should be .5 cm. or 5 mm. I still haven't heard back about my CT scan so we are still waiting to find out if it has grown.
Dave's birthday is approaching. He will be turning 38 (and finally catching up with me!) on October 14th. Dave is a bit bitter about his birth date. You see, until he met me the only person he knew with his birthday was, well, him. But once he married into my family the world changed.
My sister was born on October 14th. My Uncle Bill was born on October 14th. My sister's-bro-in law was born on October 14th. And, just today, someone new was discovered. Dave was walking into Betsy's school to pick her up for the day when the new middle school teacher stopped him. Apparently word had gotten out about the 10/14 epidemic. Sam (the teacher) let Dave know he was also part of this "special" group.
Personally, I think Dave's lucky. I haven't found many people with a July 6th birthday, and certainly no one who is a relative or friend or someone I see on a regular basis.
This year Dave will be celebrating alone as my sister will still be on her way home from her family vacation to Maryland, and my parents will actually be in Maryland on that day. I hope he enjoys his day of solo celebration. I would tell you what I bought him for this birthday, but with my luck this will be the day he actually reads my blog and it would spoil the surprise!
I am contemplating driving my electric scooter (yes I own one of those) to Target this evening. Our housing development is right next door to a strip mall with a Super Target, Michael's Crafts, and Petsmart. It used to have a Best Buy, but alas, it closed down. I am not sure what they are going to put in its place. Needless to say it is a dangerous strip mall.
Although I can't drive my car, it is not too far of a trip on the electric scooter. It is the one way I can go out and do shopping on my own without having to rely on anyone. The only problem is that I have to be careful about how much I buy as I need to be able to transport everything home. I want to get some special things for Dave's birthday, and I also just kinda want to wander around a store by myself.
We will see if I can gather enough energy to make this event possible.
So that is my mish mash for the day. Betsy is coming inside after playing and dinner is almost ready. Nummies in the Tummies!
One last thing. Jacob, if by some off chance you read this post, I am sorry I did not call you today. I am not a good patient and at our next session I promise to give you ten entire minutes of complete silence where I comply with your every whim. Well, make that five minutes. You can't expect me to perform miracles, can you Jacob?
TTFN (yes, I really did type that)
Diane.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
How Does It Feel?
Like A Rolling Stone...
It looks like we are having a week of medical posts. Although that is my life so I guess it is the theme of my blog. I went to the urologist on Tuesday to produce the requisite urine sample for him to send off so that it could once again come back with the same report we have received the other five times.
I had already decided that I was pulling out the big guns. Before we could get far into the conversation I "delicately hinted" that perhaps it was time to involve Infectious Disease. Praise the Lord! The doctor agreed! Although maybe he was looking for an excuse to get rid of me...
As of today I am in the process of getting my ID doctors involved. They saved my life once, certainly they can fix a measly little uber hateful UTI.
Since I won the ID doctor thing so easily I should have known more would come. My urologist asked me if I had ever had a scan done on my kidneys. I responded in the negative and my husband agreed. Certainly I would have remembered that, right?
Not so much. The doctor pulled up my records from when I had been in the hospital last year for my sepsis. He clicked and he clacked and he had his "Eureka!" moment. Apparently while I was fast "asleep" and on the ventilator the doctors did indeed scan my kidneys with a CT. I had been in kidney failure, so this kind of made sense. Dave said he knew nothing about it. The results of the CT showed that I had a 1.2 cm kidney stone in my right kidney.
Huh? What? Don't you think they should have mentioned this at some point????
To put this in perspective I have done a little research. Anything above .5 mm is considered as definitely needing removal. Mine is more than twice that size! Also, that scan was over a year ago, it's possible mine has grown even more.
The urologist was now on a role. He further went on to say that a stone in my Kidney could be harboring the bacteria that is giving me the UTI's. It is possible that the antibiotics I have been on have killed the bacteria in my bladder, but were not powerful enough to kill it off the stone up in my Kidney. So, once I stopped the antibiotic the stone immediately reseeded my bladder with bacteria, and there I was infected again.
Now, at this point in time this is just a theory. After the urologist, I went and had a new CT done, along with an x-ray (still waiting for results). But I am getting the feeling that the sucker is going to need to go. If it ever travels and blocks my ureter, I am screwed. Plus, my Kidney's, although healthy, are delicate these days. A stone does not help.
Again, I have had another first. I am losing my virginity a lot these days! I now have had my first Kidney stone, and it's a nice large one. Yippee for me. (please note sarcasm)
Now there will be more appts. with the urologist to figure out the stone situation, and appts. with the ID to figure out the infection decision. If they decide they are related then I will either be having something snaked up into my Kidney to smash the stone and remove it, or some kind of treatment that uses waves through your skin to destroy it (not sure how that one works).
Let's think back to my anger/behavior post. I have a right to feel pissed, sad, pissed some more, frustrated, and ready to Gallagher the produce department of my grocery store. But, I will not. Instead I will continue to drink water like there is no tomorrow, silently scream every time I pee, and put my head on my desk when I try to figure out how to schedule all the doctor appointments without making me pass out due to total exhaustion.
On the bright side, we all got vaccinated for FLU today. Trust me, if you have not been vaccinated, GO GET YOUR SHOT! You do NOT want to be the one without a shot if the next pandemic occurs. Not that the shot will necessarily protect against that, but at least it gives you a fighting chance. :-)
To close off this particularly boringish blog, I am sorry, but it is kind of boring tonight. I will conclude with this pithy statement:
Hmmm...never mind, I actually don't have one! Best wishes to you all my chicos and chicas!
Your blogger, Diane.
It looks like we are having a week of medical posts. Although that is my life so I guess it is the theme of my blog. I went to the urologist on Tuesday to produce the requisite urine sample for him to send off so that it could once again come back with the same report we have received the other five times.
I had already decided that I was pulling out the big guns. Before we could get far into the conversation I "delicately hinted" that perhaps it was time to involve Infectious Disease. Praise the Lord! The doctor agreed! Although maybe he was looking for an excuse to get rid of me...
As of today I am in the process of getting my ID doctors involved. They saved my life once, certainly they can fix a measly little uber hateful UTI.
Since I won the ID doctor thing so easily I should have known more would come. My urologist asked me if I had ever had a scan done on my kidneys. I responded in the negative and my husband agreed. Certainly I would have remembered that, right?
Not so much. The doctor pulled up my records from when I had been in the hospital last year for my sepsis. He clicked and he clacked and he had his "Eureka!" moment. Apparently while I was fast "asleep" and on the ventilator the doctors did indeed scan my kidneys with a CT. I had been in kidney failure, so this kind of made sense. Dave said he knew nothing about it. The results of the CT showed that I had a 1.2 cm kidney stone in my right kidney.
Huh? What? Don't you think they should have mentioned this at some point????
To put this in perspective I have done a little research. Anything above .5 mm is considered as definitely needing removal. Mine is more than twice that size! Also, that scan was over a year ago, it's possible mine has grown even more.
The urologist was now on a role. He further went on to say that a stone in my Kidney could be harboring the bacteria that is giving me the UTI's. It is possible that the antibiotics I have been on have killed the bacteria in my bladder, but were not powerful enough to kill it off the stone up in my Kidney. So, once I stopped the antibiotic the stone immediately reseeded my bladder with bacteria, and there I was infected again.
Now, at this point in time this is just a theory. After the urologist, I went and had a new CT done, along with an x-ray (still waiting for results). But I am getting the feeling that the sucker is going to need to go. If it ever travels and blocks my ureter, I am screwed. Plus, my Kidney's, although healthy, are delicate these days. A stone does not help.
Again, I have had another first. I am losing my virginity a lot these days! I now have had my first Kidney stone, and it's a nice large one. Yippee for me. (please note sarcasm)
Now there will be more appts. with the urologist to figure out the stone situation, and appts. with the ID to figure out the infection decision. If they decide they are related then I will either be having something snaked up into my Kidney to smash the stone and remove it, or some kind of treatment that uses waves through your skin to destroy it (not sure how that one works).
Let's think back to my anger/behavior post. I have a right to feel pissed, sad, pissed some more, frustrated, and ready to Gallagher the produce department of my grocery store. But, I will not. Instead I will continue to drink water like there is no tomorrow, silently scream every time I pee, and put my head on my desk when I try to figure out how to schedule all the doctor appointments without making me pass out due to total exhaustion.
On the bright side, we all got vaccinated for FLU today. Trust me, if you have not been vaccinated, GO GET YOUR SHOT! You do NOT want to be the one without a shot if the next pandemic occurs. Not that the shot will necessarily protect against that, but at least it gives you a fighting chance. :-)
To close off this particularly boringish blog, I am sorry, but it is kind of boring tonight. I will conclude with this pithy statement:
Hmmm...never mind, I actually don't have one! Best wishes to you all my chicos and chicas!
Your blogger, Diane.
Monday, October 8, 2012
My First Time....
My First Nosebleed
Yes, it is true. I have never had a nosebleed before in my life till last night. I was having a dandy evening sitting at my laptop watching Mad Men on Netflix. I am only on the 5th episode of Season 1 and still trying to decide if I want to commit. I like the show but I am not sure I can take all the drinking and smoking and men wearing hats. I like the opening theme and I hum it in my head all day. It really isn't much of a tune, but it has become stuck.
So, I am minding my own business when I think I feel moisture near my upper lip. I reach up with a finger to wipe it off, not really processing what it could be and then I look down at my hand. My entire finger is covered in blood!
I screamed for Dave while taking a swab at my nose with my other hand (I know, dumb move) and then I saw a napkin hiding on the corner of my desk. I immediately picked it up and started wiping. The blood bath was horrific.
Dave came rushing in and I started screaming about looking up on the Internet on what to do for a nosebleed. (There was a lot of hysterical screaming happening)He said to put my head back and I said that I knew that was a no-no because you would have blood go down your throat and swallow it. (How do I know these things? I used to teach kids!)
Then I told Dave to go get napkins, tissues, paper towels, anything. He came back with reinforcement paper product while he read to me the Internet findings. I was supposed to sit up straight, lean slightly forward and pinch my nose together for at least five minutes or until the bleeding had stopped.
For those of you wondering why I didn't go rushing for tissues, etc... remember that I am sitting in my den in my wheelchair with bloody hands and no way to move. As I sit there pinching my nose and feeling incredibly grossed out by the entire event I realize that a more pressing need has developed.
I have to pee.
For some reason my body has decided to only give me about ten seconds from the time it tells me I have to pee before just trying to take over itself. I have actually read that this can happen to people in wheelchairs. Therefore I need to be extra vigilant and always head to the bathroom the minute my brain sends out the signal.
But what do you do when you are supposed to be pinching your nose for five minutes? I waited. I waited some more. Then I knew I could not wait anymore. In a panicked voice I said to Dave, "I have to PEEEEE!" Thank God for Dave. He grabbed the wheelchair and navigated through the narrow doorway only hitting the dresser once, then through the foyer/hall and past the kitchen into our bedroom. I concentrated on trying to keep my leg/stumpie from becoming victims of reckless driving. He took the steep turn into our bathroom and I slammed on the brakes (and let go of my nose!) as we reached the target.
We will suffice to say that I made it. But just. While in the bathroom I got rid of the blood on my hands and determined that my nose was no longer a river of red. I had read that I wasn't supposed to blow or pick it (yes, they actually say that!) for 24 hours. I looked in the mirror expecting to see a nose that had been through WWIII, but it looked suspiciously normal. I held up a small mirror and tried to look up my nostril. I saw a tiny bit of red, but nothing grotesque or abnormal.
Under my own steam, now that I had clean hands, I rolled back into the den and quickly searched for "Causes of Nosebleeds." I really try hard not to be a hypochondriac, but when you are me and so many strange things go wrong all the time, it is hard not to be looking for the hammer that is going to come a 'whackin. Although I latched on to some of the rare and exotic causes of nosebleeds I think we have determined that it was just from dry air.
Tonight I bought some saline spray to help "moisturize" my nose. It actually felt pretty good.
I have no idea how I came to be 38 without ever having a nosebleed. But boy was it traumatic. How can so much blood come from such a small area??
I am no longer a nosebleed virgin. Trust me, in this case I would have worn the promise ring forever!
Yes, it is true. I have never had a nosebleed before in my life till last night. I was having a dandy evening sitting at my laptop watching Mad Men on Netflix. I am only on the 5th episode of Season 1 and still trying to decide if I want to commit. I like the show but I am not sure I can take all the drinking and smoking and men wearing hats. I like the opening theme and I hum it in my head all day. It really isn't much of a tune, but it has become stuck.
So, I am minding my own business when I think I feel moisture near my upper lip. I reach up with a finger to wipe it off, not really processing what it could be and then I look down at my hand. My entire finger is covered in blood!
I screamed for Dave while taking a swab at my nose with my other hand (I know, dumb move) and then I saw a napkin hiding on the corner of my desk. I immediately picked it up and started wiping. The blood bath was horrific.
Dave came rushing in and I started screaming about looking up on the Internet on what to do for a nosebleed. (There was a lot of hysterical screaming happening)He said to put my head back and I said that I knew that was a no-no because you would have blood go down your throat and swallow it. (How do I know these things? I used to teach kids!)
Then I told Dave to go get napkins, tissues, paper towels, anything. He came back with reinforcement paper product while he read to me the Internet findings. I was supposed to sit up straight, lean slightly forward and pinch my nose together for at least five minutes or until the bleeding had stopped.
For those of you wondering why I didn't go rushing for tissues, etc... remember that I am sitting in my den in my wheelchair with bloody hands and no way to move. As I sit there pinching my nose and feeling incredibly grossed out by the entire event I realize that a more pressing need has developed.
I have to pee.
For some reason my body has decided to only give me about ten seconds from the time it tells me I have to pee before just trying to take over itself. I have actually read that this can happen to people in wheelchairs. Therefore I need to be extra vigilant and always head to the bathroom the minute my brain sends out the signal.
But what do you do when you are supposed to be pinching your nose for five minutes? I waited. I waited some more. Then I knew I could not wait anymore. In a panicked voice I said to Dave, "I have to PEEEEE!" Thank God for Dave. He grabbed the wheelchair and navigated through the narrow doorway only hitting the dresser once, then through the foyer/hall and past the kitchen into our bedroom. I concentrated on trying to keep my leg/stumpie from becoming victims of reckless driving. He took the steep turn into our bathroom and I slammed on the brakes (and let go of my nose!) as we reached the target.
We will suffice to say that I made it. But just. While in the bathroom I got rid of the blood on my hands and determined that my nose was no longer a river of red. I had read that I wasn't supposed to blow or pick it (yes, they actually say that!) for 24 hours. I looked in the mirror expecting to see a nose that had been through WWIII, but it looked suspiciously normal. I held up a small mirror and tried to look up my nostril. I saw a tiny bit of red, but nothing grotesque or abnormal.
Under my own steam, now that I had clean hands, I rolled back into the den and quickly searched for "Causes of Nosebleeds." I really try hard not to be a hypochondriac, but when you are me and so many strange things go wrong all the time, it is hard not to be looking for the hammer that is going to come a 'whackin. Although I latched on to some of the rare and exotic causes of nosebleeds I think we have determined that it was just from dry air.
Tonight I bought some saline spray to help "moisturize" my nose. It actually felt pretty good.
I have no idea how I came to be 38 without ever having a nosebleed. But boy was it traumatic. How can so much blood come from such a small area??
I am no longer a nosebleed virgin. Trust me, in this case I would have worn the promise ring forever!
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Angry Behavior
What comes after anger?
I see a psychologist. That probably won't really surprise anyone. I haven't been seeing him that long, just since July. It would have been a lot more healthy if I had started last year, but I enjoy living in denial. He has told me that I have a right to my feelings. My feelings can't be argued with, they can't be denied. I can't be told that I can't feel a certain way. But there are always two sides. You have a right to your feelings, but not to your behavior.
It is okay if I am pissed off at the world because my hands are so swollen that I can't make a fist. I have a right to be pissed. It is not okay to call my husband an idiot because he forgot to fill up the water box the night before, just because I am in pain. See, bad behavior. Have I truly called my husband an idiot for something so petty? Yes, is my shaming answer.
Am I sorry for it? Of course. A million times sorry. And I tell him so. I have worked hard to minimize my angry behaviors.
But then there are times when you are angry at the world. And then I wonder....what comes after anger? Is it total despair? I feel despair as I write to you tonight. I am wrapped up in a Mickie and Minnie plush throw, a nice cold bottle of water at my side, and my lap top pulled up to my oversized stomach. I don't know why the despair has come into my brain, and I wish it would go away.
Exhaustion fills my body when it comes to angry. I am so damn tired of being angry. This anger isn't just about me and my problems, it is about so much more. It is about friends dying. Mother's dying. People dealing with horrible infections. Quad amputees. Child abuse. Learning disabilities. Genocide. Yes! Genocide! All of these things make me so made and angry at this world.
My religious training is supposed to kick in right about now with the usual platitudes. But although I believe, I am still angry. I still despair.
Sometimes I wonder what it is like to live in a world where you do not wake up every day in pain and exhausted. What does it feel like not to swallow a pharmacy twice a day, or take your temperature every four hours?
I am not writing this looking for sympathy. I am writing it because they are my feelings, and as I said, my feelings are valid. My behavior (the way I am dealing currently with my feelings) is to blog. I hope by blogging it all out I will have a somewhat cathartic experience and perhaps no longer feel like I am headed toward despair.
I can pretty much guarantee that I will be right as rain tomorrow (or well, at least not in a "mood"). But tonight I wallow. I also simmer with slight rage. And tiredness. Goodnight world!
Diane.
I see a psychologist. That probably won't really surprise anyone. I haven't been seeing him that long, just since July. It would have been a lot more healthy if I had started last year, but I enjoy living in denial. He has told me that I have a right to my feelings. My feelings can't be argued with, they can't be denied. I can't be told that I can't feel a certain way. But there are always two sides. You have a right to your feelings, but not to your behavior.
It is okay if I am pissed off at the world because my hands are so swollen that I can't make a fist. I have a right to be pissed. It is not okay to call my husband an idiot because he forgot to fill up the water box the night before, just because I am in pain. See, bad behavior. Have I truly called my husband an idiot for something so petty? Yes, is my shaming answer.
Am I sorry for it? Of course. A million times sorry. And I tell him so. I have worked hard to minimize my angry behaviors.
But then there are times when you are angry at the world. And then I wonder....what comes after anger? Is it total despair? I feel despair as I write to you tonight. I am wrapped up in a Mickie and Minnie plush throw, a nice cold bottle of water at my side, and my lap top pulled up to my oversized stomach. I don't know why the despair has come into my brain, and I wish it would go away.
Exhaustion fills my body when it comes to angry. I am so damn tired of being angry. This anger isn't just about me and my problems, it is about so much more. It is about friends dying. Mother's dying. People dealing with horrible infections. Quad amputees. Child abuse. Learning disabilities. Genocide. Yes! Genocide! All of these things make me so made and angry at this world.
My religious training is supposed to kick in right about now with the usual platitudes. But although I believe, I am still angry. I still despair.
Sometimes I wonder what it is like to live in a world where you do not wake up every day in pain and exhausted. What does it feel like not to swallow a pharmacy twice a day, or take your temperature every four hours?
I am not writing this looking for sympathy. I am writing it because they are my feelings, and as I said, my feelings are valid. My behavior (the way I am dealing currently with my feelings) is to blog. I hope by blogging it all out I will have a somewhat cathartic experience and perhaps no longer feel like I am headed toward despair.
I can pretty much guarantee that I will be right as rain tomorrow (or well, at least not in a "mood"). But tonight I wallow. I also simmer with slight rage. And tiredness. Goodnight world!
Diane.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Overwhelmed
Help! I Need Somebody! Help! Not Just Anybody!
Although I try to present myself as a lady of leisure, my life is actually quite busy. My sleeping schedule is completely messed up so I tend to sleep during the day when Dave is at work and Betsy at school, and work during the night when Betsy and Dave are asleep. Of course, this does not always work out for the best as I often have appointments during the day that interrupt my day time sleep, or my Lupus fatigue hits in the night and I actually go to sleep while it is still dark.
What work am I doing? Crazy work. Yesterday I blogged about myself and my desire to collect college degrees and how I was currently in school. My Montessori Teacher Training program is not for the soft of heart. It is designed to be a Master's level program and once you are finished you can earn a M.A. degree just by taking a few extra courses. It is a 26 month program that is mostly on-line with approximately two-week residencies each summer. You must complete an internship at a Montessori school accepted by the training program.
Most of my fellow students are teaching right now, and went to residency in the beginning of the summer. Due to the fact that I am still trying to learn how to walk I am doing things a bit differently. But, I am full on in when it comes to the on-line course work. Every week we watch video lectures. They can add up, and just as if I was in a regular classroom I need to take notes and listen carefully or I will never make it through. The reading list is extensive. Currently we are reading "The Absorbent Mind" by Maria Montessori. It is far from "easy reading." We are also required to answer discussion questions and respond to our fellow cohort's responses.
Then there are various class assignments. We have a Montessori Philosophy paper coming due on October 1st. We were assigned partners to fashion a definition for the question, "What is Montessori?" Because we are all in different parts in (and out of) the U.S., we must meet on Skype, the Class Chat Room, Phone, etc... My desk is cluttered with post-its reminding me to not forget our weekly chat (I've missed it twice already!!), along with papers needing to be added to my various Montessori albums. I am usually a very organized person. But like I have been saying all year, I think I seriously lost some brain cells while on the ventilator because I feel slow. It's like my brain is always two feet behind me.
So I am in school. But I am also teaching school. I can't teach at a "flesh and blood" school, but nothing is preventing me from teaching virtually. I teach at an online university as an adjunct. Each course runs for five weeks. I am responsible for grading, answering questions, beating my head against something hard, and generally moaning and wailing over the written assignments scheduled for each course. I have learned that there are more people in this world who cannot put a sentence together that I care to contemplate.
I spend a lot of time sending out e-mails attempting to get students to even turn in their assignments in the first place. I do my best to cajole them into reading the assignment instructions (which sometimes I believe never happens), and I constantly remind them that I am the "go to" person for all things writing related. Then on grading weeks, because I procrastinate, I stay up all night grading their papers and lamenting all over again about the future state of the nation.
This "job" adds to my post-it collection as I keep a running tab on who is late turning in an assignment, who possibly plagiarized, and who is on my "please help me now" list because I cannot even read their typed writing. But it brings in extra money, and in my current condition extra money is required and money outside the home is not going to happen. It is not ideal, but I am lucky to have any work. Plus, sometimes I do get through to a student. When I get a "thank you" e-mail at the end of a course I do feel satisfaction. Yes, it can be good to be a teacher.
But, there is more to my life then on-line student and on-line teacher. Twice a week I go to Personal Torture sessions with my friend Jacob. Okay, so it is really Physical Therapy, but when I am shaking and hyperventilating I do tend to think of it as a form of torture. The kicker is, if I want to walk, I have to do PT full on, both at the gym with Jacob the Punisher, and at home where I can moan and wail as loud as I want AND always listen to my favorite music! Jacob is actually an amazing physical therapist, and since he has this blog address he might actually read this. He will then probably assume I am drunk or drugged as I would never say such a thing to his face.
Besides PT I have a recurring appt. with the Psychologist, nicknamed Dr. Icky (no, he is not icky, it has to do with his name!). I am not embarrassed to admit I need a psychologist. If you had been through what I've been through (almost dying, leg hacked off) you would need one too! Then there is usually one more miscellaneous appt. from one of my other many, many doctors. Lately the urologist and I have become close as we have been battling my two month UTI that has refused to respond to three different antibiotics.
Remember: Whack The Mole!
Then there is my family. Yes, I do have one of those. I have the best family in the universe. I have my extended family, Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother-in-Law, niece and nephew, and my nuclear family, my husband Dave and my 7 year old daughter, Betsy. I do my best to be "on" in the late afternoon/evening when Dave and Betsy come home. Betsy and I like to work on her homework together although I must admit that Dave has become very good at this task. When we cook, Dave helps me in the kitchen as some tasks are not always one-leg friendly. My favorite thing to do is listen to Betsy chatter about her day, or about what she is "building, drawing, constructing, inventing" currently. I am sure you will hear a lot about Bets in the future!
Yes, it may seem like "Diane World" is filled with sleep and leisure, but it just ain't so. Which brings me back to the title of this post: Overwhelmed. Before I started writing this I was looking through requirements for certain things, and cataloging a few things I am behind in with my course work. I had just sent out several e-mails to students for various reasons. One was from a student who said she would be late with her work because she was going to be on pain meds. I tried to be understanding but I wanted to yell, "Bitch! I'll see you your pain meds and add a muscle relaxer!" I refrained and instead wished her a good recovery.
Why have I added a blog into all this mess? I've been told I need to write more, and a regular journal just isn't my style anymore. Perhaps this blog will help me work out some of my anxiety and worries when I start feeling like the world is caving in on me. I actually do feel better as I wind this thing down. I really have to start making these posts shorter. All in good time. Now let's get back to work!
Although I try to present myself as a lady of leisure, my life is actually quite busy. My sleeping schedule is completely messed up so I tend to sleep during the day when Dave is at work and Betsy at school, and work during the night when Betsy and Dave are asleep. Of course, this does not always work out for the best as I often have appointments during the day that interrupt my day time sleep, or my Lupus fatigue hits in the night and I actually go to sleep while it is still dark.
What work am I doing? Crazy work. Yesterday I blogged about myself and my desire to collect college degrees and how I was currently in school. My Montessori Teacher Training program is not for the soft of heart. It is designed to be a Master's level program and once you are finished you can earn a M.A. degree just by taking a few extra courses. It is a 26 month program that is mostly on-line with approximately two-week residencies each summer. You must complete an internship at a Montessori school accepted by the training program.
Most of my fellow students are teaching right now, and went to residency in the beginning of the summer. Due to the fact that I am still trying to learn how to walk I am doing things a bit differently. But, I am full on in when it comes to the on-line course work. Every week we watch video lectures. They can add up, and just as if I was in a regular classroom I need to take notes and listen carefully or I will never make it through. The reading list is extensive. Currently we are reading "The Absorbent Mind" by Maria Montessori. It is far from "easy reading." We are also required to answer discussion questions and respond to our fellow cohort's responses.
Then there are various class assignments. We have a Montessori Philosophy paper coming due on October 1st. We were assigned partners to fashion a definition for the question, "What is Montessori?" Because we are all in different parts in (and out of) the U.S., we must meet on Skype, the Class Chat Room, Phone, etc... My desk is cluttered with post-its reminding me to not forget our weekly chat (I've missed it twice already!!), along with papers needing to be added to my various Montessori albums. I am usually a very organized person. But like I have been saying all year, I think I seriously lost some brain cells while on the ventilator because I feel slow. It's like my brain is always two feet behind me.
So I am in school. But I am also teaching school. I can't teach at a "flesh and blood" school, but nothing is preventing me from teaching virtually. I teach at an online university as an adjunct. Each course runs for five weeks. I am responsible for grading, answering questions, beating my head against something hard, and generally moaning and wailing over the written assignments scheduled for each course. I have learned that there are more people in this world who cannot put a sentence together that I care to contemplate.
I spend a lot of time sending out e-mails attempting to get students to even turn in their assignments in the first place. I do my best to cajole them into reading the assignment instructions (which sometimes I believe never happens), and I constantly remind them that I am the "go to" person for all things writing related. Then on grading weeks, because I procrastinate, I stay up all night grading their papers and lamenting all over again about the future state of the nation.
This "job" adds to my post-it collection as I keep a running tab on who is late turning in an assignment, who possibly plagiarized, and who is on my "please help me now" list because I cannot even read their typed writing. But it brings in extra money, and in my current condition extra money is required and money outside the home is not going to happen. It is not ideal, but I am lucky to have any work. Plus, sometimes I do get through to a student. When I get a "thank you" e-mail at the end of a course I do feel satisfaction. Yes, it can be good to be a teacher.
But, there is more to my life then on-line student and on-line teacher. Twice a week I go to Personal Torture sessions with my friend Jacob. Okay, so it is really Physical Therapy, but when I am shaking and hyperventilating I do tend to think of it as a form of torture. The kicker is, if I want to walk, I have to do PT full on, both at the gym with Jacob the Punisher, and at home where I can moan and wail as loud as I want AND always listen to my favorite music! Jacob is actually an amazing physical therapist, and since he has this blog address he might actually read this. He will then probably assume I am drunk or drugged as I would never say such a thing to his face.
Besides PT I have a recurring appt. with the Psychologist, nicknamed Dr. Icky (no, he is not icky, it has to do with his name!). I am not embarrassed to admit I need a psychologist. If you had been through what I've been through (almost dying, leg hacked off) you would need one too! Then there is usually one more miscellaneous appt. from one of my other many, many doctors. Lately the urologist and I have become close as we have been battling my two month UTI that has refused to respond to three different antibiotics.
Remember: Whack The Mole!
Then there is my family. Yes, I do have one of those. I have the best family in the universe. I have my extended family, Mom, Dad, Sister, Brother-in-Law, niece and nephew, and my nuclear family, my husband Dave and my 7 year old daughter, Betsy. I do my best to be "on" in the late afternoon/evening when Dave and Betsy come home. Betsy and I like to work on her homework together although I must admit that Dave has become very good at this task. When we cook, Dave helps me in the kitchen as some tasks are not always one-leg friendly. My favorite thing to do is listen to Betsy chatter about her day, or about what she is "building, drawing, constructing, inventing" currently. I am sure you will hear a lot about Bets in the future!
Yes, it may seem like "Diane World" is filled with sleep and leisure, but it just ain't so. Which brings me back to the title of this post: Overwhelmed. Before I started writing this I was looking through requirements for certain things, and cataloging a few things I am behind in with my course work. I had just sent out several e-mails to students for various reasons. One was from a student who said she would be late with her work because she was going to be on pain meds. I tried to be understanding but I wanted to yell, "Bitch! I'll see you your pain meds and add a muscle relaxer!" I refrained and instead wished her a good recovery.
Why have I added a blog into all this mess? I've been told I need to write more, and a regular journal just isn't my style anymore. Perhaps this blog will help me work out some of my anxiety and worries when I start feeling like the world is caving in on me. I actually do feel better as I wind this thing down. I really have to start making these posts shorter. All in good time. Now let's get back to work!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Who Am I?
The Answer is NOT 24601!
For all of you who understood that opening subtitle: Bravo and Brava! For the rest of you, go get some culture peeps!
Alright, we are going to discuss me. Why? Because I need an ego boost. Actually, it occurs to me that writing a blog post that is basically a short autobiography is probably not the best idea at this point. I would assume that right now only people who already know me are reading this blog. Therefore you can skip this post and move ahead. Well, as soon as there is another "ahead."
You may have noticed that I am a little weak on the blogging. I have several half written posts waiting in the "save" area for me to finish. But I keep thinking and rethinking about the subject matter. I tend to over think. Some people call this worrying. I call it "cautious living."
I realize that blogger gives you a nice spot for your profile where you can lists things about yourself. But I don't want people to know me that way. I want people to read this so that maybe they can understand why I feel an urge to sing and dance in the rain, howl like a wolf, and roll around on the ground pretending to be a pig. Yes, I have done all three. Then again maybe this will give you no further insight. Ah well...
Chapter One
"I am born," or is it, "I was born." Darn it. I can't remember. Anyone have a copy of David Copperfield around? Don't worry. I'm not really going to start exactly that way. Again, if you don't get the reference go pick up David Copperfield and read it.
How bout we simply say that I was born in neither a city nor a state but definitely within the contiguous 48 states of America. Put your thinking caps on those delightful heads. Do you have it? Yes! I was born in Washington D.C. which is its own entity belonging neither to Maryland or Virginia. I spent the first eight years of my life in Maryland before being dropped into the nether regions of hell: Florida.
I have grown to love things about Florida. But not the summer. The eight month long summer. The air that is so hot and thick that you can barely breathe it without passing out. Getting into a car that has been sitting out all day is a test in Faith. Air conditioning is not a nice to have, it is an absolute necessity.
My family is a liberal yet somewhat traditional American type family. I grew up with my Mom and Dad and one somewhat obnoxious four year older sister. She has become less obnoxious with age. I attended a hodge podge of schools. My favorite school years were spent at Barrie Day School, a Montessori School in Silver Spring, Maryland. I then went to public school (in Florida) from 3rd grade to a quarter of the way into 7th grade. It was at that point that I was yanked out and placed in an all girls Catholic school. (No, I am not Catholic, just Presbyterian!). I went to the Academy of the Holy Names until my High School graduation. Then I went on to a Catholic College for my B.A., and finally the University of South Florida for my two M.A. degrees.
Yes, I have a lot of degrees. I like to collect them. I like going to school. Currently I am in school taking my Montessori teacher training for ages 6-12. Has all this schooling made me one iota smarter? I don't think so. But I have learned some helpful lessons: statistics is not a nightmare and I actually enjoyed it, sometimes the path you want to take is not the path you need to take, and finally, yes, you will have to pay back those student loans...every damn cent.
I grew up as shy, quiet, and bookish. I was told I was smart and therefore was expected to perform smartly. Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. I fought a lot with my Mom. I cowered underneath my Dad's stern glare. And I alternated between loving and not loving my sister. However, over all, when we all piled on my parents bed (dog included) and talked and laughed, I realized that I was a lucky girl with a loving family.
Growing up I had a lot of "mystery illnesses." I would run fevers when nothing else seemed wrong with me. I would get unexplained rashes. Most of all, I would complain about being tired, too tired to empty the dishwasher, too tired to feed the dog, too tired to do my homework. This led to disagreements from the parental units. When the hormones of puberty kicked in everything ramped up a notch.
But I got lucky, or actually unlucky. My Mother noticed that I had a swollen joint in my elbow and I was unable to bend my arm to the full extension. I was taken to All Children's Hospital at the tender age of 15 (please everyone get out a hanky, this is my feel sorry for me moment). There they poked and prodded me, they stole blood from my beautiful veins and then after a bit of magical doctoring they came up with an answer: Mixed Connective Tissue Disease! What the bejeebers is that??? I am not going to waste time defining it. If you are interested go to google.
All Children's told my Mom to take me to an adult Rheumatologist (the type of doctor who handles these kinds of things) as I was practically an adult already (I wish I could say they were trying to flatter me!). We got lucky and found someone who I think is the best Rheumy ever. I still see her today, over twenty years later. MCTD is given out when the doctors know that one of several auto-immune diseases could be present but as to which one they are not totally sure. So they wait and watch to see what symptoms you manifest so they can then pin point the culprit.
It didn't take long to find my bad boy. Shortly after I turned 16 I developed Pericarditis (swelling of the lining around the heart). There were no more questions. I had Systemic Lupus.
In one thing I was vindicated. I had been called lazy for years due to my desire to NOT do the chores when asked. The doctor waved her magic wand and told my parents that during those times I actually was too physically tired to move. My body was begging for rest and all the times I said that I would "do it later" were not motivated by my unwillingness to work, but my body's unwillingness to take another step. I can't began to tell you how good that felt.
I am stopping here because this is very long and many of you might not have even made it this far. If you did, thank you. I appreciate it. I am not sure if I will continue this topic in my next post, or save the continuation for a later date. At least now you know a bit more about me, and a bit more of where I am coming from. Adios! I got to go pet a cat.
For all of you who understood that opening subtitle: Bravo and Brava! For the rest of you, go get some culture peeps!
Alright, we are going to discuss me. Why? Because I need an ego boost. Actually, it occurs to me that writing a blog post that is basically a short autobiography is probably not the best idea at this point. I would assume that right now only people who already know me are reading this blog. Therefore you can skip this post and move ahead. Well, as soon as there is another "ahead."
You may have noticed that I am a little weak on the blogging. I have several half written posts waiting in the "save" area for me to finish. But I keep thinking and rethinking about the subject matter. I tend to over think. Some people call this worrying. I call it "cautious living."
I realize that blogger gives you a nice spot for your profile where you can lists things about yourself. But I don't want people to know me that way. I want people to read this so that maybe they can understand why I feel an urge to sing and dance in the rain, howl like a wolf, and roll around on the ground pretending to be a pig. Yes, I have done all three. Then again maybe this will give you no further insight. Ah well...
Chapter One
"I am born," or is it, "I was born." Darn it. I can't remember. Anyone have a copy of David Copperfield around? Don't worry. I'm not really going to start exactly that way. Again, if you don't get the reference go pick up David Copperfield and read it.
How bout we simply say that I was born in neither a city nor a state but definitely within the contiguous 48 states of America. Put your thinking caps on those delightful heads. Do you have it? Yes! I was born in Washington D.C. which is its own entity belonging neither to Maryland or Virginia. I spent the first eight years of my life in Maryland before being dropped into the nether regions of hell: Florida.
I have grown to love things about Florida. But not the summer. The eight month long summer. The air that is so hot and thick that you can barely breathe it without passing out. Getting into a car that has been sitting out all day is a test in Faith. Air conditioning is not a nice to have, it is an absolute necessity.
My family is a liberal yet somewhat traditional American type family. I grew up with my Mom and Dad and one somewhat obnoxious four year older sister. She has become less obnoxious with age. I attended a hodge podge of schools. My favorite school years were spent at Barrie Day School, a Montessori School in Silver Spring, Maryland. I then went to public school (in Florida) from 3rd grade to a quarter of the way into 7th grade. It was at that point that I was yanked out and placed in an all girls Catholic school. (No, I am not Catholic, just Presbyterian!). I went to the Academy of the Holy Names until my High School graduation. Then I went on to a Catholic College for my B.A., and finally the University of South Florida for my two M.A. degrees.
Yes, I have a lot of degrees. I like to collect them. I like going to school. Currently I am in school taking my Montessori teacher training for ages 6-12. Has all this schooling made me one iota smarter? I don't think so. But I have learned some helpful lessons: statistics is not a nightmare and I actually enjoyed it, sometimes the path you want to take is not the path you need to take, and finally, yes, you will have to pay back those student loans...every damn cent.
I grew up as shy, quiet, and bookish. I was told I was smart and therefore was expected to perform smartly. Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't. I fought a lot with my Mom. I cowered underneath my Dad's stern glare. And I alternated between loving and not loving my sister. However, over all, when we all piled on my parents bed (dog included) and talked and laughed, I realized that I was a lucky girl with a loving family.
Growing up I had a lot of "mystery illnesses." I would run fevers when nothing else seemed wrong with me. I would get unexplained rashes. Most of all, I would complain about being tired, too tired to empty the dishwasher, too tired to feed the dog, too tired to do my homework. This led to disagreements from the parental units. When the hormones of puberty kicked in everything ramped up a notch.
But I got lucky, or actually unlucky. My Mother noticed that I had a swollen joint in my elbow and I was unable to bend my arm to the full extension. I was taken to All Children's Hospital at the tender age of 15 (please everyone get out a hanky, this is my feel sorry for me moment). There they poked and prodded me, they stole blood from my beautiful veins and then after a bit of magical doctoring they came up with an answer: Mixed Connective Tissue Disease! What the bejeebers is that??? I am not going to waste time defining it. If you are interested go to google.
All Children's told my Mom to take me to an adult Rheumatologist (the type of doctor who handles these kinds of things) as I was practically an adult already (I wish I could say they were trying to flatter me!). We got lucky and found someone who I think is the best Rheumy ever. I still see her today, over twenty years later. MCTD is given out when the doctors know that one of several auto-immune diseases could be present but as to which one they are not totally sure. So they wait and watch to see what symptoms you manifest so they can then pin point the culprit.
It didn't take long to find my bad boy. Shortly after I turned 16 I developed Pericarditis (swelling of the lining around the heart). There were no more questions. I had Systemic Lupus.
In one thing I was vindicated. I had been called lazy for years due to my desire to NOT do the chores when asked. The doctor waved her magic wand and told my parents that during those times I actually was too physically tired to move. My body was begging for rest and all the times I said that I would "do it later" were not motivated by my unwillingness to work, but my body's unwillingness to take another step. I can't began to tell you how good that felt.
I am stopping here because this is very long and many of you might not have even made it this far. If you did, thank you. I appreciate it. I am not sure if I will continue this topic in my next post, or save the continuation for a later date. At least now you know a bit more about me, and a bit more of where I am coming from. Adios! I got to go pet a cat.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Whack a Mole
My Domain Name
Although I have titled my blog, "Chasing Butterflies" this particular domain name already blogs to someone else in the blog spot world. In an attempt to find a name that would be somewhat memorable I went through all sorts of variations of my blog title. But alas, they were all taken.
I was starting to become, as my Father-in-Law puts it, "Temperamental."
Then I remembered my dubious family nickname. The Whack a Mole.
I decided to go for, "Whack The Mole" and as I typed the letters in I waited for the dreaded announcement of "domain not available." But to my surprise, joy, ecstatic ravings, one foot hopping elation filled surprise, it was AVAILABLE! So I clicked and clacked and clicked again and voila, here we reside.
Now if you have a whit of common sense, and you must if you are reading my blog, you will wonder why I have earned the name "Whack a Mole." You may want to shield your sensibilities dear reader for it is not a pretty story...
Actually, it is not in an ugly story either. Pathetic perhaps, but we will get to that. I must admit to you all that I have been re-reading Jane Eyre for the (what feels like) zillionth time and there is a decidedly Brontesque feeling to my writing today. Please indulge my fanciful whim.
I am a medical travesty. At this point in my life (I am 38) I have been through the proverbial medical "wringer." And yes, I have even skirted the edge of the hand of death, a place I wish never to return. As this blog progresses we will no doubt journey together through many of my medical maladies.
Yet, like the great mythical bird called the Phoenix, I rise again and again from the ashes, to once more "tread the mortal coil." Enter the playful old time fair game: Whack a Mole.
This game is mostly known to all. It is a simple premise. There are usually five holes. In each hole hides a mole. You use a large sledge hammer type item as your weapon (usually made out of a cushiony material as to not injure yourself or those playing next to you). When the bell buzzes you commence to "whack" any mole that dares to peep its face out of its hole as fast as you can, thus sending it scurrying back into darkness. Whoever "whacks" the most moles in the time given wins the game.
My medical issues follow the premise of this game. No sooner do I recover from one issue, poke my head out, and cautiously look around, that the hammer of medical doom slams me back down with a new problem. I am a member of the "whack a mole" club. Over the years I have met other unfortunate members of this society. Thankfully we are a small number.
It may sound cruel to some of you that my family bestowed such a name upon me. I, however, am eternally grateful. It always gives the delivery of bad news a slight light-hearted spin. Any negative medical news is prefaced with, "The Whack a Mole has struck again!"
Happy and lucky are we this evening as I have the honor of telling you all that "Whack a Mole" just slammed me down a few moments ago. I just learned that an infection that I have been treated for three times, with three different oral antibiotics, has yet again returned. This time only three days after I ended the last course of medication. (Are you noticing a three theme here??). Sigh. Tomorrow I will call the doctor. He said IV medication would be the next step. Double sigh.
I need to go finish Jane Eyre. She has just returned to Thornfield to witness it being a fiery ruin. Soon she will reunite with Rochester. The words that were earlier running off my fingers at lightening speed have now slowed. My writing well has dried to dust for the evening.
Yes. "WhackTheMole" is the perfect domain for this insane blog. I'm gonna go dig some tunnels!
Although I have titled my blog, "Chasing Butterflies" this particular domain name already blogs to someone else in the blog spot world. In an attempt to find a name that would be somewhat memorable I went through all sorts of variations of my blog title. But alas, they were all taken.
I was starting to become, as my Father-in-Law puts it, "Temperamental."
Then I remembered my dubious family nickname. The Whack a Mole.
I decided to go for, "Whack The Mole" and as I typed the letters in I waited for the dreaded announcement of "domain not available." But to my surprise, joy, ecstatic ravings, one foot hopping elation filled surprise, it was AVAILABLE! So I clicked and clacked and clicked again and voila, here we reside.
Now if you have a whit of common sense, and you must if you are reading my blog, you will wonder why I have earned the name "Whack a Mole." You may want to shield your sensibilities dear reader for it is not a pretty story...
Actually, it is not in an ugly story either. Pathetic perhaps, but we will get to that. I must admit to you all that I have been re-reading Jane Eyre for the (what feels like) zillionth time and there is a decidedly Brontesque feeling to my writing today. Please indulge my fanciful whim.
I am a medical travesty. At this point in my life (I am 38) I have been through the proverbial medical "wringer." And yes, I have even skirted the edge of the hand of death, a place I wish never to return. As this blog progresses we will no doubt journey together through many of my medical maladies.
Yet, like the great mythical bird called the Phoenix, I rise again and again from the ashes, to once more "tread the mortal coil." Enter the playful old time fair game: Whack a Mole.
This game is mostly known to all. It is a simple premise. There are usually five holes. In each hole hides a mole. You use a large sledge hammer type item as your weapon (usually made out of a cushiony material as to not injure yourself or those playing next to you). When the bell buzzes you commence to "whack" any mole that dares to peep its face out of its hole as fast as you can, thus sending it scurrying back into darkness. Whoever "whacks" the most moles in the time given wins the game.
My medical issues follow the premise of this game. No sooner do I recover from one issue, poke my head out, and cautiously look around, that the hammer of medical doom slams me back down with a new problem. I am a member of the "whack a mole" club. Over the years I have met other unfortunate members of this society. Thankfully we are a small number.
It may sound cruel to some of you that my family bestowed such a name upon me. I, however, am eternally grateful. It always gives the delivery of bad news a slight light-hearted spin. Any negative medical news is prefaced with, "The Whack a Mole has struck again!"
Happy and lucky are we this evening as I have the honor of telling you all that "Whack a Mole" just slammed me down a few moments ago. I just learned that an infection that I have been treated for three times, with three different oral antibiotics, has yet again returned. This time only three days after I ended the last course of medication. (Are you noticing a three theme here??). Sigh. Tomorrow I will call the doctor. He said IV medication would be the next step. Double sigh.
I need to go finish Jane Eyre. She has just returned to Thornfield to witness it being a fiery ruin. Soon she will reunite with Rochester. The words that were earlier running off my fingers at lightening speed have now slowed. My writing well has dried to dust for the evening.
Yes. "WhackTheMole" is the perfect domain for this insane blog. I'm gonna go dig some tunnels!
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