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Time keeps on slipping…slipping…into the future…

Wow, it’s been so long since I blogged in here. I’ve been sick. So sick, I’m sick of being sick. Went right from the whole stomach nausea-ness to bronchitis, but I’m almost done with that now (yes, have the thing where I sound like an 80 year-old woman who started smoking at age 3). Also started going to physical therapy for my back/leg. That’s going pretty well. I’m kind of sore afterwards, but I’m starting to improve my range of motion (my right leg has about 1/2 the range of motion of my left).

The funny thing…eh, well maybe not so funny exactly…at least, not in a *funny* kind of way…more like in a funny-sad kind of way or maybe, well, maybe just not funny at all. Anyway, one of my “trouble spots” is the big ‘ol muscle that basically makes up the right half of my butt. (oooh! I said butt!) Actually, it’s officially called the piriformis. Heh, you can even see a picture of one (kind of) here. And no, that definitely isn’t me. My butt hasn’t been that small in a long, long time. And I don’t wear granny underwear. That poor girl. But then, she looks like she must be about 10, so she shouldn’t be wearing sexy underwear anyway.

Anyway.

The piriformis is the muscle that sits over the sciatic nerves and some lateral rotators and basically attaches your spine (sacrum) to your hipbone. Well, anyway, mine doesn’t work right anymore. The one on the right side, anyway. It’s constantly clenched up tight like a fist, which annoys the nerves, causes me to have searing (and/or shooting and/or dull throbbing) pain and sometimes numbness (sometimes down to my toes), and is generally a big, uh, big pain in the butt. (hahaha) It may or may not be related to the whole bulging-disc-into-the-nerve-that-goes-down-my-right-leg-thing.

To get back to the not-so-funny-funny-thing…so, part of the physical therapy is them trying to get the darn thing to loosen up and whatnot. That involves some big physical therapist guy (or sometimes, a woman…and they tend to be big too) to basically have to do a deep tissue massage of the area. And like poke and prod it. So…yeah, I go and get my butt massaged. Isn’t that something?

Of course, that isn’t all I do. I have to do stretches and some exercise machine things. The stretches don’t look like much, mainly because there’s a fine line for me in my current state between stretching and aggravating. Basically, certain of my muscles have turned into permanently grouchy charlie horses. Oh, and they hook me up to an H-Wave machine too (kind of similar to the TENs device the chiropractor used to hook me up to, but this does both high and low frequency stuff). Yeesh, I feel like Frankenstein. But with stuff attached to my butt instead of my neck.

I tell ya, though, it still feels weird to just lie there while they massage your butt. And it kind of hurts. But in a good-bad way. Like at least something is being done. Sometimes a little extra pain is better than the same pain. Does that make sense?

At least I seem to be able to sit at my desk for 30 minutes at a stretch before it gets unbearable. Hmmmm, hey, that sounds like another excuse for my not having updated the blog, eh? It’s true, too, so bonus!

Anyway.

Tony is gone all this week, poor guy. Two days in Deerfield and then 3 in Toronto. The big art show I’ve been slaving on for ages now is this weekend, starting on Friday. I volunteer in the beer booth Friday morning and then I have to do some judging after that. Maybe Saturday will be my wander-around-for-fun day. I also have to find a pair of earrings for Pam to replace ones I gave her before that disappeared.

And I’m running a daily contest on the site until Oct 13th, so I’m keeping up with that. I have a HUGE stack of books to review that I’ve already read (I can read while laying down; it doesn’t aggravate the back as much). I desperately need to update the Prize Bucket. And do a mailing. And…and lots of stuff. I’m always behind.

There’s other news, but it’ll wait for now. Gives me a goal so I’ll come back and get back on this puppy.

Maybe tea makes you sick. Yesterday, I woke up with a little bit of a sore throat, so I drank tea ALL day and even took a bit of Nyquil before bed. Today, I wake up and I can’t hardly swallow. Grrr. But I actually got an appointment at a new Dr. (one recommended by Mary) for this afternoon. I didn’t think I could get in to a new one, so that’s pretty good. I really didn’t want to go back to the old one.

I hope it isn’t anything big or bad and ugly. I’m about sick of being sick.

I called the Dr. today and told them I’ve given the pill the three weeks (and more) they said to try it out with and they’ve got to give me something else. The nausea and headaches have just been…awful. This has been one of the worst times in my life. That sounds strange, considering other things that have happened, but this has just been agony. My time has ranged from the low-level “Ugh, I feel kinda ooky” to the “If I move, I’m going to puke.” I have no idea what I would have done if I had a regular job. As it is, I’m behind on everything.

So they’re calling me in something else with lower hormone levels. I hope it works. I can’t do this anymore. As I sit here, I’ve got the pounding headache and the “I really just want to lay down for a while” blues. I managed a cereal bar today. I’ve never been told so many times that “Gee, you look green.” Poor Kermit. I feel for him now like never before.

The real bummer is that yesterday was our 15th anniversary — the “being together” one, not the wedding anniversary. It’s hard to believe sometimes that we’ve been together that long. A few more years and we’ll have been together longer than we were alive separately. Did that make sense? We met when we were 18, my first day of college. I had a nice night planned out last night, but it didn’t happen. At least we watched a romantic movie — Shall We Dance.

I’d originally rented it through Netflix and liked it so much that I actually bought a copy (on a rare day when I could venture out with Tony and not get sick in the car). Great soundtrack too. I’ve got it playing now. It makes me a little happier and I could use that.

Gah, I think I’m going to go throw up again.

I haven’t been writing in here — or, for that matter, doing much of anything — for a while. For the last two weeks I’ve been a walking zombie.

They had to switch my birth control medication because the depo shot, which I’d been on for about 5 years, seems to have sucked the calcium from my body (see previous post…I’ve got osteopenia, or bone loss, in my spine now). So now I’m on a pill again. However, it’s causing me to have 24/7 nausea and monstrous headaches. The Dr. says that’s fairly normal, new hormones, blah, blah, blah…give it 3 weeks and if it doesn’t clear up, then we’ll re-evaluate.

“Uh, yeah,” I tell her, “but if I even move or smell something funky, I feel like I’m going to vomit. And sometimes I do.”

“Yeah,” she says, “it’ll do that.”

Wow, that’s helpful. She says not to worry about it unless I can’t keep any liquids down and I get dehydrated. Great. Gee, thanks. Something to look forward to.

Meanwhile, I can’t hardly be in a car without getting car sick. I’ve barely been out of the house. Heck, I’ve barely been moving. And next week Auntie Anna is going to be here. Hopefully I start feeling better by then or she’s not going to have a very fun visit.

Tony’s been great, trying to make me bland enough foods and lots of mashed potatoes. At least I haven’t actually hurled too many times — more dry heaves than anything, but it’s that feeling of constantly being about to hurl that’s killing me.

I don’t know why, I just feel really blah. Maybe it’s the heat – it’s oppressive right now. Walking outdoors is like walking into a steam bath and not being able to get away from it. Inside isn’t so bad; we’re managing to keep the house pretty cool — but partly by keeping the curtains closed, so it is darker than normal. Like being in a cave.

Today I need to:

• go to the store and get stuff to make lasagna
• make lasagna
• finish off current laundry and do two more loads
• make up the guest bed (Tony’s mom will hopefully be stopping by tonight to pick up more of her stuff)
• write up at least one review for the site
• post two interviews on the site
• work on art show stuff

There’s tons more, but that’s the basics. I need some motivation.

I don’t think Tony comprehends exactly how much smoking bothers me. I said something this morning and he took it as a dig at his mom, but it wasn’t about her. I am just sick to death (no pun there at all) of smoking. I can’t stand that my mom is smoking again. I don’t understand it. Smoking is one of the stupidest things a person can do. Maybe the stupidest thing. And, if you’re a smoker reading this — yes, I do mean you. You can act as offended as you want to, and I’m sure you will. That’s the thing with doing something that you know is stupid — and you have to know, what with even the cigarette companies doing PSA’s — he who doth protest too much, as Shakespeare would say…

Smoking is what brought my sisters and me into this world as premature, sickly babies. It’s what kept me sick as child and prone to bronchitis later in life. It’s the thing that brought a hospital bed into our living room when I was a teenager and the thing that killed my father — as painfully as possible — when he was just 54. The smell of it, to me, is the smell of death. Every time I breathe it in, I feel like a part of me is dying.

Smoking will kill you. And it won’t be a nice easy quick death. And it isn’t just you that it hurts. That’s the part that pisses me off the most — smoking hurts everyone around you. Smokers always want to just make it all about them. But it isn’t. It hurts all of us. Not just the people that breathe in the secondhand smoke, but anyone you know that cares about you. You think we like watching you die, cranked up on morphine to take away the pain, your tobacco-stained fingers scrabbling across the hospital sheets as you search for one last nicotine fix when you can barely even breathe and can’t even hold the cigarette to your mouth by yourself?

If I offend you, fine. Maybe you’ll think about it. If you’re like any of the smokers I know personally, you won’t. Instead you’ll just get all pissed off and holier-than-thou. You probably didn’t even read this far. Whatever. You know what, it’s your funeral and not mine. And I do mean that literally.

Yeah, me. The girl with no father to walk her down the aisle. The one who someday will be doing another bedside vigil at the side of her mother or mother-in-law, people who are already unhealthy and wonder why. The ones that are already dying inside.

Sorry to anyone who stumbled by looking for a little bon mot about writing or whatnot. This is the “venting” part of my blog. This is stuff that’s been stewing inside of me for years and lately it’s been very near the surface as the mother-in-law has been chainsmoking since she’s been here. Our front porch smells like an ashtray. Our third floor, like stale tobacco. Every day, a reminder.

I’m just tired.

I’m getting a tic near my left eye and it is driving me nuts. As is just about everything lately. I feel overwhelmed, underwhelmed…generally, in a word, whelmed.

Every time I think I’m near the end of the road with the art show apps I get in a new bunch. Another bag today. *Sigh* After I finally finished scanning all of the slides I had. Hopefully the new batch won’t have too many slides vs. CDs.

I’m going to go sort through the next batch and maybe watch a movie while I’m doing it. I feel like I need to relax just a little. Just a smidge.