Thursday I have a procedure to get done. I'm not sure if its considered surgery, so we'll leave it at procedure. A few posts ago I talked about what led to this ridiculous adventure. Earlier today, the surgery scheduler called to instruct me to drop all aspirin and blood thinners immediately. I couldn't choke her over the phone, so I obediently surrendered and obliged. Why did I have a brain spasm? Because that means the remainder of this week I have to survive work without my increasingly beloved Perky-cet, which contains Tylenol. I don't fear a dependence of it. No seizures or foaming of at mouth are noted. Yet. But to sit eight hours on the cheapest desk chair Office Max can manufacture, while my inflamed spine reminds me I don't love myself, scares me so much I could pee myself. Incidentally, this "procedure" is to prevent exactly that that never happens.
There's a horrible cycle going on here. Working full-time aggravates my condition. I must work to cover my health bills. My health bills probably causes hemorrhoids. My butt hates my job. You see how it has no start, nor end.
*No, I don't have hemorrhoids, because if I really did, I probably wouldn't even joke about it on the internet. I have boundaries, you know? And furthermore, to better cope with the delicate subject area, I'd change the name into something absolutely adorable. Like Poopy-itis.
So yes, today has been a relatively manageable day, but the usual caution of overloading my immune system has gone into the trepidation zone. I have to carefully pace my day so that I may wake up tomorrow feeling like a normal snap-crackle-and-pop 60 year old, rather than a coiled up 95 year old. And then hold those compliant cells until the end of the week. I'm feeding myself blood-boosting smoothies and taking many sitting breaks in between standing tasks in the kitchen.
Meanwhile, my only defense against pain in the direct area of concern is a pill that makes my urine blue. Add that to the vegetable power drink I'm having and what do you get?: blue pee and green poo!
I've always said I needed more color in my life.
I apologize to the squeamish disturbed by such inappropriate talk.
For you women who are married to a man, this is nothing. We are insensitive to bodily function humor. Pillow talk is what it is.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Giggly Truth Serum Confessions
Launching a personal blog is a daunting action. Most writing usually uncovers pieces of the author's core, but no matter what approach to manipulate a particular picture of how you want people to perceive you, the truth of who you truly are still glimmers through. I could have chosen not advertise my story to the public, bypassing the announcement to friends and some acquaintances. They only would've found out about it if they are avid internet surfers or if in ten years this website boomed. I thought about it long and hard before I set on this bold move of being a little more transparent than the lock-down mode I'd been settling into. Right before I shared it, I called a family member and Husband for opinions. I was nervous about the repercussions. Reporting information and/or stories always create an emotional response, opinions, or critics. To make this work, I knew it would require a bit of private exposition unless it was purely factual. And well, it's not.
But let me tell you, I don't regret the decision. The conversation with Husband went something like: We know the situation. We're handling it. You're not planning to live a hidden life of illness. But you've been a closed book, even with friends. It felt like a secret. It even meant rejecting sympathy when I honestly needed it. Everytime I had to explain someone I've been less social or MIA because I was sick, it was like admitting a horrible shame. My positive outlook toward cope was limited so long as I postponed a genuine explanation, instead of letting it fester on the tip of my tongue.
I said a little prayer and hit send on notifications to all, rather than to complete strangers. Every muscle temporarily froze. So soon after tracking the readers' traffic chart that this website generates, I stopped checking it every two minutes. Slowly, the tension in my shoulders released and my lungs remembered to expand deeper. It played out almost like a confession. I didn't have to go into detail; I didn't have to go over this long saga of what's been leading up to this day for so long, but I embraced my reality fully. By the next day, I was catching up with friends that I had reduced contact with for fear of mine and their reaction to this news.
This week - health-wise - has been stupid; however, I've been spunkier and more productive than usual. Not necessarily more physically active, but mentally and emotionally. Without the burden of trying to conceal that I'm not the firecracker I once was, I was free to talk about other things going on in life and smile easier; despite subtle aches roaming in the body. I felt lighter and lighter as I stopped giving the problem so much attention and focusing on relationships and goals.
Last night, I watched Knight and Day on DVD. At some point in the movie, Cameron Diaz is administered a truth serum. It was some experimental technology that made her laugh and enjoy spitting out thoughts on the forefront. I thought to myself, "This is what it felt like this weekend". No, it is not the Percocet talking. The half- tablet is not that powerful. I exposed myself a little bit, although of course, just a few aspects of life, not all. I reconnected with friends. I'm doing it through one of my favorite mediums: writing. And I received an overwhelming understanding and awesome response. It's off my chest. I feel I've that I've man-handled a huge part of the challenge life has thrown at us.
All this is very mushy and layered. Normally, I would prefer to twist this into some form of sarcastic humor, but as long as I'm in the spirit of motivation, I'm gonna suck it up and continue sounding like a self-help book for another paragraph. This might be a personal experience, but like I've said before, I share to relate. I hope other people, especially younguns or withdrawn ones who are very aware of this critical and harsh world, can find ways to express themselves. Keeping things bottled in only create stress, a confused heart, a conflicted mind, and constipation. Not out of proportion either. Listing every emotion on a Facebook status is NOT healthy. There is a balance of knowing who, when, how, and how much, to share. But it's so liberating, and even surprising, how being genuine and truthful can grow confidence. It took me a while to come clean, but now I have a buzzing giddiness to brag about, and more space to welcome more challenges.
But let me tell you, I don't regret the decision. The conversation with Husband went something like: We know the situation. We're handling it. You're not planning to live a hidden life of illness. But you've been a closed book, even with friends. It felt like a secret. It even meant rejecting sympathy when I honestly needed it. Everytime I had to explain someone I've been less social or MIA because I was sick, it was like admitting a horrible shame. My positive outlook toward cope was limited so long as I postponed a genuine explanation, instead of letting it fester on the tip of my tongue.
I said a little prayer and hit send on notifications to all, rather than to complete strangers. Every muscle temporarily froze. So soon after tracking the readers' traffic chart that this website generates, I stopped checking it every two minutes. Slowly, the tension in my shoulders released and my lungs remembered to expand deeper. It played out almost like a confession. I didn't have to go into detail; I didn't have to go over this long saga of what's been leading up to this day for so long, but I embraced my reality fully. By the next day, I was catching up with friends that I had reduced contact with for fear of mine and their reaction to this news.
This week - health-wise - has been stupid; however, I've been spunkier and more productive than usual. Not necessarily more physically active, but mentally and emotionally. Without the burden of trying to conceal that I'm not the firecracker I once was, I was free to talk about other things going on in life and smile easier; despite subtle aches roaming in the body. I felt lighter and lighter as I stopped giving the problem so much attention and focusing on relationships and goals.
Last night, I watched Knight and Day on DVD. At some point in the movie, Cameron Diaz is administered a truth serum. It was some experimental technology that made her laugh and enjoy spitting out thoughts on the forefront. I thought to myself, "This is what it felt like this weekend". No, it is not the Percocet talking. The half- tablet is not that powerful. I exposed myself a little bit, although of course, just a few aspects of life, not all. I reconnected with friends. I'm doing it through one of my favorite mediums: writing. And I received an overwhelming understanding and awesome response. It's off my chest. I feel I've that I've man-handled a huge part of the challenge life has thrown at us.
All this is very mushy and layered. Normally, I would prefer to twist this into some form of sarcastic humor, but as long as I'm in the spirit of motivation, I'm gonna suck it up and continue sounding like a self-help book for another paragraph. This might be a personal experience, but like I've said before, I share to relate. I hope other people, especially younguns or withdrawn ones who are very aware of this critical and harsh world, can find ways to express themselves. Keeping things bottled in only create stress, a confused heart, a conflicted mind, and constipation. Not out of proportion either. Listing every emotion on a Facebook status is NOT healthy. There is a balance of knowing who, when, how, and how much, to share. But it's so liberating, and even surprising, how being genuine and truthful can grow confidence. It took me a while to come clean, but now I have a buzzing giddiness to brag about, and more space to welcome more challenges.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
"Sticklers Unite!", said the Panda
As the earth spins and people go about their daily life, history is being written, love and war is being documented, the citizens of the world are becoming ambivalent to dying punctuation and grammar. Most of them unaware. But not I. I have a nagging sense - a perception that emanates from the universe to those hyper aware - of structure falling out of place. When I write a letter, an email, a post, I feel out where apostrophes belong because I don't know the actual rules. I'm not sure if the period goes inside or outside of the quotation; inside or outside of exclamation points. I'm pretty sure that I abuse of semi-colons, put hyphens to shame, and dishonor commas. I vaguely haze through the elementary mnemonic tricks embedded long ago in our memory that taught us how to construct proper sentences. To this day, I don't know what a conjunction is or where the junction proposes to be. Determining a possessive, which should be cake, makes my spine want to disconnect from the brain. For a self-proclaimed writer, syntax should be my cup of tea. (As you get to know me, you will see that I wrote the last two sentences just to incorporate cake and tea into the matter.)
I believe in language and literature. For all the rebellious tendencies I have to defy the norm, I'm still an advocate of proper grammar, punctuation, and writing in all its forms; a lazy advocate at that. Now that I find myself typing reports at work trying to make sense of atrocious run-ons and freaking out when I have to rearrange a sentence, and more recently attempting to make it effortless for readers to capture the essence of my thoughts, I break into an invisible sweat admitting I know not what I do and hope that the sticklers forgive me when I violate the building blocks of expression.
Here is a small example that will practically force you to appreciate how important it is to give mind to punctuation:
Case closed.
Eats, Shoots & Leaves is a wonderful British token to help all the lost ones find their position in regards to the dying discipline crying out for adherence to the most basic foundations of communication. She even works for a company designed solely to protect the integrity of the apostrophe in the coming generation of texting and fried brains, where full-stops (the word for period in Britain) do not exist, much less the respect for spelling.
For those who have a nagging sense to risk losing their friends by correcting someone's ghastly use of 'your' versus 'you're', or cringe at their personal disappointment of not remembering what a clause is, this books is for you. It's a hilarious read at the least (gotta love those BritBrits), if you don't give a flying monkey about easy-to-read paragraphs. Communication skills are plummeting fast in a world where its kitsch to bend the rules to your liking. I strongly believe in the human right to self-expression, so it's about time I re-educate myself and enforce the laws that my disgruntled English teachers didn't bother to instill in us, leaving us lost, shattered, and with a strange void that needs filling. If you're going to write, do it right!
*I swear I didn't intend on making that pun. My geeks status rises without even trying.*
I've known about this book for a long time. I checked it out from the library years ago. The fear of responsibility that comes with knowledge threatened me to put it down before the first chapter was over, despite its hilarity and wit. Today, I'm taking it on. I will do write (right, more puns made of cheese) by prose, essays, letters, texts, and even post-it notes. Read up if you're writing is atrocious. Yes, even if you're just a chronic TXTR:
[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="If the language doesn't attract you, let the illustrated Panda be your inspiration."]
[/caption]
*P.S. This post does not even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about my Alzheimers-like attack on spelling, spell check, and the misuse of words' definitions (shudders). Kudos if you catch any downtrodden mistakes of language. Save them before I do.
* P.P.S. The blog, Cake Wrecks, on the blogroll to the right, is a direct result of the tragedy that happens when you don't mind the English language. A depressing waste of cake. Must see to believe.
I believe in language and literature. For all the rebellious tendencies I have to defy the norm, I'm still an advocate of proper grammar, punctuation, and writing in all its forms; a lazy advocate at that. Now that I find myself typing reports at work trying to make sense of atrocious run-ons and freaking out when I have to rearrange a sentence, and more recently attempting to make it effortless for readers to capture the essence of my thoughts, I break into an invisible sweat admitting I know not what I do and hope that the sticklers forgive me when I violate the building blocks of expression.
Here is a small example that will practically force you to appreciate how important it is to give mind to punctuation:
A woman, without her man, is nothing.
A woman; without her, man is nothing.
Case closed.
Eats, Shoots & Leaves is a wonderful British token to help all the lost ones find their position in regards to the dying discipline crying out for adherence to the most basic foundations of communication. She even works for a company designed solely to protect the integrity of the apostrophe in the coming generation of texting and fried brains, where full-stops (the word for period in Britain) do not exist, much less the respect for spelling.
For those who have a nagging sense to risk losing their friends by correcting someone's ghastly use of 'your' versus 'you're', or cringe at their personal disappointment of not remembering what a clause is, this books is for you. It's a hilarious read at the least (gotta love those BritBrits), if you don't give a flying monkey about easy-to-read paragraphs. Communication skills are plummeting fast in a world where its kitsch to bend the rules to your liking. I strongly believe in the human right to self-expression, so it's about time I re-educate myself and enforce the laws that my disgruntled English teachers didn't bother to instill in us, leaving us lost, shattered, and with a strange void that needs filling. If you're going to write, do it right!
*I swear I didn't intend on making that pun. My geeks status rises without even trying.*
I've known about this book for a long time. I checked it out from the library years ago. The fear of responsibility that comes with knowledge threatened me to put it down before the first chapter was over, despite its hilarity and wit. Today, I'm taking it on. I will do write (right, more puns made of cheese) by prose, essays, letters, texts, and even post-it notes. Read up if you're writing is atrocious. Yes, even if you're just a chronic TXTR:
[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="500" caption="If the language doesn't attract you, let the illustrated Panda be your inspiration."]
[/caption]*P.S. This post does not even begin to scratch the surface of how I feel about my Alzheimers-like attack on spelling, spell check, and the misuse of words' definitions (shudders). Kudos if you catch any downtrodden mistakes of language. Save them before I do.
* P.P.S. The blog, Cake Wrecks, on the blogroll to the right, is a direct result of the tragedy that happens when you don't mind the English language. A depressing waste of cake. Must see to believe.
Gentrifying the Dining Table
When we first got married, our house was empty. We didn't have a place to eat or sit on. We did everything on out carpet. And I mean everything. *wink* *sorry*
However, I was carrying on a full-time job. So was he, and he travels at really odd hours. We were exhausted and barely able to find 5 relaxing minutes together where we could talk about anything other than settling in our apartment. Also, my health was already mysteriously deteriorating, but I was pushing through it, pumping iron at the gym. This, of course, would dwindle with time. Making meals for two, and one extremely picky eater was new to me. Basically, there was no time to stop and think of fixing up our place to make it a home, not just sleep quarters and a messing area.
As I adapted, haphazardly and by trial and error rather than careful planning, the instinctual nature of any newlywed was kicking in. What's next after tying the ball and chain? Fix your place up. Make it your own. We're still working on it, piece by piece. Exhaustion and health bills keep us from the more focused approach to furnishing. These are some of the battles of chronic fatigue, swollen joints and limbs, inflammation headaches.
About 6 months in, my mother sensed -like moms do- that I was having a hard time keeping up. She bought me a simple bouquet of fresh, blooming, bright yellow daisies. I previously believed this flower was too simplistic. However, it brightened up my house like I hadn't imagined and I apologized to my new fabulous table center for being so short-sighted. When I was single, I was the unromantic type who said flowers are overrated. So soon after being bound by law to man, my sexy husband picked up my newfound value for the lifting effect of nature's little gifts (without my telling him, brownie points!) . The man who said he wasn't the type to buy flowers was buying roses to a woman who said claimed they were cheesy.
Now, I long for my table to decorated with something alive. I'm much more plant minded. This week I was buying veggies and fruits at our local produce shop across the street and saw they had a quaint purple gem I'd never seen before for $1.99! Hells yea.
Further now, it's been a really rough week health-wise. As a matter of fact, I was buying celery, parsley, and cucumber for an alkalanizing smoothie (I think I Sarah Palin'd that word and I'm not apologizing for it). I barely had the energy to chop and blend my concoction. My hands were and still are kind of rubbery with swelling. My feets feel like boats. Piles of mail mixed with Husband's projects seemed to be climbing higher on our table. The couch was collecting a Home Edition line of living accessories for my own planted butt. Ah, but this cute chrysanthemum could charm any home accumulating clutter.
See below the progression of inspiration from something humble sprung from the earth:
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="THE USUAL BAD WEEK SCENARIO"]
[/caption]
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="WILD LIFE OXYGENATING THE ROOM, BECOMING MORE MOBILE"]
[/caption]
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="439" caption="FULL ON INSPIRED, ORGANIZATION ACHIEVED"]
[/caption]
However, I was carrying on a full-time job. So was he, and he travels at really odd hours. We were exhausted and barely able to find 5 relaxing minutes together where we could talk about anything other than settling in our apartment. Also, my health was already mysteriously deteriorating, but I was pushing through it, pumping iron at the gym. This, of course, would dwindle with time. Making meals for two, and one extremely picky eater was new to me. Basically, there was no time to stop and think of fixing up our place to make it a home, not just sleep quarters and a messing area.
As I adapted, haphazardly and by trial and error rather than careful planning, the instinctual nature of any newlywed was kicking in. What's next after tying the ball and chain? Fix your place up. Make it your own. We're still working on it, piece by piece. Exhaustion and health bills keep us from the more focused approach to furnishing. These are some of the battles of chronic fatigue, swollen joints and limbs, inflammation headaches.
About 6 months in, my mother sensed -like moms do- that I was having a hard time keeping up. She bought me a simple bouquet of fresh, blooming, bright yellow daisies. I previously believed this flower was too simplistic. However, it brightened up my house like I hadn't imagined and I apologized to my new fabulous table center for being so short-sighted. When I was single, I was the unromantic type who said flowers are overrated. So soon after being bound by law to man, my sexy husband picked up my newfound value for the lifting effect of nature's little gifts (without my telling him, brownie points!) . The man who said he wasn't the type to buy flowers was buying roses to a woman who said claimed they were cheesy.
Now, I long for my table to decorated with something alive. I'm much more plant minded. This week I was buying veggies and fruits at our local produce shop across the street and saw they had a quaint purple gem I'd never seen before for $1.99! Hells yea.
Further now, it's been a really rough week health-wise. As a matter of fact, I was buying celery, parsley, and cucumber for an alkalanizing smoothie (I think I Sarah Palin'd that word and I'm not apologizing for it). I barely had the energy to chop and blend my concoction. My hands were and still are kind of rubbery with swelling. My feets feel like boats. Piles of mail mixed with Husband's projects seemed to be climbing higher on our table. The couch was collecting a Home Edition line of living accessories for my own planted butt. Ah, but this cute chrysanthemum could charm any home accumulating clutter.
See below the progression of inspiration from something humble sprung from the earth:
Progression No. 1
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="THE USUAL BAD WEEK SCENARIO"]
[/caption]Progression No. 2
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="WILD LIFE OXYGENATING THE ROOM, BECOMING MORE MOBILE"]
[/caption]
Progression No. 3
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="439" caption="FULL ON INSPIRED, ORGANIZATION ACHIEVED"]
[/caption]
I lie. It was not just pure beauty that led to my pro-activity. By No. 3 my Percocet had kicked in. Which I do not encourage even for Lupsters! I'm taking it temporarily for all the recent damage my frail organs went through and simply because otherwise I'll lose my day job. I'm not unaware of the dangers, not to mention potential addiction if usage is extended too long. Just setting up a disclaimer right now. However, I wrote a little song called "I love you Perky-cet".
Moving right along, building up my home is a slow process in my condition. Keeping neat and organized is hit or miss. When my husband is in town, he helps with the maintenance. Otherwise, it quickly amounts to a chaos that I'm learning to not be apologetic about anymore. It's not easy going to sleep knowing the dishes is working on hardening grit or wondering if I passed out before I closed all dangerous cat nooks. But everyone once in a sucky day, something awesome and wonderful completely distracts me from pain (No, Perky-cet is not awesome and wonderful) and I can power through achy knees and make my apartment a neat, symmetrical dream home.
*P.S. Sorry about the picture quality. I'll be upgrading to stealing Husband's camera soon.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Micturating and Celery Juice
When I began the great journal endeavor, I didn't think it would so soon be talking about micturating (click and learn). Of course, I often forget and assumed that life is kind if you throw good karma around. I must have killed a kitten in another life to deserve this.
Ok, we've talked about what Lupus is. An autoimmune disease that causes your own immune system to attack healthy tissue and/or organs. Could be joint pain from joint tissue, rashes from skin tissue; and if more severe, vital organs. I've been overconfident that "I got this", almost to the point of denial, because I've chosen to treat my body with natural "alternative" medicine*. It can help suppress many symptoms.
*Note: It's funny -hilarious- that society calls healing products from the rich earth, with no chemical alteration, alternative. Western medicine, man's science experiment, has become the convention. Conventional medicine is often the culprit of chronic diseases.
My diagnosis was in December. Despite my freakish optimism that I can will myself to health, sadly, the disease has progressed and attacked my bladder. Despite not foreseeing this, can it get any more embarrassing?
It started when I expected married life to be a turn for the healthier. As women know, a blushing bride transitioning into an "active" woman can shock the body, for better or worse. I had bit of both, but a lot of pain. Already having a weakened immune system from "reliable" pharmaceutical meds, I couldn't fight foreign specimen. Not even the fun ones. It was bacterial galore in my nice-parts. Urinary Tract Infections. I will not prattle on about the agonizing adventure that followed, but I will have you note that nothing, I mean NOTHING, would make it go away. Not antibiotics, not cranberry pills, not soaking in hot, then freezing, then scalding, then bubbles. To this day, I'm not sure how I got periods of relief in between. I was advised to get a cystoscopy. I was shrugged off and told this happens to all newlyweds. I was led to some wild and unimaginable remedies that would lead you to judge me if you haven't already. So, I waited it out.
Fast forward to the present, one year later, a UTI lands me in the ER. Crazy theories fly about, i.e. kidney stones, gallbladder, cancer, dementia. A mere $200-plus, antibiotics, Demerol, Percocet, and 2 weeks later, I'm still sitting on a pillow at work. The antibiotics didn't work, much to the surprise of the doctors who scoffed at me when I said, "Antibiotics don't work on me". The infection was running rampant. I come to tell all you UTI sufferers I found a remedy that works better than any prescription a doctor can get kickbacks off of. Take it from a girl who has done everything and spent shoe-money on peeing.
Bless this following website (also found on my blogroll to your right).
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_bacterial_infection.html
Just send a friend or family member who doesn't have to do the pipi dance every 15 minutes to the nearest Health Food store and have them pick up these easy-to-find teas. Here is the remedy:
Herbal Bladder Flush Remedy
Fill a 2 quart stainless steel or glass pot with clean water. Bring the following herbs to a boil, then immediately simmer on low for 20-30 minutes;
Drink one cup of this Bladder Flush Tea every hour, two cups an hour if you're close to a bathroom. This is a diuretic (makes you pee) as well as a powerful antibiotic (Golden Seal). Note, Golden Seal is also a powerful liver detoxifier, you may experience a head ache from this concoction if your liver is in need of cleansing. This will pass, drink extra water.
Worked like a charm. It was such a relief when the floodgates opened. Read up a bit more on extra supplements that help.
HOWEVER!!! For this particular anecdote, the account does not end here. It might begin here.
My pain continued, this time in a more puzzling and concerning manner. A few days later, I went to the general physician to pee in a cup and see if the infection was gone. It seemed as if it was flushed down the toilet, but -without detail- all kinds of pelvic pain and frequent urges persisted. I also did one of a female favorites, pap smear, to rule out hidden cancer. Yes, I'm paranoid. I don't want to die.
The doctor freaked out with me for having severe pain when she softly pressed down on that area. She took out her cell phone, sat down, and raised hell with disgruntled Urologists' receptionists until I had an immediate appointment. Do not go back to work. Do not collect $200. Spend more than you earn. Go straight to a specialist. Cutting to the point, the kind doctor that was able to make me feel comfortable in a very uncomfortable position suspects Interstitial Cystitis. And guess what?
He said it has a higher prevalence in people with rheumatoid diseases. *The extra spacing is indicative of a dramatic pause.*
They want to raid my bladder with a perverted mircro-camera and see what the damage is so I may learn to deal with yet another chronic malignancy that is all thanks to the wolf disease. I'm a bit shattered by the reality of this and the significance of what it is to live with more limitations.
No pity party here! They will try to medicate me to rebuild the lining of the delicate organ. You know, one of those medicines with small print side effect warnings as long as the Bible. I return to this wonderful site I just mentioned above, and restate another portion below:
Healing Interstitial Cystitis Naturally
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_interstitial_cystitisIC.html
This brings me to the celery concoction from yesterday. After I miserably cheated with an acidic, dairy Oreo McFlurry (which I have preached no one on earth needs to have one), due to the emotional drama of my new ailment causing me to cave, damage control was in the works or havoc would ensue. It also works like a charm :
Easy Alkalinizing Celery Juice:
I don't remember which website I found this is on, so my apologies. The recipe calls for a juicer, but I don't have one, so I use a blender. It's more chunky! This is hard to swallow if you're not used to veggie overload. On top of that, personally, I must always tread carefully around anything sugar, so I dare not put even Agave syrup until my healing factor is better, but you can definitely add honey, or Turbinado. Whatever. I chose to add watermelon for sweetener, adding little by little as to not overdo it and end up with more problems.
To sum up, I share with you:
- The fastest, safest, natural UTI cure I have ever found.
- An alkalizing tip if you're feeling too acidic.
- And a story of a piece of my travesty with you and how I deal. Hope this can be of help to someone some day.
Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be fascinating updates after this.
Ok, we've talked about what Lupus is. An autoimmune disease that causes your own immune system to attack healthy tissue and/or organs. Could be joint pain from joint tissue, rashes from skin tissue; and if more severe, vital organs. I've been overconfident that "I got this", almost to the point of denial, because I've chosen to treat my body with natural "alternative" medicine*. It can help suppress many symptoms.
*Note: It's funny -hilarious- that society calls healing products from the rich earth, with no chemical alteration, alternative. Western medicine, man's science experiment, has become the convention. Conventional medicine is often the culprit of chronic diseases.
My diagnosis was in December. Despite my freakish optimism that I can will myself to health, sadly, the disease has progressed and attacked my bladder. Despite not foreseeing this, can it get any more embarrassing?
It started when I expected married life to be a turn for the healthier. As women know, a blushing bride transitioning into an "active" woman can shock the body, for better or worse. I had bit of both, but a lot of pain. Already having a weakened immune system from "reliable" pharmaceutical meds, I couldn't fight foreign specimen. Not even the fun ones. It was bacterial galore in my nice-parts. Urinary Tract Infections. I will not prattle on about the agonizing adventure that followed, but I will have you note that nothing, I mean NOTHING, would make it go away. Not antibiotics, not cranberry pills, not soaking in hot, then freezing, then scalding, then bubbles. To this day, I'm not sure how I got periods of relief in between. I was advised to get a cystoscopy. I was shrugged off and told this happens to all newlyweds. I was led to some wild and unimaginable remedies that would lead you to judge me if you haven't already. So, I waited it out.
Fast forward to the present, one year later, a UTI lands me in the ER. Crazy theories fly about, i.e. kidney stones, gallbladder, cancer, dementia. A mere $200-plus, antibiotics, Demerol, Percocet, and 2 weeks later, I'm still sitting on a pillow at work. The antibiotics didn't work, much to the surprise of the doctors who scoffed at me when I said, "Antibiotics don't work on me". The infection was running rampant. I come to tell all you UTI sufferers I found a remedy that works better than any prescription a doctor can get kickbacks off of. Take it from a girl who has done everything and spent shoe-money on peeing.
Bless this following website (also found on my blogroll to your right).
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_bacterial_infection.html
Just send a friend or family member who doesn't have to do the pipi dance every 15 minutes to the nearest Health Food store and have them pick up these easy-to-find teas. Here is the remedy:
Herbal Bladder Flush Remedy
Fill a 2 quart stainless steel or glass pot with clean water. Bring the following herbs to a boil, then immediately simmer on low for 20-30 minutes;
- 2 bags or 2 tsp Uva ursea (or corn silk)
- 2 bags or 2 tsp Dandelion root (or Dandelion root powder, not roasted)
- 1 bag or 1 tsp Golden Seal Root
- 2 bags or 2 tsp Horsetail Herb
- Optional; 1 bag or 1 tsp Stinging Nettles
Drink one cup of this Bladder Flush Tea every hour, two cups an hour if you're close to a bathroom. This is a diuretic (makes you pee) as well as a powerful antibiotic (Golden Seal). Note, Golden Seal is also a powerful liver detoxifier, you may experience a head ache from this concoction if your liver is in need of cleansing. This will pass, drink extra water.
Worked like a charm. It was such a relief when the floodgates opened. Read up a bit more on extra supplements that help.
HOWEVER!!! For this particular anecdote, the account does not end here. It might begin here.
My pain continued, this time in a more puzzling and concerning manner. A few days later, I went to the general physician to pee in a cup and see if the infection was gone. It seemed as if it was flushed down the toilet, but -without detail- all kinds of pelvic pain and frequent urges persisted. I also did one of a female favorites, pap smear, to rule out hidden cancer. Yes, I'm paranoid. I don't want to die.
The doctor freaked out with me for having severe pain when she softly pressed down on that area. She took out her cell phone, sat down, and raised hell with disgruntled Urologists' receptionists until I had an immediate appointment. Do not go back to work. Do not collect $200. Spend more than you earn. Go straight to a specialist. Cutting to the point, the kind doctor that was able to make me feel comfortable in a very uncomfortable position suspects Interstitial Cystitis. And guess what?
He said it has a higher prevalence in people with rheumatoid diseases. *The extra spacing is indicative of a dramatic pause.*
They want to raid my bladder with a perverted mircro-camera and see what the damage is so I may learn to deal with yet another chronic malignancy that is all thanks to the wolf disease. I'm a bit shattered by the reality of this and the significance of what it is to live with more limitations.
No pity party here! They will try to medicate me to rebuild the lining of the delicate organ. You know, one of those medicines with small print side effect warnings as long as the Bible. I return to this wonderful site I just mentioned above, and restate another portion below:
Healing Interstitial Cystitis Naturally
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_interstitial_cystitisIC.html
This brings me to the celery concoction from yesterday. After I miserably cheated with an acidic, dairy Oreo McFlurry (which I have preached no one on earth needs to have one), due to the emotional drama of my new ailment causing me to cave, damage control was in the works or havoc would ensue. It also works like a charm :
Easy Alkalinizing Celery Juice:
- One Cucumber
- 4 Celery stalks
- 3 sprigs of parsley
- A few cubes of watermelon (my idea!)
I don't remember which website I found this is on, so my apologies. The recipe calls for a juicer, but I don't have one, so I use a blender. It's more chunky! This is hard to swallow if you're not used to veggie overload. On top of that, personally, I must always tread carefully around anything sugar, so I dare not put even Agave syrup until my healing factor is better, but you can definitely add honey, or Turbinado. Whatever. I chose to add watermelon for sweetener, adding little by little as to not overdo it and end up with more problems.
To sum up, I share with you:
- The fastest, safest, natural UTI cure I have ever found.
- An alkalizing tip if you're feeling too acidic.
- And a story of a piece of my travesty with you and how I deal. Hope this can be of help to someone some day.
Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be fascinating updates after this.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Because You're Worth It
You don’t deserve to be ill, unless you’re a mass murderer who did have loving parents and a cuddly puppy growing up. But you also don’t deserve to be mess. Yes, it suck. It’s frustrating. It’s hard. It makes you violent. It makes you sounds like a manic-depressive cartoon donkey. But… it’s not the end of the world. Unless you’re terminal. And in that case I will shut up before I head into political incorrectness that comes with the awkwardness of not knowing what to say.
Having conditions that wreak havoc on our bodies, hair, skin, and personalities don’t mean defeat. Food allergies or systematic deficiencies have obvious effects on our appearance and it will get anyone down. But by Jove, you are still a woman and you gotta fight for that right. In this case, I refer mainly to looks. I’m not THAT vain. I’ll talk about being beautiful on the inside another day (Don't wait up).
It means you just have to hyper focus on the work it takes to upkeep what matters to your girly side. Find what’s making you bummed out and work on it whether its personal, external, spiritual, social, etc. But don’t forget its okay to take care of yourself. You’re going to have to spend more time and effort in some departments. It’s commendable to treat yourself to some vanities if your body is attacking them, especially since you understand your situation the best.
For instances:
There are days when you are just too exhausted or in pain to imagine putting an outfit together and slipping into skinny jeans. You know your body would not forgive you. Listen to your temple and be nice to it. It may mean you need to pull back on everything altogether and stop for some serious rest. If you can’t hold up your shoulders hoisting a hair blow dryer, sling back a cute ponytail and stay in. Don’t stop taking care of yourself. If pre-illness days you were on fire, keep the internal glow on days that require toning down. We must radiate still. Life goes on. People will appreciate the pride you take in yourself and how you carry yourself through rough times. It inspiring to yourself and others. Looking good on the outside is not the most important thing, but its sure easier to be confident and brighter when you know you worked for it.
Never be too bummed out to care what you look like either. Our presence is determined by mirror images of our inner and outer person; they reflect each other. I relate all these tips because I went through a phase when my hair was always flat, legs unshaven, bags under my eyes, etc. Of course, I didn’t want to look like this, but I was so pissed at how much I had to strain to achieve movement, I spent the energy being mad, rather than throwing on some lip gloss. If you’re going through an emotional vs. physical rut, go out and get something sparkly. If you’re not the type, maybe its time to start. And if you’re too tired to shop for something that makes you feel beautiful, order online!
Work it ladies.
Having conditions that wreak havoc on our bodies, hair, skin, and personalities don’t mean defeat. Food allergies or systematic deficiencies have obvious effects on our appearance and it will get anyone down. But by Jove, you are still a woman and you gotta fight for that right. In this case, I refer mainly to looks. I’m not THAT vain. I’ll talk about being beautiful on the inside another day (Don't wait up).
It means you just have to hyper focus on the work it takes to upkeep what matters to your girly side. Find what’s making you bummed out and work on it whether its personal, external, spiritual, social, etc. But don’t forget its okay to take care of yourself. You’re going to have to spend more time and effort in some departments. It’s commendable to treat yourself to some vanities if your body is attacking them, especially since you understand your situation the best.
For instances:
- Stay pretty. If your skin is prone to dryness or acne, stop buying crap makeup and invest in some Bare Minerals. Nothing there should worsen it. Enhance what you got. No need to for a drag queen process, just pick your best feature and enhance, especially on a sucky day.
- Too tired to take care of basic aesthetic maintenance? Not an excuse. If you’re couch-bound with pain: paint your toenails, pluck your eyebrows, keep your hair brushed, or simply write a to-do list of what you would like to do when you feel better.
- For Crabby Face Syndrome (CFS), keep sexy tunes blasting in the background. Don’t be too tired to make your Dance Dance Dance Playlist. Stop listening to Everybody Hurts by REM. Let yourself smile. It won't magically change your woes, but it will magically make it more tolerable.
- It doesn’t matter if you’re home alone, with your patient husband who doesn’t care if your pajamas are holey, or out on the town. Dress decent. Wear something cute or sexy. You don’t have to be all made up, but find the one thing that makes you feel pretty and keep it up with the bit of life force you have left. People still have to look at you.
- Stuck plopped in front of the tv with severe joint pain or fatigue? Get down even lower. Stretch your hams, your hips, your arms. Learn some sit-down yoga moves. You’ll have less pain and keep those wonderful muscles of yours happy. Be as mobile as you can when you’re limited so your blood keeps flowing.
- If those brownies, cookies, and cake are whispering your name, and you’re sick and tired or being sick and tired, and just don’t care anymore… don’t give in! I’m talking to you food allergy and fatigue partners-in-crime. We will cave here and then, but if you fall, make sure when you’re back up that you learn some indulgent recipes that won’t punch you in the stomach. Make a substitute list and post it on your fridge or keep in a lil notebook.
Example:
Original Craving: Venti Cinnamon Dolce Latte with Whip Extra Hot and Old Fashion Doughnut
Less Damaging Replacement: Grande Chai Tea Latte with Soy (ask for the tea bag, bypass the syrup) and the shortbread cookies in shape of a cat and owl.
- When you have to bail on a girls night out because you feel like bird droppings, make them come to you. Host movie night. Everyone brings a treat. You give the cash for someone to pick up the goodies and the DVD. Or, save the money you would’ve spent partying for an outfit when you’re healthy again. Start planning the next marvelous adventure. Organize an album from the times you have gone out and make them send you pictures of the first one who passes out that night.
- If you have to wear sweatpants to be comfortable, buy sexy sweatpants. Not ones that make you look like you’re a toddler with fuzzy balls and SpongeBob Square Pants attacking the fleece (unless that’s part of your core personality in which that’s okay I suppose). But if you’re having trouble feeling sexy, buy sexy things and incorporate them into your lounging repertoire. (This one I was very guilty of in our newlywed marriage. I had brought over some rainbow pants that felt delicious, but a loser in the turn-on-your-husband category).
- Regarding comfortable shoes: I still have not figured this one out yet. I can no longer wear heels for more than a few minutes. I resent ballet slippers and flip-flops, no matter how bejeweled. I want to throw them at the walls. Once I put on my pink snakeskin stilettos for 15 minutes and cat-walked in front of my cats just to remember what its like. So if you know or have a coping mechanism for switching from hot shoes to practical kicks, please contact me!
- The roughest one of all: if your hair falls out easily…do anything it takes to stop and possibly reverse the process. Go broke trying out gentler shampoos. Buy treatments for hair. Get on Rogaine if you have to. I did one time until I found something that works better for me. Thank you Kiss My Face and Purology. Use organic and/or natural shampoos that won't be harsh on your sensitive scalp follicles. Research, buy shiny pomades, get a wig, take vitamins, get a scalp biopsy. Be proactive about the really tough stuff that don‘t have easy solutions. It's your womanhood and don't let anything tell you it's all in your head! If it's on the bathroom floor, it's not on your head.
There are days when you are just too exhausted or in pain to imagine putting an outfit together and slipping into skinny jeans. You know your body would not forgive you. Listen to your temple and be nice to it. It may mean you need to pull back on everything altogether and stop for some serious rest. If you can’t hold up your shoulders hoisting a hair blow dryer, sling back a cute ponytail and stay in. Don’t stop taking care of yourself. If pre-illness days you were on fire, keep the internal glow on days that require toning down. We must radiate still. Life goes on. People will appreciate the pride you take in yourself and how you carry yourself through rough times. It inspiring to yourself and others. Looking good on the outside is not the most important thing, but its sure easier to be confident and brighter when you know you worked for it.
Never be too bummed out to care what you look like either. Our presence is determined by mirror images of our inner and outer person; they reflect each other. I relate all these tips because I went through a phase when my hair was always flat, legs unshaven, bags under my eyes, etc. Of course, I didn’t want to look like this, but I was so pissed at how much I had to strain to achieve movement, I spent the energy being mad, rather than throwing on some lip gloss. If you’re going through an emotional vs. physical rut, go out and get something sparkly. If you’re not the type, maybe its time to start. And if you’re too tired to shop for something that makes you feel beautiful, order online!
Work it ladies.
MasterCard
*Rheumatologist tests and diagnosis visit: $100
*Wasted visit to the ER for wrong treatment: $200
*Natural protocol for autoimmune system: $400 and counting
*Stepping on a weight scale that finally reads 108: PRICELESS
*Wasted visit to the ER for wrong treatment: $200
*Natural protocol for autoimmune system: $400 and counting
*Stepping on a weight scale that finally reads 108: PRICELESS
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
What No One Tells the Bride
An essential read. I studied a copy of it right after the wedding. I just re-borrowed it from the library. I've been married for a year now. The book says it takes an average of two years for a new bride to understand her place and identity in the marriage. I wish I had read it before I freaked out about the subtleties that appear fresh after the honeymoon plane landing. If no other benefit, its serves to throw at your husband if he wants to you wear skanky pj's when he insists that the AC should be at 71 degrees.
Humorous and compassionate – with advice from marriage counselors, ministers, financial advisors, and sex therapists – What No One Tells the Bride is not only a practical guide for every newly married woman, it also makes the perfect wedding shower gift.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/078688262X/qid=1104999106/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/104-3440821-8143117?v=glance&s=books
Read it, buy it as I will when finances pick back up (newlyweds can often be broke). And then go yell at your mother, "WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME?"
| “It should be required reading for every bride.” - John Gray, author of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus "What No One Tells the Bride" is the inside scoop – good and bad – on what it’s really like being married. In the pages of this perennial bestseller, journalist Marg Stark breaks the newlywed code of silence and exposes the profound adjustments brides often experience. Stark and 50 newly married women tell their stories – showing others how to handle turbulence on cloud nine – and reveal marital truths, such as: |
- You don’t feel like a “Mrs.” Sometimes you even dream about old flames.
- You write all the wedding gift thank-you notes. So are you doomed to your mother’s life – 60 years of doing more than your share?
- Making love is the last thing on your mind when you have the flu and haven’t showered for days. But he still wants to.
- You tell him you got these incredible bargains and quietly resent having to justify your spending.
- You have shining moments when marriage feels absolutely right, but nevertheless you pine for something more.
Humorous and compassionate – with advice from marriage counselors, ministers, financial advisors, and sex therapists – What No One Tells the Bride is not only a practical guide for every newly married woman, it also makes the perfect wedding shower gift.
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/078688262X/qid=1104999106/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/104-3440821-8143117?v=glance&s=books
Read it, buy it as I will when finances pick back up (newlyweds can often be broke). And then go yell at your mother, "WHY DIDN'T YOU WARN ME?"
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Pipi Dance
Every hour on the hour, I'm downing a concoction of herbal teas found here:
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_bacterial_infection.html
I've had a UTI for over two weeks; for about a year, depends when you start counting. Seems I was ripped out of my wedding dress into ripping pain where no woman should ever have troubles. My immune system was already weak during this time. Autoimmune symptoms increased after that. My body no longer heals the way it did just a year and a half ago. I've had some good weeks, but not this time. Last week, I held out medieval torture in the nether regions to avoid a trip to the ER for pipi pain, all to no avail. I was in a backless gown of the wrong kind for the wrong reason. Antibiotics, as many of you may know, can grow resistant to certain bacteria strains if there is overuse throughout the years or poor immune. Well, add to that my recent introduction to birth control pills for population control in our new household, which puts all women at higher risk for lupus (information I didn't know at the time), all things medicine that was being administered by my doctors got me where I am today: excited about peeing like a racehorse.
Although I will discuss in this blog all the hardships, different symptoms, and trial and error remedies that comes with being chronically ill, I don't intend to really explain too much beyond the basics of what, how, when, and why this pathology works. I do enough research and fret enough about how tough its been to make the adjustment without becoming an alcoholic. I lie, I'm not an alcoholic cause liquor is off the menu. The point is, I've devoted intense time and effort finding out what I have, where the doctors misled me (and mislead so many more), what treatments work or don't work, and how far one can and should push themselves when rest is the only thing that makes inflammation symptoms tolerable. I'm not going to educate others too much on the subject unless they're interested. I relate best with those who have had some serious tribulations with sickness or are experiencing freakish ailments that they can't figure out. I commiserate well and empathize all too well.
I'm just here to talk about how hard it is to deal, but how possible it is to be okay with it most days. It's not about complaints, unless I specifically choose to vent. If you don't let it out, it's gonna blow out of some orifice. It best be the mouth.
Today, at my wits end and wallets dark corners, after the antibiotics plan going kaput, and the homeopathic remedies not working, and peanut butter making me clench my nice parts so much...I decided to use the very little energy that Lupus rations you per day to attack this mofo. And so I found the abovementioned site. Spent too much money at Chuck's health food store. As a housewife who doesn't know how to boil, steam, or even cut vegetables all that proper, I managed to trek our locality in bumper-to-bumper traffic, find some rare produce for a simpleton, and slave in the kitchen making celery and parsley smoothies for a bladder flush that may or may not work.
After what is plain laboring to most housewives, to me it's a mountain on top of an infection. My feet are swollen, my back feels strange with sensations I still don't know how to accurately describe (part of the mission is to determine and know what I'm going through in an articulate way), my head pounding, my skin breaking in hives, and stomach rejecting more liquids, I feel proud. Proud that I don't take no for an answer. If that doesn't work, I will see a doctor tomorrow. I will not cry unless the pain physically pushes out tears from tear ducts. There is no space to wish these problems away. One day, I plan to barely have inflammation. I plan to use an elliptical like I used to. I will defy the weaknesses of my body. I will pee in the wind.
My kitchen is mostly a wreck. Some groceries unpacked and pants will be propped on the same floor spot they were undone. The laundry will rest motionless in the dryer overnight. My joints and muscles are spent and if that's what my home will look like tonight, so be it. Because tomorrow I may be hit with a sunburst of painless energy and I'll rearrange the furniture. Excuse me, I shall leave you until next time. Gotta go potty.
http://www.nutritionarticlesonline.com/bladder_bacterial_infection.html
I've had a UTI for over two weeks; for about a year, depends when you start counting. Seems I was ripped out of my wedding dress into ripping pain where no woman should ever have troubles. My immune system was already weak during this time. Autoimmune symptoms increased after that. My body no longer heals the way it did just a year and a half ago. I've had some good weeks, but not this time. Last week, I held out medieval torture in the nether regions to avoid a trip to the ER for pipi pain, all to no avail. I was in a backless gown of the wrong kind for the wrong reason. Antibiotics, as many of you may know, can grow resistant to certain bacteria strains if there is overuse throughout the years or poor immune. Well, add to that my recent introduction to birth control pills for population control in our new household, which puts all women at higher risk for lupus (information I didn't know at the time), all things medicine that was being administered by my doctors got me where I am today: excited about peeing like a racehorse.
Although I will discuss in this blog all the hardships, different symptoms, and trial and error remedies that comes with being chronically ill, I don't intend to really explain too much beyond the basics of what, how, when, and why this pathology works. I do enough research and fret enough about how tough its been to make the adjustment without becoming an alcoholic. I lie, I'm not an alcoholic cause liquor is off the menu. The point is, I've devoted intense time and effort finding out what I have, where the doctors misled me (and mislead so many more), what treatments work or don't work, and how far one can and should push themselves when rest is the only thing that makes inflammation symptoms tolerable. I'm not going to educate others too much on the subject unless they're interested. I relate best with those who have had some serious tribulations with sickness or are experiencing freakish ailments that they can't figure out. I commiserate well and empathize all too well.
I'm just here to talk about how hard it is to deal, but how possible it is to be okay with it most days. It's not about complaints, unless I specifically choose to vent. If you don't let it out, it's gonna blow out of some orifice. It best be the mouth.
Today, at my wits end and wallets dark corners, after the antibiotics plan going kaput, and the homeopathic remedies not working, and peanut butter making me clench my nice parts so much...I decided to use the very little energy that Lupus rations you per day to attack this mofo. And so I found the abovementioned site. Spent too much money at Chuck's health food store. As a housewife who doesn't know how to boil, steam, or even cut vegetables all that proper, I managed to trek our locality in bumper-to-bumper traffic, find some rare produce for a simpleton, and slave in the kitchen making celery and parsley smoothies for a bladder flush that may or may not work.
After what is plain laboring to most housewives, to me it's a mountain on top of an infection. My feet are swollen, my back feels strange with sensations I still don't know how to accurately describe (part of the mission is to determine and know what I'm going through in an articulate way), my head pounding, my skin breaking in hives, and stomach rejecting more liquids, I feel proud. Proud that I don't take no for an answer. If that doesn't work, I will see a doctor tomorrow. I will not cry unless the pain physically pushes out tears from tear ducts. There is no space to wish these problems away. One day, I plan to barely have inflammation. I plan to use an elliptical like I used to. I will defy the weaknesses of my body. I will pee in the wind.
My kitchen is mostly a wreck. Some groceries unpacked and pants will be propped on the same floor spot they were undone. The laundry will rest motionless in the dryer overnight. My joints and muscles are spent and if that's what my home will look like tonight, so be it. Because tomorrow I may be hit with a sunburst of painless energy and I'll rearrange the furniture. Excuse me, I shall leave you until next time. Gotta go potty.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Post a Week - Screening Nature Calls
Nature gave me a call I didn't want to receive. I'm constantly talking about how I feel, what hurts, what I think triggered a flare, when in time did my body start going overboard. Since I went on a no-fun diet (allergen and trigger free), I'm hyper aware of whats about to happen if I don't maintain strict adherence to the green-light foods. I can't help but coddle this autoimmune disease in order to preserve some health and sanity. When my body rings the alarm, I cannot ignore it. My diagnosis is recent, so the first few months, I reckon there will be a bit of attention going toward a kind, non-overbearing regimen. In December, there was a lot to think about, some tears (mostly of relief to finally know what the heck was happening). Then there is the treatment to follow, blah, blah, blah. It's nonstop chatter about medical issues this, connective tissue that.
However, I say to myself and anyone else living with chronic symptoms, hang up on it and deal with it on your own terms. The easy thing to do would be to give in, let it control every aspect of me, back activity and creativity into a corner. I'm not saying to pretend the problem isn't there, but there is only so much you can do about it. There must be limits before the disease takes over your personality. Mind over matter, people! The body may dictate what aches and pains you will have, but the mind can still decide if its going to be sad about it or proactive.
I'm not claiming it is easy. There are days where I have to baby each and every little obstacle I face, mostly just disbelief that this is actually happening. I need to ramble and vent and throw things at walls. I will call my mom, my most patient listener, and talk her head off. Oh, I measure the outgoing content because there's only so much people can or want to hear about being sick before you bring them down or come off as desiring a pity party. Then I text, email, or call the sister. Bless her heart, it's taken her years to learn to process a turbo-charged motor mouth go on and on about red dye #40 and tingling in my knees. The husband, my diagnosis is his sentence as well, so I need to limit how I express myself to him so the masculine energy doesn't freak out as he learns that women beating a subject to death doesn't mean we're dying, it's just how we reach our conclusions. My mother-in-law, the saint that gets it the most, dealing with Rheumatoid Arthritis herself, is a great escape because we both can jabber on until the sun comes up. I've got an arsenal of sweet friends that listen to me in different ways. Some play therapists, the defendant, the cheerleaders, and some that threaten the universe for all the bad things happening.
But you have to see it from the point of view of an outsider viewing in. I'm not ready to hear people whisper "She's a completely different girl after she got sick."
"All she talks about is her issues."
"She's become dependent on whining."
"Remember how fun she used to be?"
"I'm sick and tired of hearing about all the environmental things that are going to kill us all!"
But that's where I'm learning to draw the line. This is something you live with, not something should take over. For someone with control issues, I know how to accept what I can and cannot and where I can circumvent the problem and come through another way. Every once in a while, hang it up. Let the symptoms run in the background, but listen to everything else that remains the same and has room to grow.
However, I say to myself and anyone else living with chronic symptoms, hang up on it and deal with it on your own terms. The easy thing to do would be to give in, let it control every aspect of me, back activity and creativity into a corner. I'm not saying to pretend the problem isn't there, but there is only so much you can do about it. There must be limits before the disease takes over your personality. Mind over matter, people! The body may dictate what aches and pains you will have, but the mind can still decide if its going to be sad about it or proactive.
I'm not claiming it is easy. There are days where I have to baby each and every little obstacle I face, mostly just disbelief that this is actually happening. I need to ramble and vent and throw things at walls. I will call my mom, my most patient listener, and talk her head off. Oh, I measure the outgoing content because there's only so much people can or want to hear about being sick before you bring them down or come off as desiring a pity party. Then I text, email, or call the sister. Bless her heart, it's taken her years to learn to process a turbo-charged motor mouth go on and on about red dye #40 and tingling in my knees. The husband, my diagnosis is his sentence as well, so I need to limit how I express myself to him so the masculine energy doesn't freak out as he learns that women beating a subject to death doesn't mean we're dying, it's just how we reach our conclusions. My mother-in-law, the saint that gets it the most, dealing with Rheumatoid Arthritis herself, is a great escape because we both can jabber on until the sun comes up. I've got an arsenal of sweet friends that listen to me in different ways. Some play therapists, the defendant, the cheerleaders, and some that threaten the universe for all the bad things happening.
But you have to see it from the point of view of an outsider viewing in. I'm not ready to hear people whisper "She's a completely different girl after she got sick."
"All she talks about is her issues."
"She's become dependent on whining."
"Remember how fun she used to be?"
"I'm sick and tired of hearing about all the environmental things that are going to kill us all!"
But that's where I'm learning to draw the line. This is something you live with, not something should take over. For someone with control issues, I know how to accept what I can and cannot and where I can circumvent the problem and come through another way. Every once in a while, hang it up. Let the symptoms run in the background, but listen to everything else that remains the same and has room to grow.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Post aWeek 2011 -Blog, Blog, Blog!
This is a form of a pledge, thankfully not a binding contract, that I will write at least once a week, every week, for the remainder of the year. I believe I'm selling myself short and can handle the Post a Day, but to avoid my usually unachievable expectations, I will start humble. I can upgrade if and when I'm ready and trust my ability to articulate, even if poorly at times.
I hope hundreds of people are signing up for this. I don't want to be the only one in my circle of peers that is so motivated to keep up a discipline that I consider exciting. In other words, geek. Yet if I am the only one, so be it. Nerds are cool.
I hope the level of quality doesn't suffer because I might end up lazily trying to reach a quota. If there's no heart to the projects we take on, let there at least be mind until the heart catches up. There are many habits we pick up excitedly and then let them lose their new-toy luster. Writing should not be one of them since it's a most personally enhancing experience. Let there be no awkward silences. The only reason for our writing and posts to dwindle is if lose our motivation to life and experience, in which we should take adopt the mission to be inspired. If we don't see ourselves out there, well then, explore yourself until you can include the world in your narrative.
Self-made pep talk. Thank you very much.
I hope hundreds of people are signing up for this. I don't want to be the only one in my circle of peers that is so motivated to keep up a discipline that I consider exciting. In other words, geek. Yet if I am the only one, so be it. Nerds are cool.
I hope the level of quality doesn't suffer because I might end up lazily trying to reach a quota. If there's no heart to the projects we take on, let there at least be mind until the heart catches up. There are many habits we pick up excitedly and then let them lose their new-toy luster. Writing should not be one of them since it's a most personally enhancing experience. Let there be no awkward silences. The only reason for our writing and posts to dwindle is if lose our motivation to life and experience, in which we should take adopt the mission to be inspired. If we don't see ourselves out there, well then, explore yourself until you can include the world in your narrative.
Self-made pep talk. Thank you very much.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Motivation....Adderall Free
How intimidating a first post can be. Mind you, this is not the first post, or post blog for that matter, that I've entertained. This may be the 13th time I try. But before that, I used blogger.com. Now I'm serious: Wordpress, baby.
It is now clear to me what I have to do in life to keep that balance we all need. It is also clear how near-impossible it is to do it without a straight jacket. What we deal with: the crappy diets we grew up with that we are just now accepting (or rejecting) how horrible we were treating ourselves, the overworked, under-paid jobs we have, the number of friends we can't keep up with, the personal hobbies collecting dust, the doctor appointments we're too sick to schedule, the paradoxical idling television ritual we have that paralyzes us more.
Here I am sharing my struggles with you and I have no idea how I'm to keep motivated and keep a soothing blogging voice, when I am no longer eligible to take Adderall. Most of my adolescent and adult life I've been popping back addies for my lack of concentration and motivation. Thanks to my recent diagnoses, I've come to know that my fogginess and attention to bright, shiny things is a reaction to a food allergy. My skippity-do husband gets to continue his legitimate jump-start prescription, while me and my little cloud have not only been cut off from my electric life force, but also coffee and average amounts of sugar. I can hear your tears drop on your cheek.
Yes, it all sounds like one big complaint. Wait... here comes the perky twist. Without gluten, I'm the most alert and accountable I've been since I can remember. Sucks for me! Now there are responsibilities, projects to undertake, socks that won't pair themselves. A steady diet really does help poor memory. This time I really will have to follow through. As a matter of fact, when I'm done with this post, I will sign up with the Post a Week that Wordpress is hosting.
What this blog will pretend to be about:
- Describe the good and bad of dealing with autoimmune conditions
- Share articles, tidbits, products, links that help improve health overall
- Try out allergen friendly recipes from gluten-free to nightshade vegetable free
-Post pictures of my awesome cats and other photography experiences I dabble with along the way
-Sarah Palianinze words when it feels appropriate
-Laugh along with all the other housewives who have so much to accomplish in so little time in limited circumstances, whatever they may be, i.e. single parents, disease, school, fatigue, bing'd out
-Let you in on some of my hilarious approaches, by way of anecdote, on how to improve oneself, nesting skills, organization, accomplishments, run a home, and keep the house smelling like ocean breeze in the most easiest ways possible, and maybe suck at it
-Randomize
Don't take my word for it, but I have a good feeling about this.
It is now clear to me what I have to do in life to keep that balance we all need. It is also clear how near-impossible it is to do it without a straight jacket. What we deal with: the crappy diets we grew up with that we are just now accepting (or rejecting) how horrible we were treating ourselves, the overworked, under-paid jobs we have, the number of friends we can't keep up with, the personal hobbies collecting dust, the doctor appointments we're too sick to schedule, the paradoxical idling television ritual we have that paralyzes us more.
Here I am sharing my struggles with you and I have no idea how I'm to keep motivated and keep a soothing blogging voice, when I am no longer eligible to take Adderall. Most of my adolescent and adult life I've been popping back addies for my lack of concentration and motivation. Thanks to my recent diagnoses, I've come to know that my fogginess and attention to bright, shiny things is a reaction to a food allergy. My skippity-do husband gets to continue his legitimate jump-start prescription, while me and my little cloud have not only been cut off from my electric life force, but also coffee and average amounts of sugar. I can hear your tears drop on your cheek.
Yes, it all sounds like one big complaint. Wait... here comes the perky twist. Without gluten, I'm the most alert and accountable I've been since I can remember. Sucks for me! Now there are responsibilities, projects to undertake, socks that won't pair themselves. A steady diet really does help poor memory. This time I really will have to follow through. As a matter of fact, when I'm done with this post, I will sign up with the Post a Week that Wordpress is hosting.
What this blog will pretend to be about:
- Describe the good and bad of dealing with autoimmune conditions
- Share articles, tidbits, products, links that help improve health overall
- Try out allergen friendly recipes from gluten-free to nightshade vegetable free
-Post pictures of my awesome cats and other photography experiences I dabble with along the way
-Sarah Palianinze words when it feels appropriate
-Laugh along with all the other housewives who have so much to accomplish in so little time in limited circumstances, whatever they may be, i.e. single parents, disease, school, fatigue, bing'd out
-Let you in on some of my hilarious approaches, by way of anecdote, on how to improve oneself, nesting skills, organization, accomplishments, run a home, and keep the house smelling like ocean breeze in the most easiest ways possible, and maybe suck at it
-Randomize
Don't take my word for it, but I have a good feeling about this.
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