Last night I lay in the darkness, longing for the sweet oblivion of sleep...a temporary reprieve from the reality of pain and discomfort...maybe the bonus of a romantic dream with a sexy hunk.
After two hours of chasing thoughts: yesterday's regrets, today's worries, tomorrow's to-dos; I finally shuffled down the hall for a 2:30 am blood-check. I clock in at a conscious and lucid 45. Nibbling a miniature Hershey bar and sipping a 15-carb apple juice, the fluorescent kitchen glare revives my tired eyes for round two of insomnia with fatigue-enhanced pain. After three hours of restless sleep, I drag my tired butt out of bed.
Having more than one chronic condition, along with medication/treatment side effects, creates a tangled mess of symptoms. Trying to determine exactly what causes what symptom is more difficult than detangling a box of miniature Christmas lights wearing mittens and a blindfold. I live in a fog of fatigue.
In my last entry, I mentioned a day of (literally-$$$) double-billing physician appointments. I had a performance with a periodontist in the morning. After my mid-morning/lunchtime break, I had an afternoon appearance request by a pulmonologist following my sleep study audition.
Donning my "jammies" for my sleep study, the sleep tech hooked various electrodes to my head and legs. An oxygen monitor was clipped to my index finger, a glowing red ET prop..."Ouch." In hi-tech fashion, I was spied on and cyber-analyzed during a fitful night of zzz's. The pulmonolgist reviewed my results to discuss possible problems with me.
The diagnostic verdict: I sleep like crap, no singular reason outside of Stiff Person pain or nocturnal sugar plummets. With the promise of each new day, I drag my sleep-deprived derriere out of bed.
"Not being able to sleep is terrible. You have the misery of having partied all night... without the satisfaction."
~Lynn Johnston~
Copyright © 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Tooth Or Wear
Many yesterdays ago...I remember losing a tooth was a nifty quarter profit, a dream visit to the penny candy counter, and the giddy thrill of my younger brother's envy.
The present. I finally worked in a morning appointment with a periodontist, slotted my afternoon with a pulmonologist. (another entry?) It seems my medical conditions, Stiff Person Syndrome and insulin-dependent diabetes, or their temporary remedies, can create additional "conditions." I now have dry mouth and bone loss extreme in my lower right, back-crowned molar...DOA.
After the familiar psych-taught intro, "Let's talk and get acquainted." (Subliminal meaning: "put the patient at ease.") We talked autoimmune disease and immunosuppressents, a lively icebreaker. He has mild vitilago on his hands.
He proceeded to poke my gums with the tools of his trade, verbally scoring the depth of gum tissue surrounding each tooth with the expertise of an Olympic judge. The only gold, my infected crown.
Pain. How do I process "ordinary" pain, judge severity, or choose a scale rating when I live with chronic pain every day? I quietly sat through his exam, not feeling anything warranting an "Ouch!" Finally, with incredulous respect, he waved his sharp, gum-probing hook in front of my eyes and said, "Don't you feel that?"
Well, I did, but the discomfort of the oral exam was not a blip on my pain radar. Maybe I should have faked a groan for his benefit. The only pain I did feel was the cost factor of the proposed yank and restore.
Factor in inflation, maybe a gold crown under my pillow...
“Many of us are at the "metallic" age - Gold in our teeth, silver in our hair - and lead in our pants” ~Unknown~
Copyright © 2008
The present. I finally worked in a morning appointment with a periodontist, slotted my afternoon with a pulmonologist. (another entry?) It seems my medical conditions, Stiff Person Syndrome and insulin-dependent diabetes, or their temporary remedies, can create additional "conditions." I now have dry mouth and bone loss extreme in my lower right, back-crowned molar...DOA.
After the familiar psych-taught intro, "Let's talk and get acquainted." (Subliminal meaning: "put the patient at ease.") We talked autoimmune disease and immunosuppressents, a lively icebreaker. He has mild vitilago on his hands.
He proceeded to poke my gums with the tools of his trade, verbally scoring the depth of gum tissue surrounding each tooth with the expertise of an Olympic judge. The only gold, my infected crown.
Pain. How do I process "ordinary" pain, judge severity, or choose a scale rating when I live with chronic pain every day? I quietly sat through his exam, not feeling anything warranting an "Ouch!" Finally, with incredulous respect, he waved his sharp, gum-probing hook in front of my eyes and said, "Don't you feel that?"
Well, I did, but the discomfort of the oral exam was not a blip on my pain radar. Maybe I should have faked a groan for his benefit. The only pain I did feel was the cost factor of the proposed yank and restore.
Factor in inflation, maybe a gold crown under my pillow...
“Many of us are at the "metallic" age - Gold in our teeth, silver in our hair - and lead in our pants” ~Unknown~
Copyright © 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Victory At The Thigh High
Determination, creativity, improvisation...All diverse descriptions of my living with chronic illness. Stiff Person Syndrome greatly hinders my flexibility and movement. Lack of mobility is extremely challenging when dealing with ground zero...my feet.
Dressing myself, especially for church, is reminiscent of acquired skills learned at Romper Room level. Today, we will put on pantyhose, if lucky? Several minutes later, spasms, with sweat trickling down my back, may yield a touchdown for team Hanes. An SPS friend suggested thigh highs. Hmm!
I bought some last week, black and beige, a nice diversion from back and blue syndrome injury. (Invisible Illness?) ;-) Choosing my black "Jackie O" dress for church, I opted for my black thigh highs.
The left stocking went on easily, SPS-speaking. I had some trouble with the right one, but I beat my 10-minute record for regular panyhose. The crowd (me) went wild...touchdown at Thigh High Staduim!!
An added bonus, thigh highs have a naughty lace elastic band to hold them up...deliciously feminine. The band was also a new hide-away perch for my insulin pump.
"I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble."
~Helen Keller~
Copyright © 2008
Dressing myself, especially for church, is reminiscent of acquired skills learned at Romper Room level. Today, we will put on pantyhose, if lucky? Several minutes later, spasms, with sweat trickling down my back, may yield a touchdown for team Hanes. An SPS friend suggested thigh highs. Hmm!
I bought some last week, black and beige, a nice diversion from back and blue syndrome injury. (Invisible Illness?) ;-) Choosing my black "Jackie O" dress for church, I opted for my black thigh highs.
The left stocking went on easily, SPS-speaking. I had some trouble with the right one, but I beat my 10-minute record for regular panyhose. The crowd (me) went wild...touchdown at Thigh High Staduim!!
An added bonus, thigh highs have a naughty lace elastic band to hold them up...deliciously feminine. The band was also a new hide-away perch for my insulin pump.
"I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble."
~Helen Keller~
Copyright © 2008
My Own Enemy
Victimology-Chronic Victim Investigation, CVI.
It would be great to resolve the CVI drama in an hour-television show interrupted with toothpaste and Geico commercials. Chronic Victim Investigation is reality...no actors, commercial breaks, or season hiatus.
Chronic investigation is my personal introspection and resolution of living with SPS and diabetes. Yesterday I wrote about chronic blues. For me, chronic blues is a temporary condition, healing bereavement. If I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity, chronic hopelessness would settle in...victimology...my own self-defeating enemy, "poor me."
While I cannot control fate, I can control my attitude...victor or victim. I view a victor as one who faces challenge, and when knocked to the ground will painstakingly rise, spitting dust and blood for another round. Victory is to keep trying..."in spite of."
"Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the nonpharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality."
~John W. Gardner~
"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it."
~Helen Keller~
Copyright © 2008
It would be great to resolve the CVI drama in an hour-television show interrupted with toothpaste and Geico commercials. Chronic Victim Investigation is reality...no actors, commercial breaks, or season hiatus.
Chronic investigation is my personal introspection and resolution of living with SPS and diabetes. Yesterday I wrote about chronic blues. For me, chronic blues is a temporary condition, healing bereavement. If I allowed myself to wallow in self-pity, chronic hopelessness would settle in...victimology...my own self-defeating enemy, "poor me."
While I cannot control fate, I can control my attitude...victor or victim. I view a victor as one who faces challenge, and when knocked to the ground will painstakingly rise, spitting dust and blood for another round. Victory is to keep trying..."in spite of."
"Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the nonpharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality."
~John W. Gardner~
"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it."
~Helen Keller~
Copyright © 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
CIA Blues
I am a rock,
I am an Island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
~Simon & Garfunkel~
Chronic Illness Attitude Blues. Yep, I get them, temporarily consumed in a melody of woe while soulfully lip-syncing with gritty emotion...usually at an occasional pity-party for only me, impromptu and private.
A common misconception...expectation (?) of coping for an individual facing/dealing/living with a crisis will be "buck-up," with a smile and fortitude, head on. I can candidly say, "Faith, humor, flexibility, and prayer have been my mainstays in coping with my chronic ails."
I can also say, "Coping is a new challenge every single day. It is not a destination, but an endless journey."
As with all long and difficult journeys, a traveler will become weary. Daily living within a limited body, frenzied merry-go-round of medical appointments, and centering my activities around medication timing and peak performance are not only physically-draining, but emotionally depleting. I have moments or days when my personal expense of thought and energy is overwhelming. I crumble under the burden.
Pain woke me in the wee hours of Thursday. Darkness surrounded me in comforting silence and appropriate gloom. Laying still on my back, I counted the areas of pain in my body, giving a severity score to each one. Thinking about my hectic medical schedule and trying to fit the normalcy of life into "eye of the storm," I grieved.
I grieved over the loss of what I was, what I am, fear of what I may become. It can be cathartic for me to acknowledge my grim realities, as long as I do not allow myself to get sucked into a vortex of hopelessness. Sometimes my bravery becomes bravado and I need to privately nurture my pain.
In those quiet hours, I (obviously);-) thought about my physical pain, my emotional pain, and future uncertainties. Sometimes the pain of living with chronic illness is too deep for tears, just a heavy, consuming darkness in my soul. Feeling alone, I mourned, thought, and prayed.
Then came the morning, a new day, a fresh start. ;-)
"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1
Copyright © 2008
I am an Island.
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
~Simon & Garfunkel~
Chronic Illness Attitude Blues. Yep, I get them, temporarily consumed in a melody of woe while soulfully lip-syncing with gritty emotion...usually at an occasional pity-party for only me, impromptu and private.
A common misconception...expectation (?) of coping for an individual facing/dealing/living with a crisis will be "buck-up," with a smile and fortitude, head on. I can candidly say, "Faith, humor, flexibility, and prayer have been my mainstays in coping with my chronic ails."
I can also say, "Coping is a new challenge every single day. It is not a destination, but an endless journey."
As with all long and difficult journeys, a traveler will become weary. Daily living within a limited body, frenzied merry-go-round of medical appointments, and centering my activities around medication timing and peak performance are not only physically-draining, but emotionally depleting. I have moments or days when my personal expense of thought and energy is overwhelming. I crumble under the burden.
Pain woke me in the wee hours of Thursday. Darkness surrounded me in comforting silence and appropriate gloom. Laying still on my back, I counted the areas of pain in my body, giving a severity score to each one. Thinking about my hectic medical schedule and trying to fit the normalcy of life into "eye of the storm," I grieved.
I grieved over the loss of what I was, what I am, fear of what I may become. It can be cathartic for me to acknowledge my grim realities, as long as I do not allow myself to get sucked into a vortex of hopelessness. Sometimes my bravery becomes bravado and I need to privately nurture my pain.
In those quiet hours, I (obviously);-) thought about my physical pain, my emotional pain, and future uncertainties. Sometimes the pain of living with chronic illness is too deep for tears, just a heavy, consuming darkness in my soul. Feeling alone, I mourned, thought, and prayed.
Then came the morning, a new day, a fresh start. ;-)
"The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?" Psalm 27:1
Copyright © 2008
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Pinned
I have two "invisible" (hidden...indiscernible) disorders, diabetes and Stiff Person Syndrome. Disguised in presumed health, I have social anonymity from the stigma of disability. IDDM and SPS are lettered jocks on a champion chronic illness team and I am their girl. Going steady.
Dates are plentiful...to my staff of physicians, the infusion clinic, the pharmacy. In preparation of an impromptu ER gala, I know how to accessorize. I have purchased a serviceable stainless steel chain and pendant, personally engraved, tagging me from the healthy herd. I am officially pinned as a chronic sweetheart.
As much fashion thought went into the design of medic alert jewelry as Good Will throw-aways. I do have a choice, the ever-visible bracelet or the belly-button-length necklace I can wear under my clothes. The screaming red logo is consistent with serviceable. Pretty is not an option. One problem, my illnesses and the lengthy list of my medications, not to mention the 800 hotline, require a tablet size pendant.
What I would give for a delicate gold chain, simple diamond charm, and my information intricately written on the back with the artisan flair of a rice picture carver.
"Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with."
~Thomas Carlyle~
Copyright © 2008
Dates are plentiful...to my staff of physicians, the infusion clinic, the pharmacy. In preparation of an impromptu ER gala, I know how to accessorize. I have purchased a serviceable stainless steel chain and pendant, personally engraved, tagging me from the healthy herd. I am officially pinned as a chronic sweetheart.
As much fashion thought went into the design of medic alert jewelry as Good Will throw-aways. I do have a choice, the ever-visible bracelet or the belly-button-length necklace I can wear under my clothes. The screaming red logo is consistent with serviceable. Pretty is not an option. One problem, my illnesses and the lengthy list of my medications, not to mention the 800 hotline, require a tablet size pendant.
What I would give for a delicate gold chain, simple diamond charm, and my information intricately written on the back with the artisan flair of a rice picture carver.
"Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with."
~Thomas Carlyle~
Copyright © 2008
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)