There comes a point when someone is going to say something to you that you don’t like. That person may do it on purpose, or it may be an accident. They may apologize if you point it out, they may not (after all, if it’s an opinion stated rationally, they have nothing to apologize for).
If this statement is without precedent (meaning that they haven’t done this sort of thing, before), and you decide that they’re just not a good person, or not worth your time, I think perhaps the fault doesn’t lie with them. It lies with you.
How is that?
Well, we choose how we feel, ultimately. We can have initial reactions, and some of them may be completely valid. You can rage all you want when someone flings attacks at you. You can cry your eyes out when someone you thought you knew turns out to be a complete jerk. You can show unrestrained joy when a little thing makes you unbelievably happy. I’m not saying that feelings are invalid. I’m saying that you need to take stock of that feeling and why it’s happening, at least when it’s a negative emotion.
Most of you guys know that when I started this blog, I was a very reactionary person. I decided that since I was a newcomer to the libertarian blogging scene, and a new gun owner (after quite a difficult time in my life), I could bring a fresh perspective to things. “People want to hear what I have to say about this!”
I didn’t often think how my words would affect others, because it’s MY blog, right?
Well, our words do have an effect. I’ve vented on here about personal issues, only to have it create a real-world impact on my life – and there have been fewer than 5 times where that impact was positive. Most of the time, there was retaliation in some form. People reacted to my rage in a manner that was, well, raging. They thought that since I was impertinent enough to bad-mouth them, they were justified in returning fire.
I can’t say I disagree with their thought process, but I disagree with that sort of action. I didn’t always feel that way – like I just pointed out, I’ve been a reactionary person in spades, before, and I still get that way.
(An example would be yesterday’s Facebook rant about Wil Wheaton and his being completely unaware of how internet anonymity works. I called him ” a smug little twit with a god complex.” I know there are a lot of people who agree with me on that, as the lively discussion afterward proved, but when people stopped using examples and started just using qualifiers that were either broad classifications, or ad hominem, I couldn’t respond. I will have discussions. I will not just call names. Not any more.)
That parenthetical statement aside, My point is that I’ve learned from my past, and I try not to repeat the things that create undue stress. A big part of it was the seizures I’d have when I got too upset. I didn’t take a moral inventory on everything – I stopped reacting harshly out of necessity. I call that “undue stress.”
I’ve noticed something, though. When I don’t rage, for the most part the people around me don’t rage. There are, of course, exceptions, but people are generally more polite, and willing to actually discuss things with me. I’m really happy about this.
On the flip side, however, there are people I’ve had to cut out of my life because they’re just not changing at all, and the way I’ve known them is no longer acceptable to me. I’ve been cut out due to someone’s inability to temper their reaction, which goes back to my original point. Both parties have a tendency to blow things out of proportion because they’ve spent so long either having their feelings validated by those around them (not a bad thing, unless it makes you a worse person; all feelings are valid, but not all reactions are), or they’ve avoided anything that makes them uncomfortable to the point of having no idea how the world works. People online tend to have both of these qualities in abundance, as we can create our own world with the click of a button. Websites exist for everyone out there, for every opinion, every preference, every religion and political affiliation…everything has a hub. And we can hover around that hub like it’s our lifeblood, slowly turning it into our world and becoming unaccustomed to what would be completey normal and non-combative disagreements, or differences in preference/opinion. When we’re unaccustomed to something, we’re more likely to react strongly to it, whether it be a positive or negative thing. People tend to remember both the negative experiences they have, and the negative reactions they encounter.
That last sentence is very important, so I’m going to repeat it: People tend to remember both the negative experiences they have, and the negative reactions they encounter.
This tendency is due to a valid necessity to avoid bad things in the future, but we’ve become complacent enough that we perceive things as a threat that are no such thing.
[EDITED TO ADD: The example posted here has been pointed out to me to disagree with something I said earlier. Despite my hurt feelings about the matter, I feel it’s best if I bury the horse instead of beating it. Sorry for the gross metaphor. RESTORED BECAUSE BALLS TO CENSORSHIP OF MY LIFE EXPERIENCES.]
I recently lost what I thought was a good friend, and I’m still not sure why. They suddenly became chilly toward me, and then became openly hostile when I made the honest mistake of replying to a Twitter conversation that they were in the midst of with another friend. I got the tweets out of order (because my Android client sometimes derps), and I didn’t see that they’d already covered what I’d pointed out. The person lashed out and told me off, I apologized and explained that I’d see the tweet out of context, they lashed out, again, and I simply replied with “…sorry.” because I had no idea what else to say.
I asked this person what I’d done in a private message, and said that while they didn’t owe me an explanation, I would appreciate one. I was ignored.
Shortly after this, I was sub-tweeted (when someone talks about you or passive-aggressively lectures without naming you) in a rant, and the specific instance was named. It was obvious enough that other people messaged me and said things like, “Didn’t you apologize for that?” If your rage is THAT specific, you’re better off just talking to the person instead of trying to humiliate them (unsuccessfully, I might add). That’s immature, and it’s unnecessary.
All of this happened in the span of one week. Before then, there was absolutely no indication that anything was amiss.
I lashed out and wrote some sub-tweets of my own (after blocking them on every single social media presence we shared), because not only had I directly asked what was going on, but I did apologize, and the other party involved didn’t react. There’s a difference in maturity between the two, and one is, frankly, the result of an echo chamber. This person had people on eggshells because of an anxiety issue (a completely valid issue, mind you), and they’d either never learned to deal with conflict due to a volatile upbringing, or they refused to out of an overblown sense of self-preservation. There could be another reason, but from my viewpoint, I’ve seen so many examples of this person avoiding anything and everything that makes them the least bit stressed that I’m fairly certain they’ve manufactured their own behavior in that regard. It’s tailor-made to them, so they feel no reason to change.
Like Wil Wheaton, this person practically preaches love and acceptance. They comfort people who are feeling down. They repeat a mantra, “You are loved,” every single night (I found this a bit annoying, as that sort of thing repeated a lot is usually a manipulation, but I thought they meant well). They have legitimately good things about them, which is why I trusted them and became close to them.
However, the fact that I was shunned so easily tells me some very specific things, primarily the level of maturity they’ve developed in regards to their response to situations.
I will once again reiterate that I have done the same thing, though not recently. It’s honestly been quite a while, unless I’ve just been completely mistaken.
[ANOTHER EDIT: The person who pointed out my “discrepancy” is this person’s S.O., and engaged in emotional badgering an abuse that seriously screwed with my head for a day, thus inspiring THIS post about types of abuse.]
If you’re still with me, it’s appreciated. This post has been a long time coming, and I feel it’s something many people could benefit from, even if just dealing with a smaller group.
You are not owed happiness.
You are not owed respect.
You are deserving of both when you try to achieve both.
If you’ve reached the point where you can identify yourself in any of the characteristics I verbosely named, and I’m not trying to be snotty or condescending, here, but you might want to take a look at why that is.
Feelings are valid.
How you present those feelings to others is more important, however, at least in my opinion.
I would like to edit Wheaton’s original “law” by adding a word: “Don’t needlessly be a dick.”
If what you say can be interpreted as inflammatory without any effort, take a step back and ask yourself if it’s necessary. I think your world might be a bit easier if you do.
Not gonna lie, I’ve kind of come to hate WordPress the past month or so, with all the writing I do for IGM on it. It’s not like I hate my job. It’s just that staring at a white screen all the time gets to me.
Anyway, a lot has happened since I last updated. I went to Detroit for a week, saw lots of awesome stuff (DIA was really cool), ate lots of awesome food (POUTINE. YES, PLEASE), and met a lot of interesting people on the 4 planes I had to take (as well as the airports I had to sit in), including the sister of the Manager of Rendevous – the restaurant where Princes Harry and William got completely shit-faced at when they visited Memphis this year. How do I know they got shit-faced? Well, I had a witness who wasn’t fond of hyperbole.
While I was in Detroit, I got a call from Forrest, who prefaced the conversation with, “I want you to enjoy your vacation, okay?” so I was instantly on-edge. It turns out he was let go. Why? Well, the management over HIS management was told to cut costs wherever they could, so they looked at people’s records and were like, “yeah, we can stop paying them.” Forrest was downsized based on the number of times he was late to work. I don’t know if I mentioned this, earlier, but that was a chronic problem that was not fixed when he moved to a later time, due to a number of factors like insomnia and his sleep apnea.
So we lost health insurance. Which has been basically making me anxious for the past couple of weeks. That’s been fun.
I started to titrate down on my Lamictal, since I figured I wouldn’t be able to use it, any more, and ended up having a seizure this past Saturday morning, and woke up with a migraine this morning. So I’m going back up to full dose – Walgreens does have their discount program, so I should still be able to get it. Thankfully, we have savings. He’s looking for jobs, has friends looking for him, and hopefully by next month he’ll have something. Cross your fingers, yeah?
I go back to the neurologist tomorrow for a re-check and an update, which we’ll have to pay full price for, but it’s worth it, honestly, with all the help I’ve gotten from that office in the past few months. I can’t really skimp on that or the Lyme doc.
In WRAP BONNIE IN BUBBLE WRAP news, I have fallen down no fewer than 7 times in the past 3 days. The most recent adventure involved my office chair, my tablet (I was distracted), and gravity.
Of course I Snapchatted it as soon as I assessed that nothing was broken.
I think I told y’all how I rolled out of my friend’s wheelchair earlier this year due to an inability to balance (and it has no safeguards, like the chair I’m using does)? The difference between then and now is that in the wheelchair accident, I was able to roll backwards and only sustain a bit of shoulder pain, as I was in the front yard with plenty of room. This time, I landed flat after catching my right arm on the coffee table you see in the photo with the recliner on the left side, and the couch behind, it was a tight space, and all I could do was lean forward to minimize impact on my back. I felt a bit whiplashed, earlier, but I think it’s fine, now. My right scapular area and rotator cuff are the opposite of happy. My left calf (at the top, almost behind my knee) smacked the chair bottom, and I spent most of the afternoon/evening with ice on it and my scapula, and a heating pad on my shoulder. Walking is difficult. Thank god for Netflix on my tablet.
I’m still in quite a bit of pain, so I’m going to stop, here, but I’m going to go ahead and invite folks to ask about anything they’re curious about. Leave comments, tweet at me, leave a Facebook comment, whatever. I’ll answer almost anything.
And with that, I bid you all goodnight.
As everyone who reads this blog knows, I have Lyme disease, have had it since I was 14. Because of wrong information about prevention and identification of both seed ticks (youngest tick form most likely to transmit) and the MYRIAD of rashes (not just target rash) that can occur with transmission, my mother and I thought it was a chigger and put Vaseline on it. Apparently ticks are one of the few creatures that panic-vomit. That’s how I got infected. It wasn’t dramatic, it just was, and this is something that hundreds, if not thousands, of people in this country do every day to remove ticks (other methods involve paint thinner, smoldering matches/paper, and drowning it in a bottle cap of water – all of which accomplish the tick backing out to run, but they ALL vomit before they do that – it’s their fight-or-flight).
I got all kinds of illnesses I wasn’t supposed to be getting – mono (have had it 3 times, now), pneumonia (repeatedly, during neither flu nor allergy season), and so many bouts of tonsilitis that I lost count. My doctor at the time said that it was because I had so many ear infections when I was a kid.
I also developed a sudden allergy to latex paint fumes. Shortly after that it was a full-blown latex allergy. This was followed by a bunch of little sensitivities, including some to medications I’d previously been able to take with no problem (this continues, today – a medication I could take 7 years ago nearly made me unconscious earlier this month, and a sleep-aid I took in 2006 with minor hilarity caused me to hack into my leg in 2009 – if anyone asks why I don’t take Ambien to sleep, I hike up my pants leg).
Fast-forward a bit, I’m stressed out about a wedding and college graduation, and I start getting REALLY sick. I can’t walk right, I’m having seizures, life just sucks so much it’s unbearable. I get pneumonia, again. I start gaining weight. I try to exercise, and nearly have a stroke – it’s then that I discover that my normally-low blood pressure is suddenly way too high. All of these are hallmarks of advanced Lyme disease, but my doctors were all convinced I was bipolar and too fat, and that going on mood-altering medications were key to my recovery.
Fast-forward a bit more, I’m divorced, still sick as fuck, and a friend of mine with Lyme says, “You…need to ask your doctor about this.” He then proceeded to tell me that I shouldn’t get the CDC test, because even if it shows positive bands (they’re all assigned to different parts of the Lyme bacteria – it’s basically the Lyme’s trash that the test sees, since there aren’t antibodies to it), you’re not considered actually sick unless you show something like 7 bands, which almost never happens. This, incidentally, is why the CDC only had 30,000 new cases of Lyme per year until 2013.
I asked my doctor, first (I’d gotten a new one, I liked her, I trusted her to not be a dick about it), and got the CDC test to see if I needed to pursue anything further. I showed positive on the band that indicates that Lyme flagella are floating around. That’s trash that’s small enough that were it left over, my body would have gotten rid of it within a week. Basically, it meant I was still infected.
I found an LLMD in my area (lucky, honestly – there aren’t too many, and I’ll go into that in a bit), showed him the test, and he was like “…yeeeah, I’m going to do an examination, ask you some questions, and we’ll go from there.”
I was clinically diagnosed with Lyme disease in March 2011. This means that upon examination of symptoms, a thorough interview, and a physical examination, a doctor learned in Lyme and other tick-borne diseases has made the judgment that I have the disease and should be treated for it as soon as possible.
You know who hates clinical diagnoses? The CDC. They want to see the bullseye rash, they want the over-kill on the positive test, they don’t want anything but disaster-level illness, because that’s the kind that’s most likely to be curable.
My LLMD practices in a tiny clinic in Tunica, MS, right next to a bank of casinos. He sees mostly worker’s comp cases, and his clinic has a walk-in doctor for that reason. He only sees Lyme patients on Wednesdays, but had to expand to Friday afternoons for the overflow, because people are getting sick at such a fast rate, down here. He can’t advertise that he’s an LLMD – I found him through a registry that I had to register for with my personal information to obtain an address, because the CDC has instructed insurance companies on methods of treatment, as well as “appropriate” ages for many diseases and conditions, and insurance companies have and will sue any doctors actively treating anything more than acute Lyme (which is hard as hell to catch and treat, as an aside).
I was able to get a test from Igenex, a lab in California that basically bites its thumb at the CDC, and it was overwhelmingly positive. That test came back on May 31, 2013. I had gone at least 2 years without proper treatment from my clinical diagnosis, and at most nearly 16 years from the date of contraction.
In 2013, the CDC finally upped the number of new cases of Lyme disease on their website from 30,000 to 300,000. That’s more that the number of new cases of breast cancer per year, and it’s actually a communicable disease. It can be spread through the blood (Lifeblood knows this, and forbids anyone who’s ever tested positive for Lyme disease from donating anything, including organs and plasma), through sexual contact (yeah, it totally counts as an STD, though it’s less common), and through any insect that drinks blood from multiple creatures. Opossums are the only animal with a known natural-defense against ticks (it’s in their fur), meaning that any animal, not just deer, can get and pass Lyme disease.
Dogs get it, and are immediately treated by vets.
People get it, and are put through paces to even be taken seriously enough for diagnosis, let alone treated.
Lyme is as serious as HIV, can cause brain damage like syphilis, and can destroy internal organs. It acts like a cancer in that it will spread through the bloodstream and then set up shop in tumor-like cysts, where it multiplies before sending off a scouting crew for a new camp. It hides in the body’s own cells for protection. It’s a bacteria that acts like a virus, and kills people by causing heart attacks, anaphylaxis, inopportune seizure injuries, and even liver damage.
The CDC says chronic Lyme doesn’t exist.
So yeah, I fucking hate the CDC, and have absolutely no faith in their ability to keep anything under control, let alone a virus that they’ve been inadvertently encouraging by telling people who call with concerns that they’re fine to travel (like the most recent nurse to get sick).
I’m not a conspiracy theorist, I’m not one of those folks who looks for the bad in every situation, but when I see the CDC say “it’s cool, we’ve got this,” I’m instantly concerned, because no, they don’t “got” this, what they’ve “got” is a really bad habit of sticking their fingers in their ears and singing until confronted with too much blowback to ignore.
First, the blood pressure thing: I went to the doctor, as I mentioned I was going to do in my last entry. That happened on Monday afternoon.
The Zanaflex was definitely the candidate. Since I stopped taking it, my BP hasn’t dipped lower than 100/65. WOO!
I’m back on the Temazepam, but I’m okay with that.
I also got my flu shot on Monday, and on Wednesday night, my arm started getting really hot and lumpy where the injection was, and it’s still really sore (it’s still red and lumpy and warm, too). When I went to Walgreen’s to get my meds, today (will expound on that in a bit), I was like “Hey, am I right to think this isn’t really a big deal? Because it doesn’t seem like a big deal…just weird.”
The pharmacist said, “Yeah, your immune response is just really strong. But you’re not going to get the flu, so there’s that!”
Basically, my immune system is over-reacting, but it’s no longer worthless! YAY!
I went to an ENT today because of the whole “sinuses are full, you need to get that checked” thing, and since I have vertigo, and ear pain in my left ear, they wanted to go ahead and test my hearing and go through the usual battery of tests. I got a regular hearing test, something that basically amounted to an EEG/EMG on my ear canals, an eardrum pressure test, and then the dreaded ice water test (to test normal response in ear fluid to changes in temperature – it makes you really dizzy).
Apparently my right ear is perfect, and my left ear only has 35% loss on one or two frequencies – but since I got blasted in the ear by an airhorn when I was 17 (ah, marching band…), that’s no big surprise. The doc said I have the hearing of a “child, or a teenager.” For a 31-year-old musician who had a habit of doing loud karaoke for a few years, that’s amazing.
My eardrums respond normally to pressure. The nerves are fine, as well. The fluid isn’t terrible enough to worry. My dizziness response is normal (though that test is awful – I still have a headache from it).
I have an infection in the left canal, which is not a surprise in the least, as that ear’s been bothering me for months. I have eardrops for that. I also got nose spray for my sinuses (which is why I was back at Walgreens today).
The diagnosis for my vertigo was basically, “Yeeeah, your migraines are screwing with you.”
Honestly, that’s the best that visit could have gone, and it was great finally getting good news from a doctor!
Oh, also? I dyed my hair on Wednesday (or, rather, my sister dyed it for me):
Blue and purple dye mixed together = indigo!
I still haven’t washed it since Wednesday, because I REALLY want to color to stick, this time, so I’m sitting here thanking the person who invented dry shampoo. I’ve had to be really careful showering, because getting my hair wet will make it bleed onto my skin, and that’s not optimal.
Soooo there’s my week. Next week I’m traveling to Detroit to hang out with unforgivingminute and FINALLY meet lygerlyger (if you don’t know who they are, check my sidebar), so that’ll be fun. :) I’m glad I got my ENT visit squared away before then, so I don’t have to worry about what the plane pressure is going to do aside from the normal issues (which can be fixed by yawning and chewing gum).
I have a headache from trying to rectify the problem I’m about to share, so bear with me – this may sound a bit disjointed in places. I’ll try to keep it simple.
My blood pressure was really great until around 2009/2010, when suddenly it began hovering around 140/100. That’s 20/40 higher than the highest recommended for someone my age. I started on BP meds, and after a few adjustments, I found one that worked really well without making me feel too tired.
In addition to the Lamictal, I was put on Zanaflex to help me sleep. It’s a muscle relaxer – and, well, the heart is a muscle.
My blood pressure has been hovering around 90/60 for the past week or so, during the day (even at “normal peak times”) – that’s the lowest recommended blood pressure for anyone.
I talked to a nurse friend, and he said, “If systolic goes below 80, you get your ass to a hospital.” At one point, it got down to 85, but that was at 3am, which is the time your BP is lowest, so I held out until later in the day, and it went back up.
When I move around, my BP goes up to around 100/70, which is significantly better, but moving around is also wearing me out quickly, so I don’t do it as much.
Last night, I took my meds, along with my Zanaflex, and proceeded to doze off while on my laptop, as I’m wont to do. Forrest came in and saw me, and was like, “Hey, go to bed.” I had to pee (my kidneys are working overtime – that’s another post for another day), so I got up, and immediately regretted that decision. I made it to the bathroom, got back into bed, and had the thought that I should probably check my BP, because I felt…really wrong.
The first reading was around midnight, and was 78/49, with a pulse of 78. Okay, that’s in the danger zone. I was a bit nervous, but also REALLY tired, so I wasn’t sure what to do.
I waited a few minutes, to see what my resting BP was: 72/42, pulse 61.
Obviously I’m alive, but that scared the crap out of me. I know why it’s happening, but it needs to stop, so I’m going to the doctor this afternoon to get it taken care of, because my doctor’s office was like, “HEY. GET IN HERE.”
I know that below 50/35 is pretty much coma to death. Hence the doctor’s urgency. And I know it was probably stupid of me not to call someone last night. I have no real defense for that – I was tired, and was out of it from the meds (and likely the low blood pressure, as well).
Sooo that’s happening.
We’ll see what happens at the doctor, I suppose.
When I first joined Opera Memphis, I was apprehensive. I was young, I didn’t know a lot about opera, and I was basically there to sing (after having auditioned due to peer pressure…the friend who dragged me along ended up not showing up at all), but had limited experience with performing in a serious musical group. I’d sung and danced in youth choruses, and did karaoke constantly, but that was pretty much it.
Basically, I was nervous, and I didn’t really know what I was doing.
A woman name Donna befriended me, helped me, showed me what to do, consoled me, talked me through things, and even led me to be a more self-advocating patient. She’s part of the reason I finally fought to get a hysterectomy, which may have actually saved my life. She gave me a coin with a Bible verse on it that I carry with me to this day, 7 years later, because it means so much to me that she gave it to me. I was in a really low place, and when I feel bad, I look at this coin, and I feel better.
It’s either in my purse or in my pocket. I’ve literally carried this around for 7 years.
She did so much for me in the few years I was in Opera Memphis (in Samson and Delilah, Don Giovanni, Turandot, and The Scottish Play), and I took it for granted that she would always be around…that when I got well enough to join again, she’d be there.
Turandot, dress rehearsal.
Donna Hettinger-York lost her battle with breast cancer, which metastasized to her bones, on September 19, 2014.
She died at home, with her family, which was her wish.
I’d gone to see her in the hospital last Thursday, but she was sleeping. I left her flowers and a letter, sat with her for a while (my friend Jason Vawter drove me, and I’m so grateful to him for that), got an update from the doctor, and left.
She looked so frail, and her sleep was restless. I know she was in pain, which is another reason I didn’t wake her up – sleep is precious when you’re sick, and I know that.
I wish she’d been awake so I could talk to her, but I’m just glad I got to see her.
There are people who you meet that just leave an impression on you. It doesn’t matter where you go, whether you keep in close contact, or even if you knew them for very long. You just have this feeling about them, that they’re great, and when you hear things about them, you feel it. Good, bad…everything about them affects you from afar. There are a limited number of people like that for me, and Donna was one of them.
It didn’t matter if she was in a bad mood or not, she would make the effort to try to make other people feel better. Her nature was to be a nurturer, and while she didn’t have biological children of her own, she was like a surrogate to so many. I even called her my “opera mom,” because of how much she helped me.
She was kind and hilarious. She’s one of those people that I honestly can’t think of anything negative about, which is rare. You know how folks tend to wax poetic about people when they’ve passed, like it’s an insult to their memory to remember their flaws? There’s nothing fake about my memory – Donna was a great person, period. Even her flaws lent credibility to that.
One of the costumes for The Scottish Play involved chest plates for the female chorus that featured molded boobs. Donna stuck a yarn tassel to hers as a gag, and accidentally left it on during a dress rehearsal. I was a super in that show (non-singing human scenery), and I nearly lost it trying not to laugh when I realized what had happened.
It had fallen off by this point, but look at that costume, and the sass on her face. She was the sassiest.
That was Donna. Just goofy as all get out, and so unabashedly herself.
Before the second act of The Scottish Play on opening night.
This is how I remember Donna.
This is how I always want to remember Donna.
And if you were with me tonight
I’d sing to you just one more time
A song for a heart so big
God wouldn’t let it live
May angels lead you in
Hear you me, my friend
On sleepless roads the sleepless go
May angels lead you in.
I don’t remember that side effect from last time, but I was also not sleeping very well, anyway (school, wedding planning, etc.), so there’s no telling.
But one of the things I looked up was whether Lamictal causes nightmares, and lo and behold, there were so many links from forums of people complaining about it (mostly women) that I’m half-convinced that if I keep taking this stuff, and it doesn’t get any easier for me to handle, I may never sleep again.
(Monday night, I got 3 hours of restless sleep before waking up at 4am and just…being awake. I took meds to help me sleep on Tuesday afternoon, because I was so miserably tired. Tuesday night I slept like the dead, but only for 6 hours. So far, I’m not exactly happy, and I even switched to taking the dose in the morning to see if that would help. Hah!)
So the key part of this nightmare – the part that woke me up – involved a zombie-thing. It was very Silent Hill-esque, even though I’ve never played any of those games…I’ve only seen a trailer or two of P.T. (the new one).
I had a goal, like a video game, and while it was happening, I remember dream-me thinking it was weird, but I had to complete the task in order to proceed.
That task? Destroy the head of a dead girl – which for some reason was hanging on the back of a door leading to a short hallway (i.e. a trap). The head was hanging on the side of the door in the hallway, which meant that if I did the tasks wrong, I was trapped in a very narrow space with what would be the vengeful spirit (or something) of this girl.
It was a little like F.E.A.R., now that I think on it.
Except for the tasks I had to complete, which were just gross. So I’m going to put them under a cut.
Continue reading Lamictal apparently produces vivid nightmares.
First, when my neurologist gets comfortable with someone, he tells dirty jokes. It’s hilarious, especially given that his delivery is a bit different due to his accent.
Alrighty, so last week, I had an EEG first thing in the morning, and went to the hospital for my MRI, MRA, and corotid ultrasound with gobs of glue in my hair. That was fun. I hope to never have another EEG.
My insurance canceled the ultrasound, I don’t know why, but whatever. I had the MRI and MRA, and was able to listen to music through headphones while in the machine. I couldn’t HEAR the music when the machine was pulsing, but whatever. I brought an eye mask and my mouth guard, and it went okay.
The results of that: everything’s normal, but all of my sinuses are inflamed and full. So I have a referral to an ENT forthcoming, which I needed, anyway, what with my left ear being a butthead.
I went back today, got the EEG results, and it was normal, as well. A bit of weirdness that would indicate that a seizure disorder may be present, but I didn’t tip any warning scales during the test. I knew that, already, but ah, well. If I have another episode, I suppose we’ll film it and just bring it with us next time.
Then I got another set of injections for my hips (that needle is huge, but it doesn’t hurt at all compared to the cortisol and numbing agent going through my muscles. Ugh…), and started the EMG test, more popularly known as the nerve conduction test, in my legs.
The first portion had the doctor sticking conductive pads attached to wires to different parts of each leg and foot, and then sticking what looked like a stun gun on other parts of my legs and feet to test my nerves. There’s definite damage/impairment in both legs, but the left one is worse. My feet were jumping around on some of the tests, and I couldn’t stop laughing because it felt so weird.
Then he took the conduction needle to test my muscles, and while it wasn’t really painful, having a needle stuck in the top of your foot while having to flex it backward is not really my idea of a good time.
The muscle test showed results that also supported the reduced nerve function in my legs.
It’s suspected that I have a pinched nerve in my back, but he’s not sure which one, and it would take another MRI to find. Fuck that. They were supposed to give me exercises for it, but they forgot, so I’m going to do some chair yoga or something, I guess.
I had to stop the Topamax because it made me feel faint, but in the interest of having me on something that could potentially help migraine and seizure, I’m now on Lamictal. I’ve been on it before, but I was also on Risperdal, I think, and got a bad rash on my leg. I don’t know which drug did it, but I guess we’ll see in the next week or so if it was the Lamictal, because it’ll do it again, faster, if I had that side effect, before.
I’m not going to be on a huge dose of it, so it’s truly preventative, not a treatment. So that’s good.
I was also given Imitrex to take if I get a migraine. Fabulous.
I go back in 6 weeks for an update and to see how things are going, and I will be going to the ENT sometime in the next few weeks, so hopefully we can get my sinuses taken care of. Since I’m on a bunch of antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory/immunosuppressant, already, unless there’s some allergy pill that will help things clear out (I kind of doubt it, but it’s worth a try), I may have to get a scope surgery to clear everything out. And these are ALL of my sinuses, because my body never does anything half-assed.
So there you have it. Everything is hopefully treatable and could be gone in a year or so, unless for some reason the nerve being pinched caused some sort of permanent damage.
I can’t imagine what Google is going to bring my way with a title like that…
I’m on Twitter, and I’m fairly active, most days, with a smallish group of folks that comprise the majority of my timeline. We don’t segregate ourselves or anything, we just get along really well, so we end up chatting and sharing links and whatnot throughout the day.
To lead into this, I believe I’ve mentioned Sophie (my cat) having horrendous gas before, but if I haven’t, well…Sophie has horrendous gas.
She also likes to climb up onto my chest while I’m computing, as seen in this photo:
Squeaky is not amused.
Now, usually she sits cross-ways, with her head further up on my shoulder, which, because she’s so small, results in her rear end being under my chin. This wouldn’t be a problem, except…she’s a gassy little beast. (I end up gag-laughing nearly every day, but I’m not going to deny her cuddles, because they help me as much as they help her.)
I share her fartventures on Twitter because I have no shame (I mean, neither does Sophie, clearly), and also because the folks I interact with think it’s funny.
Now we get to the relevant part of the story.
My handle on most sites, these days, begins with “Squeaky” because of this blog. I got used to it, so there it is. Twitter is no exception. Usually it’s just a plain old name, no flare at all, sometimes I change it because something funny has happened. Other times because I’m in a mood. No biggie.
Sophie was in “the position” this morning, while I was in the middle of talking to a friend of mine through direct messages, and she let out a squeaker. I nearly peed laughing so hard, and I think I actually hurt Sophie’s feelings a little bit (I can’t really tell – she looks perpetually angry).
Anyway, because the first part of my nickname on Twitter (the site I was currently on) is already “Squeaky,” I just added “Butt” to it, because…what the hell else would I do?
The friend I was talking to laughed about the cat, and we chatted a bit more, before I realized that the end of her nickname…was “Face.”
And I was like, “Hey, that’s kind of funny, we’re both different ends of a torso!”
“Oh, my god. We’re the butt/face towel!”
I currently own one, for some reason. But this is a thing, yes.
Commence immediate hysteria, because it’s early and we’re both immensely silly people when given a reason.
And that’s the story of how I became one half of a novelty product.
I started taking Topamax and Zanaflex on Tuesday night, and the Zanaflex does well to help me sleep for a few hours a night, but my bladder (more on that in a bit) and Sophie (in her usual manner) keep me from sleeping well.
The Topamax has been an adventure.
First it just made me a bit nervous. Then it made my lips tingly. Then it removed my appetite. Then my appetite kind of came back. Then my appetite left again. Then I started getting kind of dizzy. Then I started feeling faint easily. I don’t plan on taking it tonight or tomorrow, and am calling the neurologist as soon as possible tomorrow to discuss it, because, well, fuck that.
(I checked – both Zanaflex AND Topamax have this in the “call your doctor immediately” category, soooo…either way, WELP.)
I’ve also lost 8 pounds since Tuesday. It’s mostly water weight, because Topamax is a diuretic, and I’ve been drinking at least 72oz of water every day…and my bladder has been…active.
I am thirsty, but I also have to drink the water, because Topamax is also known for causing kidney stones, so yay.
My barrage of neuro tests starts next Monday (the 8th) with the EEG first thing, then the MRI, corotid ultrasound, and MRA in the afternoon.