I'm writing this after we brought a precious little ball of fluff that we named Miss Minnie Mae, Duchess of Mork, in a whirlwind of three days. She's a mama's girl, and we're both pretty sure she's a full blooded Maine Coon that somebody bought in to the Contra Costa SPCA because she's not "Show" worthy. She is my saving grace in aiding me to grieve for Basil, who's name I can't even type without starting to cry. It's been one year from Oct. 7th since he passed and I know I'll never get over it, but somehow will get through it.
Minnie Mae is the joy in my life right now and my body doesn't care. From joy to sorrow, every emotion I have manifests itself into a physical symptom. I'm coming off a 24 hour migraine, and I already feel the haunting of another one coming. I'll do the usual scramble of medicines to hold it a bay for at most, a week...but there's no escaping it. I've broken two fevers in as many days, one reaching 102.7. My body is a total wreck, I can't get hydrated, I have vertigo so bad that standing is a whole mission. I now have greying/blacking out episodes that left me on my bedroom floor for 40 minutes when Todd was at work. I couldn't reach the phones, and every time I tried to stand, I just couldn't. I finally scooched my way over to the kitty stairs at the end of our bed, and slowly, step by step, got myself up. I threw up last night (of course, what's a migraine without vomiting) and instead of blackish brown, it was totally clear. Yay!!! No blood in my vomit!!! This is progress. Progress. Me NOT throwing up blood...is progress.
Before we got MinnieMae at the Concord PetCo, we decided to get out of the car and buy some new toys for her. Eating for me is very hard right now, so between the lack of nutrition, loss of electrolytes, and dehydration, I have a hard time walking in a straight line. Todd was watching me like a hawk and at one point when I started to grey-out, he grabbed me by both arms and ordered me to "look at me, Una! Are you there? Una, Look at me!" I guess I finally locked into his eyes and then proceeded to break out into a cold sweat. Todd walked me back to the car and came back with the brand new kitty loot. When Amy from C.C. SPCA got there, Todd helped me in and thank the Universe, there were chairs. I got the usual once over by everybody there. Let me explain the "Once Over". It consists of people I know that haven't seen me in a while or total strangers who do a sort of double take. If you haven't seen me in a while, I think I would shock you. I don't really feel like getting into my "looks" right now because my self esteem is so raw, but in another post, I'll fill you in.
We got Miss MinnieMae and not a peep from her the whole car ride home. Somehow, like always, I made it up the pathway and flight of stairs to our condo (stairs can kiss my giant ass!)ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc<---Miss MinnieMae typed all those "c's" and just flopped down on me. She's been playing with Wally so it's time for kitten coma sleep.
I'll sign off for now, but the whole point of this entry was me needing just one day of no pain, symptoms, or side effects...just one day...one.
As always, I'll bulldog my way through this illness that can't be named minute by minute if need be.
Till next time,
Moi
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
This is...
I'm not uber inspired right now to wax on poetically and beautifully about a moment, a thought, a website, an occasion, but it's been a while and I want to blow some cobwebs out of this dusty brain of mine before I open this blog up to those that I want to update more regularly about my health, my struggle with the progress, my bitching of bad days, my heartache of sad days, my sarcasm directed at lots of things or people, my laughter at the funny, my awe of this wondrous Universe, and my odd little rants, ramblings, and rumblings.
This is hard for me. My plan is to send out an email which I will formally name an "Una Unabridged", and the people I like, love, care about, cherish, and adore can click on my hyperlink, and read what I wrote that day, or just favorite me to catch up on me when they have a moment to really sit down and take it in.
Writing is a very personal thing for me. When I'm inspired to write, I'm totally open with whatever emotion pushed me to open my laptop and share who I am with people. This isn't the fairly upbeat and funny me that my loved ones see in a social setting...no. This is me, stripped down. This is me happy. This me livid. This is me depressed. This is me surprised. This is me hurt. This is me healing. This is me raw. This is me.
I may shock some people with what I have to say and I have to hope that they'll still care about me. I'm terrified of rejection, judgement, and disappointment, but I will write my truth regardless. I cannot lie nor can I pull a Pollyanna "I'm Great! How are you?" anymore.
My battle with an illness that cannot be diagnosed has me in pain every time I wake up till I go to sleep. I'm fragile, I'm brittle, I'm drugged, I'm confused, I'm so angry, I'm defeated, I'm a warrior, I'm scared, and I'm trying. My will is defeated by my body every day that I open my eyes, and yet, I still open them.
This is my leap of faith.
This is hard for me. My plan is to send out an email which I will formally name an "Una Unabridged", and the people I like, love, care about, cherish, and adore can click on my hyperlink, and read what I wrote that day, or just favorite me to catch up on me when they have a moment to really sit down and take it in.
Writing is a very personal thing for me. When I'm inspired to write, I'm totally open with whatever emotion pushed me to open my laptop and share who I am with people. This isn't the fairly upbeat and funny me that my loved ones see in a social setting...no. This is me, stripped down. This is me happy. This me livid. This is me depressed. This is me surprised. This is me hurt. This is me healing. This is me raw. This is me.
I may shock some people with what I have to say and I have to hope that they'll still care about me. I'm terrified of rejection, judgement, and disappointment, but I will write my truth regardless. I cannot lie nor can I pull a Pollyanna "I'm Great! How are you?" anymore.
My battle with an illness that cannot be diagnosed has me in pain every time I wake up till I go to sleep. I'm fragile, I'm brittle, I'm drugged, I'm confused, I'm so angry, I'm defeated, I'm a warrior, I'm scared, and I'm trying. My will is defeated by my body every day that I open my eyes, and yet, I still open them.
This is my leap of faith.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Why I'm REALLY *Una*-bridged now. Yes, this means no-no words.
In polite society, I am a Master at holding my tongue and my usually betraying facial expressions. Oh please, get that shocked look off your face. While I am a stickler for social graces and mannerly correctness in Social Gatherings of a certain ilk, my favorite part is the run down with the hubby on the drive home! Yes, I do believe in and revel in *GASP* GOSSIP! and even more surprising, I want people to gossip about me, too...I just don"t want to hear or know about it. "But Una!" you say/think/muse/don't give a crap about "You speak of karma and what goes around and being kinder to each other to make life a better experience!" You talk all the time of having "A Life Well Lived!"
*Sigh* little bastards making me explain mysel...OH! Was that in white and black? Er, yeah. *A throat clearing followed by hacking cough and extreme vertigo.* Nah, I'm not sick, it's just Uranus in the 7th Moon...fuckin' health "who gives a crap" I mean, "care" system.
Allow me to pop another sedative for my soul crushing anxiety and severe P.T.S.D. flare up after learning of the deaths of the 4 Officers in Lakeview, WA, which for me,has brought back to the surface everything that so many of us in the O.P.D. family dealt with. The suffocating fear, panic, pain, anxiety, and sorrow from when our 4 Oakland Police Department Officers were murdered in cold blood on March 21st, 2009, while I also just learned last night (the reason I have yet to fall asleep) that an old classmate of mine, Tom, was shot dead in front of his 13 year old daughter while walking their dogs to get ice cream. The murderer killed him because one of their dogs was sniffing at the murderer's leg, so the mother fucker pulled out a gun and shot Tom dead in front of his 13 year old daughter, who incredibly, had the presence of mind to run back to the store and yell for them to call 911, *10 very deep breaths and a few tears, please" and I'll explain my gossip theory.
Ok...one more deep breath.
Yes, Grasshopper...Yes, I do speak of these positive warm and fuzzy things and in light of my recent physical limitations now, this bitch is throwin' down as much good JuJu as she can. (ooohh...I just talked about myself in the 3rd person! How cool am I?!?) Here's the thing about gossip. It needs clearly defined rules. My Shweetie is ALWAYS a safe bet for not spilling beans AND I get the added benefit of getting a gnawing, festering, anger inducing feeling out of my gut. Surprise, surprise, I don't let things go very easily. To me, that is no different than talkin' to my therapist.
As this disease and this pain I bear every damn day of my life grinds me down, my smiling, at times, sweet veneer is getting more and more cracked. My ability to hold my tongue now involves my teeth actually physically biting it.
My rope is fraying to a point of my Shweetie frantically running around in circles juggling his work cell phone on his left ear, personal iPhone that's still needing its security pin to his right ear with his shoulder (try it, it'll become your best party trick if you can master it), his Police Radio (He's a Sergeant for the Oakland Police Department) Mic bobbing up and down, and accidentally kicking one of our house phones trying to pick it up as he is randomly pushing buttons and yelling "HELLO!?!?! (he's not real good when it comes to me being hurt, sick, in an accident...Dr. heal thyself and yer family, the meowing furballs included, the big softy. I gotta give him kudo's though, he's doing the best he can with me, The Amazing Question Mark of Wildly Changing Moods) whilst a particularly very calm yet forceful Dame of mine is on the phone yelling "Oh Shit, Get a Bouncy House for her to Fall On! Shit, STUPID DUDE AT BOUNCY HOUSE PARTY RENTAL STORE, I NEED ANY KIND OF BOUNCY THING YOU HAVE! I don't know!!! A My Little Pony Castle, I Guess?" whilst I delicately trill "WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?! I DETEST "MY LITTLE PONY!!!" when the rope snaps my Dame will yell back "LIVE WITH IT, YOU WEENIE!" and my Shweetie will call out to me "I LOVE you SO much, Honey...That was a great fall! You did it perfectly!" and yes, I do need both of those energies! An unlikely scenario, but it sure makes for a good visual.
Here's another "I Spy" Guess where my general social filter went? Buh-Bye. Yet another reason I don't go out. (it's actually much deeper and spookier than that (more on that later...maybe much later...(very. strange.), but hangin' at home keeps my total loss of say, Grocery Store filter from me getting pounded by some bitch buying non-organic banana's for her drooling, screaming spawn to ingest and then get sick from all the post-industrial chemical crap Monsanto gets all the third world banana growing places to use.) Can someone tell me why every ingredient list has "Natural Flavoring"on it, yet no one knows what that is?
Back on topic now. I have a tendency towards rambling, rants, and wait, what was I writing about?
I guess what I'm getting at is that gossip, practiced correctly, is a form of therapy and can be just as, if not more cleansing because there is usually laughter involved. I don't know about you, but I can't be "Fake it till you make it" happy (thanks "The Secret" for making me suppress so much of my anger) hoping that my life will suddenly turn around and the little bluebird of happiness will flutter his little wings on my windowsill and kick my Chicken of Depression's ass off it. I gotta get that crap out, no matter how small, so it can just vaporize away and not weigh so heavily in my mind, ya know?
I've also got a really tight knit group of My Dames that are truly like minded thinkers that I would trust with my life. They may talk about me amongst themselves, but they would never let an "outsider" in and May the Universe help the usurpers who even tries to talks da smacks abouts Me's to My's Dames.
However, everyone can talk all the smack they want about me...just as long as I don't find out.
And that...well...that's the pebble, Grasshopper.
I truly meant for this post to be funny and up-lifting in it's odd little way and I just proved to myself that I can't put the abridged version out there anymore. I can promise my 1 reader that there will be more posting with different subjects, but I'm not really capable of a PollyAnna show anymore...even in my writing. It's a dark time in my life but I don't want that rubbing off on you, Gentle Reader. Take for what it is...Me living My Life. I just hope you can identify, find interesting, and maybe even be moved to create light where there is darkness. You know...the whole "Pay it Forward" thing.
Una
*Una*Bridged
*Sigh* little bastards making me explain mysel...OH! Was that in white and black? Er, yeah. *A throat clearing followed by hacking cough and extreme vertigo.* Nah, I'm not sick, it's just Uranus in the 7th Moon...fuckin' health "who gives a crap" I mean, "care" system.
Allow me to pop another sedative for my soul crushing anxiety and severe P.T.S.D. flare up after learning of the deaths of the 4 Officers in Lakeview, WA, which for me,has brought back to the surface everything that so many of us in the O.P.D. family dealt with. The suffocating fear, panic, pain, anxiety, and sorrow from when our 4 Oakland Police Department Officers were murdered in cold blood on March 21st, 2009, while I also just learned last night (the reason I have yet to fall asleep) that an old classmate of mine, Tom, was shot dead in front of his 13 year old daughter while walking their dogs to get ice cream. The murderer killed him because one of their dogs was sniffing at the murderer's leg, so the mother fucker pulled out a gun and shot Tom dead in front of his 13 year old daughter, who incredibly, had the presence of mind to run back to the store and yell for them to call 911, *10 very deep breaths and a few tears, please" and I'll explain my gossip theory.
Ok...one more deep breath.
Yes, Grasshopper...Yes, I do speak of these positive warm and fuzzy things and in light of my recent physical limitations now, this bitch is throwin' down as much good JuJu as she can. (ooohh...I just talked about myself in the 3rd person! How cool am I?!?) Here's the thing about gossip. It needs clearly defined rules. My Shweetie is ALWAYS a safe bet for not spilling beans AND I get the added benefit of getting a gnawing, festering, anger inducing feeling out of my gut. Surprise, surprise, I don't let things go very easily. To me, that is no different than talkin' to my therapist.
As this disease and this pain I bear every damn day of my life grinds me down, my smiling, at times, sweet veneer is getting more and more cracked. My ability to hold my tongue now involves my teeth actually physically biting it.
My rope is fraying to a point of my Shweetie frantically running around in circles juggling his work cell phone on his left ear, personal iPhone that's still needing its security pin to his right ear with his shoulder (try it, it'll become your best party trick if you can master it), his Police Radio (He's a Sergeant for the Oakland Police Department) Mic bobbing up and down, and accidentally kicking one of our house phones trying to pick it up as he is randomly pushing buttons and yelling "HELLO!?!?! (he's not real good when it comes to me being hurt, sick, in an accident...Dr. heal thyself and yer family, the meowing furballs included, the big softy. I gotta give him kudo's though, he's doing the best he can with me, The Amazing Question Mark of Wildly Changing Moods) whilst a particularly very calm yet forceful Dame of mine is on the phone yelling "Oh Shit, Get a Bouncy House for her to Fall On! Shit, STUPID DUDE AT BOUNCY HOUSE PARTY RENTAL STORE, I NEED ANY KIND OF BOUNCY THING YOU HAVE! I don't know!!! A My Little Pony Castle, I Guess?" whilst I delicately trill "WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?! I DETEST "MY LITTLE PONY!!!" when the rope snaps my Dame will yell back "LIVE WITH IT, YOU WEENIE!" and my Shweetie will call out to me "I LOVE you SO much, Honey...That was a great fall! You did it perfectly!" and yes, I do need both of those energies! An unlikely scenario, but it sure makes for a good visual.
Here's another "I Spy" Guess where my general social filter went? Buh-Bye. Yet another reason I don't go out. (it's actually much deeper and spookier than that (more on that later...maybe much later...(very. strange.), but hangin' at home keeps my total loss of say, Grocery Store filter from me getting pounded by some bitch buying non-organic banana's for her drooling, screaming spawn to ingest and then get sick from all the post-industrial chemical crap Monsanto gets all the third world banana growing places to use.) Can someone tell me why every ingredient list has "Natural Flavoring"on it, yet no one knows what that is?
Back on topic now. I have a tendency towards rambling, rants, and wait, what was I writing about?
I guess what I'm getting at is that gossip, practiced correctly, is a form of therapy and can be just as, if not more cleansing because there is usually laughter involved. I don't know about you, but I can't be "Fake it till you make it" happy (thanks "The Secret" for making me suppress so much of my anger) hoping that my life will suddenly turn around and the little bluebird of happiness will flutter his little wings on my windowsill and kick my Chicken of Depression's ass off it. I gotta get that crap out, no matter how small, so it can just vaporize away and not weigh so heavily in my mind, ya know?
I've also got a really tight knit group of My Dames that are truly like minded thinkers that I would trust with my life. They may talk about me amongst themselves, but they would never let an "outsider" in and May the Universe help the usurpers who even tries to talks da smacks abouts Me's to My's Dames.
However, everyone can talk all the smack they want about me...just as long as I don't find out.
And that...well...that's the pebble, Grasshopper.
I truly meant for this post to be funny and up-lifting in it's odd little way and I just proved to myself that I can't put the abridged version out there anymore. I can promise my 1 reader that there will be more posting with different subjects, but I'm not really capable of a PollyAnna show anymore...even in my writing. It's a dark time in my life but I don't want that rubbing off on you, Gentle Reader. Take for what it is...Me living My Life. I just hope you can identify, find interesting, and maybe even be moved to create light where there is darkness. You know...the whole "Pay it Forward" thing.
Una
*Una*Bridged
VulvaLoveLovely on Etsy - Vagina Pillows, Vagina Pendants, Uterus Plushies ....
VulvaLoveLovely on Etsy - Vagina Pillows, Vagina Pendants, Uterus Plushies ....
Really? No...I mean REALLY!?!?!?
I will come totally clean that yes, yes I am a prude of the most judgemental sort about certain things...but baby, Sex ain't one of them! I don't want to know about your bathroom issues, bodily secretions, mucus, bodily noises, and things in the nether regions that may be of discomfort to you. No thank you. I am not lying when I tell you that it took an entire year to even let air escape from my stomach which therefor caused my esophagus to convulse in a very rapid motion that created an honorably fought, but alas, loud noise. Most people call it burping or belching, but I find even those words, shall we say, distasteful. *snort* (Snorting is aloud because it is an involuntary noise I make whilst laughing and I deem that it is charming for certain people to make this noise, including, but certainly not limited to, myself. Oh! The snor-ter must also create the noise in a mirthful, and dare I say, Lady Like way.)
Anyway, to the subject at hand. I am all for women's Lib! Hell, I marched with my Grandma for N.O.W. and E.R.A. Our Bodies, Ourselves! Whip out those mirrors and check out your bits! Tell your man where, how, faster, harder, more pressure, to the left, No, the other left, *SIGH* get off me and let me get my pocket rocket! Ah, now you may commence pleasing YOUR self as I please MY self and we all win without really having to work for it. (This in no way indicates the kind of Rumpy Pumpy that the shweetie and I enjoy...ed, before I got so sick.) You don't live your life with your soul mate for 17 years and have to tell him "No, your other left."
Ooh...goosebumps just remembering that feeling of absolute abandon because he knows my body better than I know my own, and vice verse. This auto-immune disease sucks, but let me tell you something, my man still calls me beautiful and we laugh together till our ribs hurt (which for me these days doesn't take much, but you get my meaning.) Wanna know the secret? Good times and Bad, Richer and Poorer, Sickness and in Health. I will put the caveat in that you fight hard, gutting out these hard times in your lives together with the person you were meant to be with. In Yiddish, your soul mate or " Destiny" is called your Bashert. No relevance, I just love the meaning.
Now see? Total T.M.I. about sex. Not a Prudey McPruderton about that. I can play one in certain company, but it takes some serious work to get me to blush about sex. Mention any sort of human waste product from the posterior nether region, and I wish you could see it, but I'm blushing right now.
Finally, I've got a scenario for you that is pertinent to the link of Stuffed Vagina's. *SNORT* (that was totally delicate and feminine, I assure you.)
Say you come to visit a friend you haven't seen in years, have a bit too much to drink, and they insist you spend the night. They have a lovely guest room, already set up with a robe, extra towels, a toothbrush, toothpaste, lotion, dental floss, shower gel, bubble bath all set in a little basket. "DAMN", you think,"Martha Stewart's got nothin' but money and an army of staff on these guys" You proceed with your nightly ablutions and notice how inviting, plush, posh, and soft the linens and bed look. This room is paradise. Wait, that's an odd pillow....you stroke it a few times thinking "wow...really soft and so familiar." You're sleepy from drink, move the other decorative pillows and think, "Screw it...I LOVE this soft, long, pillow with all these folds that I can adjust to support my neck" not realizing you just gave up two perfect NASA foam pillows that cradle your neck and head in perfect alignment with your spine.
You wake up, the morning light filling the room and realize "Oh shit! I just drooled all night on their decorative pillow....shit, SHIT!" You panic and hold it up just the right way to see if you can wipe the drool away....and your heart just kinda stops. You spent all night drooling on a labia minora...and now it's drooling on you!
You know what, after writing out that scenario...that's a comically GENIUS way to screw with your guests.
I have to go now, I have a Plush Vagina to purchase.
Una *Unabridged*
Really? No...I mean REALLY!?!?!?
I will come totally clean that yes, yes I am a prude of the most judgemental sort about certain things...but baby, Sex ain't one of them! I don't want to know about your bathroom issues, bodily secretions, mucus, bodily noises, and things in the nether regions that may be of discomfort to you. No thank you. I am not lying when I tell you that it took an entire year to even let air escape from my stomach which therefor caused my esophagus to convulse in a very rapid motion that created an honorably fought, but alas, loud noise. Most people call it burping or belching, but I find even those words, shall we say, distasteful. *snort* (Snorting is aloud because it is an involuntary noise I make whilst laughing and I deem that it is charming for certain people to make this noise, including, but certainly not limited to, myself. Oh! The snor-ter must also create the noise in a mirthful, and dare I say, Lady Like way.)
Anyway, to the subject at hand. I am all for women's Lib! Hell, I marched with my Grandma for N.O.W. and E.R.A. Our Bodies, Ourselves! Whip out those mirrors and check out your bits! Tell your man where, how, faster, harder, more pressure, to the left, No, the other left, *SIGH* get off me and let me get my pocket rocket! Ah, now you may commence pleasing YOUR self as I please MY self and we all win without really having to work for it. (This in no way indicates the kind of Rumpy Pumpy that the shweetie and I enjoy...ed, before I got so sick.) You don't live your life with your soul mate for 17 years and have to tell him "No, your other left."
Ooh...goosebumps just remembering that feeling of absolute abandon because he knows my body better than I know my own, and vice verse. This auto-immune disease sucks, but let me tell you something, my man still calls me beautiful and we laugh together till our ribs hurt (which for me these days doesn't take much, but you get my meaning.) Wanna know the secret? Good times and Bad, Richer and Poorer, Sickness and in Health. I will put the caveat in that you fight hard, gutting out these hard times in your lives together with the person you were meant to be with. In Yiddish, your soul mate or " Destiny" is called your Bashert. No relevance, I just love the meaning.
Now see? Total T.M.I. about sex. Not a Prudey McPruderton about that. I can play one in certain company, but it takes some serious work to get me to blush about sex. Mention any sort of human waste product from the posterior nether region, and I wish you could see it, but I'm blushing right now.
Finally, I've got a scenario for you that is pertinent to the link of Stuffed Vagina's. *SNORT* (that was totally delicate and feminine, I assure you.)
Say you come to visit a friend you haven't seen in years, have a bit too much to drink, and they insist you spend the night. They have a lovely guest room, already set up with a robe, extra towels, a toothbrush, toothpaste, lotion, dental floss, shower gel, bubble bath all set in a little basket. "DAMN", you think,"Martha Stewart's got nothin' but money and an army of staff on these guys" You proceed with your nightly ablutions and notice how inviting, plush, posh, and soft the linens and bed look. This room is paradise. Wait, that's an odd pillow....you stroke it a few times thinking "wow...really soft and so familiar." You're sleepy from drink, move the other decorative pillows and think, "Screw it...I LOVE this soft, long, pillow with all these folds that I can adjust to support my neck" not realizing you just gave up two perfect NASA foam pillows that cradle your neck and head in perfect alignment with your spine.
You wake up, the morning light filling the room and realize "Oh shit! I just drooled all night on their decorative pillow....shit, SHIT!" You panic and hold it up just the right way to see if you can wipe the drool away....and your heart just kinda stops. You spent all night drooling on a labia minora...and now it's drooling on you!
You know what, after writing out that scenario...that's a comically GENIUS way to screw with your guests.
I have to go now, I have a Plush Vagina to purchase.
Cheers!
Una *Unabridged*
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