T-minus 30 hours

It’s T-minus 30 hours or so until I leave to go spend a few days visiting Sharon. What I really needed to do today was work six hours at the hospital, go to the grocery store, do some laundry and so on and so forth.

But what did I do, instead? I laid in bed all day, floating in and out of consciousness because Brad seems to have passed a stomach bug on to me. Every time I sat up for too long, my head swam. Even when I tried my best to lie still, my stomach sometimes clenched and felt as if it were trying to eat itself.* At one point, Brad came home to check on me and declared that I was burning up with fever and pressed an Aleve into one hand and a glass of tea in my other hand.

So, NOT the best time to get sick with a stomach virus. Still, I’d much rather suffer a little today and be forced to use a little vacation time to make up for the hours I missed at work than to get sick when I am 1,500 miles from home when I should be having fun with my red-headed buddy. So, it’s all good.

Tomorrow will fly by but my bags are already 90% packed. I’ve already mailed all of my shampoo, hairspray, toothpaste, etc. to Sharon’s house so that I won’t have to check my luggage. All that’s really left to do now is to get laundry and cleaning done so that it will be a little easier for Brad to take care of the kids while I am gone.

Oh yeah, and I am going on a date with my husband tomorrow night. What? You don’t really think I’d leave town for four days without working in a little snuggle time, do you? The children are staying at my dad’s tomorrow night so Brad and I shall be left to entertain ourselves. What ta do? What ta do?

I doubt I’ll post again before returning from my trip. A dear friend has said she will post if she is struck with inspiration. If she gets writer’s block, though, things will be quiet around here for a few days while I am in West Virginia enjoying the great honor and privilege of watching Sharon shine at her art show.

Until then,

Heather

*When I told Brenda that my stomach was clenching and trying to eat itself, her response was, “I know exactly what you mean.” It’s nice to have friends, isn’t it?

breathing would be nice

I can’t breathe.

No, really.

Well, I guess I am exaggerating (who me?) because typing a post is a task that requires oxygen to the brain (though some would say that my posts make a good argument otherwise). (Perhaps poor oxygenation leads to excessive use of parentheses?)

I have severe and chronic asthma. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. The first really severe attack I can remember happened in Tulsa, Oklahoma while we were waiting for my great-grandmother to die of cancer. My cousins and I were staying at my great-aunt’s house and my mother and her cousin were staying somewhere else. My mother forgot she had my inhaler in her purse when she left for the night. That was back in the day before cell phones so no one was able to call her when I got sick.

I remember my Aunt Mary and Uncle Tuffy wringing their hands in worry as I lay gasping in the bed. At some point, someone carried me upstairs to lie in a cousin’s bed. I don’t remember because my oxygenation was so poor that I was in and out of consciousness. All I remember is the futility of working so hard to try to get a lungful of air but being completely powerless. No matter how I gasped, I couldn’t get enough oxygen.

Not too long after that trip to Oklahoma, I suffered an even worse attack that landed me in the hospital. I spent one whole day at the doctor’s office where they gave me breathing treatments one after another until I was shaking like a leaf and nauseous. They gave me shots of adrenaline that made no difference whatsoever. I was finally admitted to the hospital to be placed on a theophylline drip but my veins were practically sucked together from hypoxia and it took what seemed like a million sticks before my IV was established. My memory of that week long hospital stay is spotty because of my extremely poor respiratory status. What I remember is screaming in pain every time an IV catheter was tunneled under my skin. What my mother remembers is that I was blue and had not the oxygen to scream. I was only screaming in my head.

All throughout my school years, I carried a small suitcase full of medications. Several of my pills and inhalers had to be taken four times daily and the schools were not so strict about medications back then. Plus, I had to use my rescue inhalers so very often that much of my day would have been spent going to and from the nurse’s office if I hadn’t been able to carry the meds with me. I don’t think there is an asthma medication that I haven’t taken. I was on long-term prednisone therapy for a while and suffered all of the side-effects, weight gain and moon face included.

I was, some might say, frail.

Now, thanks to the miracle of Singulair, I haven’t been hospitalized in many years. I take two maintenance inhalers daily and I usually have to take my rescue inhaler at night before I go to sleep. I take it when I wake up in the morning 2-3 times a week. It may sound like my asthma is poorly controlled but I assure you that it is so much better than it ever used to be.

But we went to Wichita Falls, Texas this past weekend and hiked along some nature trails and I guess that was the absolute worst thing I could’ve done because I have had trouble breathing ever since. I’ve been sucking on my inhaler and taking Benadryl for three days and yet I still can’t breathe. It feels like there is an elastic band across my chest preventing me from expanding my chest and getting a deep breath. It is uncomfortable but I also feel very tired and weak from working so hard to breathe all the time.

The worst part about suffering from asthma is the fear and the feeling of powerlessness. It’s scary to have difficulty drawing a breath. It’s terrifying to know that I am doing everything I am supposed to do and I still can’t breathe. It makes me feel like a little girl again.

Not to worry. I have a prescription bottle of prednisone and I took a tablet before typing this post. I’ll be puffy and slightly psychotic by week’s end but, by golly, I’ll be breathing.

But it really is disconcerting.

my eye hurts . . .

because this afternoon, I was cleaning the boys bathroom when I dumped a capful of cleanser into their toilet. The powdery cleanser poofed into a cloud as I poured it into the toilet and I inadvertently breathed it in and, apparently, got it in my eye. I thought it did no damage at first, but now one side of my throat feels raw and my right eye burns when it is open.

So, this is the extent of my blog post for tonight because it hurts my eye to look at this bright screen.

I promise I have irrigated my eye and I am certain it will be fine when I wake up in the morning. So please, no lectures on what I should or shouldn’t do to make it better. No offense, but it is bad enough as it is without everyone “helping” me. I do love you all. Yes, I do. But still. I feel a little stupid at the moment.

I hope you all had a great Valentine’s Day!

How am I feeling?

I’ve had lots of e-mails asking if I am feeling better. It is easier to post than do a mass e-mail, so here goes:

I woke up this morning feeling a little weak and dizzy. Still, I am a mom and everyone knows that moms can’t be sick in the mornings because who can possibly get out the door to school and work if not for a mom to fix breakfast, remind them to brush their teeth, lay out clothes for the day, and do last minute ironing on a pair of slacks? Nobody, that’s who. So I did all those things, then closed and locked the door so quickly behind the last person out that the doorknob probably hit them in the derriere, and collapsed back into bed.

You’d think that would be the end of the story, but I decided I simply must go to work. Why did I decide to go to work? Delirium is my only excuse. I actually made it through a few hours of work before I called Brad and asked him to bring me the nectar of the gods –that’s diet coke to the rest of you. Except when he got to my office? I was seeing two of him. I stood up and felt like I might fall over. So I went home.

Thus far, my afternoon and evening has been spent lying crossways across my bed with a pillow held over my head to keep it from floating away. My head, I mean. Not the pillow. Obviously (since I am typing this post), my head is still attached. I know it is because I just just felt around in the general vicinity of my head (floating heads are tricky sometimes) and felt it.

So to summarize:

• dehydrated
• head floating (known side effect of dehydration)
• weak
• dizzy

Other than that, I am great! I fully expect to be 100% functional tomorrow morning. Thanks for the well wishes.

Why there is no post (unless you consider this to be a post in which case ignore the heading)

I was sick today. My hair hurts, as a matter of fact. Don’t you hate it when your hair hurts? On top of that, the puppy got into some trash and her stomach was so distended from her plunder that I had to take her to the vet where they proceeded to force the dog to throw up many times. Thankfully, I didn’t have to stick around to witness said throwing up. The culprit? The dog ate a plateful of waffles and syrup that had been thrown away when the youngest child refused to eat breakfast yesterday morning.

Many, many mornings, the breakfast conversation goes something like this:

Crash: I want Bump to sit with me while I eat.

Me: Bump was sitting with you, but you were more interested in playing than eating and now he is getting ready for school.

Crash: (folds arms across chest and sticks out bottom lip) Well, I am not eating if he won’t sit with me.

Me: (picking up plate and throwing it in trash) Good. That’s settled. Now go get dressed.

So you see? There were lots of waffles in the trash. Thus the bulimic dog. And might I add that it is just not any fun to rush a dog to the vet when all I really want to do is lay on the bathroom floor with my head pressed against the cool porcelain of the commode? And I didn’t really look my best, either. Until today, I can’t remember the last time I left the house without make-up. Does it tell you anything if I say I was too sick to really care?

Anyway, that was a really long-winded explanation for why there is not really a post tonight. I am feeling much, much better but I have chosen a hot bubble bath over a post tonight. I am sure you understand.

Headaches Suck

Hello. How are you? What did you do today?

Me? I spent my day in the noble pursuit of a headache-free life. Even a headache-free hour would have been appreciated.

Some of you may have noticed that I sometimes have some difficulty in shrugging off stressors and allowing myself to relax. The result, in extreme cases, is that I develop tension headaches. My doctor says that I tense up until the muscles in my neck become so rigid and tight that they compress the nerves in my neck. Once, he even suggested that I get botox injections in my neck muscles because nothing else has ever successfully relaxed them. I had a mental picture of the doctor injecting too much botox and me having to reach back and yank on the hair on the back of my head in order to hold my head up. No, thank you to the botox.

This headache has been particularly tenacious and painful. Last night, the pain in my neck was almost unbearable so I took one of my particularly potent headache pills and slipped into a blissful phrenylin haze where I dreamed that I was chasing one of my friends because she was crying and I wanted to help her but she was lost in a maze and I couldn’t get to her.

I expected to wake up headache-free this morning, but instead I woke up in agonizing pain that caused dry heaves every time I sat up for more than ten minutes. So, I strategized and decided my only hope was to go in with a three pronged approach: chiropractic treatment, massage therapy, and potent headache medicine.

I started at the chiropractor. My chiropractor is so well-liked and laid-back that he is affectionally referred to only as “Dr. Dave” by his patients. I only see him when I have a headache. He insists that I have TENS and heat therapy prior to my adjustment because experience has taught him that it is almost impossible to try to pop the bones of a woman whose muscles are so rigid that she resembles someone who’s been hexed by the “petrificus totalus” curse (from the Harry Potter books if you are feeling confused). The tech led me to the treatment room, slapped some electrodes on my neck and shoulders and said, “Tell me when.” I usually wait until the stimulation from the TENS unit is a little uncomfortable before I say “when” because my experience has been that the tech sets it slightly lower than my threshold and then I feel like it does no good. Today was different. She left the TENS set right where I told her to. The result was that my muscles twitched about uncomfortably every time the TENS unit achieved maximal power.

When Dr. Dave helped me on to the table, his remark was, “Another bad headache, Heather?” *tsk, tsk* Even after the TENS and heat therapy, Dr. Dave had some trouble cracking my bones. He remarked that I should run, not walk, to my massage therapist. I was one step ahead of him.

I have had the same massage therapist for five or six years. I go to her because she is very strong and very kind. She laid her hands on my neck and shoulders and sighed. She had her work cut out for her. She kneaded and pulled and stretched my aching muscles. She grabbed my leg and folded it up toward my nose and pulled my arms back to my shoulder blades. She leaned against her forearm and rolled it from my ankle to my fingertip and then repeated the same move on the other side of my body. She rolled me onto my back and wedged her arms under my shoulder blades and slid her fingertips along the long muscles of my back. She rubbed the muscles on either side of my neck as she pushed my head toward the opposite shoulder so as to stretch out the tightness on either side of my spine. She massaged my scalp and rubbed her hands in tiny circles across my forehead, temples and cheekbones. She even laced her fingers in mine and pushed back on my hand while expertly rubbing the stress out of my plams. In short, she was wonderful. If she were a man, I would have proposed. She chastised me before I left, “You have got to do something about this tension, Heather. I wasn’t able to get all of the knots out this time and it only seems to get worse with each visit. Your neck and shoulder muscles feel like solid rock.” “I know, I know,” I murmured as I looked at the floor.

Alas, the massage helped enough that I was able to eat dinner but I still suffered from queasiness and the feeling that my food was roiling around in my belly. I looked at Brad, pale-faced, and begged to be taken home. I took my magic headache pill just before I started typing this post, which might explain the rambling as it is more potent than a shot of tequila. I really do expect to wake up headache-free in the morning and I have scheduled another massage for Friday afternoon to take another stab at releasing the knots in my shoulders and neck.

As for preventing a swift recurrence of such misery as I endured today? Well, I am joining my old gym in an effort to sweat the stress out of my body. The simple fact that my life has settled down now that we are no longer moving should help as well. And, as usual, writing in my blog every night does a world of good.

So, here’s hoping that everyone’s tomorrow is free of headaches, medical ailments, and stress. I should be back to posting non-rambling and slightly entertaining posts by tomorrow. Or am I kidding myself?

Damn Haiku

Sleeping is one of my favorite past times. It is my favorite hobby. And the past two nights, I haven’t got enough of it.

The night before last, I read Sharon’s blog before I went to bed. A commenter said that she had found Adventures of a Domestic Engineer by typing “kissing zombies” into google’s search engine. I thought it was so funny that I e-mailed Sharon and then I went to bed. Next thing I knew, I was dreaming of being chased by zombies (except I was a bear who could talk in the dream). The zombies were perky blondes and beefy bo-hunk college boys. Except they were understandably not very attractive considering they were DEAD and all. I woke up from that nightmare at 3:30 am and couldn’t go back to sleep. Sharon said it was obvious that I had wandered into the midst of a zombie frat party in my dreams.

Last night, I went to bed without taking my trusty cold medicine. I figured it was responsible (mostly) for the zombie dream. Only problem was, I woke up several times feeling choked or strangled by the misery that is a cold. At one point, I woke up and thought: Damn nasal mucilage. Damn viral decoupage. Then, irritated with myself, I thought:Damn haiku. Why am I quoting Sharon’s haiku at 4:00 am?

Needless to say, I finally took my lovely Nyquil and slept all morning when I should have been up and at ’em and taking on the world.

It’s obvious to me that blogging has taken over my subconscious. Although I hope it is only a temporary thing while I am battling this hideous cold.

That is all. You may go about your lives.

The Happiness Fairy

Thank you all for your kind words yesterday. I actually took the post down for several hours because it seemed so whiny and I didn’t want to be guilty of depressing anyone else! I put it back up, though, because I decided that this blog is a place I come to vent and I am not going to overthink things. It’s kinda like my husband used to say (before I smacked him and told him to cut it out already) “There you go thinking again. Don’t do that to yourself.”

I truly wanted to write a great post tonight. However, I worked until 5:45, went to my book club meeting at 6:30, came home and made a Power Point presentation for school, contributed my assignment to my school discussion board, and took a 45 question exam. Now I am just too exhausted to write a post. Sorry about that. No really. I am . Sorry, I mean.

Since I am unable to post, my friend, the happiness fairy, agreed to post in my stead:

Some days you should just stay in bed

Today sucked. I have ran late every morning this week. Usually Brad takes Bump to school and that gives me a much needed half hour in the mornings to get myself dressed and ready to take on the world before I take Crash to school and head to work. Brad has been gone this week, though, and I am struggling to keep my head above water.

So, as usual, I was running late again this morning and found myself griping at the boys because they can’t seem to grasp the simplicity of the concept of taking off one’s clothes and dropping them in the hamper rather than in the bathroom floor. I mean, it doesn’t even take any effort to drop them in the hamper. So why can’t they do it? We finally got out the door and headed to school. I got Bump to school just before the bell. That is a good thing because he got detention for being one minute late earlier this week. I don’t even have the energy to rant about that right now. After I finally got Crash to school, I got a call from Bump telling me that I forgot to send book fair money. He had very sweetly asked me to attend the book fair with him earlier in the week, so I told him I would just meet him there. Just one more thing to add to my to-do list. *sigh*

I didn’t sleep well last night because I was having an asthma attack. This morning, I was exhausted and my chest hurt. So, after dropping off Crash, I came home and rested for 30 minutes. I ran out the door a little while later with just enough time to make it to the hospital for a meeting that I was required to attend. Just as I rounded the last turn to the hospital, I tried to take a drink of my diet coke and promptly dumped the whole thing in my lap because the lid wasn’t sealed good. It was COLD! I couldn’t just change into scrubs at work because it had even soaked my underoos. So, I missed the meeting because I had to drive all the way back home and change clothes.

Work was an exercise in frustration, too. I really wanted to get a lot of work done, but the phone rang off the hook and it was mostly colleagues who needed me to do things for them. I never mind helping but I always think of that saying, “A lack of planning on your part does not necessitate an emergency on mine.” Plus, it seemed like every rep within a 50 mile radius called today. I have nothing against reps. It’s just that they are always so ebullient and cheerful and charming. When I am in a bad mood, a fake smile plastered on a reps face can push me over the edge. (BTW, Michelle, if you are reading–no offense, k? You are the bestest rep evah!)

Bump’s book fair was fun, though. He picked out some books and then I refused to buy them unless he also bought a Judy Blume set that had “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing”, “Superfudge”, and “Double Fudge”in it. I remember how much I loved those books when I was Bump’s age.

Oh well, I finally made it home this evening. On the drive home, I made a solemn promise to myself that I would not take out my bad mood on the boys by nagging them all night. So, we went and ate dinner at a new pizza place and then I read them the first two chapters of “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing” at bed time. At least I feel like I did something right today. As for right now? I am going to bed. I am exhausted and sleeping is the best way to pass the time while waiting for Brad to get home tomorrow.

One thing did make me feel better today. Brad is currently in the same town as my best friend, Angie. He told me he was going over to her house to eat dinner and watch Survivor tonight. I called him and Angie got on the phone. I told her about dumping my diet coke in my lap and she went on to tell me that she accidentally dumped an entire pitcher of tea on her daughter’s head tonight. She was trying to grab something off of the counter and bumped the pitcher and it fell over right on the two year old! She also told me that she had cooked a roast since Brad was eating with them and, at the moment, it was still raw in the middle. I am glad Brad now has evidence that I am not the only clumsy, domestically-challenged wife in the world. I know it’s wrong, but hearing about Angie’s faux pas finally made me smile.

West Texas

Some of you were worried about me during Hurricane Rita. Some of you weren’t worried, but assumed West Texas at least got some rain from the storm. Well, West Texas is basically a dry, dusty, barren desert. It rarely rains here. When it does rain, the water doesn’t soak in to the earth because the ground is hard as a rock because it is full of caleche. I took these pictures for another friend, but decided to share them with all of you.

Depressing isn’t it? NOW do you see why I want to move?