Advice for those with bipolar disorder:

1. Develop a strong faith life.
3. Communicate with your doctor. Be honest; if you are hearing voices he needs to know, and it's a very easy fix! I know!
4. You're going to have to deal with side effects: remember they are worth it.
5. You are DEAD without your medication.
6. Avoid drugs and alcohol: they are mood poison.
7. Learn to laugh at yourself and ride the waves.

Monday, July 25, 2016

I need to go to bed

I woke up with a headache.  WTF, I thought.  I just finished my cycle.  I'm supposed to get the headache before the cycle, not after. 

I took some Excedrin, got up, and took my shower.  I did my God Time later.  God understood. 

We went to work, which was pretty uneventful.  The other vendor was there and we showed him the tires on the handcart.  We replaced the inflatable pneumatic tires, with a solid rubber "no flat" tire which has been great.  It only cost $40 and you bet it was worth every penny.  He was very interested. 

"I've used the cart" I told Ron "To carry 30 cases of Dr Pepper.  Not only that, I did 10 cases of bottled water on Saturday with no problem."  So, they work.  Glad I saw the tires on a Dr Pepper handcart, and glad Ron and looked into getting them for ourselves. 

That is a definite business "win". 

We had a long day at work and did everything.  Some of the things I do:

  • Help Ron "What's this?" 
  • Help Ron "Can you get me a...."
  • Help Ron get soda from the fridge to put into the bottled vendor. 
  • Replace said soda. 
  • Fill up the snack machine: chips, cookies, pastry, crackers, cookies, trail mix, granola bars, etc.  Each vending machine has between 40 to 60 selections and each row has  to be filled, on a good day. 
  • "What's this?"
  • Help Ron with the inventory if we are doing a supply run or placing an order. 
  • Service food machine, fill it up with good things to eat. 
  • Change banks: fill up quarters, dimes, nickels, as needed.  Since our chips are 70 cents I fill up a lot of nickels. 
  • "What's this?"
  • Check the path is clear for Ron to go to the bathroom.
  • "You need to help him" [he is struggling with something and too proud to ask for help]
  • Service coffee machine, make sure powder levels are OK, cups are stocked, and empty the waste bucket (aka the yuck bucket).
  • Sometimes: take money out of the vending machines. 
  • "Where's the Coke, Heather?"
  • "Is this a Coke or a Diet Coke?"
  • "Can I get change?"
You get the idea.  All done, we came home.  We rode with a driver who hated cats.  I can't fathom a person who hates cats, and wonder what kind of childhood they had. 

In my case, all 3 of my cats picked me.  They wanted to live with me.  That's an honor, I try to respect that and make it worth their while.  After all, they gave up their reproductive organs to live with me.  That's a pretty big deal. 

The driver did agree the catio was a good idea, no one has to encounter a cat unless they walk into my house. 

I just have to marvel at people who hate cats, and I have to figure someone like that ran over poor Gravy, or hurt him.  After all, in addition to a very bad break, he had been kneecapped.  That's some severe trauma.  It makes me sick to think about it. 

I don't regret putting him down, knowing all that.  These days if someone gets badly hurt we can just amputate and keep them, but back then they were still outside/inside cats.  That would not have worked, a 3 legged cat outside. 

Anyway, onto happier subjects, I came home and all 3 cats were waiting to say hello.  I took some aspirin (my headache wasn't gone), and laid down for a little while. 

Then we went to Walmart, but our ride was late.  The driver asked Ron what happened to his head (he has a couple of abrasions from Friday).  He told the truth, I had too much vodka.  She asked me quietly if he had a drinking problem (he was in the back of the vehicle).  I told her yes, simply.  She asked me if he got mean with it.  I told her, sometimes, simply.  She looked at me with such pity. 

And that will probably be all over the system by the time I finish this post, but Ron's the one who said it.  I don't feel bad for elaborating.  He would be the first to say he can act like "a real creep". 

He always tells me not to believe what he says when he is having a blackout (awful things).  He was trying to throw some of my old sexual sins back at me, but he got me mixed up with some other woman and kept throwing tales I'd never heard in my face.  I had a hard time not laughing. 

"Ron!  You got your hoes mixed up!"  [snort]

Anyway, sometimes I think, and even Ron agrees, he might get, like, infected by a demon or something during his blackouts.  He acts very differently and seems hell bent on hurting us both. 

I don't know.  He's been behaving the last couple days. 

He did say tonight his leg was bothering him, about 3 hours after he ate a BBQ sandwich.  I checked his sugars and they were 130, pretty high considering he had eaten hours ago. 

He is diabetic, but usually his sugars are fine.  Anyway, could be high blood sugars are causing the leg "zaps" and pain, which have led to him drinking and having blackouts in the past.  Hopefully moderating his food intake, and avoiding bbq sauce (he said he had a bbq sandwich before the leg zaps on Friday, which led to the drinking and the blackout). 

I left Ron up front in the wheelchair and did my shopping.  I got some notebooks and index cards for work.  I find them endlessly useful. 

I got a case of Gravy Lovers Salmon for Biscuit and Baby Girl, happily they are still eating that flavor.  I got 2 big tins of cat treats for everyone. 

Did you know Torbie will pat Ron's arm with her paw when she wants treats?  It's very cute. 

I got protein bars for me, some mini chocolate bar "copays" for the various medical outings we'll have, and some soda.  Drink mix, pens, etc. 

I managed to get it all done in half an hour (I only had 40 minutes) and even had enough time to get some takeout before our ride came.  The driver was really nice about strapping Ron down in the back of the vehicle. 

I got everything put away and did some laundry.  I got Ron in his bath and make sure he got everything.  He has abrasions on both arms, one knee, and his head.  He fell a lot on Friday. 

Of course you don't mention the word "fall" around a medical person, EVER, unless you want a whole river of intervention.  We don't. 

Ron just needs to put the bottle away.  He already hates it.  I think that's a good start.  We will hear about his liver test results when we go back to primary Doc.  If they are altered in any way I think that will be additional motivation for Ron to reform. 

But it has to come from him.  He did agree to take milk thistle.  Milk thistle can help the liver and is totally safe to take.  It will either work, or it won't. 

In the past, Ron had really good results with his psoriasis when he was taking milk thistle.  In fact, it was frustrating.  He had been taking it about the time of his accident.  He was in a c-collar for a week until they could rule out a broken neck/back.  When they took it off his neck was suffering a horrible psoriasis attack. 

I asked them to give him something and they just scratched their heads and went "dunno" and asked me what he took before.  I told them, milk thistle.  And they just looked at me like "say what?"  They wouldn't give it to him. 

No, they'd rather he suffer untreated than to use something that had worked in the past.  Eventually it improved.  But he looked awful.  No wonder no one wanted to visit. 

Except me.  The old faithful hound, sitting by his bedside, holding his bad hand and talking to him. 

So, I know milk thistle will work for his psoriasis, if nothing else.  And his scalp is pretty bad. 

Tomorrow is MRI day.  We will see how that goes.  Good news it isn't really "interventional".  It's just going to look at him lying on the bed and take some images.  Then someone's going to do an ultrasound of his legs to make sure he doesn't have clots.  He said his legs are not as sensitive to rubbing as his back and abdomen, so that's good.  He had an abdominal ultrasound in 2008 and almost hit the ceiling at some points.  The copay isn't horrific, $100.  Considering he pays 20% that's not a bad deal. 

Ron has never wanted to change his medical insurance so we won't. 

The chocolate copay should be a big hit.  I have only once ever had a medical provider say "No I don't want that chocolate" and that was our vet.  She is on a special diet, so I bring her fancy soaps now.  She's happy, I'm happy, the cats are happy. 

And I need to go to bed. 

Sunday, July 24, 2016

I'm just so tired.

Ron's MRI is scheduled for Tuesday.  It should be interesting.  He has plenty of hardware in his body so it will all be a very interesting photo. 

Artery graft
Clot filter
Hernia mesh
Hardware in right tibia (big bone in lower leg) holding his bone together

All of it should be fine but it will be an interesting amount of paperwork.  I have no idea what the copay will cost us. 

Not surprisingly, I've had a lot of depression and anxiety today.  Mainly general worries about just about everything. 

I slept OK last night, and got a nap today (no thanks to slamming doors, next door).  I'm as rested as I can be.  I even tried to get "another" nap a little while ago but the anxiety was too bad. 

Maybe I need to double check my pill organizer.  I just checked.  Nope, everything's fine.  I didn't put Vitamin E in one weeks' worth of pills, but I fixed that, and took a couple while I was at it. 

I forget I have a lot on my plate.  He's an alcoholic.  He is disabled.  He has new, additional, issues.  He is in chronic pain.  We work together running a small business.  I have my own problems. 

It's understandable.  But still overwhelming. 

And people are all asking me, "When's your next Bible Handout?" and "How's it going?" - not really wanting to hear the answer.  So I tell them what they want to hear "I don't know" to the Handout, and "Fine" to the "going". 

I got to thinking about something.  A lot of those "fun quizzes" on Facebook are actually designed to get your security information.  Mother's maiden name, date of birth, hometown, etc.  First pet's name, first type of car driven, first street address, etc.  Don't take them. 

I don't. 

I dislike being tagged to "play" in games, either.  If I want to play I will join in. 

Well, I'm getting a little tired now and winding down.  Apparently the Vitamin E does help somehow. 

I'm just so tired. 

Saturday, July 23, 2016

"I know I'm being a pain in the ass"

Pretty tired, it's been a long day. 

As you know I didn't get any sleep the night before last.  Last night Ron woke me up accidentally. 

I was exhausted this morning, but my mood was OK.  Just tired.  I got my shower with a nice new bar of goats milk lavender soap I got from Swanson Vitamin. 

I dressed in my shorts, quarter crew socks, and a performance t-shirt.  Of course underwear and my steel toe sneakers. 

We went to the warehouse, they had water.  I bought 10 cases per Ron.  I didn't have much room for snacks after getting all his drinks, but I did what I could. 

I loaded the truck, unloaded the truck (Ron helped a little, as much as his back would permit - which was sufficient), got everything on hand carts, and into the building.  I did my stocking and helped Ron with his. 

Pretty soon we were done. 

I took Ron out in the wheelchair, which he appreciated.  He isn't up for walking more than, say, 20 feet at a time. 

As a result, I am glad he keeps his alcohol in the kitchen, a good 45 feet away from his bedroom.  He has to be sober, and very motivated, to go get a drink. 

We came home, I had a short nap.  That helped. 

We got up and decided to get some BBQ.  He called our driver, who came (Ron paid him and bought his dinner). 

Ron was pretty stiff, so I brought the wheelchair.  That worked pretty well for Ron.  I just had to fold it and put it in the truck bed, then unfold it and take it out.  It was harder getting it in than it was getting it out. 

Actually, it slid around in transit.  It was hardest getting the wheelchair moved back by the tailgate.  I had to reach over, grab something, and manually drag it backwards to the tailgate (which was closed), then open the tailgate and remove the chair. 

But I know, if our roles were reversed, Ron would do it for me.  He had an easy time as a result and even went through the line with me. 

I wanted French Toast.  Now the BBQ place will serve some breakfast items for dinner, but they don't always like to. 

"I know I'm being a pain in the ass" I started, then ordered the French toast.  They were seemingly happy to make it although I'm sure the line cook in the back had a few things to say about me. 

The cashier was happy to help carry the tray to our table as I pushed Ron in the wheelchair.  It has been my experience, as a disabled person, and loving one, that most people are very nice if you ask them for help. 

I'm getting better at asking for help. 

We had a good meal.  Ron worries about his digestion and problems, so he didn't eat at the restaurant until I started feeding him bites of chopped beef off my plate.  It was cute.  He was peeping like a baby bird and I was feeding him.  I had already eaten all I wanted, apparently 1/4 of a pound is too much to eat when I had a plateful of French toast (which, by the way, was perfect and delicious).  The driver left, I think a little sickened by all the "cute". 

We finished and went out to the vehicle, but the latch on "Ron's" door was broken.  Great.  Ron had to get in behind the driver.  The driver had to move Ron's 3 bottles (a gallon and a half, total, I believe) of vodka.   Ron had sent him to go buy that a few days ago. 

"I wish" I responded "You had bought him gin, or anisette, or something nasty like that - something that tasted so bad Ron would never want to drink it."  I just left it at that slightly humorous remark and didn't get upset. 

Ron's going to find someone to buy him alcohol, that's a given.  Before this guy, Ron had a cab driver going out and buying it for him. 

Ron got loaded and I got the wheelchair into the back of the truck, closed the gate, and got in on "my" side (front passenger).  He parked on the far side of our driveway, so I had to unload Ron into #6's lawn.  I felt a little bad about that but they were gone, and I'm not the one who parked there anyway. 

I would never do that.  But I don't have the keys. 

Ron held the alcohol, like a baby, cradled against his chest.  We got in the garage and he put it in his walker (it has a carrying pouch), then went into the house and put it in his "liquor cabinet".  I don't know if he drank anything but he went back to bed. 

I would have done the blog a lot sooner but Torbie got on me.  She got her last steroid pill tonight and is much better.  She sat on the couch and stared at me with her big green eyes.  I could tell she wanted a cuddle, so I sat down on the couch and spread something over my lap.  That is her sign to climb aboard, and she did. 

I held her even after my left arm started twitching like something out of a bad zombie movie, but when I adjusted her to kiss the top of her head she got up and left.  I guess that was too much.  She sniffed my hand in approval (I smelled right, like Torbie, now), and left. 

Biscuit likes to sleep on the floor of the computer room when I'm in here.  He has a paper bag, he's very fond of it. 

I would never get rid of that paper bag. 

Friday, July 22, 2016

All the sleep I can get.

I finally decided I would go demento if I stayed home.  1.  Neighbor kids in #6 screaming outside my bedroom, so no chance of a nap.  2.  Ron was raucous.   3.  Baby Girl had taken over my TV chair and I didn't want to move her. 

I tried to take a nap, it didn't work out.  Torbie did get on my chest and give me cuddles, though. 

I took a shower and got dressed in my quarter-crew socks (a little over the ankle), baggy cotton shorts (knee length), and a baggy black t-shirt.  I brought my bus pass holder, minus my debit card and work ID.  I brought a little cash, my pocket knife, and my cell phone.  I wore my cheap $10 sneakers, that look like exactly that.  In the ghetto, you tend to be rated on your footwear - the more expensive your footwear, the higher your rating on the social scale and the more likely you are to be mugged. 

My most expensive footwear consist of a pair of steel toed sneakers I wear to work.  $30.

I decided I wanted some Pupusas.  There's a place near our house, the first place I had them, and as I recalled they were awfully good.  It would be a little bit of a trip getting there and returning, requiring 3 buses, but I figured it was worth it to get a good meal and some peace and quiet away from the house. 

I walked the half-mile to the bus stop, it was so hot I had sweat running down my legs into my socks.  I had my "foldover" sunglasses, that go over my regular glasses, to prevent headaches.  Seems to have worked.  I got to the bus stop and had a short wait.  Then it came. 

I got off at the pupusa place and the waitress wouldn't serve me at first.  She thought I was some - character, I suppose.  But her husband, the owner, knows me, came out, greeted me by name (I gave them a very good Google review), and asked about Ron.  I told him Ron's back was bothering him.  True enough. 

To her credit, it is a pretty rough neighborhood and they're right next to a liquor store.  So much for peace and quiet, though, she had her kid at the restaurant and he kept bugging her.  "Mommy!  Mommy!" 

I left a good tip anyway.  My meal only cost $6. 

I decided the pupusas in Acres Homes, at De Soto and Antoine, were better.  They had more cheese and a crunchier crust.  They had more filling overall.  I think they were bigger.  I liked them better.  Of course I didn't say anything, but the next time I want a pupusa I will just go there instead. 

Besides, I would only have to take 2 buses there as opposed to the 3 I was faced with now.  The restaurant was on a very busy street served by 3 bus lines.  The street always has a high-volume of traffic.  I have seen, literally, no shitting you - two, two people run over by cars on this street.  Let me tell you, the sight of a person clutching their clearly broken leg, screaming their lungs out, is not something easily forgotten.  And I already have issues since Ron's accident. 

No way was I going to walk across that street.  No, I was going to ride the bus until it crossed the street, get off at the first stop after that, cross that street, and wait for the return bus. 

I did just that.  Again, I didn't have to wait long.  The bus driver agreed with my philosophy. And she drives that street every day. 

I got off and crossed the 4-lane street.  I went into the Vietnamese grocery store and got some cookies and cold drinks (Oolong tea, and a can of Diet Dr Pepper).  I paid for all that and decided I would treat Ron as though he wasn't having a blackout and get him some eggrolls from Timmy Chan.

TC is a cheap, fast, greasy kind of Chinese food.  It is fast and pretty good, though.  I had already eaten (not that I loved it), so I just got Ron 2 orders of eggrolls.  I have never seen Ron turn down eggrolls. 

I had a pretty long wait out in the hot sun but eventually I got the same driver who had taken me across the street.  We chatted.  I told her a little about Ron, something I realize now may not have been a good idea: just that he was blind and having some health problems, and I wanted to get him a treat. 

I forgot there are other people on the bus. 

Someone else rang the bell for my stop as we approached the intersection.  A man got off with me (black, if it matters) and began asking me very rude and intrusive questions.  I answered the first one "Are you single?"  I told him no and left it at that.  Then the guy tells me a man shouldn't make his woman ride the bus, he should drive her a around.  Then he asked if I was blind, to which I said no.  I didn't want him to think I couldn't ID him (he was probably confused by my sunglasses, which are occasionally worn by blind people with light sensitivity).  Then he told me he was unemployed, I didn't respond to that. 

I finally stopped walking, forcing him to go on ahead, and then to make it completely clear I crossed the street and walked on the other side from him.  He went on ahead, looking back occasionally. 

I waited until he was WELL ahead before checking the mailbox (junk mail) and heading into the house.  I thought that was bad. 

I came in the house to a partially nude, very drunk, Ron on the floor, mumbling.  He was pretty belligerent.  I tried to give him the eggrolls but he said no, put them in the fridge.  I found a half-eaten sandwich on the floor, in a plastic bag, and put that in the fridge too.  I helped get him on his walker and to the bathroom. 

Then I tried to lie down.  Torbie got on me again for some more cuddles.  Eventually I slept for about an hour, but #6 apparently came home from some sort of outing and spent half an hour slamming their front door, again and again.  I don't think they realize how intrusive it is. 

Their old door was much quieter, I never heard it.  But after our cheap wood door was kicked in during a robbery, a door shop owner at the church donated a door to us.  It is very pretty.  Not to be outdone, #6 went out and bought a similar door, but much larger and more elaborate.  It also clashes with the color of his house - the door is deep red and the house is pink.  I guess she picked the house and he picked the door. 

Ugh.  So now, whenever they leave or come back, I am faced with loud door-slamming noises - it is very near my bedroom wall - another thing they don't consider.  I don't know what they think we have at the back of the house, but they sure don't act like it's a bedroom. 

Sometimes I debate telling him "You know this is our bedroom, we can hear everything that goes on outside this wall."  I remember one time a friend of his came over around midnight, banging on the door, in some kind of crisis, and they had this whole conversation about it, for half an hour, practically leaning against my bedroom wall.  If I knew better Spanish I would have had a lot of gossip.  Very annoying. 

I have enough problems within my house, I don't need more problems out of it.  I do thank God we are not in an apartment because Ron makes so much racket during his blackouts, he would disturb all our neighbors. 

[sigh]  I'm just exhausted.  Ron is finally sleeping peacefully and I can't.  I'm going to try again, though, because I need my sleep.  If Ron has another blackout tonight I'll need all the sleep I can get. 

"Don't pay attention to what I say"

Ron woke me up sometime last night.  He had, he told me, extreme "zapping" in his leg and he couldn't sleep. 

He was sorry, he informed me, but he would be drinking well over his limit and would almost certainly have a blackout. 

Why did you tell me this, I replied.  I'm trying to sleep and that's just....

"Well, I know I'm going to act like a jerk but I want you to remember I love you."  He got all "greeting card" for a while, lovely warm sentiments, then repeated the fact he was going to have a blackout "Don't pay attention to what I say"

He asked what he could do.  I told him to lie down in bed because he falls a lot and gets lost "wandering" the house, cursing and crawling around.  Please lie down and save us both that.  He did. 

A couple of hours (?) later he woke me up cursing and falling on the floor.  He needed to use the bathroom.  I helped him get to the toilet and left him alone, but he was angry I "wasn't a better helper".  I have a very strict hands-off policy since the blackout in 2007 where he got abusive and left me covered in bruises.  I refused to "let" him walk on broken glass in his bare feet.  He also broke the bed tackling me. 

Anyway, cue verbal attacks, abuse, etc.  He keeps going on about "how perfect" I seemingly think I am, how I think Ron is a POS and none of that is true.  I am very clear on my flaws and shortcomings.  While I don't hate myself the way he seems to want me to, I accept I am a mixed bag of traits.  I know a lot of that goes to Ron's self-hatred. 

It got so bad (verbal abuse) I put on the noise-blocking earmuffs.  I heard Ron go into the garage and wondered how that would go.  CRASH.  Ron crawled back in, cursing me for "letting" him get hurt.  He apparently has a black eye (from what I could understand of his ravings).  Uh, that's not my fault.  It's his fault for drinking to a blackout.  It's not my job to follow him around nannying him during a blackout, even assuming he WOULDN'T be abusive (he is, when I try to "help").  I left him to crawl into the kitchen, get more vodka (!) and crawl back up the hall. 

I had started my God Time by this point.  I had finished the Bible Study part (Hezekiah and Isaiah), and moved onto the prayer part.  More verbal abuse (from Ron, not God) :P.  I put the earmuffs back on.  They didn't block everything but they muffled most of it and I could focus on praying for everyone, including you guys. 

I pray good stuff for you, peace, good relationship with God and others, stuff like that. 

I finished that up about the time Ron decided to go to bed.  Thank God. 

I went to the bathroom, finally it was clear.  He had been on the floor in there for a while.  At least, to my knowledge, he didn't pee on the floor. 

He did spill a can of v-8 in the bedroom.  That's going to be a real mess to clean up. 

So, it's 9:44 in the morning.  He's already having a blackout, says it's the "only thing that helps his legs".  His ID card is expired so he can't get any pain meds.  Not that I think that would be a good idea to mix with alcohol anyway. 

Oh, what a morning. 

Ron was so proud I would have "2 days to sleep in".  Not.  Quite. 

I'm debating if I should go back to bed for a while and get some more sleep while he's quiet, or stay awake and do household things.  I sure don't want to stick around the house today but we are in the middle of an epic heatwave. 


Thursday, July 21, 2016


Well, I have to give Ron is props.  On his own, without any prompting, he apologized for being cranky yesterday, and having the last blackout. 

He's still hunched over and moaning.  That's pretty awful to watch.  I do have to respect the fact that he refuses narcotics.  He is, oddly enough, worried about addiction. 

So I have to watch him suffer.  Not fun, even when he is being nice. 

I slept late, until 9, and I managed to throw out my shoulder my rolling on it today.  I'm pretty stiff but I can work when I need to do so. 

The cats are good, but Torbie fought me on her steroid pill tonight and clawed my hand.  Not badly, more puncture wounds.  I washed it pretty well so I should be fine.  I had Ron help hold her down on the third attempt, which worked. 

I had a horrible cyst on my leg.  It's finally resolving on it's own without intervention.  I think the Vitamin C capsules really helped. 

The weather has been hot and miserable, my diet awful, my caffeine intake moderate.  We had a driver today who said we had a "sick" sense of humor (for the non-American readers, that's a compliment), and wished he could ride with us every day.  I liked him.  I hope he makes it. 

Biscuit just came and loved on my leg.  He's a sweet boy. 

Oh, and I did my God time and all the usual stuff in a timely manner today.  I even filled out the forms for the MRI.  They want a surprising amount of information.  Some of it I had to ask Ron about, but it's all done now. 

I just need to throw him in the tub and scrub him down "real good" before we do it.  I haven't told him yet about the leg ultrasound which is going to be horrible for him.  But we need to see if it's a blood clot causing the trouble. 

I almost wish it were, that would be an easy fix. 

I have a bad feeling Ron will require a back operation. 

Wednesday, July 20, 2016


A tough day. 

I didn't sleep well last night so I woke up exhausted.  It was nice to have both Torbie (who apparently forgave me for "pilling" her with her steroid) and Biscuit (after his nums) in my bed.  I hit the snooze alarm a couple times and enjoyed the company. 

Ron is in excruciating pain and snapping at me on occasion, kind of like a wounded animal.  I have a hard time "not" taking it personally. 

I feel like hey, I'm here to HELP you.  I'm here because I love you.  Please at least speak to me with a nice tone of voice.  I already have to watch my husband suffering in agony - he forget that hurts me too. 

Oh, well.  It's such a freaking cliché, the wounded alcoholic lashing out at his steadfast wife. [sigh]

Work wasn't too bad (except for watching Ron try to stand up).  I even took him out in the wheelchair (normally he pushes the walker).  He was so, pathetically, grateful.  Our driver was early so I loaded him into the vehicle and took the wheelchair back, locked it up (we don't want it walking off).  I put up the carts, loaded the change (we were doing a change dump) on the walker, and pushed the walker out to the front.  I gave Ron the change to hold while the driver locked up the walker. 

We picked up another client, a guy in a wheelchair we've been seeing a lot lately.  He keeps going to the medical center, I suppose for care. 

I was thinking about that, the demise of hope, when someone with a life changing injury gives up.  I never believed Ron would make a full recovery, not after seeing the damage he sustained after the accident.  He would talk a lot at first, about "When I get my legs back".  I even got him to promise to run a half marathon with me when it happened.  Somewhere around the 1-year anniversary of the accident, he stopped talking about it and started talking more about getting around on a day to day basis.  I never told him it couldn't happen (recovery), but I was realistic. 

I had very severe depressions on the anniversary of Ron's accident, every year, for several years.  Now, 13 years later I can handle a lot.  I can even handle the occasional surprise encounter with the man who ran over Ron.  I can even joke with him, smile, and mean it.  That's all God working in me. 

Today I was looking at a Bible Handout photo from 4 years ago.  I looked so bright and happy.  Now I feel so discouraged and oppressed.  One pastor has told me this is spiritual warfare.  I have heard it other places, too.  I don't know if it is or not, or whether I just failed God and am letting my torch sputter.  I still do my God Time, I still do Bible Handouts, not as often, but I go.  I pray for the recipients every day and do what I can to be kind to everyone. 

I just feel like I failed God somehow. 

So, we got to the bank, unloaded. Ron wanted to wait on the steps.  I left him and took the change in and did the deposit.  I came back out and waited. 

The security guard made some odd comments to us ("Oh, you're disabled?" [I had explained why we were waiting instead of driving off], "You must get a lot of money from the government" - "Not as much as you think." I replied).  I finally concluded he had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which explained the inappropriate behavior, standing too close, and "bothering" us when we clearly didn't want to talk. 

Ron had a miscommunication with our driver so we had to wait an hour.  Not fun.  When we got picked up, Ron asked the guy to guy him more vodka.

"You drank it, already?" 
"I only have one left."
"When do you want it?"
"Saturday at the latest." 

Years ago, when he started doing this, he told me, if I informed (the driver) Ron was having abusive blackouts, he would stop buying alcohol for Ron.  I "lost it" during Ron's blackout about 3 weeks ago and informed him Ron was having abusive blackouts.  I was nearly crying. 

He's still buying Ron alcohol.  I'm trying to see some kind of good in that.  If Ron can't use this guy he will find someone else, someone who will probably charge him more money. 

Ron gave him the money as I tried to keep a neutral face.  By this time we were home and I was getting the walker out of the back of the truck.  I positioned it about 2 steps from the truck (I was worried about dinging it) and Ron blew up at me, screaming and waving his hands angrily. 

"If you're that bad" I told him sharply. "You need to be in a wheelchair". 

"No I don't" He groaned as he struggled to follow me into the garage. 

I think so. 

Biscuit just came and sat on my foot.  I can see why some people forsake humans and become "cat people".  It's funny.  I get utterly revolted at the thought of a dirty diaper, but I don't mind doing the litter box. 

I'm sure some human parents feel the same way, in reverse.  "Eww, litter box". 

Funny how people work.  Biscuit is sitting behind me now.  He is such a charmer.  He literally picked me out as I walked down the street, climbed my shoulder like an acrobat, and sat on my shoulder as I waited on the bus.  Then he tried to ride the bus with me. 

He continues to charm, even though he isn't a lap cat.  He's more of a "Sit on the tub mat while Mom takes a shower" type of cat. 

Torbie needs her steroid.  I hate to give her pills.  Not because she is mean, but because she is overall very polite.  She struggles but doesn't fight, and eventually swallows the pill. 

When we got in the house, I took a nap.  I woke up about two hours ago.  I was having a lovely dream about a house in the woods, snow outside, and fresh green homegrown vegetables.  I had friends over, helping me. 

Like I said, a lovely dream.  I hated to wake up but I had to pee.  Oh, and I started my period, finally.  Tomorrow will be the heavy flow day stay close to home or bring a lot of tampons, day. 

I already ate but I may scrounge up a snack.  I already had a protein bar.  I always figure one of those can't hurt. 

I'm going to go dose Torbie now. 

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Well, last night after I finished my blog, I checked out Torbie.  She does have a small scab so we will take her to the vet shortly.  I need to get ready to put her in the box. 

Well, I just got back from the vet.  She has "hot spot" or allergic dermatitis.  Doc gave her a shot of antibiotics because she has open, oozing sores, and steroid tablets for me to give her every day. 

Oh, goody.  I'm not a big fan of pilling cats, although Torbie is better that most.

So, I got up at around 6, did my God Time and shower.  Ron took me out to breakfast.  I let him.  I got French Toast and a huge portion at that.  Most places only give you a few slices but not these guys.  I ate the entire thing.  It was good. 

We came home and I took a short nap before taking Torbie to the vet.  I stuffed her in the carrier about 15 minutes before our pickup, went and checked the mail.  I got my t-shirts which are supposed to be "performance" but look like cheap polyester.  I will have to give them a try and see.  Looking at them closer, they're not as bad as I feared.  They are a performance fabric, it just looked like one of those cheap pilly knits that falls apart on the third wash. 

Back to Torbie: She is down about a pound, which is very good.  She was pretty fat.  Doc liked that I admired "her manicure".  She had trimmed Torbie's nails during the procedure and they still look good. 

Doc loves Torbie and considers her a good patient.  Torbie was very good for the vet and no biting, hissing, etc.  She is more a passive resister if anything.  However, she was happy to roll over and display her belly, etc. 

Doc gave her a shot of long acting antibiotic because the wounds (raw open skin - hate to say it but Ron was right) could get infected.  I expected this, because (as a child) I had a cat who used to get "hot spots".  They had to give him steroids, and sure enough that's what they did for Torbie.  I also asked for the "better" flea control product because I see my guys scratching a lot.  I know flea bites can cause "hot spots" and irritations like Torbie is battling. 

Doc asked if I had introduced any new products (cleaning, fragrance, etc.) and I said no.  I believe it is just cumulative stress.  I mean, think about it:
Gravy died.
The survivors became inside cats.
We've had a lot of repairmen over. 
Ron has had some blackouts. 
They all had their annual vet checkup. 
Torbie had her operation. 
Torbie had to wear "the cone of shame" for 2 weeks. 
Torbie had to have her stitches out (and she wasn't happy about that one). 
Epic flea season in Houston.

That's a lot for an old lady to handle in just a couple of months.  3.5 months, to be exact.  I am wracking my brain, and I can't think of any new products I might be using.  The only "new" thing are the garbage bags, and I have had them for over a month now.  I doubt they're the problem. 

No changes to food or treats.  Ron is feeding less treats, which is working, because Torbie is slimming down.  I just hope she isn't losing weight because of the problem. 

If she is, the steroids will take care of that.  Steroids, apparently, make "everyone" gain weight, be they human or feline. 

So, all that and we came home.  I came in the door and let Torbie out, then got half a steroid tablet (per doctor's orders) and dosed her.  I got cat slobber all over my hands, I had to jam it down pretty far.  I washed up (I am allergic), asked Ron to give her some treats (he was drinking and that's the kind of job he likes), and got dinner. 

We ate and he went back to bed, Torbie went with him. 

I had a good nap earlier, by the way, with Biscuit.  Torbie had been sleeping with me but probably not anymore with the dosing and all.  They're good cats. 

I don't care about holding a cat.  I'd like to have it in my lap but that's not mandatory.  What I do love is for a cat to sleep with me.  I just love waking up to a cat or two in the bed, rolling over for a pet, or even better, when they roll over and flop atop me.  Good times. 

I'm a simple girl. 

So, praying Torbie gets better soon.  She did look pretty raw once the doctor - I can't think of a non-sexual term here - exposed her on the exam table.  Let me be clear, Torbie's privates are fine.  It's her "armpits" in the front that are raw and sore.   Poor girl. 

She seems fine, though. 

The other cats are also fine.  Biscuit and Torbie are out on the catio right now enjoying some fresh air.  We had about an hour of thunderstorms today and it was lovely, and cooling.  It's about 10 degrees colder than normal, in the low 90's.  I'm not sure where BabyGirl is hiding, she likes to steal my chair when I'm not in it. 

Depression was around but not as bad as it has been.  I even managed to clean the toilet this morning, and the litter boxes (3 of them) tonight.  I'm also doing a load of laundry. 

My period is due anyday so I am anticipating that.  I should probably put some extra tampons in my purse. 

I think it's funny, in French a tampon is any kind of sponge or scrubber, and in America it has a totally different meaning! 

I have to get up pretty early so I'm going to go now.  Take care and have a good one. 

If you pray, I would love one for Torbie to heal up with no re-occurance.  Thanks!