Showing posts from March, 2009

Things I love to do.

I've been getting my ass kicked by this depression. Obviously, I've taken my illness for granted. Depressions always last two weeks, they have for years, haven't they? No. This one is going on 3 weeks.

One important thing is the things I love to do inventory. So, what do I love to do? Time to make a list, and get working on it, so I don't get flogged with this illness. I detest the image of Heather-as-victim-helpless-against-the-persecuting-illness. GACK. I want to be more like Sarah Conner in Terminator 2, kicking ass and taking names.

Knitting. Today I bought a squishee ball to use while I knit, exercising my hands so I can continue to knit. Gardening. I took a plastic chair out back so I can enjoy the garden. I've also built a little Frosty memorial garden with white flowers and fragrant herbs. He'd love to lie on the plants and dig up my mulch, and urinate on a violet or two. I see it everytime I leave the house or come home. Being outside. …

Trying to carry the world on my back

I'm going to complain, damnit. I just realized that in many ways, I have a lousy life. My husband is practically bed-bound at home. When we go out, he can't walk more than a few hundred yards, or stand more than a few minutes at a time. All due to the damned nerve disease that no one knows how he got.

Today I was told "Peripheral Neuropathy as an allergic response to Bactrim? That's very rare." Thanks. I needed to hear that. My husband is so special, and we've pissed God off so much, that He had to smite my long-suffering husband with ANOTHER disability. It was lots of fun, helping him wash up this morning and hearing him scream as I gently wiped his arm with a washcloth. It was even more fun to hear the doctor comment on the extensive nerve damage in his right arm. Yeah, we NOTICED thanks. I hate it. I can't even touch him without being exceptionally careful. He coughs a lot, a side effect from the medication that helps with his newest disa…


Hustle: a. To sell or get by questionable or aggressive means: hustled stolen watches; hustling spare change.
b. To pressure into buying or doing something: a barfly hustling the other customers for drinks.

Today I met a hustler. He rides Metrolift, a client, not a driver. I didn't like him even before he started "pitching" and obviously trying to pry "contacts" out of us.

It started off with aggressive calls to Metrolift, where are you, how far away. When we pulled up, he demanded to know how long he'd be riding. If I had animations in here, this is where I'd paste the one that's laughing hysterically, because if you want to know how long you'll be riding then you should have called yourself a cab. Looking back, I'm pleased to state he had a LONG ride (I spied on the computer console).

I found him equal parts amusing and annoying. Like Ron says "If you want a straight trip, or expect one, you must be a new client. The veterans kn…

Lizard Season

I will always miss my cat. I wish I had known how little time we had, I would have spent more time with him. A couple hours a day, in retrospect, doesn't seem like enough time.

[sigh] Even coming to terms with my husband's permanent disability (twice) was an easier process. I wonder what that says about my love for them both.

In 2003, I had to come to terms with losing my birth mother, losing my beloved grandmother, nearly losing my husband, major employment changes (laid off), full time caregiver 24/7, health crises, etc. I tended to respond with manias, amping up my energy level and interest in various projects. Those who saw me in 2003 probably remember me crocheting an afghan, for instance. Everyone got an afghan in 2003.

In late 2003, I had to come to terms with the fact that my husband would most likely use a wheelchair, every time he left the house, for the rest of his life. We'd never go hiking again, or walk 12 miles in one day to get out of a flooded area. Last year…

Happily Oblivious

When I was a little girl, my Daddy worked "For the Government". He worked downtown in a big building, for a well known "acronym". Dad could never tell me what it is he did, where he went on his "business trips" and I only saw his office once.

That was fine. I was just happy to have a Daddy who loved me. I was also happy in my nice house in the nice suburb, attending the top-notch elementary school and eating all I wanted every day.

Later on, after he switched careers, I figured out his first job. Interesting, I thought. My cousins couldn't believe my dad worked for The Acronym, when the topic came up at a family meal. When discussing a current event, he mentioned being "out of the loop" and I laughed to myself. We both knew that at one point, he'd been in the loop.

He enjoyed his job and I'm sure he did quite a bit for our country. Go, Dad!

The show "24" is coming on, but I'm not interested. I am certain the …

Just for fun...

Two photos of the same garden bed, taken a few weeks apart.

I've been working on my knitting...

And spoiling Bubba rotten. He's assumed a lot of Frosty's cuddle duties. :)

Just for fun, today, I'll put up some photos from my Album. You can double-click on the photo to make it bigger and read the captions.

I hope you enjoy the photos. I had fun taking them. The afghan in the Bubba photo was my design, the colors and the stitch pattern. I crocheted it about 15 years ago.

Missing Frosty

I miss my baby; and I'm battling a depression. It didn't take an expert for me to realize, once I heard the words "Kidney failure" that it would probably be an EXCELLENT idea to increase my lithium. I did and have continued with my 3-a-day dosage.

I'm taking all my supplements:
B-100 with Inositol - a good anti-depression bipolar vitamin
Vitamin E
Milk Thistle (good for the old liver)
Mixed Minerals
Olive Leaf (for the immune system)

I'm forcing myself to do things I enjoy, even though they break my heart. I have a lot of Frosty-in-the-garden memories. He particularly loved to pee on the plants in garden bed 4, and eat the heads off my marigolds.

My other cat is picking up a lot of slack, he cuddles with me at night, and comes and sits on my feet in the morning as I watch the news. I know he loves me, Bubba's a good boy.

But he isn't Frosty. I bought him some canned food in his favorite flavor - beef. He loves it, I'll…

I'm going to miss you.

Frosty. He came into my life right after we bought the house. Baby Girl had just died. She was poisoned by former "neighbors" in my old area - a terrible area.

One night, Bubba hollered at the door. I opened it. He'd brought a friend home. A friend, who by the looks of things, was homeless. His fur was coming out in patches, he had deep abrasions on his neck from scratching at his ears, which were a mess from ear mites. He was a wreck.

Even so, he ran in terror from Heather-with-a-can-of-tuna. It took a good month to convince him we were OK, and that petting was an enjoyable activity. He used to flinch every time I'd stroke his patchy fur, as he gobbled down his cat food.

Eventually, we persuaded him into the house. After a few weeks of hiding under the bed, he decided he liked living in the house. He and Bubba always got on amazingly well. I used to tease Bubba and tell him he could pick out all my cats from now on.

Little did we know, at the time, Frosty was alread…

A letter to the animal hospital that cared for Frosty

Dr Jewell,
I've loved cats since I was a baby. 5 years ago, my cat Bubba brought home a stray friend to live with us. Frosty was an adult male, undetermined age, and very cuddly. He was our baby.

He became very ill this weekend and I brought him in on Sunday morning, around 10. Everyone was incredibly kind and sensitive, and they treated his case as a serious emergency.

Dr Brunio contacted us and let us know that Frosty was beyond saving, that he was very elderly (a surprise) and beyond saving. It was obvious to both my husband and myself that Dr Brunio cared deeply for both pets and their humans, he was very compassionate and sensitive.

We made the choice to be present when Frosty was put down, and I was so glad I went to your clinic. When I brought him in, Frosty was suffering and miserable. The last time I saw him, he was resting comfortably and happy to see us. His tail flicked happily as we petted him and said our goodbyes.

Dr Brunio was very kind and compassionate dur…
I always ask God for help in my life, and I always ask him to make His will obvious to me,through signs the size of billboards. Today I got a billboard.

Frosty is dead. He was sick yesterday, and worse today. I took him into the vet, they took him and sent me home. Ron called to check up on Frosty and they told us the bad news. Here's the billboard: kidney and liver failure, major systemic infection, no hope of survival. Pretty obvious.

We only had one question, could we come in to say goodbye? We called yet another cab, and went to the clinic. We went into a small, quiet room. Frosty was resting comfortably on the table, with his front paws tucked underneath him. An IV port stuck out of a back leg.

We said our goodbyes, and I got my last petting and kisses. He flicked just the tip of his tail, like he does when he's in my lap. I stroked him gently as the shots were administed, and he was gone.

Fortunately for us, our job was obvious. The vet guesstimated Frosty at about 13 years …


It took me a little while to figure out I'm mixed today - up and down at the same time. The treatment is the same - more lithium, regardless.

I'm going to take a nap, even though it's early, and let the lithium do it's thing. I ate a good, nurturing meal - sausage patties with grated cheese, green beans with butter, and my favorite diet soda. It's a beautiful day, later on I'll go outside and have fun in the garden.

I've gotten a lot accomplished today in spite of my illness. What made me realize I was mixed? I read a post where a woman talked about "I used to be depressed but I fixed it by eating low-carb".

It made me feel inadequate. Here I am, and I have to take a handful of mood stabilizers, antidepressants, and antipsychotics every day. I guess she's "better" than me.

No, my illness is more severe. Eating carbs can make average people depressed, maybe she was simply average. You know my opinions on trying to manage sev…

I'm never like this

I'm very glad I have my blog. When something weighs on me, I can come here and type it all out.

Today I really have a glimpse of "normal" - what normal would be for me, if I didn't have my disabilities. I woke up at a reasonable hour. I had lots of energy, because I'm still slightly manic. I ate a good breakfast and took my pills (even if I were "normal", I'd still take supplements). The sink was full of dirty dishes. I started working on them, then I cleaned out the fridge. As I was pouring some leftovers into my trash bag, icky meat juice splashed on my shorts and the floor. Looks like I need to mop and do laundry!

I went around the house, picking up dirty clothes. I sorted them and started a load, then I swept the tile floors and mopped them. I poured the mop water into the toilet and got the toilet cleanser started (I like to let it "cook" for a bit before scrubbing, even though the toilet isn't bad). I opened the window…

Why are we so easy on drunk drivers?

If your city is anything like mine, you can discover something horrifying by going to your local news site. Type in "DUI" "Drunk Driver" or "Driving drunk".

If it's anything like the Houston Chronicle website, you will discover a horrible litany of slap-on-the-wrist punishment, repeat offenders, permanent disabilities, and destroyed families.

Why are we so easy on drunk drivers? While speaking with a professional driver recently, I mentioned I felt first-time offenders should lose their license for 6 months. "Why six months?" the driver replied, "I'd say at least a year!"

I agree! We have at least one case, a woman killed someone while driving drunk. She got 4 months in jail. For killing someone. Someone died, and she lost 120 days of her life? She can drive? WHY is this considered OK?

As far as I know, no one in my life has been affected by a drunk driver. No one is driving drunk and no one's been affected. My husb…

How do I know when I'm getting manic?

It's a good question. How do I know?

I mean, one day I'm at baseline, and at some point a few days down the road I realize "I'm manic, I need to increase my lithium." How do I know? What else do I do to manage my illness?

First of all, let's cover the easy one - the depression. Generally the depression is much more easy to pinpoint. I lose energy. I lose interest in things I love, I feel hopeless and lost in a world of misery, and my "Time to increase the lithium" sign - I feel like taking a shower is just the most difficult thing in the world. The Shower Sign is my clue to do a few things.

* Take more lithium
* Add B-Complex, L-Carnitine, Alpha-Lipoic Acid, and Coenzyme Q10 to my supplements, if I'm not already. Doing so has actually whacked a depression in the burgeoning stages.
* Sit down and figure out what I love to do, and start doing it regardless of "feeling like it". I do the things I love, and as I do them I fee…

I don't want to!

I almost did it again... I've been so busy taking care of Ron, taking care of the business and household, that I'm neglecting taking care of myself.
I guess part of it's the fact that I get tired, lots of fatigue due to my medication. Yesterday I screwed up and took the morning pills at night - and woke up to hallucinations. I heard things that weren't there, and then today I was "off" - paranoid, but not enough that anyone noticed. I had "Bad Thought Patterns" manifesting. I took the proper stuff tonight, and I already feel better.
Last week Ron and I donated blood - I found out we were donating when I checked my email. I got an email "Thank you for making an appointment". I asked Ron about it, Oh, yeah, Heather they called so I set us up. OK.
Since Ron has needed multiple units of blood, my uncle got over a gallon, and my Dad needed platelets last year I will NEVER say no to donating as long as I'm healthy and my P-doc says it's f…