Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Happier times

Today's one of those uninspired days. 

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. So glad I didn't have to shave my legs this morning.  I showered, talked to Ron, did my God Time later. 

We went to work.  We rode with a Pakistani cab driver and talked about ethnic food.  I was a little queasy from my Wellbutrin but I didn't whine about it.  He suggested a place near my house if I want ingredients. 

We got to work, the machines were about half empty.  Ron kept "bothering" me.  I finally said "You know the machines are not being stocked while I do this?".  He let me alone for a while after that. 

I just need an hour or so to do snacks.  If I have that I can get them done and help Ron with whatever.  Which I did. 

I even had time to do pastry.  I was very happy walking away from my vending machines. 

We talked to the other guys and they will put my water on one of the shelves.  But they know we're coming Friday. 

Things are a little weird with the other vendor.  It's my understanding he is supposed to give us a ride to the conference every year. 

He says no, he has to take his brother.  His brother lost his location 6 months ago, hasn't bid on a new one, and isn't planning to bid on anything in the future.  You only have a year on idle before they boot you from the program.  So why is he even bothering to go? 

Also, if you have a 7 passenger vehicle, you, your wife, and your brother are only 3.  Ron and I make 5.  Still plenty of room for 2 more people. 

Anyway, Ron and I agreed we're not going to beg.  If he wants to play games that's on him.  We'll take the Greyhound. 

I am fine with that, but for two things:
  1. Filthy Greyhound bathrooms.  I mean, filthy.  Both in the station and on the bus.  I'll remind you I need to pee every hour or two thanks to my lithium.  That could get pretty eeky. 
  2. Greyhound won't let me bring my knife aboard.  I am very partial to my knife. 
I have a small duffle bag, good for a couple days of clothing and our supplies (hint, it's going to rattle when I walk).  I plan to bring my hoodie and a vest, just in case it gets cold.  It could be pretty miserable waiting on a cab. 

Ron arranged to stay with a friend.  We plan to use Austin cabs to get to and from the conference.  It's coming up soon, but I won't say when.  That would be stupid, we'd get robbed.  Not that I have anything, unless you are really itching for some whole Spanish Bibles. 

Speaking of stuff, we got the Scripture Booklets for Halloween Handout.  That's always fun.  As I've said, I still need some ziplocks, full sized candy bars, and small candy. 

We found a half grown orange cat in the yard this morning.  It was pretty cute until I caught it hissing at Biscuit.  Biscuit was just saying hello, not aggressive or defensive at all.  He was in a greeting posture. 

After that, I couldn't wait to get rid of the little shit.  Torbie ran it off while we were gone, I think. 

After work, we went to the bank, and deposited a large sum to cover some expenses.  Ouch.  We came home, ate some leftovers, and went to bed. 

I woke up after a couple of hours.  I had an odd nightmare about Ben Carson.  Someone was trying to frame him, and it was my job to take accurate photos to protect him.  The dream also involved a housing search and some cliffs. 

Once I got up, I decided to tackle the printer.  As I said, I want to just print up Ron's medical history on demand.  I got an HP 2130 for $40 at Walmart.  I had a little trouble getting it set up but eventually figured it out. 

Then I printed up the medical history, which turned out to be 3 pages.  I stuck it in the folder I'm using for his information. 

Ron was happy I got it going. 

Now I need to figure out dinner.  I see Doc tomorrow and meet my aunt for lunch. 

Glad to see her in happier times. 

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

"As Directed"

I slept pretty well last night and woke up in a timely manner.  I was impressed.  I had a small headache but nothing major. 

The cats haven't been sleeping with me.  Torbie is sulking over the new cat door, the other ones are having lots of fun with the new arrangement. 

I did my God Time first thing.  That always makes me feel like I ran a couple of miles: HA! That's over!  Maybe not the best attitude. 

I needed to do up my pills. 

I had a bottle of half milligram Haldols (generic).  They are small orange tablets.  I had also picked up a refill for 1 milligram Haldols.  They are small orange tablets, identical to the smaller dose. 

The other night, I had a hard time with the invisible bugs and all.  I took two of what I presumed to be half milligrams, and continued to take two of the "half" tablets, every night, for a few more nights. 

Imagine my surprise when I realized I had quadrupled my dose!  Now, before you panic, a normal adult dose is four milligrams.  I didn't cook my brains, I just went from 1/8 dose to 1/2 dose. 

I've been feeling GREAT.  I may just talk to Doc about going up to 2 mg a day.  I don't have any side effects (nothing unusual), better symptom control, and did I mention I have been sleeping GREAT? 

So, we'll find out.  In the meantime, back to 1 mg a day until I hear otherwise.  I really do TRY to take things "as directed". 

I did up my pills.  I put powdered vitamin C into my drink mix (which I drink in the afternoon/evening), so I avoid that, but I have multivitamins, etc., in addition to the usual mood stabilizers, antipsychotic, and antidepressant medications. 

Let's see:
Multi with iron
Cat's Claw (for immune, and some minor arthritis)
Calcium, magnesium, zinc
Vitamin A (1600), if I don't take it my gums get mad and I get horrible boils.
Vitamin E (heart trouble runs in the family) 400 mg.
Milk thistle (I bought it for Ron but he won't touch it, it's good for the liver and mine has to clear a lot of prescription-y goodness). 
I have B 50's but I don't put them in my organizer.  I take one every couple of weeks.
Vitamin K (my shampoo has mineral oil, which depletes the body of fat soluble vitamins, A,D, E, K)

I did all that up, morning and night doses.  Antidepressants and multi in the morning.  Pretty much everything else at night. 

I would, ideally, add some Vitamin C (1000 mg) - that's the one thing Ron will take, by the way; and some Olive Leaf (same deal for Ron). 

Ron's been taking Vitamin C, Vitamin D (I forgot I do take one), and hopefully his multi.  But he said it "tastes bad".  He likes to swallow them dry.  And that just sounds so bad.

I'm going to tiptoe away from that imagery and move onto the rest of my day.  I did some organizing and took some stuff out into the garage.  I tried putting weatherstripping on the patio door, but it didn't work.  The door wouldn't latch.  That's a problem. 

I took it off (it has, some, already), and took a shower.  When I get stressed I sweat a lot, particularly my scalp.  My hair looked like a big, sweaty, hairball.  One reason I try to do stressful things before my shower. 

I shaved my legs so I don't have to hassle tomorrow. 

I need to remember to put my good soap into the enclosure.  I just did. 

I like this soap.  It reminds me of the stuff I used to make myself, loaded with wonderful butters.  I'm at that in between stage.  I don't need lotion, but some soap is too drying.  This works great, smells wonderful, and when I wanted a gift for my aunt I got her a bar of unscented (she has migraines that make mine look like puppies). 

Anyway, Ron was encouraging me to go out, so I did.  He paid for the cab.  I just went to Walmart and deposited my birthday check.  My (adoptive) Mom forgot and wrote my "single" name.  Ooops.  I have gone by this name, legally, for over 10 years.  The bank got a little squinty over that. 

Well, they're not youngsters.  I wonder if I should say something? 

At any rate, I went to the store, got a storage box, various items, and Halloween candy.  Yes, it's almost time.  We need to get the candy and bags.  I'm still waiting on the booklets.  I bought probably 400 mini sized candy bars today, and some Spanish candy.  I thought the kids might enjoy that. 

I would like more sour stuff.  Maybe 150 little Peanut M&M's.  Some hard candy, but overall I'm pretty happy with my "start".  I can always give the leftovers to the drivers.   I'm storing this all, on the Bible rack.  It goes to evangelism, and I bought the rack with my own money. 

These days, kids travel (at least here) in large packs.  So I can have 15 kids at the door, at once.  I cannot run out!  [gulp]

Ron and I have a hard-won reputation as "The Good House" and I aim to keep it. 

When I got home, I took a nap. 

Work tomorrow, Doc on Thursday.  "Can we up my Haldol?" 

Monday, September 28, 2015

Pay the man

One day, I'll have a boring day, and I won't know what to do with it. 

I'll start with the driver.  She came, early.  Started honking at 3:45 AM, 15 minutes BEFORE the pickup time.  Honking like an angry ex. 

We went out and asked her to stop.  While I was talking to her she began to emit bloodcurdling screams and screaming at me to get out of the doorway (she was driving "the short bus").  I turned around. 

Happy little Biscuit, curious about the new friend, was walking down the driveway towards the vehicle.  She scared the crap out of him and he ran away. 

She would say he scared the crap out of her.  Just walking around? 

It's sad.  Biscuit is actually afraid of most strangers. 

Now, if he were Bubba (the black cat), I could understand, but a harmless little mostly white cat?  Huh.  This must be how people feel about their pit bulls. 

My poor neighbors.  I'm sure she woke them all up.  My only consolation: one of them leaves for work at 3:30 AM.  Sorry. 

I will say it at least alerts them to the fact we do get up early. 

Ron and I were quiet, but I still feel bad. 

We then had a long ride all over north Houston.  We got to work over an hour later.  The driver went to the wrong address, again honking like the angry ex, waking up dozens of people - at the wrong address.  She's lucky she didn't get shot in that neighborhood. 

Finally at work.  I find it funny, when I hand my badge to the driver they always stop and look at my photo. 

Yes, it's me. 

We got in.  We got everything stocked and then had a very long wait.  We had such a long wait I actually sat down.  We finally got the delivery, 2 hours late.  We did get everything and the driver was nice, none of the merchandise damaged.  I put it away, paid the man, and we left. 

Our truck guy picked us up, we got some food.  Then he ran me by Walmart because my account is "dry".  I put a little in there.  Of course the balance shows more than what I should have.  In a case like that I just believe my total. 

We came home.  I went to bed.  Biscuit flopped on the bed with me.  He loves his Mama. 

I was glad I'd disabled the doorbell when I found the package on the porch.  It didn't wake me up! 

I have my Encyclopedia of Natural Medicine, the Colitis book, and a set of wireless headphones (surprisingly cheap at $24) for Ron. 

Praise God, we have tomorrow off.  Even better, no trips tomorrow. 

Sunday, September 27, 2015

It's not my colon

Classic fit (he doesn't like baggy).  Flat front (I don't like him in pleats).  36x29.  2 Navy, 2 Black.

We bought him a couple pairs of pants today.  It's been funny, with Ron, shopping for clothes.  He seems to hover around a 36. 

He worked in an office before he met me, so he had a lot of dress slacks and button down oxford style tops.  He went to vocational training and needed the wardrobe, then an office job where it continued. 

I liked him best in jeans and a cowboy hat.  Sexy!  It's funny, I love Ron in a short-trimmed beard.  I don't like beards on other men, as a rule.  Obviously I find him appealing or I wouldn't have married him. 

"I'd much rather have an interesting face." I told him "Than a handsome one".  He just shook his head, grinning. 

Anyway, Ron needed pants.  He generally runs between 32 (when we met) to 42 (all time high directly before the accident - a hell of a way to lose weight).  Today I found an assortment of suitable pants (the 28 inseam makes it a little tricky) in 36-38. 

Ron takes a while trying on clothes, not surprising when you consider his physical problems.  We didn't have a lot of time so I did my shopping (mainly insoles! and cat food!). 

Ron called me after about 10 minutes.  He'd tried on two, and wasn't sure about one.  The other, he declared, was "too baggy".  The 38's went back.  One of them had pleats, anyway.  Ick. 

He did request more of the pair I mentioned.  Happily, they were the $12 pair.  I got those and he tried on the rest as I loaded up on cat food. 

I spent $20 on cat food.  Good thing they're cute! 

I came back, Ron finished.  We threw the "good" ones in the cart.  I have them in the washer now. 

Ron wears t-shirts with khakis, at work.  It may not be the most appropriate pairing but it's a lot better than the dress slacks, which always needed mending. 

Ron's pretty simple, some pants every 3-4 years, some t-shirts every year or so (colors we both agree we like).   Ron does remember colors, mainly primary ones. 

A quick note on color: We don't have any red, or blue, as we do ministry in gangland.  It would be Very Bad if we wore the wrong color.  We go for ghetto neutral, me in safety orange and black or navy, Ron in green or tan. 

Pays to be smart. 

As a result, the drug dealers, gang members, and I have a tacit agreement: You don't see me, I don't see you. 

Back to clothes.  I popped Ron back in the kiddie cart and we went off in search of salty snacks.  He wanted rice crackers, the spicy kind. 

Doc did say regular diet.  It's not what I would eat with colitis, but it's not my colon, either.  He is still passing blood, he seems to have leveled off at about 1 T blood clot plus 2 T blood, a couple times a day. 

I'm a little annoyed I haven't gotten my books yet, but Amazon would probably say "You should have got the Kindle version". 

I am very much a "research the hell out of the condition" type of person.  If I know it I can fight it (or help).   I did that with his head injury and my illness. 

I was exposed to an absolute germ factory while buying Ron pain relievers.  I will be eating a lot of protein with my dinner tonight. 

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Delicious smoked turkey

Today was so horrifically long. 

Yesterday I didn't get my nap due to the garage door.  We'd had a cat door in the garage door, which we replaced. 

The new door did not have a cat door.  The cats were Not Happy.  I'm sure the homeowners association will be thrilled.  They'd been unhappy about it. 

I didn't sleep well, worrying about the cats. 

We got up, went to the warehouse. Truck day.  We got a lot of inventory, they had the black tea in the bottles which our people love. 

I bought 9 cases, just of that. 

Ron called in a complaint to headquarters.  Apparently it took a while to filter back.  I had managers following me around, butt-kissing, for weeks.  I wanted to tell them go bother Ron, but people are scared of his raw and uncensored, head injured glory. 

I prefer a blunt man.  If you have something to say, say it plainly.  Ron does that. 

So, we got all that to work, unloaded, into the building, into the machines.  I had the usual helping Ron vs getting my own work done, conflict.  He didn't notice all the times I helped, just when I didn't.  And, in those cases, I just asked him to wait a few minutes. 

Ron's a do-it-now kind of guy.  He had a little mouth going. 

We left, our truck guy took us to lunch, then Home Depot, where I bought a glass cat door that fits into a regular patio door.  We called the guy. 

The guy came out a couple hours later.  He is older but very experienced and not afraid to bend a rule or two. 

It took him about an hour to get the cat door installed, but it's done now.  Gravy just came in and loved on my leg.  He was outside, we didn't let him in, so he figured it out on his own. 

I was exhausted, still am.  Depressed most of the day but I'm so tired it's converted to mania.  A useful tip. 

I wouldn't do that on a regular basis, but no nap 2 days in a row, poor sleep, stress, and all the rest will add up. 

I did have a delicious smoked turkey sandwich for dinner, and some kind of parfait for dessert.  For some reason, I couldn't stand the thought of red meat.  It just made me gag.  So I stuck to the turkey and my medication was happy when I took it. 

I am utterly exhausted.  I plan to do some God Time and go to bed. 

We have a little trip to Walmart tomorrow, but that's it. 

Friday, September 25, 2015

I burned up my mania on your bloody stools

"What's wrong?" Ron asked. 


He was nice about it, but disappointed.  Well, sorry, I burned up my mania on your bloody stools!  [laugh] 

Ah, well - half the time, I'm depressed.  It's just my special time for depression.  Hopefully I pop out of it in a few weeks. 

For the short term, Ron will save a lot of money.  So will I.  I won't want to shop or go out.  I'll grimly eat the same thing day after day as I choke down my medication.   I won't even care. 

This morning was pretty funny.  I woke up and Biscuit came galloping into my room and on the bed.  "Meow!  Meow?"  He loves his canned food.  "Meow?"  He walked all over me, purring and kneading.  I did object when he started kneading my butt with his claws extended. 

It did work to get me out of bed.  I jumped up pretty quick. 

We went to breakfast.  I got pancakes, Ron got a 3 meat omlette with biscuits and home fries.  I kept poaching the fries as one of the servers frowned disapprovingly.  I finally asked him, aloud, if he minded. 

Indignant: "Of course not!"  She left. 

After we left, one of the shift supervisors came running after me, my bag in his hand.  I thanked him and explained "Yo tengo un cabeza lastimada".  (I have a head injury).  He nodded solemnly "Oh".  I thanked him again and he grinned. 

It was funny.  Our first ride was a contracted Yellow Cab driver from Guyana.  We chatted a little.  She knew "The guy with the dreadlocks from Guyana" - they are related. 

Sure enough, we had him to go back home.  "What are the odds?" the driver asked in his musical accent. 

Ron had arranged for the garage door guy to come by during my nap time.  I wasn't happy about that.  I did manage to sleep for about half an hour. 

I would have had longer, but I had a furry, fat, little terrorist named Torbie all over me, wanting petting.  She likes to get her attention when I'm falling asleep.  When she's done with me, she struts off to her spot, wherever it is. 

I got up, waited a while for the guy.  He did a great job. 

Now we need to have Greg come out and cut a new cat door hole.  That sounds wrong. 

Now I can clean out the garage, no wasps to worry about.  It has a lot of dead leaves and spiderwebs. 

I'll save that for another day, I'm pretty exhausted. 

I'm glad the depression didn't hit during all the drama but I am NEVER happy to see it.  Ever. 

Thursday, September 24, 2015

It's been a hell of a month

I overslept this morning.  Ron's alarm woke me up, and he sets it half an hour early. 

I had enough time to dress, brush my hair, and grab a harried snack with my medication. 

I have been horribly queasy lately.  I have a couple of theories on this.

1.  Prior to my diagnosis (crazy) I used to develop a lot of "stomach trouble" in times of great emotional distress.  The gut, is "like" "totally" linked to the brain.  It's been a hell of a month. 

2.  I started taking Ron's iron tablets.  I figured they would help.  Not so much, I think. 

At any rate, I stopped taking the iron tablets.  I have a lot of puddings and soft bland foods.  My stomach likes a small feeding every now and then.  It likes a Big Meal with the afternoon medication (5 mood stabilizers and an antipsychotic).   It likes pepto and very cold diet sodas, with the occasional decaf diet soda. 

I like to think I've figured things out.  Anyway, it's been nagging and pervasive, but not horrible. 


So, we went to work.... off in our ride... and there was a horrible wreck on the Beltway.  We were stuck in traffic for over an hour. 

That, of course, cut an hour out of work.  I was scrambling to fill the snack machines and assist Ron.  He said I was a "Big help' so I did manage that; but I didn't get to do the pastry again. 

He agreed to schedule a very long day on Saturday. 

One of my friends gave me a gift bag containing a tunic top (she guessed my size correctly!  Brave woman!) and several cans of Biscuit's favorite cat food.  He is so, so, happy. 

I thought it was incredibly sweet. 

[belch]  Maybe that will help. 

We went home, I got a small nap, and then we went to Arby's, but the driver was over an hour late.  Ron had to call and adjust the time to come home. 

I did, happily, get my time at the nearby Dollar Store.  Ron discovered curly fries don't agree with his condition

While paying, the driver gaped at the wad of $1 bills in my hand (about 40).  "Where did you get all those ones?" 

I grinned.  "My husband earned it, stripping". 

He gaped at me for a second, and burst out laughing. 

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

I want to be a good influence

Well, I'll tell you. 

My old computer didn't work with the new monitor.  So Ron bought me a new computer. 

I am loving it.  I just need to move my music. 

Since I have already taken my "stupid" (Wellbutrin), I'll wait for another day off, get up, take care of the computer, and then take the antidepressant. 

I had a dream last night I was very depressed, and eating a lot of chocolate.  In reality, my mood is more mixed.  I can tell because I lick my lips a lot when I'm manic, and they're chapped from it. 

It's very nice.  The display is astounding, huge, surreal.  "I could really watch some movies" I told Ron "On this thing".  I might look into getting Netflix. 

And it has autocorrect so I don't look as medicated as I am. 

Last night I gave the pizza guy a bag of New Testaments and candy.  He was pretty happy to see it; even more when he sees I put a few Spanish in there. 

I don't say it to inflate myself; if anything I lose rewards by talking about it. 

Matthew 6:2 NKJV
Therefore, when you do a charitable deed, do not sound a trumpet before you as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory from men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward.

I talk about this to encourage, and hopefully incite you into a few actions of your own.  I want to be a good influence. 

I am finally sleeping better.  Nothing helps my sleep like "No cancer".  No surgery either, unless Ron really botches his management and gets toxic. 

Might I add I am "super" glad I don't have to learn colostomy care?  [grin]  I would, if I had to, because I signed up for everything. 

If I believed in a quid pro quo marriage, which I don't, I would say I "owed" it to Ron for hanging in there during my Bad Years when I was sick, undiagnosed, and often just plain Evil. 

But I don't believe in that kind of marriage.  I give 100%.  Ron gives what he can (lately, I feel, 100%).  Point being: I don't think what I give should be dependent on what he does. 

I don't want that kind of marriage, and I know Ron doesn't either.  That's why I take great pains NOT to be the "After all I've done for you, you'd have been lost without me, without me you'd be in a nursing home".  He already knows that. 

If I want to be a good person then I have to act like one. 

So, we see the doctor in a couple hours for his final diagnosis.  I brought my Merck Manual and The Pill Book - I can figure things out when we're waiting on our ride. 

I'll keep you posted. 

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

You have to put this in your blog

Ron and I concluded this, about the same time.  "This has to go in the blog"

I get very upset when the neighbors have a party: the kids come over ringing the doorbell late at night, demanding yard access or their soccer ball returned immediately.  I told them, more than once, not to come over, because my husband is "very sick" and they were "waking him up".  Yet they continued.

It got to the point this year I asked, flatly, what they do with the other neighbors.  "We wait for them to throw it back over the fence." 

"That's our deal now" and they did behave during the next party. 

But I'm sure, they'll "forget" and come banging on my door when Ron's asleep.  He tends to fall asleep around 6-8 PM.  He's an old man; he's sick. I don't see why this is so difficult to understand.  Especially when they don't do this to the other neighbors. 

Anyway, I told Ron, I find it so upsetting because they ring the doorbell and wake him up. 

"Why not turn off the doorbell?" Ron replied.  "I'm sure there's a switch." 

Good point.  Why the hell not? 

I shelved it. 

We have between one and two dozen houses, on the street.  Carolyn lives across the street and down a ways, in a brick one story.  We are the only clapboard house on our street. 

I got her vitamins one day, along with my Amazon package.  After I put my things away, I took the package to her house.  Not only did she have a steel security door, she'd also eliminated the doorbell.  I could see some kind of putty covering the hole. 

Well, it's not just me. 

Last night Mr. Carolyn got carted off in an ambulance.  I took her a care package today. 

I would hope I am a sensitive person.  That I have empathy for other people in pain and would want to salve that. 

That's for God to decide.  If you see that, it's Him in me. 

I saw the "doorbell" again.  I decided to "fix" mine, one way or another.  I would start at the box, and if I couldn't fix it in the house I would just take it off the front. 

"The only time we need it" I told him "Is Halloween."  Have you ever had a paratransit driver ring your doorbell at 4 AM when you're having a bowel movement on the toilet?  It's a good thing I was on the toilet, let me tell you.  Some of them ring it like I owe them money and they want it back now

Or it's a salesperson. Rarely a delivery, but they knock also. 

I.  Just.  Don't.  Like.  Doorbells.  "It's for people to bother you" I told Ron "They want things."

I dragged a chair over to the wall and considered climbing aboard.  I then considered the lousiness of ending up in the emergency room on my birthday. 

I got the stepladder.  It held me.  I took off the cover and a spring went flying.   I tested it.  Still working. 

Ron was upset, at first, I was doing this.  But then I reminded him it upsets me greatly and aggravates my PTSD.  He tried to give me the "suck it up" speech but I ignored him. 

It absolutely infuriates me when little brats ring the doorbell and wake up my husband.  He has a terrible time sleeping. 

"It's got two wires" I told him.   "Each wire goes to a screw.  I'm going to loosen one screw and pull the wire out.  I'll be able to put it back if we change our minds, later."  I did that.  Ding dong. 

[censored]  I considered "doing" the other screw, but then decided the copper wire still had contact with the metal screw.  I pulled it out carefully, went out front, and rang the bell. 

Blessed silence. 

I'm delighted.  Ron's happy I'm happy, even though I think he believes I'm "being wierd".  I don't care. 

I ordered a pizza, a hybrid cookie/brownie, and some bread bites, from the pizza place tonight.  I heard the knock-knock just fine.  :) 

I hope he likes cats!

Interesting birthday. 

I started out waking early, shower, God Time, talked to Ron. 

I wasn't too happy when I realized my latino neighbor had picked up a bunch of "illegals" and left them in his yard all day working on the back fence.  They took most of the day redoing about 60 feet of fencing. 

I couldn't really get my nap later because they were walking around, banging on things, jabbering, and running the compressor. 

Well, they're not having a party.  I guess that comes this weekend. 

Hey, Ron doesn't have cancer, doesn't need surgery.  I don't have to run the business and try to take care of him, too.  I don't have to deal with friends trying to shove their unsuitable adult children at me, as a "viable help" for the business. 

And, it's my birthday.

We went to Fry's. I got my monitor.  Might I say it is exactly what I hoped for.  It does wobble a little when I type but that will be fixed tomorrow. 

I also got a couple of other things, small items. 

I still need to figure out how to synch the bluetooth keyboard to my tablet.  I'll figure it out. 

We went to lunch, Arby's.  Dad called and sang Happy Birthday at me.  We may be a little awkward at times but I know he loves me, would absolutely take a bullet for me.  I hope he knows the same. 

We got home.  I tried to take my nap, but that didn't work.  I got up and tried to get the monitor going. 

From what I can conclude, the desktop won't work with my monitor.  It works great on my geriatric laptop.  That's how I'm typing now.  It's a little odd because I'm not as familiar with the keyboard. 

Ron called his computer guy, which will, presumably, result in a "new" computer for me tomorrow.  I don't need it to do a lot. Music and internet, mostly. 

I got over my aggravation - why stomp around in a pissy mood on my birthday?  The old desktop was a gift, as was the laptop.  I'm going to be happy I know awesome people who would do that. 

Ooh, my wrists are toasty warm from the laptop, and my tremor's kind of bad due to my hand position. I have a moderate hand tremor due to lithium usage.  Doc's medical students love it.  Kind of like Ron with the medical students: "Ooh!  Lookit!"  [snort]

I will ask Doc about it.  Perhaps a beta blocker would help the tremor, and prevent migraines.  If I could do that, I'd take it, as long as I had minimal side effects.  It might even help with the palpitations. 

I should probably get an EKG, though. 

[sigh] Anyway: I am happy I got the monitor.  I will have to get up earlier tomorrow, to get Ron in the bath, prior to visiting his doc, and showering and doing my God Time before Computer Guy comes over.  I cleaned up what I could. 

The house is a mess, that's for sure, but I will do what I can to make it reasonable.  I will hide the "Crazy Survivalist" stuff.  :p 

I hope he likes cats! 

Torbie is a big flirt whenever men come over. 

So, I'll probably get some pizza.  I haven't taken my meds yet.  Like I told my Dad "I'd be plugging the monitor into the mouse port". 

Ron's colitis has been a LOT better.  Less urgency, way fewer trips to the toilet, and way less bloodstained wipes in the trash can. Doc will be happy to hear it.  I am! 

I am VERY curious to hear the formal diagnosis. 

Monday, September 21, 2015

She'll fire herself

I had a hard time falling asleep last night, I still worry about Ron, his treatment plan, his formal diagnosis.  I was able to look up his blood test results from a few weeks ago: anemic, but not horribly so. 

I also found out he had pretty low blood pressure (83/55) during his procedure.  Twice. 


"I'm all up in your business" I told him.  He didn't care.  He just wanted my suggestions for anemia: meat.  Lots of red meat.  Iron pills, and Vitamin C (his anemia is due to blood loss). 

I did notice, taking iron supplements, I had a much lighter, nearly normal flow (it was still pretty heavy) cycle.  So I can clearly use the tablets, too.  I bought some today. 

Anyway, I finally got to sleep, but I didn't get enough sleep.  I woke up with a mild headache. 

Walmart recently switched suppliers on the Wellbutrin.  I have taken Brand A for nearly 6 years now.  They have large, round, beige, tablets.  It's a generic.  It worked well enough but often provoked headaches, and God knows I couldn't go anywhere near those things if I was working on a migraine.  Instant vomiting. 

The goal, in taking medication, is to keep it down. 

Anyway, Walmart got a new supplier: Brand B.  The tablets are smaller and very orange, bearing a remarkable resemblance to my Haldol.  I have to be careful doing up my pills.  That would be a very odd week, half dose antidepressants and double Haldols! 

Brand B is a little more expensive; but no headaches.  I didn't realize how bad they were until I took Brand A today.  I developed a horrible, gripping, headache that hasn't quit. 

I am so, so, glad they switched to Brand B.  It works just as well but way fewer side effects.  It's only an extra couple bucks a month, money well spent. 

I learned my lesson. 

We went to work.  Snack machines look like a pack of starving wolves went at 'em.  I'm glad they like my selections, but it's a little alarming! 

I spent nearly an hour just on the candy bars, and I only have 3 machines!  I also made "helping Ron" a higher priority than usual, don't regret that, but I didn't get to finish my pastry. 

The other vendor is really happy Ron's going to be OK. 

Ron, on the other hand, spent a very miserable 20 minutes in the bathroom this morning.  I think he is having problems with pain.  He has the massager sitting on his belly right now. 

That's one treatment I never heard for colitis! 

Anyway, we had a good day at work.  Ron was thrilled I helped him so much - I think I will just have to do that from now on - and plan more time for both of us.  I was 95% happy with my stocking. 

I got sandwiches and put them all in the Rowe food machine.  People don't want to walk over to the API.  I told Ron I need to make a trip and just buy shelf stable items to put into the machine.  I threw out a lot of sandwiches (money) on Saturday. 

We left. 

We had a nice driver, but a very long ride all around north Houston.  I didn't mind too much.  My head was "killing" even after my Excedrin.  It did improve before we got to Walmart. 

We finally did get to Walmart and I got everything on our list.  I even remembered a few things NOT on the list. 

I wish I could have remembered to put my TV dinners in the freezer.  :(  Oh, well, it was only $3.25 for all of them. 

We had a very long wait, over an hour, and the driver totally ignored us.  I had to put the walker in the back of the vehicle because she was "ON the phone". 

"On the phone" may work with your friends and family: "Don't bother me, I'm on the phone" but it is strictly prohibited for a driver to talk on the phone when they have clients. 

I don't mind putting up my groceries.  As I see it, that's my job.  But putting up the mobility device is the driver's job.  

She used to be a nice professional with a good work ethic.  When we got to the house I had to take the walker out (again, strictly forbidden for the driver to force a caregiver to do this).  Happily my headache was at the point I could.  

I was rather annoyed, 10 minutes later, to see her still sitting in front of my house talking on the phone.  I can only conclude she wants to be caught and fired.  That kind of behavior will get her caught, and fired.  I don't need to do anything.

As Ron would say "She'll fire herself".

We went in.  I put away the soymilk (forgot the dinners! :(  But they were mine so not as big a deal), ate, and went to bed.

I slept a couple hours, woke up, the headache still roaring and snarling.  For once, I opted to skip my God time.  I just feel like crap.

Tomorrow's my birthday.  I told Ron I wanted a computer monitor (I have a very old one) so we'll see what I get.  I don't want to be wasteful, but I am a little tired of the small screen.  A new one may even help prevent headaches.

Considering I got a toilet last year (Ron and I agree: best gift ever), I don't mind getting something for "me" this time.

Metro Bus wants to interview me for a special they are doing on the system changes.  I have been a very vocal "happy customer" and they want to share that.  I have a nice voice, I'm told, so that will be fun.  When it happens I will put up a link, if possible.

So, tomorrow's my birthday.  41, not that I care.  I will say I have a lot more brown than I expected.  My hair is still only about 10-15% gray.  My dad was about half gray at my age, my mother completely.  Of course they were raising me!  [laugh]  

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Brood of vipers

Longtime readers will notice certain angry themes in my work. 

The neighbors. 

The guy who ran over Ron. 

The officer who robbed Ron, falsified the accident report, and verbally attacked me when I questioned it "He couldn't have walked into the street backwards?!"

Ron's family. 

 I won't share past "insults" until I've gotten the present out of the way, then we'll come back to the present.

Ron and I have an unusual last name, although Ancestry says it is a "common" surname in one state.  I suppose one of his cousins (he has over a dozen) was bored one day and plugged Ron into Google.

My Facebook came up.  "Oh" the cousin thought "I want to friend Ron's wife!"  The accident was a huge "thing" in the family.  More later.

She sent the request, I accepted.  She's a nice older lady, a grandmother, Deaf (runs in the family, Ron has moderate nerve deafness in addition to the blind).  We've each seen the other through various trials;  you know mine; her, the loss of a grandchild.  She likes to visit all the "infirm" family members, which is one way I found out where Ron's parents are located.  She visited, took photos, and geotagged the location.  I could show up there in an hour, if I wanted.  More on that, later.

I suppose she talked about me.  Or maybe someone else got bored, did a google search, and found me.  This time, Ron's nephew, his sister's youngest boy.

I did NOT accept the request.  He had to coax me into it, swearing he was born again, he had good intentions, just wanted to see how we were doing, etc.  I very reluctantly did so.

He's been cool.    I like him.  All his "fruits" do indicate him being born again.  He's gone from a lawless party animal (sorry, Brian) to a responsible family man.  I like him. 

That's saying a lot, considering. 

He DID apparently tell his parents, and uncle, about Ron's condition before I asked for confidentiality.  I don't blame him for that.  If your sibling is crapping blood and may have cancer, that's a thing you need to know! 

Yesterday my Facebook notified me my brother-in-law (Brian's Dad) is now following me.  He probably thinks I don't know. 

At least he didn't send a friend request.  That could have been awkward, although this guy was actually very decent to us. 

Why is this odd for me? 

Well, the day of Ron's accident Ron had put his brother as next of kin.  Police showed up at A's door and notified him.  He contacted their sister, H, and told their parents. 

His sister went to the hospital and was allowed to see him (!!) before he was let up to ICU.  No one ever thought (or desired) to contact me, even though they knew Ron and I were deeply in love, and had been for over a decade.

OK, bad decision.  People make bad decisions when the shit hits the fan.  I did my best to move past that.  However, a few hours later, after a third party came and GOT me, having discovered Ron's family hadn't bothered - H told me "Well, if Ron had a stroke we'll just put him in a nursing home." 

"No, you will not!" I retorted.  "Why don't you get a gun and go shoot him?"


"You know that would kill him.  I'll take care of him." 

"It's not your choice, Heather.  You're not married."

Remember I was not medicated.  I kicked the wall, once, and started cussing Ron out, because I had warned him of exactly this.  He said his family would take care of us, I didn't need to worry.

I tearfully shared this, and my deep concern they would "stick" Ron in some hole.  "Oh, we won't do that, Heather.  Don't worry about anything."

Instead, I am told, they plotted the nursing home placement behind my back. 

I had to fight them - people he hadn't seen in over a year - to be "allowed" to see him in ICU.  When they went up, they gossiped about Ron, to the nurses - giving false "medical information" which I had to correct, in an effort to "look good, and informed".

After that, they gossiped about me to the nurses.  Fine.

Could we all please focus on getting Ron better so I can take him home?  No.

His mother refused an emergency, lifesaving operation, because "They're going to cut him open".  I had to literally get down on my knees, crying, and beg his father to sign consent forms, saying "Don't you want to know you did everything for him?"

What kind of mother refuses a lifesaving operation for her son?   She always turned all waiting room conversations to her aches and pains.  She didn't visit much after the first few days, either. 

His siblngs' favorite sport was complaining about the cost of parking, in an extortionary way that made me feel I should be paying them.  They also spent a lot of time making personal attacks on me because Ron chose to walk to work, alone, that day.

His brother finally encountered a coworker who said "Yeah, I tried to give that guy a ride one day and he said no".  His brother reluctantly conceded that maybe Ron had wanted to be out there by himself.
Ron later said "The driver ran a red light.  We'd both be in wheelchairs".   

They spent a lot of time mocking my devotion and refusing to help - even with a simple ride home.  His sister made a big production because she gave me one ride home, and bought me a $5 bag of cat food on the way.  That was it.  I begged her, another night, for a ride.  She told me to take the bus.  It was 11 PM and I lived in a crack-infested ghetto.  I stayed up in the waiting room. 

I stopped asking them for anything.

People figured out I was the other victim - people who knew and loved us, and responded accordingly.  Ron's dad once lovingly brought me a couple handfuls of change wrapped up in aluminum foil, all he had "For the vending machine".  I still find that one of my most treasured gifts.

His mother, as I said, was out of the picture.  She was used to the family drama revolving around her ailments.  Suddenly Ron was more important and she didn't know how to deal.

His brother's wife was a nurse.  One day Ron's sister said she had met with the neurologist, who had diagnosed Ron with a spinning brain.  Ron's brain was spinning, in his head, like a top, she informed me.  Every now and then it would "press on the bad spot" and that's what was keeping him in the coma.

I asked if she was sure.  She swore up and down the doctor had diagnosed him with a spinning brain.  I called our mutual sister in law, the former nurse.  "Could you please explain to her, the brain never spins, ever?.  The brain just sits in your skull.  It has way too many connections to spin, not to mention it's very crowded - there's no room to spin, either.  I don't want to offend her.  I don't know a way to tell her this but if she goes around saying this to the medical people they're going to think we're all ignorant, and Ron will get lousy care."

She said she would explain.  Later, I realized she didn't even know that herself.  Ron's whole family had gotten on board with the spinning brain.  My aunt (in the picture by now, and my only ally) didn't believe me until she spoke with them herself. 

Later, I found out what had happened: the doctor had told H that Ron's brain had twisted at the moment of impact.  He had a diffuse axonal injury - "broken wires".  He also had anoxic (lack of oxygen), contusions, and bleeding on the brain - which led to his stroke.

I can "speak medical" but I don't make a big deal.  However the family could have gotten a lot more understanding if they had let me talk to the neurologist, instead.   They would specifically tell me "Don't speak for the doctor" (meaning translate it into ignorant). 

Months later, one cardiac surgeon told me "It's so nice to speak to an informed family member."  I supposed God wired me like this because Ron and I would need it.  [snort]

As Ron woke up, he only wanted me.  If his siblings went in he'd chat for a minute or two and start asking for me.  It really upset them.  They wanted to dismiss me from Ron's life, and here he was putting me back. 

I hung onto what every medical professional told me "He always does better when you're around."

They desperately hung onto hope that Ron would get shunted off to a head injury rehab hospital, even though I was told, by an admitting doctor (the day he came to evaluate Ron) he would make a bad candidate.  That was assuming he had insurance, which he didn't.

He had asked his brother: please put me on your insurance.  His brother said NO.  That was coming back to bite him in a big way. 

At that point and time, all insurance paid for head injury rehab, even if it took months.  Basically it was a "nice' nursing home that got you to "semi functional" and sent you home. 

I kept reminding them, he doesn't have insurance.  They had high hopes because H's daughter in law had a cousin.  The cousin had suffered a head injury, not as bad as Ron's, but significant.  The brain injury rehab hospital "took" him after he got out of the hospital "until he was better". 

"Ask" I said bitterly "If he had insurance". 

They stopped talking about it after that. 

The TX legislature changed the health insurance laws that year - now health insurance is not required to pay for head injury rehab.  In my opinion, it's a waste of money anyway. 

They moved onto Plan B.  They would all say they wouldn't take Ron, and slander me to the point that the professionals would refuse to give me custody.  Then "they" would "have" to put Ron in a nursing home. 

The doctors laughed in the women's faces (A's wife, the "nurse", and Ron's sister did this) when they tried to say I was "crazy" (ha!), "unfit", and "had a bad back".  His sister in law, the so-called nurse, tried to tell me my reproductive organs would be damaged if I lifted Ron. 

"That's what happened to me!" she warned.  (She had fibroids - they really thought I was stupid!)

I laughed in her face "Good!  I don't want kids anyway!  That's why Ron got fixed."  She started cursing and stormed off. 

His sister came to me and said she had told Ron's doctor I had a bad back and couldn't take care of him, but the doctor had laughed at her and denied it.  I had to go (lie) to the doctor and tell her myself.  I said no.  I got cussed out and she left. 

Back so trash talking me to everyone who would listen. 

I won't put on a halo.  I will just say everyone knew better.  I was and am completely devoted to Ron. 

The only thing I ever did to upset the nurses:  My cycle was irregular do to stress.  As you know, when I bleed, I bleed a lot.  The next morning my little pull out bed looked like a crime scene, scaring the crap out of Ron's nurse.  Poor thing.  She was really sweet when I explained, and went home for tampons and laundry. 

They moved on to plan C.  Since Ron's dad had legal custody, they manipulated him into saying he would take Ron to (his) home. 

Then I was told, by the other siblings, if I wanted to take care of Ron I would have to take care of Ron, AND his two elderly parents.  His dad had the start of dementia.  His mother was an obese, drama queen, diabetic with a history of falls. 

They had a big meeting to plan it all out. 

For some reason, my aunt felt it was a good idea.  She didn't understand how much they hated me.  How this was NOT "we'll all pull together to help Ron" but "We are going to burn Heather out quickly and get him in that nursing home." 

I walked out of the meeting.  I wasn't going to sign on for any of that.  

The next day, Ron refused to take his medication, which was making him combative.  I told him what was going on as I cried all over his good shoulder.  He called his father, demanding he sign forms releasing him to my custody.  His Dad always loved him, knew I did too, and did it. 

Now, those of you with a religious bent know this all came from my sinful choice to live with Ron, unmarried.  However, they made a bad situation a million times worse. 

I did everything I could to play nice, to suck up to them, to be agreeable, all in the name of helping Ron. 

They despised me. 

His brother came and screamed at me one day.  He asked if I really wanted to take Ron home the way he was (head injury dementia, stroke, etc.).  I said yes.  He started cursing at me. 

He had spoken to his own wife, who said she would not to that for him.

His sister said the family used to be happy, until "I" came along and "ruined everything".

She came in that night screaming at him.  I walked out.  She told me I couldn't do that.

"Why not?" I asked.  "I was only nice to you when you were going to help me.  You have no power over me now." 

I could hear her screaming all the way over by the elevators.  The nurses threw her out, found me (they actually sent someone to follow me) and brought me back to Ron, who was crying.

Way to go, sis.  Making a poor crippled head injury blind man cry, after he got run over by a pickup.

I took him home; it was just me, taking care of him.  God enabled him to make an amazing recovery. 

As he recovered, he made many, desperate, attempts to reconnect.  They refused.  His sister even mocked him for "talking funny".  

"She knows I had a stroke?  Right?"  I concurred.  He was done with her after that.  

His parents wouldn't take his calls.  We went by one day, they told us not to come back. He was crushed. 

It is VERY hard not to hate them.

I guess this is the last hurdle for me: forgiving them for what they did to Ron.  I even forgave the driver, and the police officer ("As you sow, so shall you reap").  

Lord, you're going to have to help me to forgive Ron's family, who hurt him so bad. 

Ron calls me "Mama bear" for a reason.  I am fiercely protective of him (mainly due to all this). 

It's ironic.  Ron's sister specifically said she wasn't wiping his butt.  She didn't.  Instead, her son suffered a catastrophic accident a few years later and she had to take care of him.  By herself.   I wonder who "spoke for the doctor"? 

Ron's parents, denied all the nursing home plotting - yet they are now the victims of the nursing home plot themselves.  They're both in a nursing home not far from here, considering.  Ron refuses to visit - his father has extreme dementia and he doesn't feel he has anything to say to his mother. 

"As far as I care" he says "They all died in a terrible accident, years ago.  Please support me in that."  I do. 

Saturday, September 19, 2015

He has a condition

Many years ago, Ron and I went out.  I had a sudden, urgent, need to use the toilet.  We had to disembark the bus and hunt around a tiny bedroom community, late at night, to find a place I could use (a bowling alley).  Ron was furious.  He wasn't very nice about it and made unkind comments about me "Needing to learn to control my bowels". 

Now, of course that has come to bite him, hard.  He doesn't remember parts of our lives before the accident, including this incident.  If he did he would say "I was an asshole, and I'm sorry". 

Ron, I've been an asshole, and I'm sorry. 

His problems began with frequency, and urgency.  It always seemed he needed to use the toilet, right now, and I always battled a cruel urge to remind him to control his bowels.  When he went, he took forever. 

I thought nothing of it. 

I had a variation of a conversion disorder; everyone told me I was "fine" mentally, so my symptoms would manifest as horrible, cramping, abdominal pain.  One time I think I had a gallstone, the others, "psychosomatic". 

I'd go to the emergency room and they'd tell me I wasn't going to die, please go away and leave them alone.  I wasn't a frequent flyer but it did happen about 3 times.  Six if you count gallstone issues. 

After my diagnosis (and my acceptance of same), I've never had a problem.  Never. 

My problems were all in my head; but I thought they were in my gut.  Ron's problems were in his gut, but neither of us saw it. 

"I need to eat more fiber" he'd gasp, as he exited the bathroom, finally.  He began spending more time in the stall, and more often. 

Lately, at work, I resentfully thought he was spending half our "work" time on the toilet, why can't he control his bowels?  Take better care of himself? 

Then I started seeing the blood.  It was easy to blow that off as hemorrhoids, although the surgeon said his are minimal.  More blood.  Still in denial; taking forever in the bathroom and going an awful lot. 

Another issue was added, one I won't discuss.  It's private.  We both found that horrifying, but I hear it is pretty common with colitis. 

Then I found the blood clots in the toilet.  "It was only a fart" he'd say, as he exited.  "I don't need to flush".  Uh, Ron, there's a one inch blood clot in the toilet and I'm not having my period.  Then one day I looked from the clot; to the bathroom trashcan, filled with his bloody tissues; to Ron, clutching his abdomen 'cause he needed to go, again - and I dragged him to the doctor. 

A few weeks later, we know: He has a condition.  Colitis.  Very manageable, I read, with lifestyle and perhaps medication.  He has pancolitis, the most severe form, although his inflammation is "moderate".  So, I suppose he is moderately severe. 

I just know he's still bleeding.  Not as much, not as often, but I really find it disturbing.  He seems to be improving; and swears up and down he is done with hard liquor.  I hope so. 

I think he is in for a horrid flare if he slips.  Sometimes God has to use the stick; or allow natural consequences. 

In the meantime, I've resolved to be more supportive.  No one wants to have this problem.  No one.  He's not doing it to aggravate me, seek attention, or get out of work; although I've felt that way. 

I'll work on being supportive.  He needs some supplies, easy enough to bring them in my bag.  He may need some dietary changes.  I'm fine with that.  I bought some supplements but Doc said not yet, until we find out the final details. 

Ron and I agree we'd be "idiots" and "stupid" if we didn't follow orders.  "He's the professional" I said, as Ron nodded. 

So, I have to throw out the whole "What, again?" attitude as he staggers off to the toilet, and say "I'll be here." 

No one likes a bitch. 

Me, most of all.  I want to see myself as an awesome wife. 

Back to work

Saturday is typically "Truck Day".  We go to Sam's, get a truckload (literally) of inventory, and take it to work.  I load and unload.  Ron helps push the items out of the truck bed. 

We did that.  Ron was fine.  I made a joke about his colon falling out when he tried to pick up a case of drinks. 

I went in with the carts.  Ron sat in the hall and played music at the postal workers for about an hour and a half.  I didn't mind. 

He just had surgery.  He's been sick.  He's entitled to loaf around a little.  He never does that. 

I did snacks and about 1/3 of canned sodas, before I asked him a question.  He came back and helped. 

I assisted him with the sodas, bottled drinks, etc.  I put away the snacks.  We got it all done just about on time, even with Ron "playing" for a while. 

I really didn't mind.  I worry he pushes himself too hard anyway.  Just get me to work and you can do whatever you want (although I did see the #6 bus so I could have got home on my own). 

I am so happy he does not need surgery.  It's a lot of work, running the business, and Ron does more than I think. 

I told everyone Ron did not have cancer, they were really happy to hear it.  One taciturn maintenance guy in particular.  One of his best friends had died of colon cancer.

That was a huge relief for everyone.

Someone called when I was working.  Ron was out in the "dead spot" so the call diverted to me.  He called me by name and we chatted for quite a while, before I figured out who it was.  It was good to hear from him.

Everyone is so happy for us.  That is really sweet and a wonderful gift.

It's good to be loved.

We finished up and I squashed everything into our area.  We left.  Our ride came pretty quickly.  He had a little trouble figuring out the pickup spot but did a good job.

We went home.

My neighbor, #6, is due to have a birthday party about this time.  I was worried he would have it today.  I am truly worn-out from all the drama.

When I came home, his yard looked terrible and his car was gone.  Praise God.  He always mows before the party.

I collapsed into bed and had a long nap.  I woke up with a mild headache but the aspirin did a pretty good job.

Did you know aspirin helps prevent colon cancer?  I have to take it anyway due to the lithium, but good to know.

I'd already done my God Time when I got up, along with my shower, so I got online.

We're going out to dinner.  I want pancakes.  The restaurant serves them with Cane Syrup, which I find delicious.  It has ruined me for any other syrup.  

Friday, September 18, 2015

He's not going to die.

Ron grimly went through the first round of prep, and we went to sleep (they only did his colon today, stomach has been fine).  We woke up at 2:30, and did the second round.  Well, I prepared it for him and went back to sleep. 

Thank you, Ron, for letting me get another hour of sleep. 

I woke up around 4:30, mildly manic due to sleep deprivation, worry, and caffeine abuse (once I got started).  I took my shower, did my God time, helped Ron bathe (the neuropathy makes scrubbing painful, he yelled some as I gently swiped the washcloth over his arm).  I helped him dress, encouraging him to wear the elastic waist shorts and casual sandals. 

We weren't going to work, after all. 

My aunt arrived on time and liked her little (very small) gift. 

I brought 9 Bible Promise Books.  I had hoped to leave them in the surgical ICU waiting room.  

We went to the hospital, got a little lost, found it 15 minutes before our arrival time.  I scowled at a malfunctioning vending machine.  Sloppy, and unprofessional, vendor. 

Ron sat on his walker, I pushed it.  We filled out yet more paperwork and he paid his copay (about $150).  I signed a million consent forms for him and we went back. 

They told me to strip him and put him in a gown.  I made bawdy remarks when they closed the curtain, and the nurse yelled "I'm right here!"  I got him in the gown and into the chair. 

More consent forms.  More questions.  Ron tolerates anesthesia well, I told them.  One time, when he was a child, they gave him ether.  The anesthesiologist shuddered "We don't do that now!" 

It took them two tries to start the IV.  They were going to do the back of Ron's right hand, which suffered pretty major trauma in the accident (massive road rash, so bad I thought he'd need grafts).  He took one look at it and sucked air through his teeth, clicking his tongue in disapproval.  He tried to get the big vein but it didn't cooperate. 

Another nurse came and started the IV on Ron's left arm (they love the left arm).  We hung out for a while, waiting on the doctor. 

Let me tell you, I would so rather wait on the doctor than keep the doctor waiting on me!   Sure enough, Doc showed up and they whisked Ron away. 

Doc had been very clear, this wouldn't take long.  I barely had time to run down to the cafeteria and buy the LAST Snickers bar, and a couple Diet Dr Peppers.  When I got back upstairs I ate my candy, waited a few minutes, and they took us off to the little waiting room. 

I hate the little waiting room.  It always makes me think of death. 

Doc came out.  Ron didn't have a tumor, he had colitis.  "Pretty serious" per doc.  "Diffuse moderate inflammation found throughout entire colon" per report. 

Hey, he's not going to die, colitis is TOTALLY treatable, and we have an explanation.  Ron had an atypical presentation, normally the patient is in extreme pain along with all his other symptoms. 

"When has Ron ever followed the program?" asked my aunt.  Good question. 

I feel so vindicated.  I knew something was wrong, something serious, and more than one medical professional wanted to blow it off as hemorrhoids (which Doc said were minimal).  It sounds odd to say I am so happy to hear the diagnosis. 

I'm glad he won't die, of course.  I am very glad he won't need any surgery.  I am glad he will have to cut back on drinking, that's in all the data on the condition.  I am glad Ron's demonstrating a willingness to learn about the condition. 

I'm glad this is treatable.  I'm glad I wasn't just being hysterical Heather, the way SOME tried to make me feel (I forgive them for that, I'm sure they get people freaking out over hugely minor issues). 

Doc continued.  He had taken samples.  We would get the biopsy results in a few days.  It could be an inflammation process, or an infection.  He'd have to see.  He would formulate a treatment plan based on those results, which we'll get Wednesday. 

"That fast?" Ron asked later. 

I asked about diet.  Ron could eat anything.  What about probiotics?  "Let's wait on those".  Hm.  

Doc and I finished, he went off to probe other colons, I supposed. 

They sent Ron to recovery.  It took him about half an hour to come around.  His nurse came out, exasperated "He wants to dress himself!" I grinned.  Sounded like my Ron, alright. 

She gave us the discharge instructions and I suggested she notify Ron of the no-alcohol rule.  She said she would.  She gave me the report (so that's where Doc went), and left after giving my aunt instructions on the pickup spot. 

A nice male nurse brought Ron out, riding on the seat of his walker.  "Did they tell you what they found?" I asked.

"No" Ron replied, looking surprised.

I told him he had colitis, etc.  "They can even put medicine up your butt!"  The male nurse laughed.

"I don't want that" Ron replied.  The nurse snickered. 

"Well, they have pills" as the nurse nodded.  I told him he had NO tumors, etc.  I'm really surprised I was the one to tell him.

Perhaps they did, earlier, and he forgot.  

I was feeling a very strong leading to leave the rest of my Bible Promise Books with the endoscopy gang, so I did.  The nurse was very touched. 

We got Ron loaded.  He wanted BBQ, but the place wasn't open.  It was barely 10 AM.  I kept forgetting we'd gotten up at 3.

We went to Carl's Jr.  Ron used the toilet and came out "I just farted so much I nearly floated away!"  My aunt and I laughed.  They fill the colon with air to get a good view.

He ate about half a breakfast burrito, before pausing.  "I'd better stop".  Good idea, Ron.  He has been fine.

I ate my burger and asked my aunt if she'd mind running me by Walmart to get my medication.  She was delighted to help.

Everyone wants me medicated.  Me, most of all. 

I went in and thanked the pharmacist and tech.  "My husband had a horrendous colitis attack the last couple weeks, I thought it was cancer... the meds really kept me together.  Thank you!"  I paid ($140 for 4, three month refills, and the extra money for the "new" Wellbutrin pays off in way fewer side effects).  I got that and yet another Diet Dr Pepper.

Ron's accident taught me to appreciate people, to let them know you value their contributions in your life.

They were surprised, but happy to hear it.  I paid and left.

Ron gave me the money back on my medication.

We went home.  My aunt gifted me with five (I think) six packs of Diet Dr Pepper - basically one a day for a month.  Nice!

I eagerly hauled them in the house.  My aunt left.

I went to sleep for about 3 hours.  I don't know if Ron went to sleep right away, but he was asleep (still is), when I got up.

It's good to hear him snoring and know he will be OK.  

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Prep Day

I didn't sleep well last night. 

1.  I think I had too much caffeine when we went out to dinner. 
2.  Worry. 

It took me forever to fall asleep (pretty standard with caffeine abuse issues).  Once I did Ron woke me up. 

Yes, he is still alive, and he won't limp for long.  :p 


My body is programmed to wake up at 8 AM, latest.  Sure enough, I did. 

I felt rather cheated.  Today I could have actually slept late, and I didn't?   Don't I know the next week will be chaotic? 

I got up and ate my porridge.  A couple months ago, I bought some multi grain flakes.  They are very good but require a little cooking.  I put them in the rice pot, with water, on the timer.  I added a little salt and a tablespoon of brown sugar. 

It was perfect. 

I have enough left for a later snack, or breakfast tomorrow, although I should really work a protein shake into today. 

I was worried about the hospital.  They were supposed to call, do an online intake, and set his appointment.  They finally did around noon. 

In the meantime, I did my God Time, ate, took my meds, showered (shaved my legs), and watched first season Supernatural reruns until the hospital called. 

"Heather, broken bones?" 

"Give me the phone".  I spoke medical to the nice person until they were satisfied.  I did give Ron back the phone when it came to alcohol use.  Apparently "we" have gone from 6 ounces a day, to 4. 

I finished up, gave it to Ron - he is sensitive about wanting to be respected, not talked over.  It is easy for people to assume he is inconsequential because he is disabled. 

While he is a head injury survivor, he isn't incompetent.  It's my job to walk the line there.  Informing his caregivers and keeping his dignity. 

I think I did fine. 

Anyway, they want us there early AM.  That means we get up at 3 to finish the protocol. 

After all that, I ate, took my meds, and took a nap. 

My phone rang an hour later, waking us up. 

Then Ron woke me up an hour later, assuming I was awake because I left the computer on. 

I woke up an hour after that with a headache, gave up, and took an OTC headache pill with a Mountain Dew.  Good luck sleeping tonight! 

I finally decided to hit my blog, which led me here. 

The fun starts in two hours with bowel prep.  I had better drink all my water and pee now (I need a couple gallons a day due to the lithium dehydration), because I don't think I'll have a big shot at the toilet, later. 

However, I do have plenty of wet wipes (Ron prefers them) and disinfecting wipes.  Between the two we'll keep things fresh. 

No, I wouldn't use disinfecting wipes on Ron, though I've been tempted! 

Wednesday, September 16, 2015


Yesterday.  I wanted to go to Walmart.  That was it.

Paratransit came an hour late, left us there two hours instead of one, and on top of that, was an hour late taking us home.

Exhausted.  And I didn't even get that much (mainly soda, and some more of those inter-gum cleaners).  I did at least put in a prescription refill for all my stuff.

I'm still pretty groggy/wobbly, but I haven't run into anything the last couple days.  Good thing, that contusion on my head is still pretty tender (thank God UNDER my hair).

I looked in my Merck Manual and didn't see any post concussive symptoms, so I didn't seek help.  It hurt, but not as bad as a migraine.  The headache ran off about 36 hours post injury and the contusion's only tender when I touch it (so don't!). 

Speaking of, no headaches since I started my period.  I have a menstrual cup in my hospital bag so I got another.  So far about 3 oz (or 90 ml).  Cramps, for me, are really only bad on the first heavy day, or day two (generally) of the cycle.  My cycle has been pretty variable lately.  It's been 3 and a half weeks since the last one.

I have spotting before, or spotting after...alternating lengths between cycles.  I am done with fertility.  I really am.  I am not having kids with any man (unless, God forbid, I got raped).

But Heather, I hear, you're not even 41.  Yeah, well, I had ovarian surgery about 20 years ago, and "We did a lot of cutting".  That changes the game.  Not to mention: hormones in our food. 

Again, I am FINE with this.  I am really sick of wondering about my cycle, trying to plan things around my cycle, telling Ron "Sorry, not for another couple days", etc.

The menstrual cup does make it a lot easier.  If you are a woman in your fertile years I'd really suggest you try one out.  For the price of a couple boxes of tampons, you can buy a really good quality cup that will last you 10+ years.

Anyway, I'm doing what I can.

I was glad I had yesterday off, as that was the "heavy" day.  It usually is.  Lately, the super-heavy cycles seem to be passing.

At any rate, I did steal a couple of Ron's iron tablets and stuck them in my pills-of-the-week organizer.  They can't hurt and I want to be at the top of my game.

As we approach Procedure Day, I find myself more anxious.  I cried a little today listening to "Stand by Me", but this one gets me blubbering:

How strong should I be?

Do I continue to spill my guts, online?  I think.

In person?  No.  Just think, you're in the elite.

I figure if anyone wants to know how I really feel, they know where to look.

I'm not sleeping as well as I used to, but I am sleeping a little better.  Either the industrial stuff nearby has been extra loud (Ron said it woke him up one night), or someone's being a butthead with a car stereo.  I think the former, maybe a little of the latter.

"We need to charge up as much as we can" I told Ron "Because we have no idea what to expect, the next couple weeks."  He agreed.  So, we have been taking long naps when possible and going to bed early.

I have a very bad habit during crisis.  I run myself exhausted and don't sleep as long as I should.  On some level I suppose I think it helps manage the anxiety.   I do know I'm too tired to be anxious.

I've been getting upset about stuff that has nothing to do with Ron, just because I don't want to look at it directly.  My Dad spent basically a college education on therapy during my teen years, I like to think it helped.

We worked today, stocked everything.  I contacted "the boss" about switching the life insurance beneficiary.  The state program has a small policy in his name.

At the time, Ron didn't think I was the staying kind.  He named his parents, and then his brother, as beneficiaries and said "They will take care of you".

Uh, no.  They didn't.

Since I know what they'll do if Ron's policy falls in their lap (keep it), I wanted Ron to "fix" that.  They are fine on their own, have been since they tried to dump him in a nursing home and stab me in the back in the process.

I forgive them, but I don't want them rewarded, either.

Ron agrees.

So, she actually came out within 20 minutes (I was shocked!), and said she would make sure this was fixed.  Good.  Ron told her, himself, he wants me to get the policy.

I know I look like a mercenary bitch, but my whole career is tied up in our business, which will end when he does, because it's a BLIND vending program.  The next vendor might be a decent person, might hire me to help (doubtful), but most likely I will be out on my butt, in the gutter, after the transition.  God will take care of me.

God can take care of me better if I have what's mine, in my pocket.  [snort]  See, this is the kind of stuff I focus on to divert myself from "Ron could die, real quick, if this is bad".

Seriously, though, I HAVE given 15 years to this business.  I don't think it's unreasonable.  

She was very understanding.  I'm sure gossip is all over the program (about 100 vendors, and maybe 10 support staff).   She gave me a hug and gave us a review while she was there anyway. 

I was so glad I had just stocked everything. 

We came home.  I took a nap.  With Biscuit.  I think he knows I can use it, he's been giving me extra cuddles lately.

I've been giving him Fancy Feast, too.  :)

He's a lot of fun, Biscuit.

We went out to fast-food dinner (Ron has to fast tomorrow).  When I came home I found my Bible Promise books had arrived.  That was nice.

I had a couple of hot flashes today.  Walmart is using a new Wellbutrin generic.  It doesn't "make" the headaches but it does cause hot flashes.  Either that or it's hormonal, either way I can't fix it.

I came in, hot and sweaty.  Gravy was on the kitty condo by the front door, about head level.  I leaned in next to him and baby talked.

He leaned forward, smelling of fish, and gently licked my entire nose.  He's a good boy.

"I lick you too!" I replied, with delight.  I tell him that when he grooms me.  Licking is his love language.

I finally got my God Time, got online, and am somewhat watching the debates with Ron tonight.  He is carrying on like it's a football game.  

Monday, September 14, 2015

I think he has a uterus

I didn't sleep well, Truck Day.  I was really glad I had slept in yesterday and taken a longer nap.  I couldn't shake the headache from my injury the other day.  It finally crawled off around lunchtime. 

We went to work with a Liberian cab driver.  He's really fun, and a good driver.

We arrived and started stocking.  Sales were pretty slow.  I'm fine with that.  I know sales will explode very shortly, hopefully after we get Ron's health drama resolved.

The other vendor is freaking out about Ron.  "He's gonna die" I teased him "You're going to have to share the stockroom!"  I was interrogated, again, about Ron's symptoms, and shared what I could.

Some things I can't even share with you; not until I get permission.  I can say we are glad we took certain precautions.  

I can say "Clots the size of a Dollar Coin" and "several times a day".  "Bright red blood and old clots"  "Like a period, I think he has a uterus up there". etc. 

Speaking of, I've started spotting, so that means I will hopefully be done by the time Ron has his procedure.

I worked hard, helping Ron, getting the deliveries, putting them away, helping Ron, helping the customers (I have become "change woman"), etc.  Everytime I sat down I was needed for something else.  Not complaining, I like to stay busy.

Finally done.  We had a great ride home with a driver who's looking to move into our neighborhood.  She was very interested to hear #10's for rent.  That would be great if she got it.

My mood's been pretty good.  Just a little worried the neighbors will disturb Ron, and me.

We went to bed.  Our yard guy said he might come by so I slept with my clothes on.  He didn't come by, but I still had a pretty long nap.

Good, I did not sleep well last night.  I'm pretty exhausted right now and it isn't even 8 PM.

When I got up, I did my God Time, checked the mail, and then coaxed Ron outside onto the porch.  We sat in the yard and talked for a couple of hours, it was very nice.

We talked about everything from condoms: "What are they made of?"  "I think sheep intestines" "Ew!  I wouldn't put that on my manhood!"   to dinner - I think he ate a bag of popcorn for dinner. 

Dinner in my house is generally fend-for-yourself.  We discussed a possible Bible Handout, but not tomorrow, because it's going to rain. 

He called our favorite handyman, who has been out of town for years.  He is IN town, which is great.  We can give him a good amount of work.  We need to replace the kitchen faucet, fix an interior door, etc. 

He is really nice and has always come very fast when we had a crisis.  I'm glad to hear he's back in town. 

Sunday, September 13, 2015

The provider

I want to use a word like "horrific" to describe yesterday, but I think "taxing" better applies.

I woke up at 4 AM after sleeping badly.  Took my shower (did God Time later).  We went to the warehouse. Since it is getting a little cooler I did not bring the ice chest for the candy bars.

We got there a little early but that's fine.  We got in on time and I began "the shop".  "The Shop" generally involves filling Ron's list (this time, a meager 15 cases of bottled drinks), and then filling mine (far more snack items, as we didn't have room last week).

About halfway thought, a manager came up to me.  Lots of butt kissing on his part.  "Please don't switch to another store" blah, blah.  Lots of excuses. "We're going to do better" I told them I hoped so, while smiling. 

See, Ron called in a complaint, more than one I think, to "headquarters" in Arkansas.  They seldom have adequate amounts of basic items like Coke, Sprite, and tea.  When I'm trying to run a business, and someone wants an item I couldn't buy, I can't sell excuses (did a blog on this, too).  Anyway, it got back to the store.

They aren't stupid, they know Big Mouth (he complained a lot In Store as well) did it.  Rather than deal with him they hunted me down, as I appear to have the buying power.  I don't.  I only spend what Ron tells me, and when it comes to drinks, I only select the items he lists.

If I do find something I know he'd like, I'll tell him.  He may add it to the list, like when the black tea with peach finally came back.  Customers are insane for the stuff.

That all done, I pushed my teetering flatbed cart (I had a couple of crashes into stationary items, and an avalanche of product at one point) up to the checkout.  They had one cashier.

They have a lot of trouble getting people to show up on Saturday Morning.  I love to work Saturdays.

I saw a couple of people with just a few items.  Our truck guy is having leg problems.

He eats a lot of carbohydrate, and thinks "OJ" is a "good breakfast".  If you are a former LCF you will cringe with me on that.  He is a diabetic.  He has had a couple of very nasty skin infections he called "spider bites" but I believe were MRSA.  One required surgical debridement.  Ron and I don't need MRSA infections, so I don't invite him in anymore (that and he used the toilet once - for a while, if you get my drift, came right out without washing, and barehanded began digging around in the icemaker.)

He's diabetic.  He went to his cardiac doc talking about leg pain and they did a bunch of (expensive) vein studies.  Apparently cardiac doc never thought to ask about the diabetes, and carb intake.  He just sent him off with a blase "Oh, well, nothing we can do" which the guy believes.

I asked Ron if I should tell him he has diabetic neuropathy because his blood sugar is NOT under control, A1C nonwithstanding, and urgently needs a nerve conduction study.  Ron said no.  He wouldn't thank me for it.

The guy tried to argue with me yesterday, saying all adults who develop diabetes have type 2, even if they need insulin.  WRONG.  I didn't argue.  

OK.  I trust Ron's judgement on that.  He would probably also try to use it to get a "bigger" disability out of the VA, when late onset neuropathy like this after decades of diabetic abuse (he used to drink literally 2 quarts of coke every time we ate), is in my opinion, totally the patient's fault.  I believe that is abusing the system.

It's one thing for a guy to get blown up by an IED, develop problems, and obtain disability.  It's another thing for a guy to make decades of bad decisions (high sugar intake, smoking) for decades after serving and then demand "compensation".

[shrug]  Just my opinion.

I also got something for Ron.  Something, as I told a driver "Private".  We formulated some comebacks if anyone asked about it.

Our favorite was "We're having a Party".  [snort]

That's all I think I can say.

Ron has asked for some confidentiality in certain issues.  Since I love him I will oblige.

Anyway, we got that.  I wasn't worried about it, it said "MENS" on it anyway.

I did hide it well going into, and while at work.

While I had "beat" a couple of people with small orders to the register, I wasn't going to make them wait while we rang up all 80 items.  I let them "cut" in line, and Truck Guy got all pissed and stomped out, dragging Ron with him. 

Hey, I'd let Jesus cut. 

But first I had to load the truck, unload the truck, and put everything onto hand carts.  I stuffed that all into the building.

Small gripe.  I think the truck guy has a little OCD, things have to be done a certain way.  In his world, one person holds the door open, then the second person pushes the cart in from behind.

In my world, one person can approach the door, open it herself, pull the cart up to block it, and haul it through.  But whenever I do that he gets very indignant.

I miss the other truck guy.  I showed him once and he agreed it made a lot more sense, that way we could both move carts at the same time rather than one HAVING to hold a door for another, and then I have to worry about running over his feet.

It's tedious and tiresome and I don't like people, who think they have a little bit of power, forcing me into inefficient modalities of business because they (NOT a business person) think it works "better".

He left.

I got Ron his wheelchair (I am trying to spoil him) and got him in the building.  He spent about half an hour in the bathroom, total.

"Our whole lives revolve around your butt" I told him, not long ago.

I got to work.  Snacks needed a minimal touch up.  I helped Ron.  I managed, yet again, to hide all my high value candy in the bottom of a snack machine (a prison warden gave me the idea) and stuff everything else into my corner of the stockroom.

The way the space was allocated, a thief is first faced with MY inventory, and would have to remove several heavily laden hand carts to get at the other vendor's "good" stuff.  I don't like that but figure God will rebuke any bad guys.

Anyway, all done... but not.

We went home and had a very short turnaround trip before we went to Walmart, to get Ron's prescriptions.  "I don't want any last minute screwups" I told him "Let's get it now".

We also "made groceries". Ron was happy he didn't have to buy personal items at the store where we are so well known.

I had him in a kiddie cart.  Oh, story on that.

Basically, while obtaining the kiddie cart, I walked right into a cinderblock exterior wall of the store.  I was moving pretty fast, too, pushing the cart.

Tired.  Properly medicated.

I was so horrified.  I very slowly reached up to my tingling, throbbing, head.  Was I bleeding?  Praise God I wasn't.

My head rang like a bell for a while afterward.  It was really interesting to have head pain but it not be a headache.  It was just head pain.

I ended up taking an Aleve later, and that helped.

Our home ride was over an hour late.  Some guys were "begging" for charity (presumably) outside the Walmart, reinforcing my desire not to do a Bible Handout at same.

I will stick to my medians and every day.

Anyway, the driver was late, and really happy to see the candy bar.  I put everything away myself.  I took it out myself, too.

See, if the client has things the client is supposed to be the one to move it.  If the client is incapable, they're supposed to bring someone to help.  That person, "The provider", rides for free.

I'm Ron's provider, so I sling cat litter and sacks of canned food.

The driver = drives!  Wow!

That, and fill out a lot of paper work, poor thing.

When we got home #2 had parked his truck in front of our house.  He does, occasionally.

I didn't mind today but I did gawk at his "hoarded to the rafters" garage.  He had the door open.  The driver took one look and started swearing.

I giggled.  I mean, I told the landlady.  Repeatedly.  If she doesn't want to face it, that's her issue.  Nothing violating the health department, he did clean up the food garbage.  He is quiet, cat friendly (he giggles at Baby Girl), and stays out of my yard.  More than I can say for the other ones who lived there.

I got a little upset, actually, a few weeks ago when I saw him hauling off a mattress.  I would have missed them.

So, I didn't get upset.  I just laid my stuff in the yard, got Ron, helped him into the house, and brought my stuff in afterward, working around the pickup.

Ron had arranged for our Truck Guy to come and drive us to dinner (not my idea) so date night had a third wheel.  I was still hurting pretty bad anyway.

Truck Guy about blew a gasket because #2 had parked 3 inches over our driveway.  It's a 2 car driveway.  If 3 inches makes the difference between you parking or not I'm don't want to ride the freeway with you!

We went to dinner, came home.  I went to bed.

I woke up and used the toilet a few times.  I have a theory my "slept late" headaches refer back to dehydration.

So I drank a lot and peed a lot and when the sun came up found a bloody mess all over the toilet.

Poor baby, he tried to clean it up.

I just hit it with the disinfecting wipes.

I told Ron I was sorry he was still bleeding.  He wanted to know how I knew.  :(

I will be so glad to get this fixed. 

Friday, September 11, 2015


It's always bad when I wake up at 1 AM with a throbbing headache.  I took something (over the counter) and went back to sleep, waking up a few hours later in even more pain. 

That's not good.  The headache progressed.  When I got the sweats (literally raining sweat), I told Ron I couldn't work.  He was pretty understanding. 

I took the one prescription I can take for a migraine (Phenergan) and crawled into bed.  I got up when the nightmares got really bad, even though I still felt awful. 

Later on, I felt well enough to order a pizza, which I did. 

This morning I got up later, Ron had set the schedule so I'd have time to sleep in.  I even got to watch some of my favorite reruns. 

We went to work.  The other vendors were having hysterics over Ron's condition.  They kept asking me about his symptoms.  I told them he was bleeding, the color of the blood, the size of the clots, the amount of blood passed daily.  I did not tell him about the other issues, saying "I can't share that, it's private".  They got upset when I said that. 

Sorry, some things Ron has told me I can share.  Some things he has specifically said I can't.  They were still pretty annoyed. 

I said Ron still plans to work and will not be leaving the program.  They said he'd better not, they aren't sharing the stockroom with anyone else. 

"They gave us the stockroom" I told Ron later "Because you got run over by a postal worker." 

No other Postal Vendor in the US has an on-site stockroom.  Except maybe New Jersey. 

I don't envy them if he does die.  It's going to be a war, fighting over our location (which I might add is pretty juicy plum).

We finished work (we mainly went in to do the inventory, although they wiped out my snack machines), and went home.

I ate my big meal.  The Chana Dal was undercooked, not fit for the rice pot.  Oh, well.  It's cheap.  I threw it out.  I do like the Berbere seasoning, and plan to use it again.

I made lunch off leftover pizza and my last cheese dog, taking my meds and a nap.

I had a pretty long nap (I always need more rest after a migraine), waking from nightmares about crumbling teeth.  I hate that one.

I finally got my God Time, got online.

Tomorrow starts pretty early so off to bed after maybe a snack.  

Scattered Shower

I didn't sleep well.  I was happy, though, when I kicked my foot out, only to end up in fur.  Torbie had joined me in the bed for a cudd...