Everything against that

Last night I read the insert on my lithium.  Have you ever gotten a prescription and they give you the insert for the medical professionals?  They show the chemical formula, how it's metabolized, all that good stuff.  Normally I can figure them out, but I have never gotten one for the lithium.

Last refill, I did.  I got 3 inserts because I take 360 capsules in 90 days, so they gave me 3 whole bottles and one partial.  They just gave me the manufacturer bottle they sell to the pharmacy, instead of putting it in *their* bottle like they usually do.

Anyway, I noticed that sleeping a lot, and fatigue, were specifically mentioned.  If I didn't know other medications were just as bad, reading the lithium insert would have freaked me out.  But it's fine to take as long as you eat enough salt and have a doctor monitor your blood tests 1x a year.

I woke up feeling exhausted, after Ron's alarm went off.  Ooops.  No shower for me, I only had 20 minutes.  I ate my fruit cocktail (I found out it works with my Wellbutrin in the morning) and drank my Diet Mountain Dew, after I got dressed.

We went to work.  The driver said he was picking up two other women on the way to work, so Ron would be in the back with them.  I asked how big they were and he said about my size.  I told Ron he had better ride in the back (wheelchair compartment) because two women my size + him would be way too crowded.  Ron agreed but the driver didn't seem to excited.  I attributed that to the fact that drivers hate strapping down a client in a wheelchair.

He did that and we went.  We picked up the first client.  We picked up the second client.  We dropped the second client (we have ridden with her, off and on, for years).  Then it was our turn and we went to work.

Ron was riding in a minivan with a gate in the back.  You open the gate/door, and unfold the ramp.  Unstrap Ron and roll him out on the ramp.  Except the door wouldn't open.  The driver ended up crawling over the backseat, into the wheelchair compartment, to use the manual release (I think).  Once I saw the door handle moving I opened it from the outside.  He got Ron out, and I noted the cab number so Ron could call and ask them to please repair it.

I was really glad we had gotten it open as I rolled Ron inside, and he said he needed to use the bathroom.  That would have been pretty bad if he'd been stuck.

Sales were dead.  I noticed they have a Harvey relief team apparently getting the mail back on track.  The plant was closed for days due to the flooding; everything around work flooded so the trucks couldn't get in and out.  Or the Postal Workers, which is why they raided my stockroom, another story.

We filled what we could but I spent a lot of time sitting down watching the president speak on TV.  I have always thought I am glad I don't have kids; now I'm glad because they would be military age, and I wouldn't want them going off to war in some godforsaken hellhole.  That's also a reason I'm glad I married Ron, he would never get called up, especially now.   Yes, I am petty, selfish, and probably unAmerican for saying all this.

We went home.  Ron rode in the backseat, and the door to the wheelchair compartment worked properly.  I took a nap.

We were going to the taqueria later.  Ron decided to get drunk and got into the vodka.  He was quiet.

I had some odd dreams but woke up in time, this time.  I got up, got dressed, set up my pills in my little portable container.  I found a small, 1.5 inch diameter jar at Walmart.  I think it is designed for traveling with skin cream.  It is only about an inch or two deep.  It is great for holding my pills.

I know they sell little baggies for medication, but I had one come open in my pocket.  I had to pick my Haldol out of my pocket lint.  It was frustrating because my hands were shaking at the time (lithium side effect; I know one of Doc's medical students got so excited when she "caught" me).  The baggies don't work, so I go with the little jar.  It is easy to open and works for me.  I keep it in my fannypack.

I donned my flip flops and woke Ron up.  He got ready.  He was in a very sour, depressed, mood.  He won't realize that alcohol is the ultimate depressant.  If you take a depressed person (Ron) and give them alcohol, it makes them far worse, which is why a lot of drunk people commit suicide.

Anthony came to get us.  I like him a lot, he's a very bright, intelligent, nice, man.  He likes gospel rap, too.

His route has him working our area a lot so we see him frequently.  It's always fun to ride with him.

We went to the taqueria.  Ron got a beer and said he didn't want any food, he is fasting, because he is "fat" (his waist went up a few inches).  He lost weight back in 2008 (if you are interested in digging up old blogs, Sept/October), due to not eating because his flavors were messed up from an allergic reaction to an antibiotic.

Ron lost a lot of weight (about 90 pounds) after his accident because he couldn't eat and was on tube feedings, then he literally couldn't chew and swallow much food, so he kept losing.  He doesn't remember that of course, but he does think the "only" way to lose weight is to either kill himself on the exercise bike (we have an old one), or starve himself.  He doesn't want to use the exercise bike so he is starving himself.

So he sat there, brooding, drinking a beer (I know!) while I ate part of a quesadilla and two small tacos.  They were good, I got some veggies (authentic taqueria tacos only have lettuce and tomato), and some good "fajita" meat.  I had a good time in spite of him.

Paratransit was going to leave us there "too long" so Ron cancelled the ride home and called a cab when I finished.  He was nice to the driver; treated the cats, drank some vodka, and went to bed.

So that's that.  He has been very ugly about our anniversary and my birthday coming up "It's just another day, you're so immature, why do you care" etc.  I am trying to celebrate, in spite of a mild depression, and he is doing everything against that.   It has been hard.

Biscuit and Baby Girl got their dinner (they are always first to the plate, literally), Torbie will eat later.  The cats have been good today, Baby Girl met us both times we came home.

Baby Girl always meets us at the door, she's very faithful.  Fickle Torbie won't come unless we have treats but Baby Girl is always there with a soft meow.  She's pretty inside and out, but not very cuddly.  She doesn't mind petting, but will never get in my lap or my bed, and she doesn't like being picked up.  Torbie likes to sleep with Ron, and sleep next to my bed in her kitty condo, and Biscuit will climb into my bed, in the mornings, occasionally, for a cuddle.  He will also occasionally join me during a nap.  They're good babies.

I plan to go to bed early so I'll go.

Tomorrow I need to do up my pills, run a load of clothes in the dryer, and go out to my anniversary dinner with Ron.  Ron actually suggested Chuck and I go out to dinner together and leave Ron at home.  Yet, when he gets drunk, Ron accuses me of cheating with Chuck.

Talk about mixed messages.