The Merlin Kitty

Friends, family, followers:

My friend Bridget has one of the very best kitties in the world. His name is Merlin.

I first met Merlin when my best friend was preparing to move in with Bridget and they were introducing their cats. Dash was a cantankerous, territorial, prima donna pain in the ass. He was hiding in his carrier and wouldn’t come out. I mostly expected there to be a cat fight, because pretty much every cat I’ve ever met is that way in the extreme. But Merlin just walked back and forth in front of the carrier, rubbing up against it affectionately, and peeking inside from time to time. Dash eventually ran out of growls, but Merlin never ran out of patience or love.

In all the years I’ve known him, Merlin has ben the paragon of catly excellence. He’s never a “butt” as so many cats tend to be. He doesn’t bite, claw, or scratch. In fact, he sorta seems like a cat that Catholics might want to give a sainthood to (don’t those things alone count as miracles?). He’s kind, caring, and attentive to his friend cat and his person.

But now, Merlin’s in trouble.

He has a diaphragmatic hernia. In layperson’s terms, it basically means that his liver is up near his heart (note: this is not where it belongs). Insurance will cover some of it, but Bridget is quickly approaching her cap on coverage, what with all the ER visits that it took to get this diagnosis.

Merlin will probably need an operation, and soon, if he hopes to live much longer. His quality of life has gone downhill recently, and he needs treatment ASAP.

Bridget is hoping to raise $5,000 for his veterinary care. Since she can only estimate the cost, she is offering a ballpark figure and promising this: if it ends up being more than they need, all extra funds will be donated to the Almost Home cat rescue in Denver, a cage-free no-kill shelter that provides a safe place with medical care for all cats, even the “unadoptable” and terminally ill. (They’re located right near me!)

If you enjoy my kitten blog, please consider donating to Bridget’s campaign. Every dollar helps. Bitty kitties turn into grown-up kitties, and my goal in fostering is to raise wave after wave of kitties who are as wonderful as Merlin. It’s easy to ignore the plights of big kitties because they’re “not as cute” as kittens (though I think Merlin is), but they’re the reason we foster parents go through all the trouble. The grown-ups are the ones who are our best friends and companions.

See? Told you he was cute.

So go now, and with kittens in your heart, give this week’s latte to Merlin. He could really use it.

https://www.gofundme.com/TheMerlinKitty

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come look at adorable pictures on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Appendectomy!

Last weekend was awesome. Branden's boss gave everyone Friday off, and at the end of Friday I was sure that it was Saturday—not because of losing track of days, but because it seemed like we'd spent two days doing… whatever. I don't actually remember, specifically, but I remember feeling awesome about it.

Saturday was equally awesome. We got shit done and had some fun and wooo! we were killing this weekend! It almost felt like a vacation. The only bad thing was that, sometime in the evening on Saturday, Branden started having some pain in his stomach; just a little discomfort, no big deal.

But in the morning on Sunday, the pain was still there. It had caused him discomfort throughout the night. We decided he should probably go to the doctor.

It being Sunday, our only real option was Urgent Care if we didn't want to go straight to the ER (and we didn't). Our desires were irrelevant! The urgent care people decided it was either a kidney stone or appendicitis, and either way they weren't equipped to treat it. They sent us to the emergency room.

There is an emergency room just down the street from us. I believe it's fairly new—they still have a banner on the building saying “24-Hour ER Now Open”. I had to go there on Wednesday night at 11pm, and it was completely empty, which is how I knew I'd taken an ambulance straight into… the Twilight Zone (I didn't take an ambulance. I just couldn't think of anything else that would be appropriately pithy). I chalked it up to luck and good timing, but I wasn't looking forward to this visit. I'm familiar with the zoo of human misery that is most emergency rooms; the uncomfortable chairs, the lack of electrical outlets, the lack of food, and the interminable, interminable waiting. But when we walked into the ER, it was empty, again. I wonder if Westminster just doesn't know it's there? So bizarre. But I'll take it!

Branden saw the same doctor I'd seen on Wednesday night (also Twilight Zone-y), had some scans done, donated more bodily fluids, and was quickly diagnosed—his appendix was enlarged by 14mm, which is considerable for such a shrimpy limp-balloon of an “organ.” But apparently the ER was not part of a larger, more general hospital, and we had to go to yet another campus for the procedure.

The nurses got the transfer all set up so that the hospital would be expecting us, and we went home and packed a bag. We knew what to expect; we were old-hat at this after my 2009 appendectomy. We got to the hospital at just about noon.

It was still Sunday (what?!) and there was only one surgical team on staff, and they were in camera when we arrived, so they got us all set up in Branden's room for the wait. I'd let Carlie know that we were at a hospital in her neck of the woods, so she, Dan and their brood Eleanor and Wes came and kept us company; Fletcher showed up shortly before they took Branden down for surgery at 3.

At 3 they started him on antibiotics, which the nurse had said they wanted to get started ½ hour before the procedure, so I anticipated that the surgery wouldn't start till 3:30. My parents finally arrived and the Branden Fan Club hung out in the surgery waiting room for… approximately three years.

All things considered, it went much better than it had any right to. There were no meltdowns, either on the part of myself or the children. The Amazing Indestructible Fletcher chased Eleanor around almost the entire time (and I mean chased. Running, running, running). My dad went on a long and fruitless mission to find the TV remote so he could watch golf. (He and my mom had already had a long, exhausting and somewhat frustrating Father's Day, and this was just helping make it more awesome. I'm sure after the fact it felt like the lamest nightmare ever.) Eventually they went to a grocery store for the universal cure for everything: love-food (in this case, smoothie supplies) and were still on that errand when Branden woke up from anesthesia and we all moved back up to the room.

Well, the surgery was successful and Branden did great. Everyone kept telling him how good he looked, even though to me he looked decidedly yellow. Carlie, Dan & co went home not too much later. My parents dropped off their booty and gave Branden some love, then they, too, went home, and it was the Three Musketeers (Branden, Fletcher and myself) until they finally discharged Branden at 9pm. (Which, hooray! I definitely thought that we were going to have to stay the night.) Then Fletch went home and Branden and I had to go to the only 24-hour pharmacy in the area to get Branden's pain pills (he had to be there for controlled substance scrip), then the grocery store because the birthday boy (did I mention that?) wanted ice cream. Then we were able to go home.

Tl;dr: Our awesome weekend got longer! B's been home since then, recovering diligently. He'll probably head back to work tomorrow, but these three extra days have been so great. And it felt like an adventure in grown-up-ness. Now I just get to look forward to the bill. (Yay insurance!)

•••Hey, did you know? I’m fostering kittens! Come follow my tribulations on my kitten blog! Paw-Purr-azzi•••

Flash (non-)fiction project via Terrible Minds

March 2010: I was out in the complex putting fliers on doors when I got a call from my neurologist telling me I had to go to the emergency room.

I had to be dreaming. You don’t get a call from someone to tell you that you have to go to the ER, right? You go to the ER because you’re bleeding, vomiting, or otherwise leaking bodily fluids. You generally know you need to go to the ER. You don’t get told by other people, on the phone, unsolicited, that you’re having a medical emergency.

I didn’t know what to say. Branden (and everyone else I knew, including me) was at work. I felt uncomfortable driving myself 30–40 minutes to the hospital, in part because I was shaken up by being told I had to go to the emergency room and also because I’d been having an MS exacerbation that was drastically affecting my balance, vision, and sensory perception.

I don’t remember a lot of what happened. I know I called Branden, and he figured out a ride for me; I know I got back to the office and told Jessica that I had to go to the hospital and could she please tell Shelly for me?

It was not the first time that I’d felt that the expression of my disease was judged inadequate by people who, for some reason, were absolutely sure I was trying to cheat them somehow. After all… who is told that they need to go to the emergency room? I seemed like I was doing just fine, which is what happens when you try to not look like you’re drunk at work; when you try not to complain about the tingling in your hands and feet; when you try to hide the way you sometimes make fists that go all the way up to your shoulder and you can’t release them.

My friend Fletcher drove me to the hospital. I remember hugging Christina before getting in the car to go, but I don’t remember the drive. I remember going to check in to the ER and they asked me what was wrong—there is little that is more awkward than having to say, “I don’t know, my neurologist told me to come.” I remember the quagmire of human misery that surrounded me. The rest is flashes.

I know that I sat there, with Branden and Fletcher, for hours before the neurologist on call came out to talk to me. To this day, I don’t remember what the problem was. Something about the results of my recent MRI. They wanted to check me in overnight, so I told Branden and Fletch to go home. A bare few minutes later, she told me that, in fact, they weren’t going to check me in and I could go. My phone was out of batteries. The neurologist loaned me her phone, and I luckily had Branden’s phone number memorized; if he hadn’t had his phone on him I’d have been SOL, because I’d never bothered to memorize Fletch’s California number. I managed to catch them before they were out of the parking lot. We went and had pizza. I’ve never experienced anything quite so unreal.

Source: Terrible Minds by Chuck Wendig

Social reading

I grew up in a fortunate environment, surrounded by people who loved to read. My parents, my brothers, and all of my friends: all heavyweight readers. In elementary and middle school, I lacked close friends, so in high school, my newly-discovered joy was social reading. When someone recommends you read a book… or you reccomend they read a book… just so you can geek out about it together.

The first of these was probably the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. At the time that I first started reading him, I believe he had published book seven, Crown of Swords. All my new friends had already read to that point and some of them had had to re-read several as new ones came out. Each of them was impatient with the wait. I, newly exposed, was exuberant to be reading them. Most of my friends gave up on the series at about that point, saying they’d come back and read it when the series was complete, but I didn’t mind—gamely, I’d buy the next one and read it without a refresher, and I caught up.

I honestly didn’t understand why reading a book series you enjoyed was considered by so many to be work. I mean, you don’t go back and re-watch the first four seasons of a show when the fifth comes out, right? There’s a sixty-second blurb at the beginning of the first episode that explains where the last season ended, and we’re all back in the game.

At any rate, I read Wheel of Time, Ender’s Game, Ender’s Shadow, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Stranger in a Strange Land, The Dark is Rising series, and The Rook (the list goes on, but those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head) in the spirit of “OMG you have to read this book!” Since then, I have recommended books I’ve discovered to my friends with mixed results. The Time Traveler’s Wife, Her Fearful Symmetry, and Rant—all books I deeply enjoyed—didn’t go over as well as I expected among my friends. This is, of course, fine. Everyone is completely entitled to his or her own taste. But I feel I must have spent my “OMG you have to read this book” capital, because since 2010 or so, it seems like I can’t get anyone to read anything I recommend.

Mindful of the fact that my last series of recommendations were met with lukewarm responses, I’ve kept my finger off the trigger when it comes to recommending books. In fact, I’ve only recommended three—Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Days of Blood and Starlight, and Dreams of Gods and Monsters. I started with gentle nudging: “Hey, I think you might like these books.” I continued, weeks or months later, with equally gentle reminders. My volume got louder and louder until I finally offered to buy the first book for any of my friends who would read it. I succeeded in getting one of my friends to read the first book, and she absolutely loved it and couldn’t put it down, and we geeked out about it a little bit—but she never read the second book, or expressed any interest in doing so.

What the hell?

I know that everyone’s not only busy, but mentally and emotionally “occupied.” People are either not reading or they’re re-reading books they know they love, the same way you put on your favorite slippers.

I miss the days of social reading. I think that, like other things, when we’re stressed and tired we convince ourselves that reading is a chore. I wish I could re-show people that it’s really not; really, it’s an escape from the things that stress us out. Forget a chapter a night—a page a night is such a good winding down from the day. And, when we read the books our friends recommend, we have more things to talk about when we’re together; more lines of connection that are, frankly, becoming more and more scarce as the years go by and our roads diverge.

Just a thought. Happy reading, all!

May the road rise to meet you.

My good friend, and the mastermind behind the Writers’ Group that has served as such an amazing support and inspiration, is moving away soon. We went to school together in our adolescence, and over the years we’ve been through various levels of closeness, but against all odds, we never lost each other.

Over the last year or so, she’s attended the group less and less as life has become more and more stressful for her. That has meant that we’ve seen each other a lot less frequently. I’m sad—truly—that she’s moving away. It seems so permanent. But I try to keep in mind the fact that though we only attended school together for one year back in 1996, we’ve remained friends for almost twenty years (what the fuck twenty years?! how in ze hell). Though distance may have strained, miles cannot break our bonds of affection. We will meet again. And I’m thrilled for her, that she has found a person who she judges to be worthy of her love. She’s quick to tell me that she wouldn’t move just for a guy, and I believe her—she has some great opportunities where she’s going. But I know that he’s the catalyst to this move, and I know that my friend is anything but indiscriminate in her affections. If she’s willing to uproot herself and her daughter, he must be something special.

So, my friend, my soul-sister, I will miss you. Deeply. May you find all the happiness you seek.

In her absence, I do worry a little about the fate of the Writers’ Group. She hasn’t been attending, true, but somewhere in my mind I still think of it as her group, and I miss her when she’s not there. On top of that, some of the more regular attendees have sorta stopped writing. I wouldn’t presume to judge that—to write or not to write (and to share or not to share) is each person’s decision and many things contribute to it. But...

As I near the end of my second draft, I know I’m going to be taking some time off writing afterwards to, well, get a breather, put things in perspective, and let it all sorta steep. Branden’s finishing his story in not too long here. Rachel has been writing shorts for our amusement, but sometimes she goes months without anything to share. And Becky is going to be finishing her story in the not-too-distant future, and I don’t know what she’s going to want to do at that point.

I love all these people, and without their creative influences in my life, I feel like a part of me would shrivel and die. Several of our members opt to not attend if they didn’t read everything and don’t have anything to share. If enough people do that, the group will have zero members. Every time someone comes who maybe wasn’t planning to, they always say what a positive thing it is and how happy they came even though they didn’t feel like they had much to give. I wish everyone could remember that feeling, the level of support we give each other.

It’s hard to share your creative work, and a lot of writers’ groups fail because the attitude is more competitive. If I didn’t have my girls (which is what I call them, Branden notwithstanding), I think I’d stop writing completely. Let alone trying to get anything published. It’s discouraging when no one cares to read what you write, to give feedback, to validate... and having beta readers is an essential part of writing.

I’m pretty sure it’s my insecurities talking here, but some of my group seems to have a boundless energy and confidence when it comes to writing. To them, writing is an imperative; they would do it whether anyone was reading or not. They deign to scatter their pages before me, like rose petals before the queen (in this metaphor, they are the queen, not I). I scramble to pick them up and consume them, and my feedback, such as it is, amuses them. Maybe for my girls, writing would happen whether we were here or not. But it probably wouldn’t happen for me.

And it’s weird, coming to that realization in this moment. My creativity never hinged on having an audience before. On the other hand, I would only be sporadically creative before. I absolutely wouldn’t trade it.

Word count: 45,383 (녇)

New phase of life

Okay, it seems like it's been forever since I had a real, live update. Even the one in February doesn't count. So, here's another life update for the morbidly curious.

I've been on Tysabri for 6 months now, and I've had nothing but good experiences with it—medically, that is. Every single month is an adventure in pincushionhood, on the other hand. But what can you do? It's like one of those silly stupid hypothetical half-drunk questions: "would you rather suffer more MS symptoms ... or get poked with needles for hours, one day a month??" I guess I've learned the answer to that one.

Other things in my life have been greatly affected by my choice in medication. For one, it causes birth defects, so I can't decide to try to have kids until after I'm off it—if I was planning on trying anyway—which, shockingly, scarily, and horrifyingly enough, it seems I may be.

My mother has also wanted to be present for my infusions every month. This hasn't always been possible, but when it is, I absolutely hate it. She gets far more upset about bad pokes than I do, behaves embarrassingly (ie, acting out her parade stories as she's telling them to me... in the infusion room), and, most frustratingly of all, answers questions that nurses ask ME.

(Days Later) Whatever. Moving on.

Branden and I celebrated our 2-year anniversary a bit ago, the last weekend of May. It was very relaxing, romantic, and awesome. On the way home from Denver, we got a call from Branden's mom telling him that his brother Aaron had been sending her disturbing text messages about how she was going to lose a son, and other suicide-sounding messages. Now, Aaron had just spent a week or two down in Pagosa with her, attempting to work for her boyfriend's raft service. He had to go back up to Fort Collins for a parole meeting. On his way up there, his motorcycle broke down. So, he missed his meeting and was stranded in Fort Collins with no money and no place to stay. He had a sort-of girlfriend and his (and Branden's) brother Griffin up there, but for one reason and another he couldn't stay with either of them. Cutting out the details and intervening events, we got ahold of Aaron and offered to fix his bike for him if he would bring it down to Boulder and take it to a mechanic's.

The saga of the motorcycle is long and convoluted, but that isn't the important part of the story, so I'm going to condense it down: we got the motorcycle fixed, a couple of days later it caught on fire while he was driving so he parked it somewhere "temporarily." Then he finds out from the person who actually owns the bike that he is going to report it stolen to get out of paying it off, etc. So, the bike is gone and honestly, I'm relieved.

So, come to find out, Aaron's stay with Deb turned out about as well as his entire childhood with Deb... which is to say, not very well. So he decided not to go back to Pagosa. We offered him room on our couch while he found a job and saved up enough money to get his own place. So, he's been living with us since May 31.

A week or two later, Griffin came down and also started sleeping on our floor, looking for a job.

Condensing again: They're both gainfully employed now, saving money to get their own apartment together in the Boulder area. They both feel like they're getting a new start to life and that the situation in Fort Collins was terribly toxic. It seems that Aaron may actually be getting free of the witch. And, all is good in Conley boys land.

Branden and I lived in the Habitat apartment with them until June 23rd, when we got the keys to our new apartment in the Horizons, where I work. However, ON the 23rd, the day we were supposed to start painting and moving, I woke up with a terrible stomach ache. Branden took me to the hospital, and 12 hours later, they took out my appendix. It basically decommissioned me for the ENTIRE MOVE. This would have been great except that, of course, I spent the whole time feeling frustrated and guilty that I wasn't helping more. I'm still not supposed to lift more than 25-30 pounds for another week or so.

But, we got moved (mostly). We have a few more carloads, and our house is quickly filling up (yikes!), but it looks great. We're starting to feel like real grown-ups, and I don't know how I feel about that. But, it does feel nice to not live in chaos anymore. The Habitat apartment is Griffin and Aaron's until August 9th or so, when they have to be moving into their own place so that we can start cleaning and getting it in order for move-out.

We lived at Habitat for 4 years, so this transition is quite a shock for me. I had forgotten how to move, which seems to be mostly okay because I think I've broken some of the more horrible habits I have about it. I'm going to miss it, but the new place really is vastly more awesome, with better amenities and the whole bit.

Also, my whole repertoire of friends is moving up here. Dan and Carlie and Chris Rossi are already here, Joe and Sarah are moving in this weekend, Steph and Ian will be moving here in August (probably), and there may be a slow trickle of other friends, depending on how taken they are with the place when they come to visit. Shad won't be joining us, unfortunately. That actually makes me sad because we used to hang out a lot, now we probably won't anymore.

I'm not a total convert to the area. I hate Safeway (as compared to King Soopers). I don't like suburbia. It feels ungenuine, because it's all apartment complexes or condo communities, and chain restaurants / retail stores. There're no small, long-established local businesses. No cozy nooks. But the price and location is right, for now. We'll see for the long term.

Well, that's all for now peeps. Talk at you later!

*meanders into the room*

My long-lost best friend from middle school is an amazing blogger, an inspiration to single moms and married childless couples and anyone else in the world in my opinion... and she gave me this award. I'm not sure I deserve it, and I'm even less sure that I have the nerts to say 10 things that are difficult for me to share... 1) because I feel like I share almost anything under the opinion that if I'm not proud of thinking it then I shouldn't be and 2) because if I'm not sticking to that opinion then it's REALLY something I shouldn't be sharing. But I'll give it a shot, eh?


The Honest Scrap award is given by other bloggers who consider a blog’s content or design to be brilliant. The awardees must then post ten honest things about
themselves and pass the award on to other bloggers who fit the bill – in other words, whose blog is brilliant.”



I think honesty is put to the test when you tell people things you’d rather not share. Things that scare you. So here’s 10 painfully honest / potentially disturbing things about me (proceed with caution):

1. I think I've lost the capability to express myself artistically. I tell people who say this sort of thing to me, "that's ridiculous, just make yourself do it!" But I can sit and stare at a blank page for hours, feeling more and more frustrated and helpless. I don't want to give up but repeatedly trying and failing makes me feel worse than not trying.
   
2. I fear, often, that I've made all the wrong decisions in my life. Yes, I'm happy, but I'm not doing all the things I dreamed of doing--or any of them really. I'm too old, and too young.
   
3. I really really hate it when people suggest to me that I do something that I was already planning on doing. I don't know why, but it immediately makes me want to refuse.
   
4. My sex drive is all but gone. Sixteen, where did you go?
   
5. I think I might be a mean person. At least judgemental.
   
6. I deeply resent having to work full time to earn insurance for my chronic illness. Seems bass-ackwards to me.
   
7. I MS'd out of Grad school without even finishing 1 semester after doing a ton of work and 6 years of planning and longing. I don't think I'll ever go back.
   
8. I believe that a few generations after I'm gone, it will be as though I never was.
   
9. Most of my friends call me a "badass" or "courageous" or "amazing" because I don't let things stop me. I call that celebrating mediocrity. If I was those things, I'd still be in Grad school, or have something published, or be accomplishing anything at all.
   
10. I think I might love my cats more than my (future) kids. This sucks, because they almost certainly have a shorter lifespan. But I can tell them what to do forever, and they can't throw screaming tantrums in grocery stores.
    

So, while my life is not exactly boring right now, I don't think I have the time to type about it right now. I'll post at a later date, I promise.



Tag, crazy people!



Adventures in Domesticity

Stargazer's Observatory

Tea Party With the Hatter

Burning Tree

K.D. Bryan

It's been a while, hasn't it?

Erf. Long time is long. Okay so...

November 24th I saw a new neurologist. Timothy Vollmer, one of the leading neurologists in the field of MS. It was at an intimidatingly huge medical facility in Denver. Talking to the man was like reading a research paper, he had so many facts and figures. He was scary knowledgeable, and refreshingly take-charge. There was no "so what do you want to do? What do you feel comfortable with?" He told me what my best options were and started the process of getting me on a new medication. He was like a steamroller. But, it was so very encouraging.

I'm going to be getting on a medication called Tysabri, which blocks the immune system from accessing the brain at all. This means that, for a year, I shouldn't be having any MS symptoms at all. Why stop after a year, you say? Because there is a virus that lives in all of our bodies that will build up in the brain when it's sheltered from the immune system and han be fatal if not stopped; even if it's caught quickly it can cause permanent damage. However, there are 5 reported cases in 40,000 patients on Tysabri, and not one happened before the patient had been on Tysabri for a year.

I started a new job on December 10 ($4.35/hour more than I made at ListenUp!!!), and aside from the pay increase there's a lot of really awesome bennies. Excellent health insurance (+ vision & dental), 401k, life insurance, disability insurance, on and on. A positive and busy workplace and the days go quickly, even if I am tired at the end. However, I was (mis)led to believe that the insurance would be active the day I started, when actually, it's active the first day of the month following the beginning of employment. That left me insurance-free for 21 days, and we couldn't get the ball rolling on the Tysabri until then. And now that the ball is rolling, it's going to take up to 4 weeks to actually get my first dose.

In the meantime, my hands are still 90% numb. That's not likely to get any better until I'm on this new medication (if even then... there's always the thrilling chance that the damage may be permanent. However, that's not likely). Blech. I go through cycles of preemptively getting excited about having my hands back soonish and being depressed because I think that I've forgotten how to type, use screwdrivers or pliers, be a normal person with normal hands in any way. I've discovered that I cannot put on post earrings...though I wear earrings so rarely I wouldn't be surprised if I'd forgotten how to do that before now.

In other news, my best friend Carlie and my good friend Dan (one of B's groomsmen) have found love, happiness and bliss in each other's arms. They are both vomiting slimy pink fluff (contradiction in terms, I know... picture fluff made of gak) everywhere. Congrats to them, they deserve all the happiness in the world ^_^

And...that's all folks. =)

*lol* Okay, Hanna, okay, okay...

All right, I guess it's time for another epic update. First, though, I'll do Hanna's meme. My life in 6 words:

1. Reinvention
2. Art
3. Friendship
4. Experiences
5. Learning
6. Motivation

Those last 3 are necessities in keeping life interesting when your job (where you spend most of your time) is so pointless and dull.

Okay, so, life update. Branden actually got hired on at his work full-time a month early, because over his time there it has become obvious that he is by far the best programmer there. His pay went up to $45K and will go up again upon his graduation in December. We're starting to pay off our credit cards in earnest, and making payments on our student loans. Whee! I feel all growed-up. In other news, my manager has gotten a better job and is moving on: I am applying for his position. *quake in me boots* I've never been very good at selling myself. I don't think I'm going to get the job, but sadly, I still can't leave because their insurance policy is so good. *shakes fist* Damn you MS, damn you and your life-limiting required medication!!!

Speaking of MS, last Monday myself and a group of friends went down to Denver to catch Dark Knight on the IMAX. All that day, my left eye had been bothering me, as if there was something in it (which there wasn't). The next day, I couldn't even open my left eye, and having my right eye open for any length of time was torturous. I had completely recovered by the next day, but nonetheless, the trauma was enough to set off another mini MS flare-up. Now, my entire right hand and a good bit of my left are totally numb (which is making this fun to type, let me tell you), and the bottoms of my feet are all pins-and-needles-ey. Course, I hardly notice the feet thing because it's a fairly standard feature of a typical flare-up. The hands thing sucks though.

I just got home last night from a camping trip that started Monday (the second and likely last of the summer). It was ridiculously awesome, at least a good part because I was with a whole bunch of people I really didn't know very well. Carlie, Shad and Matt were there, so I had a good representative of good friends, but then the rest of them were all Shad's friends and family, celebrating two of the group getting married. The location was absolutely beautiful, the weather was, for the most part, ideal, and the company was great. It was awesome to get to hang out with Matt again, too. I was glad to come home, though. I guess camping really isn't my thing.

Funny things happened on the camping trip, but they're a little personal and I don't want anyone who was there accidentally stumbling on my blog and getting all miffed that I blogged about it.

I rode my bike in to work today from home in hopes that the exercise would relieve the MS symptoms. So far, no dice, but I should keep it up because that's typically what exercise does, it just takes time.

My little brother's moving in with a girl! Go Noah! Craziness. I feel old.

Okay. Going bye-bye again, see you all in September *wink*

*Blushes & waves*

Wow, now that someone's watching me--someone who other people watch, no less--I'm feeling the pressure to post. Maybe I should do a life update...


Okay, so I got a tattoo on my birthday. My best friend and I got the same tattoo in different locations on teh body, and it was quite an experience. It's my second tat, but the first was no big deal compared to this one. (My first one was a small, 50-cent-piece-sized Aries symbol on my hip.) I'm very happy to have it, and even knowing the repercussions, I would definitely do it again...

So, apparently, any physical trauma can cause an MS flare-up. My nurse had a patient who stubbed her toe really hard and had a "major exacerbation." I didn't know that at the time, however. Shortly after getting my tattoo, I started experiencing severe numbness from the armpits down. The worst part was that the bottoms of my feet were numb, and trust me when I say that if you haven't experienced it, you could not possibly imagine it. So I finally broke down and called my neurologist, who prescribed a regimen of steroids to bring the swelling in my spine down. Three-day IV of one kind (the name of which is slipping my mind pretty hard-core right now), followed by a two-week oral steroid called Prednisone.

So, a nurse came to my house and was very friendly and nice, and managed to get an IV in my arm after only one failed attempt. This IV was supposed to stay in my arm for three days, and I would change out the IV bag & do all the detailed medical stuff surrounding that. However, like an eejit, I went hiking the day after I got my IV in, and the needle crimped and was no longer usable. So another nurse came to my house, and this guy wasn't nearly as personable, and he stuck me twice with no success and refused to try again, sending me to the ER the next morning. Even the ER nurses had trouble finding a vein; apparently I have "shy" and "very tiny" veins. There was a total of six attempts for two successful IV insertions. I felt like a pincushion. I don't want to sound like a crybaby but getting an IV is incredibly emotionally draining, and every time they tried to get it in it was just a little more so. Especially when they were "digging around" with the needle (quote compliments of Branden) trying to find a vein. It makes you feel inadequate, somehow as if you're doing something wrong, that you should be doing something different or better. And the fact that you know that's irrational doesn't really help the way you feel. ANYWAY...

After the IV ordeal was over, my symptoms were pretty much the same as they had been beforehand. The nurse said that was to be expected. I moved on to the oral steroids. Their side effects included increased appetite, and I remember having hunger cramps continually no matter how much I ate. I bought a bag of oranges and ate four, one right after another. Also, my feet swelled up like tiny balloons. I spent all of the time I wasn't at work with my feet up on pillows. I even propped them up in bed, which is an uncomfortable way to have to sleep all night. Walking around was like torture, not painful exactly but so uncomfortable that I remember changing the way I drove because I didn't want to have to move my feet to brake or accelerate. I thought this was because of swelling, so I went to my PCP to see if they could do anything ($30 copay instead of $50, you see), and all they could tell me was that I wasn't swollen, and the sensation must be nerve-related. So... back to the neurologist I go. I got a prescription for Neurontin, which I am still on, and I've been on it for about six weeks. In the beginning, it definitely made my feet more bearable but not a whole lot more than that. In the last two weeks or so, I've been noticing significant improvement, and all I can say is OMFG FINALLY. (And whoo! I shouldn't take improvement for granted: there are plenty of people who are wheelchair-bound by MS.) I'm hoping to be all back to "normal" in the next week or two, and I think I'll cry with relief if I am.

AND... that brings us to today in terms of my health. Branden and I are about to sign another year lease at our place, bringing our projected total time here to four years; in the meantime, all of our friends are either in the process of moving or about to be moving. We are (or at least I am) helping a whole bunch with that. Two of our good friends (and possibly three!) are moving into our apartment complex (I've actually got mixed feelings about this, but shhh, don't tell anyone), so that'll be like having a party in my pants every day! (Um. Maybe not my pants, exactly. More like, my apartment complex. Much bigger than my pants, one would hope.)

There's an amount of drama in my friends' lives, but I don't really feel like talking about it (plus it's kinda none of my business). Hopefully that blows over soon.

I work at a high-end audio/video store here in Boulder, and that's going fine, nothing really to report other than the fact that they're fascist pigs and definitely don't pay me nearly enough. However, in the good-news sector, Branden recently got an excellent internship in a start-up company; his internship salary is $36k/year, and that'll go up in September (if/)when he becomes a full-time, "real" employee. He's the most flexible and innovative, if not most experienced, programmer in the company and they keep telling him what a good job he's doing.

We just got bikes, and we've both been taking the bus to work (and school, in his case). Bikes will make after-work mobility much easier, and it'll be easier/more fun to go do stuff outside. Built-in exercise! Yesterday B and I went and got bike accessories, including helmets, locks, head/taillights, handle grips, and a pump. The bikes themselves are in the shop, getting their Wellbike exam, and they'll be out no later than tomorrow, and allegedly good as new. The bikes are quite old, ugly, heavy, and low-tech, but I can't even SAY how much better than NO bikes they are.

We've recently started playing D&D 4th Edition, and I've gotta say I like it. I'm also jonesing for some MORE roleplaying; I have little creative outlet and it's killing me. >_< Oh, but speaking of which: My DeviantArt account.

Okay, I think that's it for now. Ciao, peeps, thanks for peeking in.

*sigh* Okay, maybe I have a blog...

I don't really understand the psychological necessity of putting your angst online where anyone can see it, but nonetheless, I am as victim to it as the next blogger. My angst is even very mundane: "Hey look guys, I'm bored! That sucks!"


Really, what's bothering me right now is that it seems like I can't get anyone to hang out with me. I'm actually jealous of my friends who all live together in a 5-person household; I know it would drive me batty (hell, it did when I lived in that situation), yet I feel so starved for a variety of company that I get all bitter at my friends who can't be bothered to come hang out with me because they have probably 80% of their social lives conveniently packaged at home. Not only that, but they took their party and moved it to Superior, making it a 20 minute drive to go hang out with them, or for them to come hang out with me. *sigh*


See how underprivileged I am? I think it's all of that, plus everything I did today outside of the house failed. I still shouldn't be complaining, because I only tried to do one thing, which was go to Art Hardware and pick up print making tools. Silly me thinking anywhere would be open on a Sunday. Still, it was quite an excursion to come home empty-handed. Plus the friend who said they'd come with me flaked out with no explanation. So I'm bitter. Bitter, Elly, bitter. *le sigh* K going now bai.


My deviant art page.