Musing

That’s Not My Specialty

Vexation atop frustration layered over  nihilism perhaps?

I used to care a lot. Certain things I still do. 

But I’ve got a bad case of the “fuck its.”

Where’s the beginning of my descent into medical mishaps? 

The easier answer might be, which one?

This one involves a metric shit ton of referrals. Also, pardon my goddamned French. Or don’t. Whatever.

Current stuff is easier to remember, thanks neurontin. 

The pain management doc wanted me to see a chiropractor and a rheumatologist. The rheumatologist ordered labs but is sure I’m fine except for what presents as a possible malar rash so now I need to see a dermatologist for rosacea?! The physical therapist is concerned by me seeing the chiropractor. She thinks it’s too high impact. This is what I’ve been saying for 16 fucking months. The pain management doc refuses to do trigger point injections, acupuncture or dry needling because sometimes these flare my fibromyalgia. Every damned thing from humidity to strong scents flare me up. My primary care doc won’t see me for things any other provider is seeing me for and since she’s referred everything out, having her on my medical team is tedious and redundant. 

It’s a big circle jerk and I’m the only one getting fucked. 

I could be having a crisis of faith. Lamenting why me? I could make myself a nuisance until my primary care doc looks at the whole affair and makes a qualified decision. I could demand referrals back to civilian docs and then take all the drugs they convince you to take instead of healing what’s wrong. I could probably do a lot of things. 

So far I’m just doing what they tell me. I’m not outraged anymore. I’m not hopeful anymore. I’m just sort of here. Here is sufficient. Here isn’t going anywhere. Here isn’t making any waves. It is what it is. If I ever thought I knew what ‘it’ was, I was a bloody liar. There is no rhyme or reason. There’s just a lot of tedium, even with the ups and downs. This is just life. I’m not sure why. There doesn’t need to be a why, a where or a what. That lesson in high school lit only ever sounded good to the youthful and hope filled, those who think they’ll burn hot and bright and fast. 

I work at being mindful, eating healthy, being less wasteful, but I don’t hope to save the world that way. I don’t even hope to save myself. Who wants saving? Who needs saving? Being broken is the new trend but implies all the broken things can be fixed, upgraded or replaced. There’s no referral or prescription to fill for entropy. Things break. There it is.

 Move to the next play thing, be the next big thing or just float until the end. I think I’m floating but it doesn’t matter. There’s a sort of cold calmness when nothing matters. Things hurt less. The happy feels are less felt too. Somewhere that makes me mourn for something I can’t remember losing but I’m sure I must have lost. 

It is what it is. I don’t know what it is, as that’s not my specialty.

Musing

Untitled

I haven’t had the spoons for this lately. 

I’m torn between whether I’m writing to share or writing for the sake of getting it out. I can vent a lot. There are lots of qualified reasons to rant and I truly loathe speaking over the phone. So maybe it’s an ‘all of the above’ sort of answer.

I launched a store at an etsy like platform with a group called creative crafties. They’re all fellow spoonies there. Lots of common ground, overwhelmingly supportive. Truly astounding. 

I made the transition to largely vegetarian. I scheduled weekly game, craft, and movie nights. The kids are learning how to load the dishwasher, vacuum and wash. Tasks will be delegated soon. I’ve begun packing, though not in earnest. We have somewhere between 60 and 90 days left in this house. I made chocolate dipped bananas today. Cleaned more of the garage and bought groceries. I’m filling a custom order and planning new product lines and mentally designing new stuff for the next craft fair. Adminning 4 groups  as well. 

I don’t know where any of those spoons came from. None, at all. I can’t sleep at night and the kids won’t let me sleep in very late. There have been no naps. 

Now that I’m far more familiar with lupus symptoms, weird body stuff makes a lot more sense. The random rashes, swelling, fatigue. Same with hyper mobile EDS. The inexplicable bruises, the joint swelling, mystery scratches, the fatigue, being to see all the veins in all the places. I’ve sort of come to term with these things. My next specialty appointment is in a week. I want answers even though they won’t be likeable ones.

My to do list will always be longer than my list of accomplishments. That’s the curse and the beauty of staying busy. I keep expecting the other shoe to drop though. Maybe, I’m stealing spoons from thre future. Hard to say.

Musing

Borrowed Time

Fatigue is a funny thing. 

It’s not funny when you have it, but it’s funny how when the sun shines, I’m utterly exhausted. When the sky is dark, I’m energized once more. It’s 2 am. I’ll pay for this tommow. But I’d pay the same toll if I’d slept a solid 8, so why bother?

Fatigue is a funny thing.

Musing

Sense from Change

See what I did there? 

As my spouse embarks on a long training stint and far from home, I’m finishing up the school year with the girls and packing. 

I like to hyper plan. I need to plan all the details, and months in advance.  Every nuance, every option needs to be carefully weighed and measured. Because life NEVER goes according to plan. Thanks to anxiety and having kids and animals I’m pretty good at making it work anyways. So I know there’s no point in stressing the next 100 days or so but that’s not going to stop me. 

Change comes from within. 

It also comes from everywhere at once. 

New doctors, dentists, specialists, veterinarians, grocery store chains, mail delivery time, traffic patterns, teachers, classrooms, grades, bus schedules, work schedules, housing, neighborhood, playmates, parks, climate!
My kids will need to relearn our address and neighborhood layout, make friends and accept the loss of what was. 

These are things every military family faces, every couple of years. Whether we are ready or not. The next weeks are going to be intense. On top of PCSing, I have to see a rheumatologist about the issues that have plagued me for much of life. I may actually have some answers soon.

I think those answers will be daunting, but I need them.

Musing

Adventures in Mucous!

Even super moms miss a beat when facing flu season, right?

My elder child has been sick on and off for nearly a month now. It seems she has a strain of flu. Miraculously, younger child hasn’t been sick since February.  My spouse is immune to nearly everything but when he does fall under the weather, it’s like a typhoon.

But younger child is having bellyaches. Her symptoms always start there. I’ve witnessed rapid fire sneezes and today I heard a single cough. Minor sure, but portents of DOOM to come for me. 

I’m already beginning to flare. Time to clear the schedule and load up on juice, lotion tissue, popsicles and microwave quick food.