Natural Disaster Rag

So, my first earthquake was awesome. Infinitely more so because there were no fatalities (reported so far)! Take that, Mother Nature.

I told my mother I was really glad the earthquake happened after my doctor's appointment. Imagine that PAP smear. Phew.

So yeah, survived an earthquake. I was sitting on my bed, eating lunch after getting home from my appointment when my bed started shaking a little. I thought, "No big deal, my dad is hammering something or they're packing up the car or my neighbors are doing something..." The first little bit wasn't bad. Two seconds after it stopped it came again, and I thought it was my dad again, but then a part of me thought it was a ghost.

In my defense I watch a lot of movies, and I'm 98% sure my house is haunted, and 100% sure my neighbor's side of our duplex is haunted.

But then I thought, if my dad is hammering something in the kitchen, directly under my room, why isn't there any sound? So I yell out, "What are you doing?!" A few seconds later my mother screamed up the stairs, "What are you doing?! Are you alright?!" So she thought it was me until she realized it wasn't. The house was still shaking as I got up to go downstairs.

My dad gets home from work at about 1:30, so we were all home-- but nobody else on our street was! We thought we were crazy at first, but then my mother decided to call the police and got a busy signal-- so we were glad it wasn't just us.

My cell phone service was interrupted for a little bit, but once it got back there was a flurry of texts-- most people enjoyed it and everything was fine. Herbert said we should have earthquakes more often, and I quite agree.


Eagle-eyed readers will say, "What were her parents packing?" I thought they were packing the car, as my brother Arthur and his wife Janet had rented a beach house in North Carolina for this week and my parents were driving down to join them, stopping overnight in Maryland, and getting to NC Wednesday.

But the Outer Banks of NC, where they were going, are beginning evacuation at 5 am Thursday morning because Hurricane Irene will be hitting Saturday.

S&O has become a natural disaster blog: earthquakes, hurricanes, and hobo weddings.

So my parents have decided not to go. I was so looking forward to my time alone...running errands, cooking tasty food (meat and vegetables were going to touch each other!) and baking tasty treats (homemade cinnamon rolls...)...it was going to be fun. Oh, well.


Now to the original purpose of this post: the GYN appointment.

My mother said before I went in that it was like going to the dentist. And she was right, in a weird way...there's really nothing else that compares to it like going to the dentist. It's awkward, it's uncomfortable, you're laying down...but it's not as devastatingly awful as I thought it would be, and over much, much faster than I would have thought.

Seeing the various absorbent coverings on the examination table made me realize that they've probably seen horrifying things and learned from experience-- and nothing horrifying was happening to me externally, so damn. It can't be that bad.

And it wasn't.

Do I have a diagnosis? Of course not. I need many, many more tests before that happens. What comes next is an ultrasound so...that's what I'm doing next. My dad was like, "What do you mean nothing's wrong?" so I had to explain to my father that my problems are deeply internal and not externally visible. "OH, got it." Yeah.

Did he give me pain meds? No. Jerk. He said he doesn't like treating until he knows what's wrong. Clearly he doesn't know that I like punching when people are being toolbags.

So, that was the deal for today. Hope yours was as interesting as mine.

I Live with Luddites.

My parents were born in 1954, making them the last of the baby boomers.

And they really, really suck at computers. Like, hardcore suck at computers. Not that their age has anything to do with it, because my mother's sister who's almost 10 years older than her does well enough with technology to work from home. And want an iPad.

I myself am pretty bad but they think I'm amazing, so I have to tell them that the fact that they think I know a lot shows how pitifully little they know.

Now I could go into detail and describe a hundred instances of all the stupid things they say and do, technology related, but I'm having one of those days where everything online says what I'm thinking 100 times better than I ever could, so here's a link to a story where an older gentleman uses a computer for the first time ever: Joe's First Computer Encounter.

Wait-- here's one story from just last night that isn't covered anywhere else in this post because that's how bad it is. My father, who's had a computer in his house that he's used daily for twelve years asked me, when I told him to select a file, "Left-click or right-click?"

May I fall down dead if I'm lying.

See? Still here.

This one came up on Cracked today: 6 Reasons the Guy Who's Fixing Your Computer Hates You, and I assure you, he does hate you in those moments. Really and truly.

And now, my favorite Rage-type Comic:

Story of my life, man. The story of my life. 

What Not to Say

So sorry about the lack of posting these past two days. 


Sunday I tried to post from my phone, using texts, but blogspot didn't mention in the feature that oversized texts couldn't be posted-- which is why, if you tried to view posts I made that day, they were gibberish. I've deleted them. 


So Sunday I was visiting with Gayle and a couple of our other friends as Lisa had come up from Florida. It was a great time, and I really love my friends, but it was a very long day for me and I've been recovering. Hence the non-postage. 


This has been floating around for a while and was posted recently on Deb's Fibromyalgia Blog, and here it is at Care2. I don't think it could be stated any better, and I kind of want to make a line of T-shirts and tote bags with this list on it- "If You're Thinking About Saying ANY of These Things to Me, Please Don't"...or taping it to my bedroom door for my parents to see every day. And I understand and appreciate if you're just trying to help, but sometimes help can really hurt (and we're in enough pain as it is!):


10. We all get more aches and pains as we get older.

The pain of fibromyalgia is much more severe than the normal aches and pains associated with aging. Little things that shouldn't hurt at all can be excruciatingly painful. Plus, most people develop FM long before they should be experiencing age-related aches and pains.

9. I think I have that, too – I'm always tired.

This statement shows a basic misunderstanding of the severity of the fatigue associated with FM. The fatigue of fibromyalgia is so much more than just being tired. It is an all-encompassing exhaustion. You are drained of energy – like someone pulled your plug, cutting of your source of power. It's kind of like taking the batteries out of the Energizer bunny.

8. My friend has fibromyalgia and still manages to work. Maybe you just need a job (hobby, etc.) to take your mind off the pain.

Translation – you must be lazy. The fact is, the severity of FM symptoms varies. Some people have fairly mild symptoms and are able to continue working. Some continue working longer than they probably should because they have no other choice, but they suffer tremendously. Others are so disabled they are confined to a wheelchair much of the time. While getting involved in a project can help to distract your mind from the pain for short periods of time, if you have a more severe case, it doesn't work well enough to allow you to consistently work a 40-hour week. And it doesn't help dispel the extreme fatigue that usually accompanies FM.

7. My doctor says fibromyalgia isn't a real disease; it's just a wastebasket diagnosis.

First of all, this doctor obviously hasn't kept up with the latest research, which clearly demonstrates that FM is a very real, physical disease. Also, to date the FDA has approved three medications to treat fibromyalgia and they generally don't approve medications for imaginary illnesses. There are a few doctors who will tell patients they have fibromyalgia if they can't figure out what is causing their symptoms and just want to get the patients off their back, but I have to question the ethics of a doctor who would do that.

6. If you got more sleep, you'd feel better.

Well, duh! One of the major problems with fibromyalgia is that something prevents the body from going into the deepest stage of sleep, when the body naturally restores and replenishes itself. Even if you manage to stay asleep for several hours, you're most likely not going to awaken feeling refreshed. And most sleep medications do little to help you achieve that deep sleep. They may help you get more hours of sleep, but probably will still not give you the deep sleep you need.

5. I read about this new product that cures fibromyalgia.

This can be one of the toughest comments to deal with because it is usually said by well-meaning friends or relatives who genuinely want you to feel better. The products are frequently some kind of “natural” supplement being sold through a multi-level marketing plan and are very expensive. If those making the suggestions are casual acquaintances, I generally just tell them I appreciate their concern and will look into the product. However, if it's someone closer to me who is likely to keep asking if I've tried the product, I go on to explain that there are dozens of products out there claiming to cure or at least improve FM and I just can't afford to try them all. Read Let the Buyer Beware for tips on how to evaluate product claims.

4. At least it's not fatal.

My first thought in response to this comment is always, “Yeah, but sometimes I wish it was. At least then I'd know there was an end to the pain.” I rarely say that, though. Of course I'm glad it's not fatal. But that doesn't help reduce the level of my pain or the depth of my fatigue. Nor does it help to raise research funding or bring attention to the needs of FM patients. Understandably, people tend to be more interested in preventing death than in improving the quality of life. Maybe I should start actually saying what I'm thinking when someone makes this comment. At least it might get their attention.

3. You just need to exercise more.

Often this is another way of insinuating that you're lazy. This comment in particular has always bugged me. Perhaps it's because I used to be a dancer and aerobics instructor. If more exercise were the answer, I'd be all over it. Yes, exercise is an important component of any fibromyalgia treatment plan, but it's only one part and it has to be approached slowly and carefully to avoid triggering a flare. Read Fibromyalgia and Exercise for more information on how to incorporate exercise into your FM treatment plan.

2. But you don't look sick.

This comment puts the FM patient between the proverbial rock and hard place. If we let ourselves go and show how we actually feel, people are uncomfortable and don't want to be around us. On the other hand, if we manage to fix ourselves up and put on a brave face, no one realizes we're sick. If you think about it, most chronic illnesses are invisible. My dad had heart disease but looked great until the moment he died from a massive heart attack. My mom had pancreatic cancer but looked fine. She didn't even know anything was wrong until it was too far gone to treat. She didn't “look sick” until the last couple of weeks of her life when she was confined to bed. Just because someone doesn't have visible sores or a crippling deformity doesn't mean there's not a serious illness just under the surface.

Ta Daaa...... Here it is - the number one thing you should NOT say to a fibromyalgia patient:



1. It's all in your head.

This is the all-time worst and most insulting thing you can say to someone with fibromyalgia. I used to launch into an explanation of how FM is a very real physical illness, complete with symptoms, etc. Now I simply say, “You're right, it is in my head. Researchers have found that there is a problem with how my brain processes pain signals.” Enough said. 




--


Really, all this can be summed up in just one: trust that the patient knows more than you do. 


And now it's time for a nap!

Defying the Odds

In June of 1971, a couple of high school senior girls wanted to go swimming, but none of the girls had their bathing suits. They were at one of the group's house, but the resident's older sister said they couldn't swim in their clothes. Another girl knew of a party that was happening at a house with a pool, so the girls decided to go there. 

Upon arriving at the party, a young male attendee pushed one of the girls from our original group into the pool. Because he thought she was cute. 

Their first date was their high school graduation-- it turned out they'd been in the same class and didn't know it. 

On August 9, 1975, they were married. 

36 years later they have three children, two grandchildren, and are still married. 

They're my parents and they're proof that a long, happy marriage is possible for anyone. It hasn't always been easy, or pretty, but if you believe in it and work at it, it can be done.  

Happy anniversary, Mom & Dad. 

And take that, Herbert. 

Living on a Prayer

I have a weird sleep schedule. I suspect my days and nights are flipped as the most natural thing for me to do is sleep all day and stay up all night. I fight against this so I end up going to bed around 3ish and sleeping until noonish, so I end up showering around 1 or 2 in the morning. 

My parents sleep with the door open (don't get me started) and our bedroom doors are separated by a 2 square foot bit of carpet at the top of the stairs. The main part of our house, our bedrooms and the living room and kitchen beneath them are over 100 years old and were part of a farmhouse before the area was made residential. People that have been in my house would think this is weird considering that my house, along with a few other houses both on my street and in the surrounding area, is a duplex. The interesting thing about that is that all of the other duplexes are laid out exactly the same way, exactly the same as my neighbor's side of our house and Herbert's a few blocks away: a basement, 3 rooms downstairs, 2 upstairs with an upstairs bathroom, and an attic. 

But my house isn't laid out that way, and it's the only one not-- so basically things were built up and around these four little rooms. The point I'm trying to make is my house is old, and the stairs between my bedroom and my parents bedroom are old and creaky, and I have to go down them to get to the bathroom because our bathroom is tacked on to back end of the downstairs because our house was built without a bathroom. That's how old it is. 

So the point I'm trying to get at is I often wake my parents on my way downstairs to shower, so it's not unusual that I wake them, then they have to use the bathroom because they're really old and always have to go to the bathroom (Hi, Mom!). 

The other night this happened, so I wasn't surprised to see my mother in our living room on my way back upstairs after my shower. I was surprised she didn't need the bathroom...and I was even more surprised that she was crying. 

Like so many others, we're struggling right now, financially. We're only getting a fraction of what we should be because my father was forced out of a job when he retired from his union and they threatened to take away his pension and benefits if he took a position having anything to do with plumbing-- which is ridiculous and illegal and we can't afford to press charges. I'm not going to go into the levels of sick there. 

So now we're trying to find me a gynecologist, but since New Jersey raised the doctors' malpractice insurance rates to the highest in the country a lot of specialists left the state, so only the really wealthy could afford to stay, which means they're all at least twenty minutes away in the "old money" section of the state or in Pennsylvania- so I can't find a male gynecologist within a half-hour of my house that takes our insurance. Yes, male. I'll post about female doctors one day, but not today. 

And I have to leave my regular doctor. I stopped seeing a pediatrician when I was 6 when he almost killed my brother Mick. So I started seeing our family doctor, so now it's been-- what, 17 years? But my insurance no longer takes out-of-network doctors so I have to leave him. There aren't any in-network doctors nearby, so we have to go to an out-of-network doctor that at one time was a business partner of my now-ex doctor but they split up their practice after they got caught taking bribes from a  lab to only use that particular lab and then not claiming it on their taxes. So they broke apart the practice. Anyway, so we have to go to the other guy, but he charges 3 times his usual rate for the first appointment and we all need to go see him because our prescriptions are no good because they were written by the other doctor, so no longer covered so we'd have to pay full price for them. 

Full price for prescriptions. To put this into perspective, I take 11 pills every morning, and 11 pills every night. 

That's 77 pills a week. My stomach medicine alone, with insurance, is $50. Without insurance? $1500. 

The good news is if I do have endometriosis (that's the good news!!) I can stop taking those and go on a cheaper stomach pill-- but I'm going to need more medicine for the endometriosis. 

So you see why my mother was crying?  And why our family's theme song is "Living on a Prayer"?

God, I need a job. 

Do Not Touch the Baby

I played with the settings again today and so far I like it. Turns out, though, that I had commenting disabled unless people were members which is not what I wanted- I'm all for anonymous comments, especially considering the subject matter I veer into. I apologize to anybody who wanted to comment but couldn't because they weren't a member. My bad. 


So that's fixed. 


I've been taking a break from creating lately- besides this blog, I mean. I haven't been working on my novels, which you think I would considering I'm looking for agents (no new responses...) and I haven't been knitting, which you think I would considering I owe my brother a scarf for last Christmas and I have the materials to make 2 scarves for me- one to match my fingerless gloves and one to match my red coat. I haven't been tatting, either, and I owe my mother a pretty large doily from last Christmas. 


And my dad's birthday is coming up. Shit. 


I've also felt like drawing lately, which is unusual for me because I'm really bad at it. I had to take a drawing class for my degree so I've vastly improved but I still suck. I've been thinking about my style, which is basically teeny-tiny and very detailed, so I'm considering doing some teeny tiny little scenes about the size of stamps. I'm not one of those people that can write on rice, but what with sewing and embroidery I'm very comfortable working in a minuscule scale. For a while I was thinking about tatting tiny pieces for dollhouses...I still might one day. 


It is SO HOT here. According to the weather channel it's 95 degrees but feels like 107. I'm supposed to hang out with my buddy Four tomorrow, but goddamn it's supposed to be 101 degrees. Ick. I hate heat...so much so, in fact, I leave my windows open all winter.


Oh, Four. 


I'm friends with such amazing people I wonder why they bother with me. Four is a voice-over artist and comedian and a brilliant writer. One day I'm going to get to say I knew him when... He's pretty much the best friend I've ever had and I love him to bits. 


My parents, unfortunately, don't feel the same way. In fact, Four and I wanted to date for a while but my parents' reactions were awful and it was one of the worst times of my life as far as my relationship with them goes. My father, especially, is incredibly racist and proud of it and it breaks my heart. One of my parents' rationalizations for hating my relationship with Four and giving me such a hard time about it is that they're trying to protect me from "other people's reactions." 


I'm just going to say that after 10 years of hanging out with Four and being besties with him the only people who have EVER even given me a dirty look about it are my parents, so work out that logic. 


There was one time in my life where out in public, among strangers, I was given dirty looks and glares and stares was a few days after I came back from London a month before my 19th birthday. My nephew Manny (my brother Mick's son) was 3 months old at the time and my sister-in-law, Manny's mother Debra, and I went to the mall to finish up Christmas shopping. I was pushing Manny in a stroller, and Deb was walking beside me and you should have seen the looks. 


Stares. Anger. Fury. Disgust. People were looking at me like they wanted to run over and take Manny away from me. It was amazing. Debra and I were shocked. 


So I decided to play into it. At one point Deb was waiting in line to pay for something and I was standing with Manny a little bit away saying, "Manny, tell Aunt Debbie to hurry up, Mommy has to get home to do her algebra homework. Mommy doesn't want to work at McDonald's anymore. Tell her. Say 'Mommy needs to graduate so she can find a new job and meet a nice man to be my daddy. I wish I had a daddy.'" 


It was awesome. 


And can I just add, by the way, that if you see a little baby in the mall and it's not related to you, DON'T TOUCH IT? That was unbelievable. At one point I had to smack this guy's hand away. He talks to me for a second, "Oh, how old is he blah blah blah" and then he reaches into the stroller. So I say, "Please don't touch the baby." 


Then he reached in again! So I smacked his hand. "Do not touch the baby!"


AUGH. It's not your baby, people! Especially if you're out in public, who knows where your hands have been?! You could have herpes for all I know. Don't touch the baby. 


Like you always ask a dog's owner if you can pet the dog when you first meet them, to make sure the dog doesn't bite or have some kind of disease or is a seeing eye dog that shouldn't be bothered or what-have-you. Don't touch people's dogs, and don't touch the babies. 


You don't know what 5'2", 19-year-old, 130 lb. white girl is going to smack you for it. 


And if she does, you totally deserve it.