Wednesday, September 30, 2015

so old I'm back in style again

I woke up yesterday and gave myself a lecture about not procrastinating.  It seemed to work, especially since the pool was green, and getting chlorine was top on my To Do List.  I showered and dressed in my best (READ: worst) cutoffs because I've ruined clothes before when buying chlorine.  Inevitably the container leaks or splashes back.

I had to stop at the drug store first and didn't think anything of it.  [I consulted with some of my more chemistry-knowledgeable friends and found out that the chlorine should be my last stop as the fumes in this heat might damage components on my car.]  I realized as I was parking my car that I didn't even have a drop of makeup on.  Oh well, at least my hair was freshly washed and smelled good.

There was a little old woman ahead of me in line with a really LOUD voice speaking to the cashier.  She apologized to me when she noticed me waiting in line behind her while she was just shooting the breeze.  I smiled and said it was fine.  She seemed nice and was so tiny (maybe 4'10") that I couldn't be aggravated, even though I was in a hurry.  She finally walked away and then came back specifically to LOUDLY comment on my cutoffs, which I forgot I was wearing.  She says back in her day, your mother would tell you not to go out of the house like that.

Which gave me flashbacks of my mom completely destroying one of my favorite t-shirts as I was about to go outside to play because it had a tiny pinhole in it.  God forbid one of the neighbors see 9 year old Wendy in her t-shirt looking poor.  Even though we were poor.  My mom was kind of an asshole at times.

I just smiled at the woman and defensively said I was running errands and was expecting to get dirty.  I was secretly hoping that she wasn't stronger than she looked and about to shred my shorts.  She said don't mind her, she knows they sell them at Macy's for top dollar nowadays.  I told her I had earned my holes in my cutoffs, and they were at least 20 years old.  Plus my friend, Mike, had given me these (when he ruined one leg of his jeans) so I could use them for shorts.  (Yes, he was very thin.)  So they're kind of sentimental, too.  Thanks, Mike, wherever you are.

Now rich people pay good money at Macy's to look poor.  I've always been ahead of the fashion trend.  Or never cared much about the fashion trends, thereby looking très chic.  Either way suits me fine.  :)

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

the language of love

I figured if I could take the 'Which Disney Princess are You?' quiz, then I could take the 5 love languages test.  It's pretty quick and painless, but required some introspection.  And no, it isn't just for women, fkrs.  It was recommended by a man, but it appears like it would be useful for couples to know each other better.  Also, you don't need to use your real email address as there was no verification process.

For instance, do you feel more loved if someone does something for you, gives you a token of appreciation, or tells you they love you?  And conversely, how do you show love, and is it the best way your partner needs to receive it?  No right or wrong answers except you may need to adapt your style to mesh better with your partner.  Or find a partner who better meshes with your style.  ;)

However, you can be single and still take this to learn your own style.  It may seem silly, but I guarantee this will pay off when you know your inherent needs better.  And worst case, I made you laugh for doing something silly.  ;)

Monday, September 28, 2015

surfing the red planet

Nasa has confirmed today that they believe that water is flowing on Mars.  How fkn amazing is that??  Don't you want to go playing in that landscape?

What would I wear though?  My eternal lament.  I hate shopping and really wouldn't know where to begin to buy a Martian wardrobe.  I'm thinking board shorts over bikini bottoms just to be safe, though.

Speaking of Mars, I highly recommend reading The Martian by Andy Weir.  It's definitely nerdy and somewhat science-y, but even if you aren't, you can skip over some of the calculation parts and just go with the story.  It's like watching a superhero movie.  You don't necessarily need to know how Iron Man's suit works to be entertained.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

everyone knows it's Wendy

Okay so it's actually 'everyone knows it's Windy' but when Southerners say my name, they pronounce it Windy.  So it almost works.  I used to hear it constantly sung to me when I was a kid.  And people still remember it and randomly sing it to me or about me.

I've always loved it for being upbeat and describing me fairly accurately.  I used to smile at everybody I saw until that started getting me in trouble.  It sucks that a smile can't just be a friendly gesture.  Now, people read too much into it.  No, I'm not coming on to you.  You'd know it if I were.  No, I don't want anything from you.  I'm fiercely independent and terrible at asking for anything.  I just like smiling as it lifts my mood, too.

I miss the innocence of childhood, although mine certainly didn't last long.  Somehow I was savvy enough to know at age 10 when a pedophile wasn't just asking me directions and actually wanted more.  No, nothing happened, except I ran all the way home from school that day and cried.  (No, I never outgrew my need for crying.)  I didn't even tell anyone the second time it occurred because nothing happened the first time I mentioned it. I just learned to be smarter and developed situational awareness.  I also developed a suspicious nature. 

I let this song disappear for many years out of my life but brought it back because it's just so upbeat and makes me smile.

Anyway, that's another of my current theme songs.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

owwwie, but the good kind

Yay, I finally made it back to my martial arts conditioning class because the eye doc said no more restrictions.  Holy owwww!  I picked a harsh night to come back.  Sensei even took it a bit easy on me, but with everyone else pushing hard, I felt extra motivated.

He partnered me up with a girl half my age (or thereabouts) and as flexible as a toddler.  In his defense, it's tricksy to find anyone in my weight-class.  One-legged squats while holding your partner's leg isn't nearly as easy as it sounds.  Sensei steadied my hip to make sure I didn't crash and burn and pull her down with me.

We did eleventy-five types of push-ups, including the brutal Superman ones with arms straight forward.  I haven't done those in years and wasn't sure I still could.  I managed four, although I could have pushed myself and done more, but I didn't want to show off.  ;)  The young 19-year-old man who looked to be in excellent shape and regularly takes the real martial arts classes during the week couldn't even do one.  Go me! 

A few of us went out to eat afterward, and I scarfed down double what I normally do.  I had expended way more calories than I've done for weeks.  Of course, we talked for over an hour, laughed extensively, and had tons of fun.  The laughter hurt every time because we had just done such an ab-intensive workout.  Which made us laugh even more. 

I came straight home (after a brief thought of grocery shopping that I nixed with a quickness) and into an Epsom salt bath, with extra scoops of pharmaceutical grade Epsom.  I was so exhausted that I had to cut my bath short or risk falling asleep in it.  I melted into my bed expecting to drift into sleep immediately.  Which I was on the path of, until my body started crying with how much it was aching.  I took some more magnesium, which helped enough to fall asleep.  Five hours later, I woke up in pain again and took even more magnesium before going back to sleep.

I feel great today!  It's been so long since I've done a hard class like that.  It's virtually impossible to have insomnia after that.  Even with Thor starting his theatrics again.  Kitten disappeared under the bed after the third crash of thunder, and I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I had plans for running errands today, like the groceries I briefly thought about getting last night.  I'm using ice cream in my coffee because I ran out of cream.  And I need chlorine for my pool because of the multitude of plant matter that the tree-trimmers inadvertently dropped in my pool, then add in all of the storms, and now it's slightly green.  But my body is so exhausted today that I foresee a lazy day of reading and moving from couch to couch to bed, with maybe another hot bath in there somewhere.  And lots of food.

Friday, September 25, 2015

my new favorite

I normally hate shopping, but my new favorite store is Home Depot.  People are so nice there.  And not just the employees, but the customers, too.  They really ought to add a lounging area, like at Barnes and Noble or Starbucks.  I would totally make that my new hangout spot.  Especially since my current hangout spot is my couch.

Everyone is so friendly, always smiling, even though they're probably knee-deep in home repairs or problems.  Even waiting in line, people are charming.  How is that even possible??  I can't believe I was ever intimidated to go in there.  Wtf was wrong with me?  I haven't tried other locations.  I almost don't want to know if mine is magical or they all are.  Although, now I'm wondering if others are EVEN better.

Don't get greedy, Wendy, stay grounded.  What a universal human truth, the more we have, the more we want.  The other preceding, universal truth about me is that I'm lazy, so I would never go to other stores because they're out of my way.  Even if they were more magical.

Maybe this is where the fairy mounds are finally emerging.  In Home Depots across the nation.  Time does seem to disappear there, just like in Underhill.

Thursday, September 24, 2015

post surgery checkup

I'm discouraged as fuck.  My vision is not getting better and even seems worse than last time.  I'm writing this while waiting for my eye to dilate before I see the doctor.   So thanks for coming along to this appointment with me and virtually holding my hand.  :)

They have a soap opera on in the waiting room. How do people watch this drivel?  It's all negativity and deception.  Can't they fkn put on a comedy channel or just music ffs? I might be a teensy bit stressed. 

I started to compile my list of questions and realized I have only one.  When will I see again?  Everything else is meaningless.  Holy fuck, I'm trying so hard not to cry.  Or vomit.  Fkn stress isn't good for me.  I wonder if it worked in my favor that I had a migraine yesterday and might still have some sumatriptan coursing through my blood keeping today's stress migraine at bay.

Every nurse I've spoken to here defers my vision question to the doctor.  Wtf, it's not like I'm gonna hold them to anything.  I'm just curious what other patients have experienced.  Now, I'm wondering if they don't wanna be the bearer of bad news.


And the doctor says see you again in three weeks.  He didn't seem discouraged, although why would he be, his eyes work.  He said my vision may take weeks or months to come back, if it comes back at all.  He showed me the photos again of my retina, which does look way better.  He seems inordinately proud of that.  Great, but I don't care how sexy my fkn retina is, I want to be able to SEE!!!

I made my follow-up appointment with one of his partners who has a better bedside manner.  Plus, I'd like another professional opinion.  She did my original retinal tear repair surgery four years ago and knows her shit, even if she stopped performing surgeries.

I'm allowed to go back to full physical activity, so that's a bonus.  Except I have no depth perception and already have dark bruises on me from bumping into machines and weights at the gym the other day.

Looking on the bright side, I haven't cried or puked yet.  Yay!  It's the little things.  ;)

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

I work out. I'm sexy and I know it

(For anyone unfamiliar with the title song.  No, it's not one of my theme songs.)

I worked out yesterday finally.  Damn, I needed that.  And not just because I lost 3-5 lbs (depending on whose scale I used) of muscle the past month without it.  It's such a nice boost to my mood and to my esteem.  Plus, it's just plain fun laughing and hanging with the gym-bros.  Including an ER doctor who has bigger hair than I do, which is not an easy feat.  (He's always so nice when I see him at the gym, but I wonder if he becomes an asshole at his job like most ER docs.)

Of course now I can barely lift my arms to feed myself.  It's a good thing I washed my hair before I went.  I used fairly light weights because of my eye, just in case, but it still seemed sufficient to give me a proper workout.  I hope my muscles remember how HUGE they used to be and recover soon.

My workout partner was so happy to see me.  I got 7,453 hugs and kisses.  Or at least 5.  He said he tried to workout without me, but he loses motivation.  It's easy to be distracted when no one holds you accountable.  We also had a nice long talk about life because we hadn't really talked much (besides texting) in four weeks.  He was not pleased to hear that I had been crying a lot.  And emphasized again that he was there for me when I needed it.  I might be a tad independent and hate to lean on people.  Or ask for favors.  I need to work on that.

I'm hopeful that this exercise-induced mood supercharge will last a few days. 

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Lady Godiva

Today was that fun time that every woman hates, going to see her gynecologist.  Mine is a cool dude that I happened upon by accident, so I don't mind it as much.   Okay, who am I kidding, it still sucks.  

Before I get to that though, I was a few minutes early and walked into my bank next door to pick up some deposit slips because I like to keep some on hand.  It was completely empty except for the employees, who all greeted me like a long-lost friend, even though I haven't been in that branch in years.   The teller yelled across the lobby to ask if I had valeted my car.  Umm, what?  I was all, you talking to me?  She said that they had started a new policy that all customers get free valet parking.  Now, that I thought about it, there was a friendly man at the edge of the building who said hi.  I just thought it was my sparkling personality.  Or my hair.

I walked to the counter in the middle to find deposit slips but none was there.  The teller then said they keep them behind the counter because no one uses them anymore.  It's true that I haven't been in to do a deposit in a while because everything is electronic these days, but some people still use physical checks.  Like fkn AT&T.  Sigh.  They mailed me a $13 credit when I switched from DSL.  Which I forgot to bring with me because I forgot the bank was even there.

The teller went on to inform me that I could just take a picture of my check and do it all by app on my phone.  I declined to discuss the security ramifications with her and thanked her for letting me know.

On to the dreaded GYN.  Somehow the stars were all in alignment, because I was in and out of there in under 30 minutes.  That NEVER happens.  The receptionist was very efficient and had me review a printout of my info to see what had changed.  She seemed surprised when I deleted my home phone.  I thought I was the last living soul to go without a landline.  She confirmed with me three times.  Then she asked my religion.  Umm, what?  I said none, why.  And she goes on to tell me that different diagnoses can be affected by different religions in different locales.  Umm, what?   I didn't ask her to elaborate, although she seemed happy to because she found it fascinating.  

The nurse was already calling me in before I even sat back down.  That NEVER happens.  She weighed me with shoes on but subtracted 3 lbs, even though I'm pretty sure they aren't that heavy.  They were my comfy lesbian shoes, so maybe she added another pound due to lack of fashion.  I think she came up with a negative weight at that point.  She kept pushing the sliding scale thingie to the left.  And more.  And more.  Then she asked me how tall I am, even though there's a height measuring device RIGHT there.  And she underestimated me by at least an inch.  Everyone always tells me I'm more or less than I am.  I think my lack of weight threw her off.  In my defense, I haven't worked out in close to a month, so my muscles have all evaporated.

Next it was time for the exam.  Undress, put on this scrap of material, and keep sliding down.  And more.  And more.  Lucky me, I had a med student observing.  Sigh.  My doc gave a running narrative, which was equal parts interesting and mortifying.  I went to my happy place.  Yay, for no issues.  About fkn time, right??  (For those keeping score, my vision still hasn't returned to where it was before my eye surgery.)

He and I had a nice discussion on which was worse, him or the dentist.  We also chatted about the merits (or lack thereof) of mammograms and the likelihood he might persuade me to have one.  I told him that he was welcome to write me the Rx for one, but it would go straight into my shredder.  He laughed and said the nurse already had and left it for me.  We also spoke of the effects of hormones on migraines and the latest research on that.

I think gynecologists spend so much time around naked women that they forget we might not be as comfortable as they are about it.  This isn't the first one to have a long chat with me, while I'm wearing the equivalent of a paper towel.  I appreciate their time and knowledge, and I may be the type to ask a question or 75, so it's not generally a quick rap session with me.  Whatever, I have a lot of hair, I can go all Lady Godiva on them.  Without the horse, of course, because that would be weird.  And crowded.

He shook my hand, twice, which I bravely clasped, twice, even though I know where it's been.  Especially since he described it in detail.

Monday, September 21, 2015

ain't no sunshine when she's gone

Does anyone else have a theme song?  Is it weird that I have a few?

I like to bring the sunshine into a room with me because I don't trust that it will be there waiting for me.  Therefore sometimes when I leave, there ain't no sunshine when she's gone.

 I'm addicted to having sunshine in my life.

Which means that the few people I have left in my life are ones who help me create sunshine or bring their own.  They are people who help me to find and be my best self.  This song reminds me that I am the master of my emotions.  That I can control my moods.  It's nice and bluesy, which allows me to be down if that's how I'm feeling at first.  And then it reminds me to pick my ass up and carry on.  Sometimes, I need to listen to it more than once before the magic kicks in.

As Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis said, "Sunlight is said to be the best of disinfectants."  He obviously meant it in relation to corruption and politics.  But I find it useful in other realms.  Sunshine almost always uplifts my mood and disinfects the lurking darkness threatening to creep back in.

Why am I sitting here at my computer instead of getting some sunshine, you ask?  Because I was outside at 7:30 am getting early morning sun into my eyes and my pineal gland while cleaning my pool.  A little light exercise and some sunshine before I showered and started my day ensured a smile on my face this morning.

Aren't you curious about my other theme songs?

Sunday, September 20, 2015

2 sleeps sleeper

Maybe I don't have insomnia.  Maybe I've migrated from sleeping eight hours straight every night to what our ancestors used to do, sleep 3-5 hours twice a night.  Instead of tending the fire or the cows, I wake up after a few hours to tend Kitten and check that the house is secure.  And I work through residual emotions in the peace and quiet of nighttime, some mental reflection if you will.  I'd like to sleep more hours total, but I end up with about seven hours anyway.  Or maybe I'm fooling myself.

I've installed blue light blockers on my PCs and phones.  I've removed cool light-bulbs and installed warm ones.  I have dark curtains in my bedroom.  I refuse to get a back-lit Kindle and instead use my old one, which requires me to turn on a light.  Or gasp, I read an actual book.  Those still foil me at times, when I try to see what time it is on it.  Or want to look up a word with which I'm not familiar.

I also try melatonin occasionally, but it has been known to induce nightmares or fuck up my hormones.  I'm still working on what dosage might be best for me, if any.

I quit fucking around and bought a 25lb bag of pharmaceutical grade Epsom Salt for pre-bedtime relaxing baths. Plus, baths are just fun, especially when I add scented oils, although Kitten still watches suspiciously like why the fuck are you doing this to yourself?

I've basically done everything on this Top Ten List of how to sleep better, although I will admit how hard it can be to rid myself of worries before sleeping.  Sometimes I get stuck in places inside my head.  I've tried meditation, but I'm a huge multi-tasker, and I suck at quieting my mind completely.  It's why I've leaned so heavily on podcasts before bedtime.  I can let my monkey mind chew on something interesting, but non-stressful, while also trying to quiet it down.

Does moving from one full sleep to two half-sleeps mean I've progressed or regressed?

Saturday, September 19, 2015

I'm BROKEN because

I have migraines so eviscerating that I feel worthless and like a burden to my friends and family.
I have scars both internally and externally that are hideous to me.


Those fkn migraines haven't beaten me yet.
My friends and family seem to love me anyway.
Those shitty scars only prove I am stronger than I thought.
Somebody special thinks I'm beautiful.

Friday, September 18, 2015

postcards from Pluto

Kinda like my heart currently -- cracked, distorted, broken, but still there and big enough to take over the multiverse any day now
Some days my world is grey and relentless.  What color are the skies in your world?   I prefer when mine are violet.

Click here for the real captions and story.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

the Passion of Thor

Am I mixing up my gods again?

Last night I awoke at 2 am not from nightmares (yay!) or mysterious noises but rather from an amazing storm happening outside.  It was lightning so much, I could see it through my closed eyelids and my closed drapes.  The thunder followed shortly thereafter.  Kitten was sleeping nearby and snuggled closer.

Thor was just starting up though.  Pretty soon my whole house and bed were shaking with the thunder BOOMING ever closer.  Kitten finally gave up and went under the bed.  Not even her fierce Wendy could protect her.  Listening to the thunder roll all around me was magnificent.  Of course being comfy in my bed helped, too.

Thor wielded his mighty hammer until I couldn't help but smile at the intensity and majesty of it all.  Forty-five glorious minutes later, I was ready to believe his hammer had been forged in the heart of a dying star.  And I fell back asleep with a grin on my face.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

heard a noise

I woke suddenly at 4am when I heard a loud rhythmic sound, like something clattering in circles as it landed.  I finally talked myself into thinking it was the cat knocking something over.  Until I realized she was sleeping next to me.   So after debating hiding under the covers, I got up to investigate.  (That was a longer conversation than I'm proud of.) 

There was nothing I could find, so I'm assuming I dreamed it.  Weird, huh?  But I don't recall any dreams at the moment of awakening.  Kitten was sound asleep (until I disturbed her); therefore it makes me think it wasn't an external noise.

What does crazy sound like?

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

do you ever get lonely?

and you want to reach out to someone, but you can't?  And then you tell yourself a hundred reasons why you don't really want to anyway.  Why that person isn't the one you're in the mood to talk to.  Why this one isn't either.  It's like an itch that can be scratched.  Or more like an ache that can't be soothed.  Or a trauma that can't be healed.

[Maybe I need to be disillusioned to push past my false beliefs.  Isn't the first stage of wisdom letting go, either voluntarily or forcefully?  So that I can grow back stronger.  And more sagacious.

I will derive power from my wounds.  I will learn from life's bad deals.  Alas, I think I'm a slow learner.]

You start to really delve into your head and begin the mindfuck.  But then your cat comes over and you feel better?  Yeah, me too.

Always remember, depression lies.

yippety skippety!

The permanent dilation in my eye finally went away.   I no longer have to wear my movie-star sunglasses when out and about.  However, my vision still doesn't seem even as good as it was pre-surgery.  Sigh.

Yeah, yeah, patience.  It's all I need, according to Axl Rose.

The migraines are gone for now.  YIPPEE!! 

Monday, September 14, 2015

what is normal?

I've had a couple of people message me about how scary Saturday's episode was.  For them.  :)  They thought I was particularly nonchalant about the whole thing.  Which I am.  Now.

At the time, I was deadly serious, with no sense of humor.  But if I can't laugh afterwards, I would lose my grasp on sanity.  Laughter is the best medicine and all that.  After efficacious migraine medication, that is.

I forget that people who aren't used to dealing with migraines or the people who suffer from them would assume that this was an anomaly that needed immediate medical supervision.  Unfortunately, there wasn't much abnormal about Saturday except that it was worse on the debilitating scale.  I know there isn't a lot out there about migraine, which is why many people just assume it's a bad headache.  It's far from that.  It's a whole complex neurological event that affects many different parts of the brain and body.  And to make it even more complicated, it varies widely from person to person and even within the same person.  [FAQ and FAQ, which are definitely not exhaustive in nature]

Despite barely any money being put into migraine research in the past 50 years, we know surprisingly little about them, she said sarcastically.  Yes, I am bitter.  According to the National Migraine Centre of the UK, more people are affected by migraines than by diabetes, epilepsy, and asthma combined. So many people are affected by migraines, and yet it's not a priority because it's assumed people don't die from it.

People do die from it though.  Many suicide because they lose hope of a "normal" life.  There was one case recently of a father who killed his daughter so she wouldn't suffer anymore.  You might argue that he was insane.  But I would argue right back that watching someone you love suffer for years can drive you insane.  It's why I don't burden my friends and family unnecessarily.  Not that I think my brother would kill me.  At least not for this.  ;)

Perhaps you can better understand why I was so ecstatic about a new drug being developed for them recently.

I almost skipped writing about this recent episode because it's such a downer, and who wants to read about that?  But, then people develop 'Grass is Greener' syndrome and think everyone's life is better than theirs.  Because all we ever see are people posting on social media how fkn fabulous their lives are when they're out and about having fun.  Not many people post about the darker sides.  And everyone has a darker side, even if they don't admit it publicly.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Drilling the evil spirits out

I completely understand why people used to drill into the skulls of migraineurs.  Especially when someone looked normal, and an hour later was speaking in tongues, writhing on the floor, praying to fake deities, and projectile vomiting.  Fortunately for me, that was soooo yesterday.

I'm totally fine today.  Except for the pain in my head.   :)

I don't have much to say.  I merely wanted to alleviate anyone's worrying over me.  Still alive and kicking.  (Thanks for worrying!)

I'm meeting my brother for brunch later (very close to my house because he's nice like that), so I need to put on my happy, pain-free face in a bit.  With all of the hiding inside I've done lately, I'm getting out of practice.  The decades of prior experience probably help.  I'm debating wearing my sunglasses the whole time.  I know it's rude, but my eye is still halfway dilated.  I have some large movie-star sunglasses.  So cliché I know, for such a glamorous soul as I.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

The glamorous life of migraine

I woke up this morning after 8 lovely hours of sleep, (probably helped along with the sumatriptan last night) feeling relatively okay, with just a hint of migraine in the background.  I let Kitten out, made my coffee, made her breakfast, and was planning mine.  I drank my coffee, caught up on the news, posted to this blog, and texted with a few friends to try to cheer them up.  (I got a smile out of one, so that was good.)

Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so great.  I managed to climb the mountain of stairs (one flight) to go lie down and start one of my calming (to me) podcasts.  That lasted about 10 minutes, until I decided a detour to the bathroom would be in order.  Don't worry, I'll spare you most of the gory details. 

There was a lot of writhing in pain on my bathroom floor, looking up at the skylight and praying to any and all deities, none of whom I believe in, to smite me now, knowing full well I was absolutely fucked on my own.  Interspersed with that was some projectile vomiting.  Which my hair managed to catch.  Yuck.

The whole time, I still had the podcast going.  [Steve, if you read this, thank you for your calming voice during my horrible morning.]

I knew I had more meds that would help in the other room, but the pain kept me from being able to move even enough not to puke in my own hair.  So fkn pathetic.  I did have visions of dying a la Bon Scott, so I tilted my head enough not to.  You're welcome.  :)

I'd popped a pill just as I was feeling poorly, so I was hopeful some of that made it into my bloodstream before my stomach decided to reverse gears.  Eventually, the pain subsumed enough for me to crawl into the shower.  I was too weak to stand, or do much of anything except let the glorious hot water pour over me.  That was my first hair-washing.  When I felt clean enough, I dragged my sorry ass to bed, wrapped my hair in a towel, and passed out for a bit.  I woke up and went straight into the shower and washed my hair three more times.  Then I brushed my teeth and gargled with peroxide.  

I cleaned the bathroom and special-ordered the clowns for my GIANT PityParty (which I will NOT succumb to).  After starting a load of contaminated laundry, I finally settled down to a light breakfast at 2:30 pm.  

Is she a celebrity who partied too hard and spent the next morning vacillating between passed out & puking?  Or just a glamorous migraineur? 

Monkey Eyes

My air bubble disappeared yesterday.  I'm not sure when because I was busy sorting out a migraine.  No, my vision hasn't improved, but thanks for asking.

A few days before my surgery, I shared a monkey cupcake with a friend, who pushed both monkey eyes onto my plate for luck.  It might have been monkeyshine, but it was fun and silly, so I ate them.

I'm still waiting on the luck.  Unless perhaps the luck was in creating a whimsical memory that makes me smile now instead of slipping into despair, ruminating over my lack of visual improvement.

Friday, September 11, 2015


Really?  Serial killer nightmares?  I couldn't just get one good night's sleep?  I even disturbed Kitten, who was sleeping nicely nearby.  I'm trying to forget the filth and blood-flies.  Ugh.  I'll spare you the rest, although that was kind of the worst.  Mostly just the forensic team gathering evidence.  

And no, I hadn't been reading anything like that before I slept.  It was a kid's book on King Arthur FFS.  A friend sent me some light reading to cheer me up.  Because I have awesome friends.  Thanks!  

I went to sleep on a happy positive note.  I managed to get 5.5 hours of uninterrupted sleep beforehand, so that's something.  And *I* wasn't the serial killer or the victim, so that's a bonus, too.  That's really stretching to figure out my gratitude, isn't it?  'Hey guys, I had a great Thursday night, I wasn't a serial killer!'

In looking up dream meanings, it seems this is way more common of a dream than I suspected.  Who knew so many people (maybe even the fkr right NEXT to you) dreamt of serial killers??  I like this meaning the best.  Because I'm a special snowflake.  :)  Apparently not many people dream of the forensic team that has to clean up and investigate it because after 10 seconds of searching, I found nothing.  I guess I am a special snowflake, after all.

Thursday, September 10, 2015

My scar looks remarkable

Best pick-up line ever?  I wish I could say that was the first time I had someone compliment one of my scars.  Sigh.

I saw the doc today for about 2.5 minutes.  There goes another $500, I'm sure.  I refused more dilation drops (which they notated in my chart; probably labeled me as difficult).  Yes, they tried to add more to my ALREADY FULLY DILATED EYE.  Fkrs.

The nurse asked about headaches.  I started elaborating about the multitudinous migraines from the dilation.  I'll see your headache and raise you to infinity with multi-day migraines.  Then she asked about my vision, and that's when the tears started.  She was not expecting that.  (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.)  She tried to reassure me that it might take longer than a week to regain my vision.  I was somewhat mollified.  Of course, then she went to take my blood pressure.  Surprise, surprise, it was higher than my usual, but still normal enough.

Doc approved me for light exercise.  Wtf does that mean?  No jostling or jogging he said.  Okay, I figured martial arts is out.  He rushed me, so I never asked about squatting.  But he said curls were fine.  You don't think he meant my hair, right???   :)

I finally was able to clean my pool.  Yay!  Except for the giant dead wolf spider floating in it.  I left him in the pool, in case he was faking it.  Don't click that link if you have a phobia.  It freaked me out, and I was expecting it.   /shudder

Maybe I'll be able to sleep better tonight.  Last night was filled with anxiety and podcasts.  And Kitten.  I wonder if she's catching my anxiety because she usually doesn't stay that long.  Feral-born Torties aren't known for their excessive snuggles.

And I can finally resume sleeping like the Vitruvian Man.  According to Amy Cuddy, this will give me my power back.  Powerful, with remarkable scars.  Winning combo, am I right??

an excerpt from the migraine experience

This is borrowed from a fellow migraineur, who describes part of the migraine experience way more poignantly than I ever could.

"There is a moment in time more beautiful than any that the poet has ever sung; more satisfying than the first hit of some new and beautiful substance; more significant and life changing than any bite of fermented grain and water can provide. This is the moment when the medication kicks in.

This is the moment where I am free. Or at least this is the moment where I am given my parole and I am allowed to rejoin society as a somewhat productive and functional human being. This is where the magic happens. Where the relief comes to visit in its quiet and succinct way and slowly whispers to me that it is sorry and that it will take all my pain away. This is approximately 37 minutes after the pill pop. This is 36.5 minutes of lying in the darkness with visions swimming through my head. 36 minutes of the ache and the prayer and the slowly diminishing will to power. 35 minutes of desperation and pleading. 34 minutes of complete and total annihilation.

But then it happens. It sneaks in like a thief in the night and suddenly the world makes sense again. It brings life into focus and calms the aching of the teeth, the muscles, the veins in the forehead, and the sick sense of complete and utter doomsday that has taken up residence in my poor and bruised psyche. That is the moment where I roll over and the light is no longer my enemy. That is the moment where every footfall and whisper no longer offends me to the point of tears. That is the magic moment. That is the moment I live for.


And with the attacks themselves would come the cocktails of symptoms: nausea, vomiting, dizziness, aphasia, blindness, auras, sensitivity to light, sound, smell, everything. It wasn’t enough that we all had to spend our time keeping the angry throb at bay: we had to balance the aversion to nearly everything in our environment against the hope that sometime soon this would all pass."

Wednesday, September 9, 2015

Toby died

I haven't a clue why he did.  Maybe it was his time to go.  There was no violent marking of his passing.  Not a cough or a sneeze.  I just looked down, and he was suddenly headless.

On a serious note, the air bubble is shrinking every day, and the angry, red streaks in the sclera are almost reabsorbed, too.  But, the dilation doesn't seem to be making any progress.  That on-call fkr better not have lied to me when he said the drops weren't doing it.  My vision is getting better in that eye, but I'm still not sure how good the visual acuity is.  It's kind of hard to know when everything is blurry from the dilation. 

Patience, Padawan

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

back to life, back to reality

(for you young'uns, that's the lyrics from a song)

Sometime during my restful night, the slowly diminishing air bubble in my eye split into three parts.  So now it looks like a big circle body, with a little circle head on top (squashing down into the body), with a smaller earring circle on his left (my right).  Yes, this is how I amuse myself.  I think I'll name him Toby. 

I'm back at work today and on back-to-back corporate conference calls.  Because there are no visuals for my calls, I'm playing with twisting and turning Toby in my eyeball.  I can only do this with my head straight down, eyes open or closed.  I managed to flip his earring to the other side.  No fkn idea how though, but he looks more piratical this way.  I'd like to join the bubbles back together because Toby is a bit distracting, as you might imagine.

Planning the murder of Toby...

Does this warrant a call to my surgeon's office? 

Doctors' Office: "Hello, may I help you?" 
Wendy: "Yes, I need to kill Toby.  What's the best way?  For me and for him?" 
Doctors' Office: "Ummm, what?" 
Wendy: "I don't want to damage my eye.  Or hurt Toby overmuch.  How do I off him?" 
Doctors' Office: hopeful tone in her voice "Wrong number?" 
Wendy: "Oh, right, I guess so, since you ignore any Advance Directive during surgery.  Thanks anyway.  Goodbye." 
Doctors' Office: very relieved  "...??"

I'll skip the call and just hang with Toby until he offs himself.  By the way, you read that correctly.  They explicitly informed me TWICE that they would ignore any advance directive I might have.  It vexed me on principle, but I didn't expect it to come up during eye surgery.   For any of you not in the know (and too lazy to click the link above), an advance directive is a euphemism for saying if shit hits the fan, just let me die. 

Which they will promptly ignore, even if I have a legal document requesting that.  Fuckers.

Monday, September 7, 2015

yellow suitcases

Two steps forward, one step back.   2:30 am, and I'm wide awake from nightmares.  With several yellow suitcases in it.  That wasn't the scary part, fkrs. 

One of my bitchy, nosy neighbors had a cameo asking what I was going to do about being all alone with my three stalkers.  [Fortunately, I have zero currently in real life.]  Bitchy neighbor didn't even listen to my response once it was apparent that I had a logical plan.  Trust me, you wouldn't like her either.  She's the type who can give you good news, but in such a bitchy, nasty tone, that you just want to get violent.  I typically avoid her whenever possible and see her about two times a year when I can't.

Not sure why the yellow suitcases were involved.  All four (or five?) were empty, but I was trying to move them by nesting them within themselves.  And they were hard-sided.  It was a futile task.  One of my friends (whom I haven't seen since I was 21 or so) showed up to help me carry them to my car.  He gave me a big hug and kiss, and then I didn't see him again in the dream after he carried them outside.  One cameo for good and one for evil?

I also had a yellow bicycle to move.   It was brand new, so maybe that's a good sign?  (Let's not mention the fact that I'm analyzing my dreams and looking for signs.)

And something about blueberries.

I'm either a cowardly mess running from my past.  Or I'm optimistically exploring my futures in an organized fashion.  Across many universes. 

I blame my nightmares on the $167 eye-drops.  Yes, you read that correctly.  (Wtf is in those?)  But with my slacker health insurance that is covering the bare minimum on all of this, it was down to the low, low price of $35.  I think that works out to $1 a drop, with my discount.  Whatevs, I'll gladly pay out my last dollar and be homeless and broke if it lets me still see.  Kitten will hunt for our food.

The nightmares definitely couldn't have been from the peanut butter pretzels I ate right before I fell asleep.  I usually crave those during a migraine (that I'm hoping my body is trying to reject).  

I fell asleep again and was in a hotel room that had its own private church.  WTF, right??  Later on, a crazy man (not sure I can point fingers anymore) stole my favorite socks.  And a lawyer accused me of hacking her data while I was in the witness box.  I can't even begin to look these up and pretend they mean anything.  I'm leaning toward the 'fighting off a migraine' theory.

You guys are my new middle-of-the-night BFF.  So thanks for that.  :)  Pssst, here's where you say: "The mind has its own way of dealing with unresolved emotions.  Think of dreams as healing exercises for your subconscious."  Because you're wise.  And kind.

I wonder how long I can blame shit on my eye.  At least as long as it's still aggressively dilated, right?  Right??

Tomorrow I need to go back to work.  Yikes.  There is no end in sight with this dilation.  I'll have to put on my big girl pants.  Junior size 1 counts, right?   At least I'm not a 00 anymore.   Because I'm all swole.  Solid muscle, baybee.  Which might melt away after three weeks sans workout.  

If while drinking my Wendycoffee, I hesitated before posting this, it means I still have some sanity left, correct?   Ssshhh, just agree with the crazy lady.  ;)

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Two weeks, two weeks. You sound like a parakeet

(Bonus points if you know the movie.)

My eye is slowly healing, but the dilation isn't budging.  I totally could be the model for this mydriasis photo on Wikipedia, except I shape my eyebrows much better, ffs.

I started DDG'ing extended pupil dilation and my procedure and scared myself into calling the on-call doctor instead of waiting for a three-day weekend to end.  He called back within two minutes and told me that it's perfectly normal to last up to two weeks.  Which I'm sure he just made up, hence the title of this post.  The receptionist told me a few days when I called previously.  Now the story is two weeks.  I'm not even sure why I bother asking anything because they all give me wildly differing answers.

I even texted my friend who had gone with me to verify if I missed this pertinent detail.  Nope.

In happy news, my dad brought over more packages of bacon for me this morning, so I am no longer in danger of running out before I can drive again.

In even happier news, I slept eight hours last night.  I did wake up several times, but I managed to go right back to sleep most of those times.  Yay!

And, in happiest news, I am migraine-free for over 36 hours.  Yippee!  I wonder if my brain is finally getting used to the dilated eye and excessive light.  Or maybe staying inside like a vampire is helping.

Friday, September 4, 2015

Blinding me with science, now with more Pluto

I've been feeling like Elle Driver (aka California Mountain Snake) from Kill Bill the last few days.  Just as ornery, but not as gorgeous obviously.  I was finally able to wash my hair, so that helped in the glamorous department (if you could call this lion's mane glamorous, which you couldn't).  Probably if I had a sexier eye-patch, that might help, too.  Fortunately, I've kept myself mostly secluded and therefore haven't needed to assassinate anyone from sheer irascibility.  Yet.  It might be a different story given a few more days of a wildly dilated pupil and migraines.

Enough with the blindness, on to the science fun.

Tomorrow NASA will begin downloading the mother lode of Pluto data.  This should take almost a full year to finish because the New Horizons spaceship (such a great word) has a shitty ISP.   I'm looking forward to more alien love notes because I'm a romantic at heart.  Even when I'm as surly as a snapping turtle.

it's 4am, do you know where your wendy is?

Sigh.  Wide awake again.  I really need to re-train my brain to cease and desist with this nonsense.   Any suggestions how?

I think my insomniac friends and alternate timezone friends are getting tired of hearing from me.  Every.  Single.  Night.  Last night I listened to audio books and snuggled with Kitten instead of bothering anyone.  Somehow, the middle of the night feels the loneliest.

Tonight, I'm not in the mood for my book.   And Kitten got her snuggles in earlier at 9pm.  I think she had a kitty-graine from the thunderstorm.  She kept pushing the front of her head against my hand like I do when my head hurts.  And whimpering, like I do.  For those keeping score, I had another migraine, too. 

Just lying here trying not to get pulled into a black hole of melancholia.  I thought maybe writing about it might help my logical side realize that my life is pretty good, all things considered.

[Apparently, I need to re-train Kitten, too, because she came up at 4:30am for more snuggles.  :)  ]

I'm telling myself not to cry, and it's almost working.  Out of the 9,000 questions I asked the various medical staff, that wasn't one of them.   Wtf?  Have I ever met myself?  How did I miss that question?  What if my tears short out my bionic gadgetry?  That would make me cry even more. 

I sincerely hope none of you ever has to go through this eye surgery.  However, there's one cool aspect -- looking through the air bubble in my eye.  It's kind of like my own built-in level.  Or like looking through the very top of an aquarium, where the water is a teensy bit convex.  And watching it bounce when I blink.  The nurse said blinking would help my eye muscles recover faster, so that's a win-win.  Plus, there's a red line I can see when I look in the mirror (using my other eye) that looks like the red line on a scale at the grocery store, which goes across my dilated pupil.  It's all fascinating science-y stuff, if this weren't my fkn eye.

When I asked the doctor if I could sleep in any position yet, he asked which one I slept in.  Who sleeps in just one?  I have a king-size bed, and I'm not afraid to use it.  I'm all over the place.  He told me anything except flat on my back, which sucks for Kitten because that's her favorite snuggling position.

Thanks for all of the well wishes from emails, texts, phone calls, IMs, etc.  It means quite a bit to me.  I'm assuming the people I haven't heard from are using telepathy.  Thanks to you as well.

Thursday, September 3, 2015

"He said not to panic. He said NOT to panic."

Bonus points if you know the movie.

I might be panicking.  Somehow both the nurse and the doctor forgot to mention to me yesterday that my eye might stay dilated for a few DAYS.  What the fucking fuck!  That seems like an important detail to mention.  I called the office first thing this morning to ask since my pupil is still GINORMOUS.  The lady didn't seem concerned in the slightest.  Why should she be?  Not her fkn eye that is flooding her brain with too much light and over-stimulation.

Let's count how many migraines I get from that.  I'm up to two.  Or three, depending how pedantic we want to be differentiating them.  It might be easier to count doses of sumatriptan.  I usually leave a trail of empty wrappers all over the house when I'm having a bad few days.  Or horrible week.  [Yes, I did replace the one in my purse, thanks for reminding me.   :) ]

As much as I'm whining, I'm fairly pain-free at the moment.  Yay!  My eye is at a dull ache, although it's painful to look at still.  Holy hell, it looks awful!  What doesn't look awful is the spot in my hand where the nurse stuck my IV needle.  She did an amazing job -- no bruising.  Actually, she skipped my hand because I have baby veins.  Sigh.  She inserted it just past my wrist, next to the ulna.  I impressed her by not flinching.  Really, none of this pain has much compared to migraine pain.  It's kind of fucked up what the body gets used to and can tolerate.

For any of you sitting on the edges of your seats wondering what my tasty dinner was last night, it was rare rib-eye (pun intended? now I'm curious) steak, shrimp, and fresh avocado.  Yum!

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

say hello to my little friend

Guess who showed up after my eye surgery?  Yep, my old pal, migraine.  That fkr just has to insert himself into every situation.  The eye pain was negligible next to a migraine.  Yay?

Today, I had the bandages removed from my eye.  I scared myself and literally swore aloud when I saw it.  The nurse showed my chauffeur friend first, who had a great poker face.  She seemed a bit taken aback when "Holy Shit!" tumbled out of my mouth as she finally let me look in the mirror.  I was all proud of myself that "Holy Fuck!" didn't spill out.  See?  I still have some class, even under high stress.  :)

It's not my pretty green eye anymore.  It's all swollen and red and looks like I got punched by a prize fighter.  And my vision is exactly what one might expect after reading that description.  The doc said I have a 75% chance of regaining visual acuity.  I'm 95% certain he made up that statistic, too.  Apparently this is more of an art than a science, because every question I asked was met with a variation of "It depends."  I'm fairly certain the surgeon forgot the bionic circuitry.  That fkr.

Before you think I'm overreacting, there was a woman in the waiting room who gave me a quadruple-take.  Or maybe more, but I lost count.  She kept glancing up at me like she couldn't tear her gaze from my hideously enraged eye.  She didn't even try for subtlety, obviously, since I saw her with my defective vision.

I'm not allowed to pick up Kitten (she's certainly more than 10 pounds of pure muscle), clean the pool, or do anything strenuous for at least a week.  Most other activities are permitted, so you lucky bastards can still follow along in my misery.  I would have been even MORE miserable if computer activity or reading were limited.

Mr. Migraine showed his happy face again today.  I popped an Imitrex in the car on the way home from the doc.  (Remind me to replace the stash in my purse.)  I was sleeping off the migraine nicely until the surgery center called and woke me to see how I was doing.

I'm no longer a cranky Cyclops.  Now, I'm just hiding out my irritable, ghastly self, shying away from mirrors, and then going back to stare in revulsion, just like the lady in the waiting room.

A friend promised me a tasty dinner tonight, so I have that to look forward to.  It's the little things that keep me smiling. 

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Here's mud in your eye!

Or salt as may be the case with me.  With some sand thrown in for texture.  And glue to hold the whole mess together.  Or that's just how it feels.

You might have surmised that I had my eye surgery, and you would be correct.  This was a hell of a lot more serious surgery than when they repaired the retinal tear last time.  I had an anesthesiologist for one, who was stymied when he read my list of supplements and saw ubiquinol.  And still didn't know wtf I meant when I said CoQ10.  And looked even more perplexed when I said it helps with migraines.  The nurse's ears perked up however and knew of several women close to her who might benefit and had me repeat and explain it all a couple of times.  In any case, he seems to have done his job properly because I don't remember going into the operating room and woke up just as the doc was finishing my own private laser light show.  I was even lucid enough to ask a few questions of the surgeon before he rushed off to his golf game.

I was wheeled into a recovery room in a contraption that might occur if a wheelchair had an affair with a lazy-boy recliner and had offspring.  It even had it's own side-table built on.  On which they served the shittiest snacks ever.  I was starving and felt dehydrated (nothing to eat or drink since the night before), so I feasted on peanut butter and orange crackers, with a side of bottled water.  Yuck, but yum!  I ate just enough to sate my hunger for the 10 minute drive home (yes I had a friend chauffeur me. Thanks again!) where I had tons of delicious leftovers, like sushi, Colombian meats, and pork belly.   As you can see, I made the most of my last meal.  Or meals, since I may have milked it for a bit.  :)

That was the only smudge against this surgery center.  The nurses were so incredibly nice.  All 8 or 9 with whom I interacted.  They even warmed up the blankets before ensconcing me in them.  Every single time.

Now, I need to wait until they remove the bandages, and maybe even a few more days after that, before I'll know how it affected my vision.  I'm holding out hope (based on the size of my bill) that they gave me a bionic eye a la Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man.

Really, I'd be ecstatic for near normal vision, though.  But a girl can dream, can't she?