Took little Bobbers in to get that respiratory infection he couldn't kick taken care of. The vet was curious and suspicious as to why a normally healthy cat couldn't kick a regular infection, so he ran a test, and sure enough… Bob had contracted feline leukemia. Corey and I made the decision to put him down then and there, mostly because any money we can spare goes to treating my diseases, and he was just gonna be sick and miserable until he died. That's not fair to him. So, as much as it sucked, they euthanized him right then, with me holding him in my arms.

It was awful. Not because it wasn't quick and humane, but because I lost another child within 4 1/2 months. Bob's brother and litter-mate, Cortes, died on February 6th, and Bob wandered the house and property for weeks, crying for his brother, his favorite playmate and closest friend. That made it really hard for me to deal with Cortes's death, not to mention the incredible suddenness of it. He was fine that morning, he ate the antifreeze, two hours later he had been euthanized and was dead. Same with Bob. I had this horrible premonition when we took him in, but I kept trying to shake it off and chalk it up to worry, you know? But I knew there was something seriously wrong. I just knew. I know my cats. He cuddled up to me the night before, but I regret having been out of town all day and spending our last day together away from him. We had one last night together, though. Then the appointment, and within half an hour… boom. That was it. It was devastating.

Fortunately, Corey had the day off and was with me, so after I relinquished Bob's tiny, limp body he took me home and watched an episode of Cosmos with me while I ate cake I had bought the day before from my favorite bakery. I felt some better afterward, but my grief has stayed with me, and at that time worry was also gnawing at the edge of my consciousness as well, because we had to take the other two cats to be tested for feline leukemia, which apparently transmits incredibly easily via saliva. Bob and the other cats weren't very close, so there was little to no grooming going on, but all of the cats do share the same food and water dishes, which could totally pass the disease on to the others. I was going crazy with worry and fear and grief, making sure that I spent time with each of my kitties… in case it was the last time. I was really worried that Juneaux would be sick and I would lose him, because we've been together for so long, and been through so much… he's been the thing that has kept me alive/kept me from attempting suicide several times, and he is the thing that kept me going during my deepest and most miserable times of depression while beginning and trying to deal with the abuse and PTSD in Idaho. He is as near and dear to my heart as my family, and it would destroy me to lose him before he dies of old age.

Corey reminded me that I'm going to lose Juneaux someday anyway, but I told him that there is a huge difference between losing him to old age and losing him to tragedy. It's the same for people. It always tears you apart, but it's just… different.

Took the cats in late yesterday morning, and all of the employees and doctors were very kind and respectful, since they knew I had lost Bob just two days ago. Our regular vet was in that day, so she came back in after testing the two cats and asked me if I wanted the good news, or… the good news? I wasn't sure I heard her right the first time, so I was kind of silly and stunned, asking the same question a few times, but yes-- both Juneaux and Fancy have a clean bill of health. I made sure to get them both vaccinated against feline leukemia right then and there, though we still don't have enough money to cover the other vaccinations. I think they'll be okay. The vet said that one thing that worked in their favor is that they are adults, so their immune system is fully developed and stronger than Bob's was. Also, they don't get into fights regularly like Bob did, so less chance of catching it from other cats. I think that applies to rabies and distemper, as well.

I'm feeling better, emotionally, after having that relief of good news, though I am still grieving hard over Bob. Not constantly… and it's a little easier this time because there are no other kitties wandering around looking for him and crying, and also, Bob used to be out and about for large portions of the day, evening, and sometimes night, so it really just feels like he's out somewhere and he'll come back later. He wasn't constantly underfoot, so I'm not constantly reminded. That helps. I don't know if it'll be counterproductive in the long term to healing, but it feels better right now, and that's kind of all that I care about.

Went to a farewell party for two friends who are moving across the country (stop moving away, mofos!), and it was nice. I enjoyed myself, though for a while it seemed like everyone was just kind of wandering around more or less bored… but V, one of the other women, she insisted that everyone start playing these games that she brought, and that totally made the tone of the party so much better. I fell asleep during the second game, which is kinda surprising because it was super loud and lively, but when I need a nap my body will just go for it, and I had been putting it off all afternoon because I'd been out and about and busy. The man of the moving couple didn't quite seem like himself, which was weird, but then I've never been around him when he's drunk more than one or two beers, so that could be it. It could also just be the stress and grief of moving, especially moving away from such good friends and such a tight community such as we have now. I hope they can find the same happiness where they go. I had a bag of gifts for them, and he texted me later and said that it was a very touching gift, and thank you immensely. That made my heart smile, even if it is heavy that they're leaving. I care about them a great deal, and they have made it clear that they really like Corey and I, so it really sucks that they're moving. It is hard to find a couple our age to hang out with that aren't ghetto assholes or druggies, or with an obviously unhealthy relationship dynamic, and that's just way more drama than we want to expose ourselves to. The moving couple had so many of the same interests, and they have a zero-drama-tolerance philosophy, like us.

So I'm grieving two things. Three, if you count the memory of Cortes's death that's now super fresh and in my face again. I ate some italian food that I probably shouldn't have on Friday when we went out to eat (I begged for Italian over sushi, and now I'm paying for it lol), and now my guts are in a huge uproar. Probably because I ate the leftovers last night when I returned. My intestines sound like water gurgling down a drain pipe. It's definitely a weird sensation. I just wish I could get off of the damn toilet! That's where I'm living today, apparently. I know that my sadness is a large amount of my gut problems. I always have gut problems when I'm stressed out by anything… and losing what to me was legitimately a child, albeit furry... I consider the cats to be like furry human toddlers. That's about the age and communication level we're at together. Also, being unable to carry or bear children of my own… they are truly my surrogate babies. And I've raised most of them from infancy, if not birth. Bob and Cortes were both babies I raised from birth, and Juneaux was only a few months old when I found him. I feel that I have a right to grieve as much as any mother grieves over her lost human child. So, that being said… I know why my guts are all jacked up. Death, loss, stress, grief, loss…. so much loss… I'm just so glad that Corey understands my grieving process and is there to back me up and comfort me when I need it. Love that man.

You know what they say: A silent blog is a sign of a busy life! Well, that's sorta true in this case. What happened is that I was pounced upon by a very nasty flare, one that lasted somewhere around a week, give or take a couple of days. In the midst of that I've had doctor's appointments, medical tax stuff to hunt down and appropriate and relocate to our tax lady, a trip to Tucson for to see a cardiologist, a Celebirthsary/going away party dinner, and my second wedding anniversary. Even with all of that, I'm still pulling out of the flare, so thank goodness for that! In all honesty, I was worried that it wasn't just a flare, but rather my new mode of existence. That would have been horrible, because I was in such terrible pain that the painkillers would do nothing but blunt the edge of it a little bit, enough to keep me from going crazy and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

Clearly, that didn't happen, or else the government is really good about redacting highly amusing incidents. I would say that I would remember if that happened, but that's not actually the case. Something else I've been up to in this interim (and before, if I'm being honest) is that I've been having some major troubles with sleep and sleepwalking. First the waves of overwhelming fatigue so I'm sleeping 18+ hours a day and exhausted down to the pores of my bones (y'all know what I'm talking about!), and then BAM! Insomnia. Sort of. For a day or two. But now I'm being hit with really bad sleepwalking, something akin to narcolepsy that pulls me into these dream trances when I'm tired, but when I am deep enough into the standing-sleep I go limp and collapse, usually forward, which jolts me out of sleep and usually I can catch myself on whatever counter or corner is nearby. Not always-- I hit my face on the metal shelving of the pantry last week, and my head on the bathroom mirror.

I also do scary stuff, like get into my pain medication thinking it's Benadryl or something else. I recently woke up with six 100 mg morphines in my hand, thinking in the dream that it was Benadryl I needed to take, but thankfully I was lucid enough upon snapping awake that I realized what was going on and put them back. I get food out and leave it.  I open windows and surf Facebook and all kinds of shit, and it TERRIFIES me. What if I buy stuff without waking up or remembering? I don't have any spending money! That could be bad.and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

In a "dream sequence" that I vaguely remembered upon waking, I had--for some very legitimate reason, I swear--gone into the kitchen, pulled out my husband's new package of bratwurst, opened up the plastic covering, then left the whole thing sitting on the cutting board. If Corey hadn't checked the kitchen before going to bed they would have been out all night and spoiled! (He woke me when he came to bed with a forceful yet bewildered, "What's wrong with you, woman?!?") Two days ago I found a strawberry in the pot and pan cupboard. Fortunately, it had only been there for a day or less. I'm not sure when it got there, or why, but it was there all right… and it was delicious! :)

 So there you have it.What might I possibly do to myself during these… "episodes"? I'm scared to sleep, but the more I stay up and try not to, the worse it gets. I called my neurologists office, and when I explained the situation to his assistant A, she was freaked out and said that she'd talk to the doctor immediately, when he was done with what had him busy at that time. So she sent him a note, and now I've got a referral to some place here in town to do a sleep study. They want to see if I have narcolepsy, because these symptoms are awfully similar. In a perverse way, I was glad to hear the concern in A's voice and to see how seriously she took my phone call.  Corey has been annoyed by it, sometimes even amused, but he doesn't seem to think it's that much of a big deal. I had been minimizing it as not so bad, but I knew, I knew, that it is not something to ignore. It's a scary thing, and I could get seriously hurt one of these days. A recognized this a well, and obviously my doctor did too, because the call from A informing me about the referral came only 2 or 3 days after my initial phone call. For those of you who might be professional patients, you know that this time frame is practically unheard of when dealing with the medical system! The cogs move ever so slowly, but this was rapid fire. I'm grateful. The symptoms of this sleep-problem, however, wax and wane, so I'm really anxious about the test, hoping that I'll be malfunctioning during the test so they can see exactly what's going wrong instead of sending me home with a clean bill of health, as so often happens. (On paper, I'm really quite healthy! Oh EDS, you so stealthy!)

The extra-exhausting fatigue appears to be returning, as I slept the entire afternoon and evening away, after being awake for only 2, maybe 3 hours this afternoon. I've been up since 12:30 a.m., and Corey and I took a walk together, which was so nice! Work tires him out so much that he is in no mood to walk anymore, mostly because he's been on his feet and moving around all day. I don't blame him a bit. His feet hurt when he gets home, and I totally understand that. But we walked tonight, and it was very nice. So anyway, back to the fatigue. Yes, it's here, at least for today, but I doubt that it'll confine itself to only one day. I've been tired down to my bones for a long time, and now I just feel… heavy. Maybe the cycle of fatigue and sleepwalking is starting over again, and I just gotta hope that the timing is right for that sleep study to see what they need to see.

Other than this weird medical stuff going on, I'm doing okay mentally and emotionally. I am honestly excited for the challenge of growing up and into myself while so many diseases attempt to thwart my efforts. I mean, when I was relatively "healthy" (been sickly all of my life, and now that I know about the EDS a lot of my childhood makes so much sense to me now), it was pretty easy to express myself in my outward appearance and my activities. Now both of those have been compromised, and I must find new avenues with which to not only express my true self, but to have fun in life and to help other people who are hurting very badly. I tend to think of hurting people metaphorically, but maybe I'm supposed to help the literally hurting as well. I've gotten much encouragement on that subject. We shall see. Life will unfold at its own pace, and not before. I know it sounds all trite and cliched, but it really is all about taking life one day at a time. How can I know that I'll be alive in 3 months? There is no way. And if I try to think about the future and what I can or feel that I need to accomplish, or if I think a certain way about the past, it is then that I feel hideous and lazy and basically an awful specimen of humanity. I can't let myself think like that or send those messages to my psyche. It's twisted and tormented enough from all of the abuse I endured until I was old enough to move on by myself, and I don't need to make myself hurt even more. I would never say the terrible things that I think to a loved one, or even to a random stranger on the street (though I have a few nemeses that I totally would heap the verbal abuse on! *grin* The point is, if I can't say those things to other people, where do I get off abusing and harassing myself like that?

I practiced that "in the moment" stuff today. Day two of strictly couch time (though I did do dishes last night), and the temptation to lay into myself was strong. There was so much I could be doing, I have this many things on my checklist, god I'm lazy, I'm being a wuss so I need to suck it up and go achieve something, I'm not really that sick, etc. etc. So basically I made the decision to say "fuck that noise", and I continued watching my movies and taking my nap that turned into an 8 hour sleep. The urge to hate myself for not just pushing through feeling crappy is so strong, especially because it's not some cold or flu that I can nurse for a while and then return to the world perfectly refreshed, restored, and ready to rumble. Nope-- this'll be here for the rest of my life. So why coddle myself? And yet… there are times when I do push through and get stuff done, but it's because I WANT to, not because I've guilted or hated myself into it. Hating myself into doing something will generally lead to resentment, and that's just the first step onto the merry-go-round of Hell. 

What I've discovered is that, basically… I'm a grown adult and can do what I want! Whether that's spending the day on the couch with movies and tea and my cats or doing laundry and sweeping the house before answering mail, it all comes back to doing it of my free will and not letting myself lose my boundaries or letting them be breached--breached by my own self. How weird is that?! I'll tell ya, it's hard to find the balance that you need to be happy and productive while still being "lazy" because you need to be. And trying to find that balance is exactly the sort of thing that has led to a silent blog. Well, that and fingers too stiff and painful to type. That's a sticking point for sure.

Oh, quick side note: I have a mental health evaluation for disability on the 10th of this month, so I'm kinda nervous but mostly happy. This means that they didn't just reject me out of hand! Yippee! But I've also heard horror stories about how these things go, with obviously and legitimately disabled people being turned away without receiving the help they need. Most everyone has told me to lie, embellish how sick I am, because otherwise I won't get disability. I shudder to think that the system is so far gone that this is standard advice from experienced people. When I say that I won't and don't lie, they backpedal to "Well, just exaggerate then". That… isn't as repulsive, but I still don't feel comfortable doing it. I say that if I am exactly myself and they turn me away, then I will just appeal again and again and again until they are sick of me and give me the money to get me to go away ;) (Shawshank Redemption. Who says movies don't teach you anything?) I have strong speaking skills, and I know that I can be very descriptive and good with words when trying to communicate a point, so I'm counting on that to tip the balance in my favor. I'm told that I'm quite charismatic. Here's hoping it works! The inspector is a woman, and I have this mental image of an older blonde woman in a navy skirt suit, thin, wrinkled face, no trace of humor anywhere, lips pursed, very observant (hawk gaze) and totally crisp and pointed in conversation. I imagine her to be very intimidating. I wonder if my imagination will prove true? I'll have to let you know, of course :)

Corey came home a day early from hunting! So he's been around as I've been slowly wending my way through the day with the intent to pack interspersed with frequent naps. I'm happy that I got to see him before I take off for a week, but it would have been okay had we missed each other like we thought we were going to as well.

I was in bed, just on the edge of slipping into the depths of real sleep after a phone call had awoken me, and I heard the front door open amidst shuffling sounds and a muted jangling of keys. Confession: I can't stand to be encumbered by layers of fabric when I sleep, so I didn't feel that I could jump up to investigate in naught but my birthday suit! I lay there drowsily alert, trying to decipher activity based on the carrying sounds when Corey breezed into the room, all salty, sweaty woodsmoke smell and smiles, bending over the bed to kiss me. It was a warm kiss, but something was awry-- he was eating  licorice!!! (I despise and detest licorice, especially the black kind! Oh, and he knows this quite well.) I determinedly kissed him anyway, but exclaimed afterward how cruel and gross he was, and he grinned and laughed and got a kick out of that.

The day has been a long, slow one. Much resting on my part, and the essential absence of any kind of deadline for being packed or leaving today has been a welcome knowledge. I fell in the shower today when I tried to sit on the stool I have. It slipped out from underneath me and I crashed down, banging my back on the edge of the stool's wooden seat and wrenching my hip a bit. I suppose I shrieked amidst the resounding thump and crash of the fall, so Corey came in to see if I was okay and found me huddled on the floor of the tub, unable to get up by myself and curled in a painful little ball repeating my mantra of "Owwwww, owwwww, ouch, owwww….!" He helped pull me to my feet and I was suddenly incredibly grateful that he'd come back a day early.

My sister in law accompanied me to dinner with the friends of mine that I celebrate the Anniversary with, and we all had a nice early supper at Olive Garden to celebrate the Anniversary. Everyone got along well, which is good. I was not really worried because C is a very charismatic and personable person, but she's not religious at all and my friends are, so I was hoping there wouldn't be a clash of interests or basic world views. We stayed away from the religion topic, though, and all was hale and hearty.

After coming home and all relaxing with books and television shows of choice for a while, I convinced Corey to come cuddle with me as I was going to be falling asleep for a bit (maybe the whole night, maybe just a few hours? I have no clue at this point, though I'm rather hoping for a whole night's sleep). We lay there in the dark for a bit, talking about his hunting trip and how it went, but soon the conversation ebbed away and I found myself dozing off. Just about then Corey got up and left the bed and I was very disappointed that he'd get up and leave just as I as falling asleep. What a super awkward moment to disappear, right? I vocalized my disappointment, but it turns out that he was just closing the door that had been propped open so the cats could come and go as they please. He came back to bed to be with me again and, well, all I have to say is that conjugal relations are awesome, and even if it's been a long time and you feel like a broken record by coming on to your partner again and again without apparent success, keep at it. Keep at it only if you mean it, though; when the time is right a lovely experience will unfold.

I'm gonna come straight out with an honest, brutal truth here that some people may find uncomfortable talking about: stress kills sex drives, and lowers intimacy if you let it. Truthfully, it has been a long time between the last time we were intimate and this time, and that's because we are frazzled a great deal of the time. Sex involves and requires a lot of emotions, and a lot of energy too, and when you're dealing with a mountain of stress being poured over you like a thick, viscous pudding it's really hard to dig up the motivation to do something that isn't "vegging", you know? For me, having sex actually helps me to cope with stress better and it alleviates my depression and anxiety to a degree, but my husband finds himself more drained by the act than I do. I'm revitalized by sex, but he is exhausted. I have a higher, more demanding libido than he does even when things are normal and especially so when things are stressful and out of sync, so that's something that we have both become aware of and keep in mind. It took communication to reach these conclusions, but there was a period of time where I was hurt and confused by his constant rebuffing of my advances; I thought that he no longer wanted me in that way because I had gotten sick, or that maybe he didn't find me attractive anymore, or that he was afraid to hurt me, or that he really just didn't care about me much. I was so wrong, but you can understand how an almost daily (or several times daily) rejection of a flirtatious sexual advance can give the impression that one is unwanted by and unattractive to the object of the flirtation.

Sex can be a huge source of assumptions, miscommunication, frustration, and simmering resentment, anger, and bitterness, and sometimes it's awkward to talk about but you just gotta do it for the health of your relationship. I'm serious. (Plus once you get the kinks worked out and both partners feel understood and validated, you can get some serious toe curling action up in there! If that isn't worth it, I don't know what is.)

Now I'm going to attempt to sleep (again, for however long) and ignore the steadily mounting pain. Falling in the shower and banging yourself up does nothing to alleviate an already worsening flare. Maybe the fatigue will overpower the pain, yeah? Funny how you can play one symptom against another to achieve a benefit to yourself, huh? The Monopoly of Illness, or some such.

Ren faire!!! Well, the little local one, anyway. My friend K devised an ingenious footrest/sling for the Chariot so that I was able to sit and be pushed around by C most of the time. Despite that, I am very much paying for my outing today, but you know what? I totally don't care! It was worth it.

It was so nice to get out of the house, and I'd hoarded pain pills against this day. I also didn't use them all, so I should (hopefully) have enough to get me through to my pain appointment tomorrow, but only just. I'm trying to spend most of the time in a drugged sleep, surfacing only long enough to pack and prepare for my appointment. I know I'm overdosing on stuff that I'm not supposed to be overdosing, but it's either that or stay awake with the pain and let it feed on itself… which means that it'll take more pills than I have to break the pain cycle. Sometimes, though, I get this nice little buzz, a cozy sort of warm fuzziness, off of the sleeping meds (depending on circumstances, how much I've taken, how much is still in my system, etc.) and it feels good. That in and of itself kind of scares me, but it's nice to feel something other than pain for a change. As of right now, I can feel the last batch I took (about half an hour ago) starting to kick in. My intense headache is being muffled, my eyes are getting kinda heavy, and I just feel a little… fuzzy. And slightly dizzy. But mostly fuzzy.

Want to see pictures of the foot sling? Check it out-- kickboxing wraps for the straps, a couple of carabiners, and a wire shelf that looks suspiciously like a baking rack.

Also, the urge struck me (and I had hours to kill while C was sleeping), so I took the time to do my makeup today. I have some eyeshadow tutorials on Pinterest that I used as an inspiration, since I pretty much have no idea what I'm doing, but I think it came out well. I just hate putting on makeup because it takes so much effort to take it off again! Wish I'd gotten a picture of me in garb as well, but I didn't think of it… so here's me in my pajamas! lol

I started work on Christmas presents the other day. I'm enjoying the chance to create something again, something that has meaning and purpose. It's better than just lying on the couch all day, moaning. Now I can lie on the couch, moan, and accomplish something all at the same time! lol

I did, however, overdo it a bit... again. Going to church yesterday morning was hard on my body, and I had to leave just as the sermon was starting because I was feeling very ill. A quick stop at the library to pick up some more movies for my sick seclusion confirmed that I was, indeed, pushing beyond the bounds of my endurance and I high-tailed it home.

I felt ok the rest of the day, so long as I was resting, but I got that "itch" towards evening and started crafting... which, of course, meant that I had to unpack and organize my still-in-transition craft room. I guess I got carried away, because although I could feel my body yelling at me that I was, again, beyond the bounds of my endurance, I kept going. I guess I was hoping that it was a false alarm. I mean, you can only get so sick before you kinda start doubting your body's warnings that it's going to get sicker. It's like an internal eye roll, like, "Really? Are you just pulling my leg?" I get very tired of pulling up short in life to keep myself from getting sick, and sometimes I wonder if it's all in my head and if I'd be able to just "get over it" if I powered through and kept going.

Well, this proved to me that I had better listen to my body, or ELSE. I had finished one project and was working on Mom's present when C got home, so I wrapped it up to spend a little time with him. I felt hungry for the first time all evening, so I chopped up a peach and munched on that. Big mistake. I spent the next hour and a half throwing up pretty much everything in my stomach. I don't even know if my evening meds got absorbed or not. In any event, I was utterly miserable. I finally went to bed after I was able to keep water down for a while, and half a mug of Sleepytime tea.

So today, I still feel completely nauseous, queasy, and kinda whole-body-bruised. I didn't sleep well, and I woke up tired and aching from the inside out. It feels like the flu, truly. A bad flu. And all this because I wanted to get my craft room into shape. Really? That's whack, man. I shouldn't be punished for trying to lead a productive life, but there you have it. At least I'm keeping some toast and applesauce down this morning. (Barely.)

Anyway, this was a good lesson. I suppose I'll be more likely to actually listen to my body and pull up short when I'm approaching my limits from now on... at least, as long as the memory of feeling awful is still vibrant in my mind.

Uuuuuuungh.... pain. So much pain... heating pad won't touch it, painkillers aren't hacking it. I took more. Hope that helps. Didn't sleep for very long last night. Up four hours after falling asleep cause of pain, and cause that's how fibro rolls.

Eating. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. IBS flare? Seems that way.

In other news, we both looked smokin' yesterday for that wedding.

More later, when I can function as a person again.


Update: I was never able to function as a person today. Alas. It's enough to make one go insane, really... All I can say is thank God for pain killers, indoor plumbing, and a comfortable couch. And a laptop. And the internet.

But really... I can't do another day like this. Not just physically (though I'll probably have to, knowing my body), but mentally. I'm sooooooo bored! Guh.