Category Archives: Uncategorized

Dear Room Service Revolutionaries,

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When I was in grade school, I HATED dodge ball. I hated the violence of it, I hated getting hit, I hated having to hit others – I hated it all. I was philosophically against this horrible game and complained about it relentlessly. But I learned very quickly that as much as I hated the game – if I didn’t pick up a few balls – my ass would get pegged and I would most certainly lose.

I (and many others) have heard at incessant levels from fellow progressives over the past few months that because I am a Democrat: I am the “establishment”, I am “accepting of corruption”, I am “part of the problem”. I have been told that if I don’t say this or protest that – I am no true progressive or am some kind of traitor to other liberals. If I don’t chant so many hours per week, I guess I may just have my leftie card confiscated.

Just because I am not eternally beating a drum or shoving my fist into the face of the man – doesn’t mean I don’t have complaints. It isn’t that I feel anyone is owed an explanation of my feelings or beliefs – but I’ll try anyway.

I became a Democratic Party member at the age of 38. I almost always voted for Democrats but I avoided that label as though accepting it would automatically get me fitted with robotic body parts and a microchip in my brain. Honestly though, I didn’t want to “join” anything. I was an independent thinker. I didn’t vote for party, I voted for candidates and ideals. I was no Democrat!

Then came the Recall. I got to know other Democrats. I volunteered in their office. I read more. I witnessed more. I began to see that being a Democrat was indeed not the same as joining a cult. I realized that all Democrats are different. While they hold similar ideas and beliefs – there is still a very wide range on which one may land. Some have guns. Some hate guns. Some are Catholics. Some are Atheists. Some volunteer 90% of their time. Some never lick a single envelope. Some are obnoxious as all hell. Some are lovely as can be. For a “cult”, the Democratic Party is surely one diverse bunch of mofos.

Do I agree with everything the Dems do or say? Um, no. That would be pretty impossible. And weird. Dems aren’t some kind collective brain. Contrary to what some believe, we are not Borg. There are Dems at the national level, state level, county level and then there is each individual. All of these entities are different with different policies, different powers, different strategies, etc. Blaming all Dems for one entity or for one decision is akin to saying that all ice cream sucks because you don’t like cookie dough.

I have issues at times with each level of the party. I have even gotten into some pretty heated arguments with several individuals. Just because I do not call out each person or action in public does not mean I am twirling through a field of flowers convinced everything is hunky dory.

Here is another lame attempt at a metaphor…

My husband, sometimes, DRIVES ME NUTS. He has some qualities that really bug the shit out of me. Ask anyone who spends time with us…we do NOT always agree. But I still love him. We are still married. This is because I am adult and rational enough to know there isn’t a single person out there who wouldn’t piss me off from time to time. I even piss MYSELF off occasionally. There is no perfect person, candidate, organization…it simply does not exist. And I do not think that stomping my feet until Utopia appears is an efficient use of my time.

Instead, I decided to do what I can to make things better in the little ways I am able. Sometimes that is pitching a fit. Sometimes that is learning to work with those whom I may not always agree.  Sometimes that is waiting for a more strategic time to make a move. Sometimes it is listening and learning and, God forbid, accepting a new perspective (yes, that can be the most difficult for stubborn people such as myself).

What works for me may not work for you. And it doesn’t need to. I will defend your right to protest even if I think you’re kind of being an asshole. And while I am defending your right, I have the right to say that I think you’re being an asshole. See how that works? You do you. I’ll do me.

Before I am accused of mincing words or not fully putting it out there – let me tell you where this is all coming from at the moment. This is about a group of people who claim to have the authority to designate whom can or cannot label themselves a progressive. A few of the hangers on of the Bernie or Bust crowd – those booing at inspirational leaders and young children at the convention, those taping their mouths claiming they’re being silenced, those bullying every Hillary supporter they can find – these are the people of whom I am speaking.

Apparently, at some moment in their lives, they were canonized in the church of Liberal and were given exclusive rights to decide just what a true progressive means. Oh the tragic responsibility of it all. Even when their chosen deity expresses his wish for unity – they decide the deity has fallen and only they know what is best – disruption and tantrum disguised as revolution.  I can just imagine all past revolutions rolling over in their history books. They claim oppression; they claim they have been silenced. What I hear is a big white “whatever” (with a vocal fry, of course) towards those whom have truly been victims of injustice. SO. MUCH. PRIVILEGE.

We had a primary. You voted. Delegates were invited to go to convention. You voted. That is not being silenced. You simply did not win. And it fucking sucks! I know! Believe me, I do know. But there was no injustice here. It’s politics. It’s dirty and strategic and, yes, some of it is corrupt. The system is far from perfect. But this is not how to create change. Sometimes the squeaky wheel is effective. That ain’t gonna cut it here. Their wheels are bigger, stronger and much louder.

We need legislators in place who are willing to listen. We need civics courses in school. We need people to be involved at the local levels. You cannot blow up an entire building by throwing firecrackers from the outside. Get in there. Run for office. Help others run for office. Learn to pick your battles. Do not sabotage the candidates most likely to implement positive change – even if that change isn’t good enough for you. Do you really think a Trump presidency is going to push us in the right direction? No. It will tear down decades of progress pushing us further away from what it is you truly want. Again, that is not a revolution – it is a tantrum.

So how about this…you protest all you want, for whatever reason, 24/7 until you die. Go for it. Totally your right. You can even call names, roll your eyes and put on your tin foil hat as you claim we are just establishment tools. But don’t expect us not to retort. Don’t expect us to take you seriously when you avoid reasonable dialogue at a time it is most crucial. And don’t think WE aren’t paying attention. Because we are far more aware than you give us credit for – we are listening, watching, reading and remembering.

On that same token, you are lucky because many of us are extraordinarily forgiving and understanding. We are compassionate and generous. Many of us keep open minds and accept other perspectives. We even, at times, evolve and progress. We are fluid and constantly changing. So, when you want to work together – we will be here. When you want to come out from behind your anger – we will listen. When you realize that unity makes us stronger – we will fight with you.

In the meantime, we have work to do. So excuse us if we seem too busy to concern ourselves with your conscience and latest conniption. There are too many lives at stake.

 

P.S. I voted for Bernie.

That Damn Ticker

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So, my stupid heart is being stupid again. It is such an asshole sometimes.Stupid asshole.

I should start from Sunday night. I was having a weird scratchy throat. I didn’t feel sick and thought maybe it was allergy induced. Zyrtec made no difference so I TRIED not to worry about it and finally went to sleep a little after midnight.

I woke up around 5am sweating and feeling unwell. As I sat up, I realized my heart was beating too fast to count. Well over 150 bpm. I got some water and took my usual daily, tiny (12.5 mg) dose of beta blocker. I tried some vagal maneuvers and splashed cold water in my face. After a little while, it was clear that none of that was helping and that I needed to go to the ER.

I was put into a room and hooked up to machines within 10 minutes of arrival. My heart hovered around 150 – even after trying more vagal maneuvers (directed by RN). Doc came in within a few minutes and right away wanted to give me adenosine. This is a med given via IV that basically resets your heart. You feel as though your heart stops and from what I have heard, is an awful feeling…like you are dying. Needless to say, I did not want it. I have been terrified of that med since reading about it 12 years ago after my first sustained tachycardic event.

The doc was really pushing for the adenosine and seemed irritated that I wanted to wait. I knew I was able to convert (eventually) without it in the past and drugs always give me weird effects. So I was just not ready to try it yet. I will say, the RN seemed very supportive of my decision (both RNs and the tech I had were wonderful) and was super helpful.

I was given an IV and they drew some blood. She turned off the light for me as I laid there with my meditation app – trying like a crazy bitch to calm down. My rate would fluctuate between 130-150 for a while. As adrenaline surged through my body, I could not stop trembling. It was as if I was naked in the tundra. The shaking was insane. But I couldn’t control it regardless of a major effort. This is not great for my already pain in the ass muscle issues, by the way.

The new doc came in (she was also great) and we decided that I would take another 12.5 of my beta blocker. She also gave me a children’s dose of benadryl just to see if the throat thing improved (just to determine if it was allergy related). The benadryl did nothing but the beta blocker slowly decreased my heart rate over the next couple of hours. God, I am so damn thankful I didn’t do the adenosine.

All tests (including strep and urine) came back negative except for low potassium and phosphorus. Both of which can cause heart issues. However, the doc didn’t think that was the cause since they weren’t THAT low. Though she did make suggestions about taking Vitamin C to help my minerals absorb, because clearly they are not – which I already knew. I have not been taking Vitamin C, so I will be getting some today.

I do think the low minerals could cause this for me. I am super sensitive to any changes and I think I may have been a little dehydrated as well. This probably was enough to piss off my heart.

They said they think they saw some SVT in the beginning but most of my time there, I was in sinus tachycardia. This would be referred to as Inappropriate Sinus Tachycardia – since I wasn’t exercising or doing something to make my heart race. It all may have been triggered by SVT, however.

I was told to double my daily dose of beta blocker. This, I do NOT want to do. It makes me groggy (already exhausted as it is) and it affects my weight loss. Ugh. I just do not wannnnnnaaaa!!!

I will be seeing my cardiologist on Thursday. In the meantime, I am dumping the very low carb diet and adding high potassium foods. I think I feel better with fruits and more veggies. I wasn’t losing any more weight anyway. It is time to just eat a healthy, balanced diet – even if I stay the same size that I am, I think I will feel healthier.

I have had many heart issues in the past. Mostly with short bursts of SVT and PVCs. In the past two years, even those have been under control. Taking zantac for reflux has helped A LOT as that was a big trigger for my palpitations. I have been very proud of my heart up until yesterday. Right now, I am pretty pissed off and disappointed.

My last SUSTAINED (more than 20 mins or so) tachy event was about 12 years ago. So, I shouldn’t assume this is going to be “a thing” now. But it is difficult not to fall back into negative thinking patterns. My instinct is to catastrophize and assume this is the beginning of some fear filled rabbit hole. I need to really work at not letting this happen.

When this occurred 12 years ago, it literally robbed me of years – I was consumed with fear for so long. It took a lot of work to get away from that and I refuse to go back there. But I may need help. And I may have some brief set backs. So, I hope the people in my life can bear with me for a hot second.

We are going on vacation soon. We will be in the Dells. It is difficult not to worry about being away from a large hospital or going on a boat ride or drinking a bloody mary. I want so much to enjoy this trip. I cannot worry about my heart freaking out the whole time. So I need to figure out just HOW to make my brain work for me and not against me.

Today, I will rest, putter around the house and try to take it easy mentally and physically. I am slathered in benadryl and hydrocortisone creams because the damn EKG stickers give me a terrible (and ugly) rash. I am also drinking a glass of high carb vitamin C. And I am not feeling remorseful about it. I am bummed/guilty to be missing some events and meetings this week, but I gotta take care of myself. Priorities and all that.

Sigh. Stupid heart.

 

Scrooge of the Fourth

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Getting all share-y with lots of words for a second here…

I hate the 4th of July. I always have. Since age 12ish or so – it’s been filled with bad experiences. Its always sucked but even more the older/achier I get. And I don’t just hate it like in the way some may hate grocery shopping. I hate it in a way that gives me utter anxiety and angst weeks prior.

I think a major part of this is expectations and the fear of disappointing others. I always want to make my people happy and feel I often suck it up to try to make that happen. I have done this for many years – and not just in regards to holidays.

I can deal with the parade – sometimes. But if it is really hot or we have to do a lot of extra walking – it will take so much more out of me. I simply cannot handle things the way I used to. Even the noise wears on me to a point that I need to actually recover as though my senses were violently assaulted.

I don’t drink like most. I can’t. I am a two drink maximum chic. So it is usually a sober Heather hanging around tipsy everyone else. That in itself can be annoying and lonely.

Not only is one expected to last through the whole day – My husband loves taking the boat out onto Lake Michigan for the fireworks. And I gotta say – I think it’s kinda awful. You sit out there for hours in this tiny confined area (still sober) with a cranky tween whose main concern is WIFI access. Dusk seems to take an eternity. The show is pretty – I will give you that – but then it takes FOREVER to get back to the launch and actually drive thru insane traffic and crowds to get home in the middle of the night.

I think it would be awesome if we could take our summer vacation through the 4th. That would be ideal. Especially if that vacation included a quiet beach with cabana boys and misters. Ahhhh.

A few years ago, I was able to suck it up much easier than I am now. I simply don’t have that many spoons (are you familiar with The Spoon Theory?). And I wish there were a way I could get more spoons so that I didn’t feel like I was a constant disappointment AND so that I could feel a part of the fun once in a while. I just wanna be “normal” and I want my old body back!!!

GRUMBLE. Ok. Thanks for letting me vent. Now, off to set up my rummage sale because, clearly, I hate myself.

Thanks, Therapy. You’re Swell.

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Man. It sure has been a while. I am thee suckiest blogger ever, eh? Oh well. I will forgive myself.

I just wanted to touch base regarding my silly body. I am not sure where I left off, but in the past 2.5 years, I have been dealing with a lot of pain, flare-ups (usually due to spasms in various places) and joint issues. This all came about immediately after my hysterectomy and subsequent medication toxicity (which caused neuropathy and liver injury).

Anyway, many many many appointments, specialists, tests later – I am in physical and occuationational therapy and it is helping a lot.

I have said many times before that PT and OT have been helping me physically. The fact that I could make it through a trip to DC (a shit ton of walking in the heat) without a major flare is so encouraging. I seriously couldn’t be happier with the care I have been getting at PT Plus (in Mount Pleasant, WI – they also have an office in Elm Grove).

I also feel I should touch on how it has helped me mentally. Having this invisible, nameless group of physical issues has been a serious mindfuck. People roll their eyes, doubt my limits and even I start to wonder if I did all of this to myself (as silly as that is). Some act as though it is an effort issue. It is not. No, a gym membership will not make this go away.

At my OT appt this week, he said (almost to himself), “Man I feel bad for you.” He said this as he was working on my muscles and joints from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. There is almost no part of my body not jacked up in some way.

When I heard him say this, I wanted to cry. To have someone validate what I have been feeling for over two years means so much. An untrained person cannot see or feel the problem. And since I do not want a prescription, regular doctors are uninterested. My PT said that most doctors are used to treating “horses” – that is what they know. She said, “Unfortunately, you are a zebra.” Zebras take too much time. And really, with the load physicians are forced to take on – I cannot really blame them. The whole system sucks.

So I may not know exactly how all of this happened – though most of it was clearly due to surgery/complications – I guess at this point, it doesn’t matter. I spent a long time searching for the whys mostly just so that I could attach a name to it – so that I could be taken seriously. But honestly, I don’t feel that is necessary – at least for now.

I do have a lot of pain. Thankfully, it isn’t usually a debilitating kind of pain that I have seen others deal with. When I am not in a “flare” – it is just more like chronic aching or soreness in a variety of places. The pain spots move around and sometimes only hurt when touched or moved in a certain way. This is because some of my muscles are hypertonic, some are incredibly weak and some are just not automatically responding at all. Part of my treatment is actually retraining my brain to communicate with certain muscles. It is all very weird and it can be super frustrating. But as always, I know it could be much worse.

It was upsetting that I couldn’t keep up with others in DC and had to take a cab a few times instead of walking. It is depressing as hell that a day on the boat could leave me with spasms for days. I hate that I cannot do and enjoy the things I could easily do and enjoy just three years ago. The disappointment I see in my husband and the frustration I carry within myself – it is extremely difficult for me to deal with sometimes. The exhaustion is a whole other aspect that is life changing. I hate this and it makes me very angry and extremely lonely. I really really want my body back. I am trying like hell to do everything I can and stay med free.

Thankfully, therapy is helping – both inside and out. And my OT actually said the word “promise” in regards to my getting MUCH better. So I do have hope. And I am grateful. And to have someone who understands is absolutely fucking priceless.

Making a Murderer & A Dose of Self Awareness

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On November 15, 2005, I wrote the following on this blogsite:

“I also had an idea about writing a book about this man in Wisconsin, Steven Avery. He was in prison for something like 18 years for a rape before evidenced proved his innocence of the crime and he was set free. There were then stories in the media about how this poor man lived in a small ice fishing shack because he had no money and his life was taken away. I remember seeing these stories and feeling so bad for him. Today, he is being charged with the rape and murder of a young Wisconsin woman. Tell me there isn’t an interesting story here.”

Charlie and I binged on Making a Murderer the past few days. It is a documentary series regarding Steven Avery’s conviction in the Teresa Halbach murder. I am still trying to reconcile my feelings now with my beliefs before the documentary.

At the time and up until a few days ago, I really felt that this was an evil man who got what he deserved. I did think there was impropriety within the justice system. But, in my mind, if it got him off the streets – I was okay with that.

So, why was I so convinced he was an evil psychopath? Because I am far more influenced by the media than I was willing to admit. It was actually without any conscious or active absorbing. In one part of the film, we noticed that a news reporter used the term “compound” in regards to the Avery property. We both chuckled at the absurdity of that. Switching terminology here and there can make a world of difference when it comes to the forming of public opinion.

Another thing that really bothers me about my own assumptions – during this very time, I was going through my own trauma within the justice system. I was accused of a crime I did not commit…of being something I could never be. It was one of the most difficult, horrific times of my life and probably the only time I have ever truly come close to considering suicide. Not long after, I was treated for PTSD due to that event.

Even though I had first hand experience of being caught in the merciless claws of the justice system; even though I had people lie about me, turn against me and felt as if my life was torn apart – I didn’t consider that maybe this was also happening to Steven Avery. That makes me feel ashamed.

Did he kill Teresa Halbach? I do not know. I don’t know if we will ever know. But I do now think it is VERY possible that he did not.

I may write more about the particulars at another time. I don’t know. A lot being written lately – so probably no need. But I really urge you to watch this 10 part docu-series on Netflix. It will really open your eyes to what probably happens far more often than we would ever imagine. Power drunk egos with an axe to grind can ruin many lives and much too easily without consequence. Scary as fuck.

MTHFR: Motherfuckin’ Genetics

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I am such an asshole. Really. I am pretty mad at myself for not writing the second part of my addiction blog yet. I do promise that I will. And soon. I know what I want to write – it is just a matter of doing it.

I have been slow because…well…I am slow. I feel as though I have been trying to run through knee high mud these past two years. While some things have improved, others have not and the search for answers has been annoying and frustrating and I just want to kick a wall.

I had some lab work recently. One showed low levels of magnesium. This made no sense because I take A LOT of magnesium – knowing for a long time that my body needs it. I also found out that I am vitamin B6 toxic. Yea, because that’s a thing?? Seriously. My body is obnoxious as all hell. So, it was becoming clear that my body is not processing shit correctly. This led to testing for a genetic mutation called MTHFRAs it turns out, I have Compound Heterozygous MTHFR mutations. Meaning, one of my parents gave me two different mutated genes (probably more, but I cannot afford the extra testing right now).

What does this mean? Ugh. I am trying to figure that all out. But basically, it affects how my body processes, metabolizes, absorbs (or not) certain vitamins/minerals. It also means that my liver can easily become toxic/overloaded. And, really, this explains so much.

Throughout my entire life, I have reacted oddly or very sensitively to many medications, vaccines, supplements. I often have an opposite reaction. For example, melatonin keeps me awake. Same with trazodone. I could never really drink very much without getting violently ill. I suppose this is a good thing since it may have kept me from my genetic predisposition to alcoholism. (Silver lining, people. I DO see them once in a while!) So, this really does explain a lot.

Last year, when I had a toxic reaction to a very common antibiotic immediately after surgery (including many drugs, anesthetic, etc) – it was probably because my liver just said “fuck it” and couldn’t take anymore. Thus, causing my liver injury and neuropathy. And that alone took a LONG time from which to recover.

Now, I am fighting constant fatigue due to the inability to get restorative sleep. I have also been in physical therapy almost weekly (sometimes twice a week) for constant muscle tightness and spasms. This could be from not having the right amount of vitamins absorbing or the buildup of B6. We are not completely sure – but that seems to make sense. Along with this comes a very embarrassing brain fog that makes me feel like a Trump-esque moron (only with a heart). I have a very hard time writing or even carrying on a conversation at times. Finding words has been difficult. It is a very strange thing for someone who always has some fucking thing to say.

This has been a long, irritating road and it doesn’t seem like it will be ending soon. Treatment is a trial and error sort of thing. But I am hoping for the best. I have a Dr who has been helpful with her willingness to order the right tests and keep an open mind. Although, she is soon leaving the practice and I will start with a new,highly recommended doc in January. I also have the help of a nutritionist, physical therapist and chiropractor. I have my husband who does his best even though he is (self-admittedly) not the most sensitive guy in the world. And I have a couple of friends who have been there to listen to me whine. So, I think I will make it to a good place, eventually, with their help.

Anyway – that is why I am seemingly such a lazy slug. It sucks – especially when people look at me like I am nuts. But honestly who cares. The people who matter are the only ones who matter. And I also realize how much worse it could be. I am grateful for my progress, my intuition and all of the privileges (which I do not necessarily deserve) that I have been afforded in order to make it this far. I am grateful. Tired, sore and cranky – but grateful. And whether you like it or not, you’ll be hearing from me soon. So don’t get too comfortable with my silence (insert evil laugh and maniacal hand rubbing…and then a cough and probably a fart…while I trip on something and completely ruin my attempt at sexy badass).

When the Prescription Runs Out (Part One)

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In the next couple of weeks, I will be writing on the topic of opiate drug use. Particularly prescription pain meds, heroin, pain management, overdose and the loss of some really decent people. I think that people try to whitewash this topic out of embarrassment, shame, fear. And that is understandable. But it also will not help slow this epidemic. Brutal, honest conversations are where we need to start so that we can figure out how to break free from this fucking mess. New FDA pain medication laws are not helping. I do not have the answers. But I am going to ask the questions. I am going to speak the truth as I know it. And I am going to do my best to show you that these victims of addiction are not any different from those you love…or yourself.

Dad

When I realized that my father had a pretty serious drug habit, I felt little to no compassion. I loved him but all I could think about was how he was choosing it over me. He didn’t love me enough to get his shit together and be a father and that really pissed me off. I didn’t think about his spending months in a full body cast as a kid or the numerous back and knee surgeries he had throughout his life. I never considered the pain he was in or the frustration he must have felt when he could no longer stand or sit for any length of time let alone play the sports he once loved. I just knew that he would come in and out of my life as he pleased. I just knew that through my anger, I still had to be his defender. I just knew that I was never going to have the dad that I needed. And then, at the age of 46 (when I was 23), I sat in a room – just the two of us – as he took his last rattling breath.

He was a big, strong guy but even he could not survive his addiction. He didn’t OD like many. But had it not been for the drugs, he would have been able to meet his grandchildren. His addiction started with a prescription, a genetic predisposition to dependence and a long sought need for relief. I did not understand or develop my compassion until much later.

My dad had many legitimate causes for his chronic pain. I was told that he was a hypochondriac and that he just felt sorry for himself. And I suppose that may have been true. But his pain was real and he had many scars to prove it. That’s one part of having chronic pain that can be so frustrating – the need to constantly prove to others that it even exists. As if hurting wasn’t enough but having to constantly deal with people who think you are full of shit or weak or pathetic – yea, I was not the only one lacking compassion. Our society is a cold, heartless bitch.

I remember my dad showing me his bottle of pills that he kept in the kitchen drawer with the hand towels. “Just ONE of these would kill a horse! Never, ever touch these – got it?” he warned numerous times. Even in my pot years, I was terrified of pills – so that warning was plenty to squash any tiny curiosities. As time went on, the horse killing pills were no longer enough. And they probably became harder to come by as doctors grew increasingly frustrated with him. I knew he was trading pills and belongings for something else. I didn’t know exactly what – even though I found spoons in the bathroom and saw marks in his arms. Towards the end, I learned he was a methadone patient and that is when all of the oozing dots became connected.

To this day, I have guilt. To this day, I think to myself, “If I had been a better daughter…” To this day, I wish he had just loved me enough. But I know that is irrational. I know now the power of these chemicals. And I know that those drugs killed the father I knew long before his body gave out. As I child, I remember his flaws. But I also remember his hilarious humor, his energy, his creativity and how very fun he could be. Slowly, those parts of him began to disappear. I will miss those parts for the rest of my life.

He died in the late 90s. So far, this year in Milwaukee County alone, 189 people have died from overdoses. Many of these people started with a legitimate reason for taking prescription pain medication. There are many people you speak to every day – people you love and respect – who need daily pain relief. And this country treats many of them like criminals – if they treat them at all. There are also those who no longer need prescription relief but became addicted in a very short timeframe after an accident or a surgery. And once that prescription runs out, the patient is left on their own with very detrimental alternatives.

This is complicated. This isn’t about blame. This is a difficult tightrope for everyone involved. But let’s talk about it. Too many people are being lost and it simply does not need to happen. There is no “meant to be” in this fucked up scenario.

Hey You! Yea, YOU. Read This Please.

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Well, holy hell! My site has taken off in the past two days with nearly 20k views!! I would be pounding my chest a little harder had it been due to my own writing. But, alas, it was for a Scott Walker joke (three words that go oh so well together). While the joke is quite hilarious – this has prompted me to examine my recent abandonment of my blog. Sure, I have my excuses. But they are no longer good enough. I need to start writing again. My brain and creativity are atrophied and in much need of exercise. SOOOOO – this is where YOU come in. Give me some topics. Anything. What would you like to read? What would you like me to write about? I won’t promise that I will say what you want to hear…that I will write it in any respectable time frame…or that I won’t completely disappoint you in every way possible. But I will use your ideas to get my mind and fingers moving. Can ya help a chic out?

The Path of the 41 Year Old Me

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It is no secret that I have been dealing with some pain in the ass health issues in these past few years. It is also not news that I have a history of anxiety – especially when it pertains to health and death. I am terrified of death. It angers me and stresses me the fuck out. Honestly, as natural and absolute as it is – the concept of death has been my most agonizing hurdle. And with the different and odd health issues I have dealt with – nothing has antagonized this fear as much or as often as my heart blips. Without a proper heartbeat…you’re a goner. This is just a real thorn in my psyche. But I think…maybe…possibly…I am making strides. Kinda.

These past months have been full of pain and frustration and constant fatigue. The struggle has been a true crapfest and it is ongoing. But through it all, my heart has been behaving fairly well under the circumstances. And I haven’t let that fact go unappreciated.

Aside from the very occasional (like once a week TOPS) muscle relaxer, I do not take medication for my pain. I have been offered several referrals to a pain clinic, steroids and other drugs. But I have decided to try to beat this weird shit without medications and their side effects. Because as sensitive and annoying as my body is – if there is a possible side effect – I will probably have it. Fuck that, I have enough to worry about.

I do, however, take a medication for my heart and for anxiety. I have gotten down to the lowest possible doses of each. I need them and I have accepted that. As I weaned down to this lowest dose of my beta blocker, my heart was a trooper. I started years ago at 100mg daily. Today, I am taking 12.5mg daily (with the occasional extra on a bad day). This, makes me happy.

However, yesterday, my heart decided to be an asshole. I was just sitting here looking shit up on Pinterest when I felt a few flops. “Ugh…I guess it’s going to be one of those days,” I thought. Oh you funny bitch. I had no clue it was going to be one of my worst heart days in many years. My heartbeat kept getting stuck in what’s called a trigeminy pattern. It basically feels like this – BEAT BEAT PAUSE BEAT BEAT PAUSE BEAT BEAT PAUSE. I am used to getting the “pauses” for the most part – but not in this pattern or in the amount I was getting them yesterday. When not in trigeminy, I was having 7-12 PVCs (“pauses”) per MINUTE. It feels like a fish constantly flopping around beneath your ribs. All. Day. Long. It even lasted until this morning. The most PVCs I have had recorded in a 24 hour period has been a few hundred. Yesterday was probably more like 10-15k.

Now, if this had happened a couple of years ago, I would have freaked the fuck out. I would have panicked and probably gone to the ER. But I didn’t. I did call my cardiologist’s office as I have been told to do whenever something changes or seems off. And I took my extra beta blocker. And I laid in bed most of the day (Dr’s orders). And I took my pulse a lot. But I didn’t panic. And I think I know why.

I might just be coming to an acceptance stage of this whole stupid mortality thing that I hate ever so much. I know I am going to die. I read stories about children dying for Pete’s sake. I have known many people whom have died – some younger than me. I watched my father die at 46. Life is moving faster than a Republican from an original thought (sorry). Seriously, though, I am getting motion sickness from the speed of this crazy ride. If I do not accept this soon…I am going to have a really rude ass awakening.

I was driving earlier today and my heart was skipping away – being its jerky self. But I still couldn’t help but to notice the blue sky and the greenish grass. These are the kinds of things that remind me to be in the now. No matter how I am feeling at any given point, I am still here. And I absolutely must make the most of it. Because, hell, I am getting old and fat and saggy and tired and achy and I may not have many more of those big firework life experriences that easily snap me into those Ode to Joy moments. I have to recognize the good and the pretty and the strange and the tasty that are right in front of me each and every day. Whether it is watching a funny show with my adult wannabe tween daughter or a juicy burger staining my shirt – these are the snapshots I need to relish and try to hang onto every second that I can.

I read a story today about an 18-year-old girl who is fighting stage 4 brain cancer. When asked why is she fighting she replied, “I don’t know what else to do.” Well fuck. Who the hell am I to worry about when and how my time will come to an end when this kid is hanging on by a thread? None of us have a guaranteed amount of time.

And ya know why I don’t want to die? Yea, maybe it can be said it is because I don’t “know Jesus” or have a faith or can look forward to some promised afterlife. But really it is because I really fucking like it here. I really enjoy eating yummy food and laughing at funny jokes and feeling love and dreaming at night and smelling summer grass. There is so much here to savor and appreciate. Even the shitty things have something to offer. Crappy people restore my gratitude for those less crappy. Illness makes me feel so much better once it is gone. I still haven’t figured out the benefit of bad peaches or war…but perhaps my enlightenment will eventually expand.

I have made mistakes. I have wasted wayyyy too much of the time I have been given. I have been a dickhead and have allowed others to be dickheads to me. And chances are, these things will happen again. But I am going to try really goddamn hard to stay on a path towards acceptance, appreciation and mindful presence simply because…I don’t know what else to do.

Okay, okay. I am done with the hippy, Oprah-esque sermon now. I have to go find a way to enjoy cleaning a toilet…hmmmm…this may be more challenging than I expected…

But I Get Up Again…Eventually

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It’s been a rough couple of weeks. So much for 2015 being the great comeback year. Well, I suppose there are still 343 days for that to get into gear. But, so far, suck city.

If you have known me for a while, you may remember my mentioning that I have, at times, had physical symptoms just before learning of bad news. Precognitive symptoms I call them. Do I really, truly, fully believe this is what goes down? I am not sure. But there have been some serious coincidences.

On Saturday, we ordered some food and after two weeks of strict dieting, I was super stoked to eat some carbs and red meat. Right before I started to eat I had some sharp odd pains in my abdomen. These weren’t familiar and not the usual scar tissue pains I have been having. I tried to eat a little but my stomach wasn’t having it. I took a bath and drank some peppermint tea. Still, yucky. So I decided to just go to bed. As I laid there listening to my audiobook, I received a text from my mother in law that her long-time and my new(er) friend, Sara, was in the hospital and may not make it through the night. She had been battling cancer. I told her I would meet her there, got dressed and left. My stomach then felt fine.

I later said to Charlie, “Maybe that is why I was having those weird pains.” He nodded. Cassidy asked what I meant. I kinda just told her it was hard to explain but that sometimes I think I feel icky right before something bad happens. She said, “Maybe it is a power.” I just smiled and said, “Maybe, hon.”

Though she was unconscious and finally (thankfully) free of pain, I was able to say goodbye to our friend that night. And she died minutes after we left. Needless to say, this is very sad and yet another in-your-face reminder of how short life really is. Her kindness, laughter and strength will be sincerely missed.

The next day, I decided to watch the movie Wild. I really didn’t have much desire to see it before and was never a big Reese Witherspoon fan. For whatever reason, the movie didn’t appeal to me until that moment. Something told me that Sara would like it,  so I watched.

In the movie, she quoted Adrienne Rich:

…her wounds came from the same source as her power…

For some reason, this struck a chord. I am still not entirely certain why. But it occurred to me that this was the second time in 24 hours that the term ‘power’ caught my attention. Power. This is not a word I use to define myself…like…ever. In fact, it is usually quite the opposite. I often feel powerless against my health, my weight, my past, my future, the opinions of others, my regrets, my desires…I could go on. Feeling powerless sucks but it is like one of those blankets of thorns you get used to as it pierces your skin while still keeping you warm. Kinda pathetic, but real.

While I do have many moments of feeling weak or powerless – I still hold with me the knowledge that I try. You remember that horribly annoying song from the 90s…well wait…here it is…

Anyway, I remember a friend telling me that this song was like my anthem. Whether it was getting knocked down by my own dumb self or some other asshole or shitty situation – I always found a way to get back up. I may whine about it, but eventually, I stand. So, you can have your complaints about me and my demeanor…but don’t you dare tell me that I don’t try.

I received a diagnosis yesterday that I have seen coming for quite some time. I am not happy about it. I am quite angry, actually. And I am not going to get into it right now because I am still waiting on some tests. It isn’t anything life threatening – but it is life altering. Just, crappy really. And I will write about it later.

Along with this, I have been experiencing some pretty serious insomnia. On a very good night I will sleep 5 hours. But mostly, it is around 3 hours of actual sleep. This is seriously messing with my emotions, health, heart and mind. Along with other symptoms, I am in the pits lately. Could it be worse? Fuck yea. And I say that all of the time. But that doesn’t make my pain invalid.

What is another thing you can say to me that might get you a kick in the neck, aside from “Try harder”? “Cheer up” or “Relax” or “Turn that frown upside down” or any other motivational 80s poster platitude that was hanging in your high school counselor’s office. When a person has depression or an anxiety disorder or a chronic illness or anything else that you may not really understand…it would be best to keep the trite bullshit to yourself.

You really want to help? Listen. Validate. Or just offer a hug. Because saying things like I mentioned above implies that we do not have a right to feel the way that we do. It implies that we are choosing our pain. It implies that not only do we have to feel bad about our circumstances but that we are also doing it wrong. Do not deny me my feelings. And ya know what…if it were as simple as flipping a switch…I would have done that a long fucking time ago.

Just because a person is down or even severely depressed, that doesn’t mean they do not appreciate what they have. In fact, it is often true that we appreciate these things even more. So many of you take those beautiful moments and gifts for granted. We savor them and are thankful more than you could know. I see the wonderful things in my life and I am thankful for them every day. Some days I am more verbal about them than others. But that gratitude is most certainly there.

And one more thing, the fact that some of you view me as some kind of oddball isn’t news to me. I share a lot. I do not hide my sensitivity and my flaws. My Facebook wall won’t be full of cheery self congratulatory applause or exaggerated life descriptions. You get what you see and you see what you get – for the most part. I mean, there are some things I will not share, so no – you don’t get the FULL picture. But I am me, warts and all. And I won’t hide it because I think that is inauthentic and annoying. So you can think I am weird…but I know there are things hiding in your heads and closets too. The fact that you hide them doesn’t make you any specialer. (yes, I know that is not a word)

Today sucks. Tomorrow will probably not be any better. But I know things will lift eventually. In the meantime, allow me my sorrow, accept me for who I am or get off my lawn.