There are choices I have in the bloggity world. I can either write truth, which involves a lot of gunk a lot of the time and tends to turn this little column into the Whog, or I can write happy little ditties full of Pollyanna GLAD stuff that won't see the light of day except for once every blue moon.
Because right now my life is, quite honestly, gunky to the max. And even Pollyannna would have her behind in a sling trying to come up with GLAD things.
So I'm whining and blogging, folks. Whogging away. Y'all are officially declared my therapy for today.
To update you on what's been going on: Dad's wife is dying. She has kidney cancer that has spread to her spine, hips, and ribs. Of late we believe it's spread to her brain. There is no more that can be done for her, so she is being kept comfortable while Dad waits for the inevitable.
Her children are from out of town and need someone to blame for all of this, so it naturally falls on Dad. Of course, Dad has COPD and is on 5 liters of oxygen himself. He does well enough to walk, much less deal with the stress of the situation. He knows the future is not bright and has somewhat decided to move closer to Sis and me after all is said and done.
To that end I have been halfway looking for a retirement apartment or assisted living apartment for Dad close to our families. Without knowing when anything will happen it's hard to do anything, but I think it's better to be somewhat prepared for him than to have to do it all at one time.
In the meantime, I've been experiencing unexplained weakness in my forearms, hands and knees. I thought it had to do with the RA, but after a thorough check from the RA doctor yesterday he ruled that out. He referred me to my neurologist. The only problem is I can't get in to see her until September 19th.
Gee, I wonder what would happen if there was a REAL emergency?
Add that to the flareup of RA that I've had the past two weeks. I had to have the steroid shot, the prednisone, etc., and nothing seemed to work. It still felt as though I was wearing boxing gloves, and hurt like the devil. FOR TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT.
So much so that I went to the dark side.
Today when I woke up with a migraine and achy all over, I had just HAD ENOUGH.
E.
NUFF.
I got in the car to go to work and started crying, and didn't stop all morning long. I feel like crap.
I called the family doc to see if I could get in to see him. No dice. No appointments available until next week. You already know about the neurologist.
So I turned off the light in my office, turned on some New Age piano instrumental music, and I've bawled my way through the day. That is, when I haven't been biting peoples' heads off and spitting them back out or cussing.
Yes, I have pain pills. They make me sleepy and spaced out and they don't last long. I can only use them for 4 days in a row. After that I have to quit for 3 days or I get migraines.
Sucks to be me.
So tonight I will see if I can get in for a massage and an attitude adjustment. If not, you'll find me hiding under my desk in a puddle tomorrow.
