Driving, yelling, shopping, crying, writing and ice cream.

If I don’t have brain symptoms (which is the true limiting factor to my writing this year) and I start to post something about my illness, about my days, about my lack of coping skills, I invariably think, “You aren’t bedridden, how can you complain? You are able to feed and bathe yourself, are you really going to bitch about how difficult your life is?” Because that’s what I want to do more often than not. Complain. Vent. Rage against the world. And perhaps make some tiny bit of sense out of this existence and give myself some breathing room.

I’ve been so bottled up, I have tears threatening to spill over every day. So, I am going to write about today and preface it with this: To my friends that can’t get out of bed or watch TV or eat whatever they want… to those of you that haven’t left the house in years and don’t have some of the things that keep me sane like my dogs and my husband (I probably should have led with the husband there), I think about you. I shudder to think about you. You inspire and humble me with your resilience and I wish I could change things.

I want to write about the small, but significant choices I made today. It’s a short story and the end of it is I went to bed and sobbed into my pillow because my therapist said I should. He said crying is a primal emotion that serves a purpose and I should let it out, so I did. I don’t know if it helped. I feel the same as I did before, only with swollen eyes, but I appreciate that he gave me permission, for lack of a better word. He’s always telling me, “Get out of your head, stop trying to rationalise everything, stop trying to make an action plan for everything, stop the black and white thinking.” But if I’m not analyzing, organising, planning, executing, succeeding and then second-guessing everything I did, then who am I? That’s a rhetorical question.

Anyway, today.

I can’t remember the last time I went in a grocery store. Many, many months ago with my husband, I think. Maybe even last year. It’s a big deal, it takes planning and guts. We had a 10% off promo that needed to be used today and the store was a 4-minute drive. They have a deli and I decided that driving there and buying deli food would be less energy than trying to cook something. After all these years, I still marvel that these are the sorts of choices we (those of us with energy deficits) have to make. Driving, if my brain is operational, does not use up a lot of my energy, but washing, chopping, standing at the stove, stirring, whatevering… It’s exhausting. So: drive, park, the deli is right inside the door, get food, come home. Scary when I’m having a difficult health month, but easier, I decided, than the alternative and, if I’m not pushing myself too hard and crashing, then who am I? Again, rhetorical.

I’ve been beaten down recently by a 5-day migraine and bad sleep for months, wondering how to keep going through the motions of survival. In a nutshell, I’m pretty raw and small things feel harrowing. I talked to myself the whole way to the store: “You’re fine, you’ve got this, you won’t pay for this. Red light means stop.” I parked in a handicapped parking spot (with my permanent handicapped parking permit displayed) and shuffled to the elevator that goes up to the store. There’s a small stairwell, too, but I’ve never climbed it in the 4 or 5 times I’ve been at that building. I hear someone yelling across the parking lot. YELLING. Not nice yells. A woman near me says to me, “She’s saying she doesn’t think you’re disabled.” I replied quietly, “Oh, I am” and she gave me a kind look as she started up the stairs and nodded at the elevator as if to say, I can see that. But, also, look at my face! Can’t you see it? How can they not? But they can’t. Maybe in Seattle in November everyone is grey-skinned, sunken-eyed and haunted-looking to a certain extent.

I thought that was the end of it, but the woman in her car was still hollering. She’d stopped on her way out, blocking people, so intent on getting an answer that she’d rolled down her passenger side window and was shouting, “DISABLED? DISABLED? ARE YOU? HELLO? ARE YOU DISABLED?” It was aggressive and accusatory, not inquisitive or, god forbid, compassionate. I had already nodded yes at her, but she continued on. I mouthed, “I am,” but she couldn’t see or it wasn’t good enough. I started to feel very weak because I can’t sacrifice the energy to go talk to her, I can’t sacrifice the energy to project my voice, people were staring now and I felt defensive and emotional and the heat was burning up my chest and, before I knew it, I roared YEEESS! and immediately felt dizzy, immediately had a sore throat. Legitimately — a sore throat that’s still here tonight. We people with ME don’t roar. And, oh, how I miss it. How I miss being enraged and having a good old screaming match, replete with stomping off and door slamming. I used to be really good at that.

The woman shouted back: GOOD! and drove away. It echoed around the closed underground lot and made me feel very small.

I tried to tell myself her heart was in the right place, that she was looking out for disabled people and that I’m glad there are ballsy watchdogs like her in this world… but it didn’t stop the resentment from welling up. She caused this embarrassment, this upset, she caused me to yell when my voice is so weak. And she’ll be fine, she won’t pay for this interaction because she wouldn’t have initiated it if that was a concern. I started silently blubbering in the elevator. I walked to the deli weeping, I ordered the food while sniveling, I wiped away tears while paying. And I bought a pint of chocolate hazelnut fudge ice cream because fuck that lady.

When I went to leave the parking garage, I realised I hadn’t gotten my parking ticket stamped, but there was no way I could walk back to the elevator and into the store. Another example of the small, but soul-eroding kind of choices we have to make. I was so beyond my safe energy expenditure that I worried about not making it home. It was too far to go back and I had to save my steps to get in my house. So, I paid for parking and it negated the 10% off promo that inspired me to venture out in the first place.

When I was putting the things into the fridge, I did it sitting on the floor and when I stood up, I bashed my head so hard on the corner of the counter, that it drove me back to the floor, my vision whited out and stars burst and birds chirped around me. The migraine, which I’d just quelled yesterday with my infusion medications, burst back onto the scene, shooting cyclical stabbing pain through my left eye. That was it. I took my therapist’s advice and went to bed to sob into my pillow.

I do feel a bit better now, so maybe it did help. Or maybe it’s because I’m writing for the first time in over 5 months. Or maybe it’s the chocolate hazelnut ice cream.

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2016 Beach memories: Pictures worth 20,000 words.

Two years ago, I spent a few arduous days in L.A. with my mother and husband so I could have an appointment with Dr. Chia. Last year, we spent a few days on the Washington coast while I was very sick. We picked the closest coastal town to our house, so it was the shortest drive and my husband did all the work — I just had to get myself in and out of the car. I did it for the dogs, to see their joy on the beach, to try to make up for two and a half years of no adventures and lessened activity… but I was not in good shape.

This year, though… This year we took TWO TRIPS TO THE COAST. Again, all I had to do was pack (no easy feat — it takes me days) and get myself in the car. My angel husband, with good spirits, loads everything in and out and in and out of the car, including my mobility scooter, all my food, bedding, towels etc. I even brought my air purifier. I love being so low-maintenance.

Last June, was our longest trip since I got sick. We stayed in the same place in the same coastal town as we had in 2015, but I was feeling better than I had in years so, on the day we were meant to leave to go back to Seattle, we found a different rental and extended our visit for an extra two days. This new house was right on the beach and had a balcony. I had no idea the difference it would make to my experience. The first rental was further inland and had a fenced-in yard and trees enclosing the garden. It never occurred to me that a view might be nice — might even be soul-enlivening — I was just happy to see four different walls. But the simple act of gazing at an expanse of nature, even from inside a house, is everything when you’ve been housebound for a prolonged period. That first night, when I saw the vast black sky punctured with millions of bright stars, I started weeping. When was the last time I really saw the stars? I will never forget that moment. And the next day, sitting on the balcony, watching the waves… It didn’t even matter if I was feeling too ill to get to the beach. The funny thing was, I experienced none of that Oh-I-feel-so-much-better-near-the-ocean “locations effect” that so many people with ME report. If anything, I was taken down a notch by the wind, the marine smell, bonfire smoke at night, trying to manage my temperature fluctuations etc. Plus, there were, of course, a few difficulties for my sensitive system (a house on stilts that shook so violently, I couldn’t sleep, overwhelming bleach smell in the bathroom, strongly chlorinated tap water, too many stairs), but it was definitely worth it.

Over four months ago, I wrote a Love letter to my sons as a preamble to the big post I intended to write about the coast trip and then, of course, never got around to writing it. I’m struggling at the moment (this post has taken me a week to put together), so I’m going to let the photos do the talking.

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Half the house packed in the car, ready to go.

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ROAD TRIP!

This was the first night we arrived. A beautiful crescent moon welcomed us to the coast.

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Some days were overcast…

… with dramatic evenings.

Some days were glorious…

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…with breathtaking sunsets (taken from the balcony).

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The beach is exhausting. 😀

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The couple next door got married on the dune in front of our house. I wound up talking to them the day we left because I wanted to send them the photos I took and, in a bizarre coincidence, it turned out the bride had been suffering with a similar illness as mine, had tried many of the same treatments, knew all the same doctors. We both got tears in our eyes. It was a surprisingly beautiful thing to talk to someone so freely *in person, not on the internet*, without having to explain anything.

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The flag on the left is where they were wed.

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We had no plans to go again this year, but our best friends wound up renting the house next door to the one we had in June, so, at the beginning of this month and at the very last minute, we decided to join them. I’ve gotten worse the past few months, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to participate as much as I would like to (the first night they all played cards and had drinks, while I was in the other house, resting. The second night they had a bonfire on the beach, while I was inside, resting), but there were wonderful moments of normalcy: Z. chatting with me over morning tea, without the time-pressure of a planned visit; my dogs’ excitement when they saw Aunt Z. and Uncle J. on the beach — missed members of our extended pack; watching their family fly kites on the beach; colouring with sweet Anna while she talked my ear off more than she ever has before; eating dinner at a table with a group of friends, with conversation, laughing and music playing in the background (<~ this most of all: just hanging out amid all the normal sounds, feeling part of a group); and the social time my husband got, just hanging with friends he hasn’t seen properly in years.

The only downside was my dogs are showing their age much more now than they were even four months earlier. I couldn’t use my scooter as much as last time because they simply didn’t have the stamina to walk distances and were both limping after our first short excursion. The last — and warmest — day, Bowie didn’t even get out of the car for more than a minute. He was pooped. And Riley just sat next to me like a sentry, wondering why I was lying on the sand. I fear it really might have been the last hurrah on the beach, which makes me even happier that I pushed myself to go and create new memories.

The boys were thrilled to be back!

Our best friends frolicking. 🙂

Bowie and sweet Anna flying a kite.

One day was dark and brooding and that night it stormed with 50 mph winds.

Another day was sunny and clear.

 

Small steps with payback… But new memories and happy dogs are everything.

Treatment Update

Today (actually last Thursday, it took me a while to write this), I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Kim to go over the gaggle of blood tests I had done in March. There is a lot that I am adding into my regimen, so I wanted to document it all asap before I forget everything she said.

We’re going to try hyperbaric oxygen therapy! I said it as a joke as we walked past the room with the claustrophobia chamber: “When do I get to dive?” And she thought it was actually a good idea. So, I’m going to start with a very short time (10-15 minutes) and work up to 60 minutes “at depth”, with supplemental oxygen, once a week. This is out-of-pocket, of course, and pricey at $150-$175 per 60-minute session, so I’ll try a few and see how I do.

I am starting a slow treatment for candida with Nystatin, Diflucan and Thorne SF722. Here’s the protocol:
*Nystatin on Mondays and 2 capsules a day of Thorne SF722 Tuesday through Sunday for 3 weeks.
*Then the same thing with Diflucan on Mondays for 3 weeks.
*Then Nysatin Mondays, Diflucan Thursdays and 2 SF722s on the other days for 2 months.
She didn’t mention diet and I didn’t bring it up. Yippee!

I’m increasing oral progesterone to 100mg/day (I’m at 25mg now), staying at 25mg of oral pregnenolone (uh oh, I just realised while adding this link that I’ve been swallowing my pregnenolone whole, not realising it’s sublingual… grreeaaat 😝) and changing from topical DHEA to 25mg oral.

My sex hormone binding globulin (SHBG) is high, which she said functionally lowers hormone levels. I’m going to start nettle root capsules (work up to 300mg twice a day) to bring SHBG down (not to be confused with nettle leaf, which I drink in tea every day).

I’m not anemic, but my iron is low. She wants me to add Floridix, but after reviewing the ingredients, I may just do a generic ferrous gluconate supplement for 6 months.

For sleep:
*5HTP, 75-150 mg at night (this was recommended by a friend–thank you, M–and Dr. Kim thought it was worth a shot). She says it may even interact with the 5HT4 receptors in my GI tract and help motility. 30-50 mg P5P (active vitamin B6) should be taken with 5HTP.
*Dr. Yasko recommended I get my lithium tested (she answered a quick question on Facebook, I’m not working with her) and Dr. Kim thought I could try supplementing a 20-40 mg per day without a test and see if it helps.
*Belsomra, a prescription sleep medication given to me by my sleep doctor, is still sitting on my shelf a year later and I intend to take a small nibble one of these days. It doesn’t interact with 5HTP, so I can try all the things.

For constipation, I am going to try MotilPro (work up to 3 capsules morning and noon) and a bit of iodine in the form of potassium iodide (5-20 mg 4 times per week).

She said my vitamin D at 40.4 ng/mL is actually fine and I should continue taking 4,000iu/day (I take Thorne liquid D3+K2). She bases this on my calcitriol (vitamin D 1,25) number, which is good at 48.2pg/mL, right in the middle of the range.

She’s not worried about my high cholesterol or LDL at all, so I’m going to shake off my concern about that and trust her.

She said not to worry about an Igenex lyme test or my positive bartonella test for now. She is going to treat my high mycoplasma pneumoniae eventually and she said that treatment is similar to what she’d do for tick-borne infections. I have to say, I kind of like that a reputable LLND isn’t jumping straight into Lyme testing and treatment. She’s definitely not a one-trick pony.

I’ll start antimicrobials for M. pneumoniae, CMV, HHV6 and EBV later this year when my body is stronger. She thinks it will most likely take at least 2 years to get those blood tests into the normal ranges (to the point where my immune system isn’t mounting a response against reactivated infections).

Other supplements* and prescriptions I currently take, many sporadically:

MitoCore
CoQ10/ubiquinol
Humic Acid
Thorne Trace Minerals
Thorne Riboflavin-5-phosphate
Thorne Niacel
Thorne vitamin D3+K2
Thorne B complex #6
Magnesium malate
Magnesium glycinate
Jigsaw magnesium
Potassium gluconate
Biotin
Thiamin
Vitamin A
Vitamin C
Wormwood
HCL + gentian + pepsin
Enzymedica Digest Basic
Enzymedica Digest Spectrum
Charcoal
Levothyroxine (100mcg/day)
Liothyronine (15mcg twice/day)
Prednisone (3mg), Benadryl (25mg), Zantac (10mg), fluids (sodium chloride 0.9%, 1 liter) and Gamunex-C (5g) during infusions.

*By the way, all the supplement links here are for Pure Formulas (and all brands are gluten-free, soy-free and well-regarded). I am not affiliated with them in any way and I can’t get kick-backs if you buy something from these links like lots of bloggers that make money that way (although, maybe I should look into that!). I’ve just done a lot of research and they are consistently the best for me. If you decide to order from them and you want to be a kind and selfless friend, you can use my referral code: RRKMLW or shop here. Once you complete an order (without using any of your own reward points), I get a $10 credit. 😀 I like Pure Formulas because a) free shipping with no minimum; b) 2-day shipping always if you have ShopRunner, which I do through my AmEx; c) you earn cash credits for your orders; d) you can return products you have problems with, even if opened; and e) I have contacted many supplement manufacturers to ask about recommended online retailers (because I’ve read some scary articles about knock-off supplements on Amazon) and almost all of them have told me Pure Formulas is reputable. Last thought: if you comment below with your Pure Formulas referral code I will use one whenever I order (which is often).

My Career in Healthcare.

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My view this morning… and all too often.

Recently, I was imploring my husband to find opportunities for couple-time in his schedule, get me out of the house so we could do “fun” things, spend time as a family… I wanted to drive around and look at the extravagant Christmas house lights over the holidays or see the Christmas ships; I wanted to visit Snoqualmie Falls, especially while it was raining so hard and the water would be high and dramatic; I wanted to drive north to look at flocks of snow geese; Seattle Symphony–anything! These things never happen and my husband said, “But every week your energy is maxed out with doctor appointments.” This is true, but this is calculated behaviour so I don’t go stir-crazy or get depressed. I can manage about 3 things a week and I’ve been scheduling about that many appointments every week for years. Hydrotherapy, strain-counterstrain, myofacial release, pelvic floor PT, acupunture, mental therapy, dietician, as well as specialist appointments, follow-up doctor visits, blood draws and testing. When I don’t have something scheduled, my attitude goes down very quickly. I think I might quite literally go insane if I shuffle around the house in baggy pjs for too long, alone, talking to the dogs, cooking meals for one, keeping myself occupied with paperwork, illness research, watching tv– especially in the winter when I can’t at least shuffle into the garden.

I tried to take a week off once and I caved by Thursday and made a massage appointment for the next day. I was crawling the walls, feeling ineffectual, lonely, angry. I wonder how anyone without a spouse or support system survives, or patients who are completely housebound or bedbound or neglected in institutions (not to mention much more horrific situations of war, solitary confinement, POWs…). It’s the isolation more than the confined physical space, I guess. My appointments give me “somewhere to hang my hat” as my grandfather used to say — a reason to get dressed, a place to go and have a conversation. My “rehab specialist” asked me if therapy was helping and I said, “I get dressed and I get to talk to someone.” He’s obviously done a lot more than that for me (for example, helped me find the best doctors and get disability), but my point was clear. Shared experiences are much more important than I realised. Like the outcast monkey that would just hang out on the edges of the enemy monkey territory even though he could be torn to shreds at any moment because the drive for company and community is that strong (I saw it on NatGeo, it made me weep).

My physical therapist and I talk about books, movies, music, tv shows, politics and I get to lie supine and motionless while he gently fixes my pain. How could I give that up? But I would–to do things with my husband. So, that’s what I told him–my husband–and he seemed confused, asked: “You can just stop those appointments? You don’t need them?” It never occurred to me that he didn’t know I scheduled these things to save my sanity, to save me from offing myself. Isn’t that obvious? Of course I don’t need to go to them! I wouldn’t cancel my immunoglobulin infusions, but all other commitments would be trumped by the importance of quality time with people I love. Husband and dogs first, friends next (actually, friend, since only one visits. Love you, Z!), healthcare visits last. That’s how I schedule my weeks. If I think there might be the weather to go to the cemetery with my boys on a day that my husband can do it, I will cancel everything else. I’ve exhausted the search for The Doctor Who Will Fix Me. I’m happy with my GP, endo and body people. I’ve seen the best neurologists. I don’t really think I would benefit from an immunologist, allergist or rheumotolgist. Maybe one day in the future I will see an ME/CFS specialist, but, for now, I’m going to focus on other things. So, my goal for this year is to encourage my husband to work a little less and redirect some of our energy into more joyous experiences. I can’t be very spontaneous, but I can schedule an “appointment” to drive out of town or an hour in a coffee shop or even play a game at home.

Superstition Ain’t The Way

Agh, I can’t stand it, I can’t just leave you sitting with that bad. I tried in earnest to let my last post hang out here in the e-niverse, sullying the e-tmosphere, because that’s my reality and it is uncomfortable and why shouldn’t it fester there on my blog’s home page for all a few to see? But it’s like a little lead weight in the back of my brain, so superstition be damned: I want to shout about what a good week I had. I can’t believe such a baby dose of immunoglobulins is making a difference, but it seems to be. This is so exciting. Here’s my week:

Last Thursday I was in rough shape. My period was due and I hadn’t slept as per usej, but I drove to my myofacial therapy appointment, which is 4+ miles away. That is twice as far as anywhere I have driven in the last 3.5 years. I credit my friend Jak for this because I was thinking about how she has to drive everywhere where she lives and it gave me a little push. I also have been doing our finances for tax season and saw that I spent $650 on Ubers (taxi service) in 2015–solely to get to/from healthcare appointments–so that gave me another incentive to drive myself (truthfully, I probably shouldn’t have driven. I wasn’t all there–not quite present enough–and doubt my reaction times were optimal, plus I got a bit lost, but I’m proud of myself for pushing my envelope). Oh, and I stopped by a grocery store on the way home! Very briefly–to buy chocolate Easter eggs–but still!

I had three complicated things I needed to mail, so, Friday, I drove to the post office for the first time in almost 4 years and spent quite a bit of time standing at the counter, talking to the postal woman, boxing, taping, addressing etc.

Family love at the cemetery.

Family love at the cemetery.

Saturday, even though my period had just started, I was still able to go to the cemetery on my scooter with the boys and husband. I want to take a moment here to remember the first few times I went to the cemetery on a mobility scooter in 2013, a year after being housebound. I wept looking at the trees and feeling that freedom, then I almost passed out from the exertion of a 2-sentence conversation with some people we ran into and then I went home and paid for the jostling of my bones with days of pain. On this very day in 2014, I was struggling through the aftershocks of a cemetery trip that were worse than anything I deal with now: 

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Easter Sunday I wasn’t doing too well, but I still managed to put together a treasure hunt for my husband (with the aforementioned chocolate eggs), which involved walking all around the house and up and down stairs, planting clues. I did a “Find It” treasure hunt for the dogs, too. Easter isn’t just for kids.

Monday, I did laundry (no folding or putting away, but still…), talked to my friend for 1.5 hours (he did most of the talking, which is good because, although I’m not drained as much by prolonged conversations, it still definitely hits me hard) and then I drove to the dog park with the boys… by myself… and actually walked a little bit… *Pause for gasps of shock and awe.* I’m going to take another minute to remember the first time I made it to the dog park after those long horrible months, years: My husband drove, of course, and I walked excruciatingly slowly to the gate, feeling winded, heart rate through the roof. I made it inside and then sat on the ground just inside the gate. When somebody I knew tried to talk to me, I nodded and smiled feebly and then looked at my husband imploringly until he deflected the conversation away from me. The memory of that effort–and the fear of the repercussions–brings tears to my eyes.

Tuesday, I had my infusion and, Wednesday, I drove to an appointment (close by)–on the day after my infusion, mind you.

Getting fluids in the garden.

Getting fluids in the garden.

We’ve had gorgeous weather this week and, although it certainly helps because I’ve been sitting in the garden for hours every day, I don’t think I can say it is the cause of my good week because the uptick started days before the sun shone. Thursday, we took advantage of the weather and went to the biggest, bestest dog park in Seattle, which is a ways away on the East side. I haven’t been there since my birthday last year in May and it was such a treat to see Riley swim (while Bowie stood in the shade, panting and looking miserably hot, as if he wasn’t a short-haired breed that came from Africa). We spent an hour and a half there (I had my scooter, so didn’t walk) and, when we got home, I started cooking lunch. I didn’t even feel the need to rest. I better add these: !!!!

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“Ducks, ducks, ducks, gotta get the ducks.”

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“Don’t make me go out in that sun, Mama.”

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“Seriously? Another photo? Hurry up, there’s hardly any shade here.”

I’ve been dragging again the last few days: headache for the first time in a while, very stiff neck, muscles feeling heavy and painful, slightly sore throat, sensitive to sound etc. Probably because Friday I started to write this post about having a good week and the gods’ ears perked up. BUT, I’m dressed, I’m sitting outside, I’ll cook something in a bit, I’m cheerful. I’m not in bed, sick, poisoned, despairing. I’m functioning. I’m even writing.

So, there. KNOCK ON WOOD, TOBA TOBA, BAD HARVEST, PATUEEY OVER THE SHOULDERJust let this be. My bowels are a nightmare, my sleep is horrific, my brain packs it in on a regular basis and my stamina, energy and strength are still about 1/4 of what they used to be. But 1/4 is better than 1/10. I’ll take it, gratefully.

Title Credit <— click on it, go on, it’ll make your day better. 😊

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Mount Rainier (taken from the car window while speeding down the highway).

P.S: Dear friends, please forgive my ridiculous shiteness at answering your comments here on my blog. I appreciate each and every one of them and I’m humbled that you read my rantings at all, let alone take the time to comment. It really means a lot and I’ll try to do better. Thank you! X

I can’t even.

I’m in a bad headspace. Feeling overwhelmed and hopeless, like I just need to give up. I know what sparked it. I got a bunch of blood tests done — things I haven’t had tested in 1 to 3 years — and they’re all still a mess. I’m still a mess. I haven’t made any headway in years. I just feel defeated. There are so many things my body is fighting and either I’m not helping or nothing I do helps. But mainly I feel useless and inept because I can’t manage to research something thoroughly, plan an attack and implement it. I can’t commit to anything because I have no faith that anything will work. So many pills. So much money. So much effort. So much information to process. So many competing theories. So much time scrambling in one place, getting nowhere. I do nothing but read how to help myself — hours everyday for years — and I just wind up feeling like I’m drowning more and more because there is too much.

I can’t seem to manage a methylation protocol, or a detox protocol, or brain retraining like everyone else can. Or a liver cleanse or lymph drainage or help my leaky gut or what about parasites? I can’t seem to manage any diet changes: watch out for histamine, salicylates, oxalates, sulphur, tyramine, too much/too little protein, too much/too little fiber, too many carbs, not the right kinds of fat, dairy, sugar, mycotoxins, pesticides, chlorine/lead/chloramine in water, your tupperware is plastic, your pots and pans are killing you… it never bloody ends! And why does everyone do so well with physical therapy, acupuncture, myofacial release, Bowenwork, craniosacral, reiki, feckin Feldenkrais and nothing seems to work for me? I’m thinking about NAET and muscle testing, frequency machines, homeopathy and EMF sensitivity because what if?? But I know they’re all just black holes. Everyone has a magic pill or a serious warning: Don’t sleep on foam! Don’t go in a hot tub! Your milk must be raw! Your dogs are killing you! Don’t stretch if you have EDS, don’t spend too much time lying down if you have dysautonomia, enemas are wiping out your good bacteria, you probably have Lyme–go on antibiotics, the longer you wait, the worse it is! You definitely have mold because you live in Seattle–leave your house and possessions behind and get clear! I’m so over all of it. There’s no point in giving me advice to just tackle one thing at a time because I can’t. It doesn’t work that way. Time is slipping by; I’m getting older just sitting in one spot. Everything is connected and as soon as I decide to do one thing, I read how that can tip another thing out of balance and I freeze… and wind up doing nothing. My brain does not work like it used to. This is most frustrating of all.

Imagine you’re suspended halfway up a cliff face, trying to get to the top. You’ve spent months researching the best path to take and you have some energy, you’re ready. As you start to climb, people abseil past you, screaming, “Don’t go that way! There are perils up ahead!”
Then others beside you say, “Nah, this is definitely the best way, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Then other people all around start chiming in and you listen–while clinging on to the crumbling rock for dear life–because so many have made this climb before you: “If you want to get to the top, go left.” So, you start researching that path.
“No, go right.” Better check out that option.
“It doesn’t matter which way you go if you don’t eat this meal first.” Oh shit, glad I didn’t start climbing yet.
“No, doesn’t matter what you eat or where you climb, you’re fucked if you’re not wearing the right gear.” Energy is draining out of you and the fear is creeping in.
“Don’t be silly, you just need to spend all day every day telling yourself you can get to the top and you will.”
“Nope, actually this mountain is insurmountable when you’re as weak as you are. Just hold on as long as you can and hope that you get stronger before your grip gives out.”
And… I literally can’t even.

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Anyway, I pretty much want to burn every book I own, cancel all my appointments, throw out all the supplements and extricate myself from every group and forum, go to bed and give up… and, if I’m truthful, it’s all sugar’s fault. I have a grade A, deep-seated, fully-in-denial addiction and my candida blood test came back twice as high as the high result from a year ago that I ignored. Or at least candida IgM did and that’s the antibody that shows active/acute infection, right? I don’t want to go on another elimination diet. I don’t want to deal with something that will apparently keep rearing its fungal head forevermore every time I eat some ice cream. I don’t want to take prescriptions for months and deal with die-off and herxing for weeks. I just don’t. Even my husband is clanging a warning bell about candida, gently encouraging me to just try to quit eating sugar temporarily and I’m like a petulant child. I hardly eat any compared to the old days! I’ve given up so much! And then I ate a bag of kettle corn while pouting. This is waaaaaaayyy harder than booze and cigarettes. Way harder than gluten, dairy, nuts or anything I’ve tried before.

So there’s that. And then there’s these:
Cholesterol and LDL are higher than they were 8 months ago.
CMV IgG, which has been negative 4 times in the past, is now high out of range.
HHV6 IgG is still high out of range.
Mycoplasma Pneumoniae IgG is higher than it was (out of range).
EBV IgG is much higher than it was (out of range).
Sex Horm Binding Glob and Estradiol are high, whatever that means.
Total IgA and one IgG subclass are low.
VItamin D and Vitamin B12 are both low.

I’ll be talking to my doctor about all this in a fortnight, stay tuned.

New In The Garden

Addendum to my last post:
So, of course duh, I’m not getting some brilliant deal on Human Growth Hormone. $138/month is based on $23/mg for 0.2mg/day. I just talked to the nurse and she said kids who are very deficient can inject 20 times the amount I’m getting, which, of course, would be thousands of dollars a month. So, it gets more expensive as they raise my dose. Wah waah. My mother also told me that a doctor suggested I might need HGH when I was a young teen, but it was never pursued. I kind of wish I had been tested back then since I wasn’t on a normal growth curve and it might have helped not only my short stature (not going to lie, life would be a bit easier with a few more inches), but also things like early-onset osteopenia. Regardless, even now, it can not only help my fatigue and pain, but also absorption of nutrients and building of muscle, so I’m (very cautiously) hopeful.

Addendum #2:
The nurse just called me and said it looks like the HGH is going to be $1,500/month, not $138. Soooo… Yeah, it was too good to be true.

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The sun shone for the first time in what feels like decades and the boys and I walked creekily into the back garden, blinking against the brightness like caged animals released into the wild for the first time. Things are beginning to bloom. O frabjous day, callooh callaay!

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Riley is thrilled that his Mama is outside.

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Blue skies and cherry blossoms!

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These flowers smell incredible!

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Resurrection.

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Even Bowie, who never goes outside, poked around for a bit.

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A few days ago, there was a brilliant double rainbow and, evidently, the pot of gold is in our garden shed!!!