tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80403936817724873822023-08-16T20:57:02.912-07:00Diagnosis Impossiblea journal of survivalMs. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-35197165904776550782014-03-13T21:36:00.000-07:002014-03-13T21:38:56.118-07:00down the rabbit holeThere comes a time, I think, when the mind simply cannot accept one more stressor. When the proverbial straw has been placed upon the camel’s back and that spine is rapidly collapsing. It is a delicate skill that I have developed – knowing when I am approaching this breaking point and only then taking a forced break from all known stressors in order to reset my internal balance.
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The warning signs hit this past Wednesday. No, that isn’t true. The warning signs have been pinging for the past two weeks, but there were things I had to do, things I could not reschedule or delegate or avoid, and I forced my reset to wait.
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Wednesday I realized I’d pushed myself to the breaking point. The actual breaking point. Without being too detailed, (I know, that’s a first for me) I had to deal with our truck blowing up (kind of literally – the radiator cracked and a head gasket blew out and the head possibly cracked), three (no, make that four) birthday parties to squish into one party on one day – one of which I’ve been planning for no less than 6 years, a presentation to give to a large group of coworkers from around the state, a surprise award (jacking up the emotion level there – it doesn’t have to be only negative emotions that add stress), issues with the computer systems at work – which I have zero control over but do quite a bit of work on, a vast array of changes at work – nothing horrible - just lots and lots of slightly different, and a photo op /write up regarding the aforementioned award. Oh, and the electric bill being roughly three times its usual price and several unexpected bills that came due all at once making me watch in dismay as my bank account dropped into double digits… and neared single digits. And things going on with family members that I’m not allowed to talk about because I’m sworn to secrecy even though it’s good things but I completely understand and respect that. And finding out that I’m no longer in remission. Okay, most of the stress came from that last bit. And that’s a pretty big bundle of stress all in itself. None of the treatments we’ve tried have been working and there isn’t much hope to cling to, but by gosh I’m clinging to the very threads and will keep clinging because death won’t take me quietly – I’ll be kicking and screaming every inch of the way.
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So, yeah. There’s stress.
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And I knew for sure, for sure, that I was nearing the end of my rapidly fraying rope. So I asked for, and received, 2 days off – Thursday and Friday. With the exception of going in Friday for the above noted photo op. Two days and then two weekend days… four days… plenty of time to decompress, to block all the stress out of my thoughts to breathe and let it go.
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Except that isn’t quite how it is playing out.
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First, work calls. A couple of times. Bright an early Thursday morning. Okay, I manage to wrap my groggy mind around the issues at hand and send the necessary email. Back to the business of not stressing.
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Then, spouse arrives home from work and a car testing marathon begins. To city one, test drive, ponder, to city two, listen – reject, listen – look – reject, to second place at city two, get aggravated at overly pushy salesman – reject. Back to city one, haggle, end up getting first vehicle we looked at. Neatly going into debt for an extended period of time for a vehicle that is in fairly good shape and has fairly low mileage but that is 14 years old. Kind of stressful. Yes.
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Getting settled in for a good sleep before tomorrow’s photo op and receive a message with the casual note that I’m to wear “Sunday best” for the pictures.
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And the world comes to a screeching halt.
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Sunday best does not exist in my wardrobe… or my world. I do not have “church clothes”… I have work clothes and not-work clothes. This translates into the following. Work clothes: men’s polo shirts and a small selection of garishly printed cotton shirts with emphasis on glitter and odd colors which I pair with one of the following: black pants, khaki pants, other black pants, grey pants, or jeans (on casual Fridays). Not-work clothes: things too tight to wear in public, knit capris in strange colors, t-shirts with tiny holes in them or odd stains on them – essentially the clothes I can wear to garden or clean house or paint things but cannot wear to town or work. I also have two dresses. Neither of the dresses fit. Not even close. Well, one is kind of close, but not close enough.
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And it hits me. Hard. I have absolutely nothing I can wear that is suitable for this photo op. Even though I bought a brand new polo shirt and had intended to wear it with my khaki pants… that is hardly something considered “Sunday best”… and would look rather sketchy in a line up with people in suits and ties. So, no, that won’t work.
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And I’m crushed. The straw has found the back of the camel and the camel is going down. In a shuddering, sobbing heap. Which, of course, is exactly what needs to happen in order to release the build-up of stressful emotion, but it could not have happened at a worse time.
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I appeal to friends and family to see if anyone near my size has anything I can borrow… and the closest people are an hour and a half away… and that won’t work. But finally someone comes to my aid and offers me a blouse and a potential skirt… and the blouse works with this one pair of black pants that are kind of silky and swishy and dressy-ish, and I can put my long grey sweater over it to pull the look together, and all I have are brown shoes, but they’ll do because they have to… so I have an outfit.
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And as I come to my senses with this crisis averted and a solid plan in place to get me to water tomorrow in the mid-morning (post photo-op) because water is what I need to re-balance myself… I realize that I’ve let myself be less than all-together in front of my boss. And how do you explain to someone that you aren’t crazy without sounding like you’re crazy? And maybe I am crazy, but it’s my own brand of crazy and I know how to handle it when I am afforded the chance.
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And I am crying again now. Not for me anymore, but for all the people out there who live with this sort of stigma every day of their life. People who put on a mask out of desperation and play at being normal enough to get by without anyone finding out just how hard they are having to work at it. People who can’t fake it and who are ostracized, outcast, rejected… and seen as being less than human simply because they are wired differently. I am crying because I recognize that I have been on both sides of this bias and I want to reach out and say “we aren’t different, you and I. We are people, struggling to make sense of the world and of ourselves and sometimes we do a good job and sometimes we don’t get it, but we are people, together. We are someone. We are important. We should not have to be afraid of being who we are or feeling how we feel.”
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But I can’t say that. Not yet. Not out loud. Not where and when it matters.
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Instead, I do my best to return to the perceived state of normal, certain that if I do not, all that I have struggled to achieve will be lost.
Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-9266807389948379642012-12-26T21:57:00.002-08:002012-12-26T22:02:36.407-08:00dumb luckTrigger warnings: Cancer, stress, death and cram-it-down-your-throat evangelism.
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Yep, that should just about cover it. If you're not new to this blog, you know how I write and what I rant about. If you are new to this blog, hold on to your guts, this is about to get ugly.
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Damn it's good to be working. Not just working, but working at a job that makes me happy. Working with coworkers that are as sarcastic and snarky as I am. Working in a field that makes a measurable difference in people's lives. Yes, I'm a lucky little duck.
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Hold on a second. Back that up a little. Lucky? Lucky? I have busted my ass to get to where I am. I have gone to hours and hours of classes in all sorts of weather, regardless of my health issues. I have earned degrees and suffered through round after round of interviews. I have forced myself to stay up late and get up early in order to accomplish above-and-beyond job performance. I scoured employment ads, filled out countless applications, applied for hundreds of positions from janitor to educator, and when I found a spot, I dedicated myself to being the best I could possibly be. That is what earned me the position I have now. Not luck. Not sympathy. Hard effing work.
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So when you look at me and give that little smirky smile and tell me how "lucky" I am to have such a great job, know that back in the part of my brain that is ever so carefully controlled, I am envisioning myself slapping the ever-loving crap out of you.
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But other than that, self, how was your day?
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Sometimes it really sucks to have a body that looks relatively healthy. Obese, yes, but otherwise healthy. It sucks because it makes me feel like I cannot acknowledge the pain that I am dealing with. The people who know me best can tell. They see the tightness at the corners of my eyes, the darkening of the patches on my cheeks and the hesitation when I move to sit, to stand, to walk. And, like the best of all humanity, they keep their mouths shut and trust that I will stop when I reach my limit and ask for help when I must. It's a damn shame that I don't. I don't stop at my limits. I don't ask for help. I'm wired so strangely that to do either of these things would be tantamount to letting the disease win. There's no way I'm going to let the disease win. Not without a fight.
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The news from the medical world is not good. Since chemo and radiation are essentially out of the question, there is very little that can be done for my stubborn self. The cancer continues to gnaw its way through my smooth tissues and I continue to hurt. Some days less, some days more. My hemoglobin continues to be deformed and my reserves of iron are again lower than medically acceptable. No, I don't think I will agree to having another 4500 mg of iron pumped into my system, thanks anyway. It didn't work before, and there is no evidence that it will work now. I'd rather stick with the sick I am used to being instead of adding on that extra level of excruciating pain.
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I will continue to get up early and make my way to my desk before everyone else arrives... not through any desire to be the early-bird, but because I'd rather as few people as possible see me making my painful way down the long sidewalk. It's difficult enough maintaining the positive attitude and projecting the bad-assery necessary to work in this environment. Having to explain why the tears are gathering in my eyes by the time I open the last gate would be too much to bear. When I arrive early, I can arrange myself into a semblance of order before facing the world. I need those few minutes. They help me stay sane through the day.
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Yes, I'm going to go to the restroom after lunch. Every day. That food I just ate won't stick around for long. No, it's not an eating disorder. It's the cancer eating my guts. It might be delicious, but there's no way it's staying down. And yes, that's why I have a box of hard candy in my desk. The sugar keeps me from crashing. I know I'm fat. I also know my body. This is what works for me. Making a casual and not-so-offhand remark about the diet you're on isn't going to change what I have to do in order to continue to work. It's just going to make me seethe.
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And while I'm at it, I'm glad you had a Merry Christmas. And, yes, I did have a nice holiday, though I don't celebrate Christmas. Gifting me the pocket-sized New Testament when you know without a shadow of a doubt that I am not Christian... and doing so at WORK... and going so far as to tell me I can keep it in my DESK... and doing all of this in front of another co-worker... not cool. I sit quietly while you pray over your food. I wished you a respectful Merry Christmas. But I can do without your conversion tactics. I am quite happy with my beliefs. I am an honest and a moral person. I hope that highlighter that was lifted from my desk over the holidays makes its new owner happy.
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Ask me for nearly anything I have and I will gladly give it to you, take it without asking and I'm going to be grouchy.
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Speaking of asking for things... I realize you were being somewhat sarcastic when you said you'd trade your health problems for mine. And in all honesty, I don't know if the health problems you have described exist or not - I'd think it would be difficult to power walk with multiple stress fractures in both feet - but maybe you have a very high pain tolerance. But considering the way you look and the health issues you say you have... I'd think you'd be more aware that someone doesn't have to look sick to be deathly ill. So when I responded to your offer of a health problem trade with "Really? You'll take ALL of them?" I was more than a little serious. After all, stress fractures eventually heal and kidneys are difficult to get but they are available. It seems like a good trade for cancer crawling through your innards, a body that won't digest vegetable proteins and which has lately refused to digest much of anything, coma-levels of hemoglobin and ferratin stores, progressive rheumatoid arthritis, insomnia, migraines, severe abdominal adhesions, surgical scars that randomly open up and seep lymph, internal (soluble) stitches that have calcified and work their way out through lesions, hive-inducing allergies to aloe, catfish and artificial sweeteners, patellas that tend to subluxate and a propensity for falling off porches. Somehow, I doubt you really want to trade.
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So, it's 1 am and I'm up writing this instead of sleeping because dinner didn't stay down and I have fiery pain running up and down my spine. The numbness from the nerve damage in my left thigh is from about 3" above the hip to just below the knee on that side, so staggering to the bathroom is a challenge - and that numbness now has a new associated pain. The bottoms of my feet have cracked in several places and the headache that teased me all afternoon now rests firmly against the back of my eyeballs. No big deal. I'll just grab a nap for a couple of hours and be my bright and cheerful self at work tomorrow.
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How did I get all of this? Just lucky, I guess.
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Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-15108493892563718542012-11-10T12:13:00.001-08:002012-12-26T22:03:35.638-08:00oh, poopI have some sort-of good news. I'll be insured once again starting December 1, 2012. This means I'll be able to go through the process of locating a new GP and oncologist and rheumatologist and hematologist and dermatologist and will hopefully get all of my issues back under the watchful eyes of people who "practice" for a living.
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Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I've been sporadically taking my herbal concoction. It does work - when I take it regularly my hemoglobin levels maintain between 6-8 and sometimes climb as high as 11 or 12, my energy level is subjectively better, I sleep (a little) better, I have improved focus and my guts aren't all stabby-twisty-pully feeling all the time. However, when I take it regularly my guts are all burny all the time and I have a greatly decreased appetite along with a greatly increased incidence of massive heartburn.
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The migraines exist either way. Hmph.
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So, an update...
My left thigh from 2" above the knee to above my hip joint continues to be numb to the point where pain does not generally register in that area... or pain that doesn't exist randomly registers in that area.
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My knees continue to sublux (aka the kneecap slides off its normal position to the side, then snaps back into position) roughly 2 - 4 times per month, depending on my activity level.
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My bones continue to be brittle in my extremities and I'm dealing with several cracked metatarsals at the moment (poor footsie!) and an ominous grinding sensation in my right wrist.
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The pain has settled for a level 4-5 daily, without medication, occasionally spiking to an 8-9 and on rare, blessed, occasions giving me the empowering relief of a 1-2.
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The migraines exist. Persist. Linger at the fringes of my vision. Ready to be triggered by flares of light or sound.
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And the rheumatoid arthritis, though it hasn't begun to show dramatic twisting of my joints, has increased in incidence of flares. I can now expect my fingers and toes to "lock-up" at least 2-3 times a week... larger joints lock, ache, pain flare in accompaniment to these incidents.
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And I can't seem to poop. I'm usually like clockwork. Wake up, brush teeth, poop. Come home from work, have dinner, poop. But lately it's gone DAYS between movements and I'm a miserable human being. My guts are hard (and still burny and twisty and rippy and shreddy)and my clothes don't fit. I may have to resort to assistive technologies... yep, considering an enema.
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And now for the weird stuff. And by weird, I mean that the italicized portion below is the "gross" stuff that you may want to skip right over. Won't hurt my feelings at all and might save you some nightmares. Really, you can just rejoin the rest of us gluttons for punishment after the italics stop. You were warned.
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<i>As my dear readers know, I no longer have any female bits... my cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries are sitting in a jar somewhere being marveled at by medical students. It's been this way for quite some time. So, imagine my surprise/shock/horror when while walking through a local store, I was hit by an excruciating round of "oh my goddess, my guts are ripping themselves to shreds" that, quite literally, brought me to my knees. Yep, my chunky monkey self, on my knees, right there in the dog food aisle. Whimpering. After several minutes, I managed to climb to my feet and use the cart as a walker to get to the bathroom.
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Hello. What the everloving frack?
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Now, perhaps one of you can enlighten me about this, because I cannot for the life of me figure it out. How does someone who has NO ovaries ... and who has NO OPENING at the place where the cervix "used to be" manage to not only start spotting... but also pass a freaking DERMOID CYST? And yes, I'm very, very certain that's what it was. I have -extensive- experience with these horrific globules of broken dreams. But it begs the question - if I don't have the generating bits anymore - where the heck did this thing come from?
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And spotting. Yes, spotting. Okay, maybe something tore loose. Sure. It can happen. Maybe the incision opened up a little to let something through. Okay. I'll even buy that. IF it were an isolated incident. But is isn't.
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For the last 4 months, every month, for a couple of days, I have had pink-to-red spotting.
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What? I haven't suffered enough with this? Has my crazy body decided to regenerate and curse me once again? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised.
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Okay, enough with the ick.
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In happier news, I've been promoted at work. I'm now in a career service position with much better pay and actual benefits. Plus I get to teach, which is freaking awesome.
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I've been attending EPI (Educator Preparation Institute) courses at the local community college and will be finished with them by early summer - then I'll snag my English 6-12 and ESE endorsements for my teaching certificate and all will be right with the world.
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Guess that's about it for now. We'll see how the great doctor hunt goes in December. I'll be sure to keep you posted.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-58303688827016949492012-06-25T16:59:00.004-07:002012-06-25T16:59:50.878-07:00dangling participlesFirst things first. Yes, I've been away from this blog for a while. I've been taking the herbal formula and celebrating the little successes - the hemoglobin level that seems to be staying stable around 8, the occasional restful sleep and of course, the new job. I think it's the job that has been most responsible for keeping me away. It's only 30 hours a week, but it's a big change from what I have been doing while struggling to regain my health (or at least a semblance of health) over these past few years.<br />
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I alternately love and hate my job. I love that I am a Librarian... in charge of two libraries... one a law library, the other a general library. I love that I am effective and useful and that I am doing something toward keeping my family afloat financially. I don't love the fact that these libraries are within the penal system and that I am expected to supervise inmates on my own. And the paperwork. I'm not too keen on the mountains of paperwork. But overall, I'm happy with the job and I'll stay as long as they'll continue to pay me to do so.<br />
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What brings me back to Diagnosis Impossible? More blood work. I guess there'a a yay involved, because the hemoglovin hasn't completely crashed. But there are other things which are far less "yay" in nature. The level of iron in reserve has dropped to critical levels once again - down to 2 now, when it should be near 100. So I'm not storing any of the iron long-term even though I'm taking in enough to keep my levels in the 8 range. That's not good news, but it does explain why when I start feeling my body go into flare-mode I can offset most of the crash with a massive protein intake.<br />
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But the worst news is the upsurge of cancer markers in my blood. It seems the wee beasties are alive and well and multiplying happily within my bowel and other smooth muscle tissues. I can't say I'm surprised. I knew they would eventually get around to making themselves known again. I just hoped I'd have more time before they did. No such luck.<br />
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Which brings me to this post. A well-meaning co-worker discovered my illness today and reacted with sympathy... but not too much sympathy... which was both appropriate and appreciated. However, she also said, in a very shocked tone: "But you look fine!"<br />
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How many times have I or my friends heard those words from some well-intentioned (or sometimes a not-well-intentioned) person? Why is it that our society bases their perception of illness or disability upon the outward appearance of the individual? I was met with disbelief, shock, even a little mistrust, simply from admitting that I do, in fact, have cancer. <br />
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I am not emaciated. I'm a fat, sassy and often cheerful individual. This flies in the face of everything society says illness should be.<br />
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This same lady continued to comment along the lines of: "But you're so cheerful!"<br />
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To which I calmly replied, "It doesn't make sense to me to be upset over something beyond my control."<br />
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She asked about treatment options. I gave the standard "I can't tolerate it" responses to radiation and chemo... which, I will admit, are the easy answers. It is much harder to explain that I would rather let the disease have me than submit to something that will definitely cause me excruciating pain and prolonged illness - especially when my particular circumstances and complications will circumvent those treatment options anyway. I did tell her that I take an herbal formula. She started to ask if it was created by "one of those Far Eastern doctor people" but was fortunately interrupted by a call back to her work area. <br />
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I know, from my prior interactions with this individual, that she means no harm and no disrespect with her comments and questions. She is genuinely concerned and is trying to make sense of what she sees as a disruption in her world and in her perceptions.<br />
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Even so, it is never okay to respond to an admission of illness with "but you look fine!" It may seem nice, I mean you are indicating that you cannot see any outward signs of such a serious illness, but it actually hurts. So many people struggle with invisible illnesses. It is time we shift the dialogue from how we look to an honest assessment of how we can help.<br />
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<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-71696143758398060382012-04-12T06:47:00.002-07:002012-04-12T06:47:56.632-07:00lottoI was talking with a friend today, about the usual - bills, financial woes, the sucky state of the job market, that sort of thing. During the course of the conversation we came to the tentative conclusion that the only way to break free of lower class poverty is to win the lottery. My response to that became this post.<br />
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I'd love to win the lottery. Problem is, I never have the dollar to spare to PLAY the lottery. As for paying bills and eating at the same time? You've been nibbling the mushrooms again, haven't you? I'm in a terrified panic because my freaking student loans start going into repayment in August and here it is April with zero jobs and the one job I -might or might not- have is only part-time with no benefits. But even with that, I'll take it. Heck, my husband has been getting extra hours at his job over the past few months but he still only works 30-35 hours, and with all the bills - yeah, and my credit is wrecked because how was I supposed to come up with the roughly 10 grand that insurance didn't cover for all that medical crap when I had the news "Happy Birthday, you have cancer!"? And now, I'm puking my guts out for going-on three days and I don't have a doctor in the area that will touch me unless I suck it up and go to the ER - and then they will demand $200 up front just to see me since it's not my heart and I'm not overtly bleeding out. <br />
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I want to know - how do people "make it" in this country? How do people locate and successfully navigate that elusive "ladder to success"? And people need to can the "work hard and you'll succeed" crap, because it simply doesn't work. I work hard. My husband works hard. My friends work hard. And we're foundering. We're dying. And yet we make too much for any sort of public assistance. Too much. We grossed right at 10k last year - combined. So how do these people live who have house payments of over 2k/month along with car payments and insurance and electric and cell phones with internet access. What is the damned secret? We don't even have a television, much less cable or dish or directTV. Our only source of entertainment/splurge is internet access, and honestly, if I didn't need to have it to find work and upload my writing/editing stuff, we wouldn't have that, either. Right now our house phone won't dial long-distance. We can get calls, but to call out we have to go over to my in-law's house. We have power - but our a/c is set at 78. I cook on a single burner hot plate and with a tiny microwave because we can't afford to get gas for an oven and the house isn't set up for an electric range. <br />
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Yet I'm thankful. I'm thankful that I have a roof over my head and floors under my feet (even though they are starting to get weak in places). I'm thankful that my husband has a job at all. I'm thankful that we have lights and a refrigerator. I'm thankful that we have a washing machine, because I don't know how I'd scavenge change to do laundry - much less drive the half hour to the nearest laundromat. It doesn't even bother me all that much that the dryer is once again broken. I can hang the clothes outside, no problem - and I'm thankful that I have a little bit of land that allows me to be able to do that. But damnit, there has to be a way to get out of this rut. There must be something I'm overlooking, something I haven't figured out yet, something that will let me have just enough to catch up and stay current. I don't even ask for enough to get ahead - because that would be a freaking pipe-dream. But just enough to be able to pay every bill, every month and have enough for gas and groceries.<br />
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Meanwhile, I have this fear that even what little we do have will disappear and we'll be left homeless. I've been homeless. I don't want to go there, ever again. But with every step I take forward, with every bit we accomplish, a half dozen new things go wrong. If you know the secret, please, pass it on, because I know we're not the only ones going through this. I know there are people going through an even harder time. I know we're all in this together, but it sure does feel like we're the ones getting trampled by the masses.<br />
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So, yeah, I'd love to win the lottery. I'd love to be able to play the lottery without having to choose between a ticket and a dozen eggs... because the eggs will feed us for a week and that ticket? Well, it's probably nothing but disappointment clothed in false hopes.<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-24719307838429974942012-03-27T17:47:00.002-07:002012-03-27T17:47:30.687-07:00inch by inchI am happy to report that my hemoglobin remains stable at 15. I've had to back off on the new medication a little because it started to cause a few unwelcome side-effects, but overall everything is going well. I have a noticeable increase in my energy level most days, and I continue to ever-so-slowly shed weight.<br />
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Now that I no longer have impending demise hanging over my head, the little day-to-day annoyances are creeping back. While out with friends, we stepped into an overcrowded, cramped eatery for beverages and I had that gut-wrenching sense of fight-or-flight adrenaline rush. Rapid exit ensued, and after several calming moments I was able to regain my composure enough to continue wandering through the flea market.<br />
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It's not all angst, though. I made it though two levels of vetting for a potential job - working as a library tech in a correctional institution - and now am waiting to hear if I am the one selected from the three finalists. Meanwhile, I continue to fill out applications and tutor my remaining students as the need arises. <br />
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I've been struggling with my publisher lately. It seems some of their timeframes for distribution are not exactly accurate. Although both <i>Solerna</i> and <i>The Schubark Chronicles: Tales of Wagging Tails, In Their Own Words</i> are available through the publisher's site and barnesandnoble.com, they have yet to post in the iBookstore. I pushed their listing through on amazon.com myself, so they are at least available for the two most popular e-readers: Kindle and NOOK. It would be nice to have them available for Apple devices sooner rather than later, but at this point it looks like I'll just have to be patient.<br />
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Meanwhile, the paperback version of <i>Solerna</i> is receiving rave reviews - and even has a fanfic following. I am happy with the reception of my work, but need some new ideas for promotion.<br />
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My Relay for Life fundraising seems to have hit a wall as well. I can completely understand people being unable to donate considering the difficult economy, and am thrilled that I've been able to raise what little I have thus far. <br />
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My website is now live! tiny.cc/annas will get you there. It is fairly basic for now, but does have links to most of my current projects.<br />
<br />
Speaking of projects, the writing never stops! I am currently working toward the deadline for <i>The Schubark Friends</i>, my second volume of children's stories told from the point of view of companion animals. This time, I solicited suggestions for companion animals from friends and relatives, and I've ended up with a nicely diverse list. In addition to one Chihuahua, I have a rabbit, a rat, a snake, a cat, and five other assorted breed dogs. It will be interesting to find out what these guys have to say.<br />
<br />
I have the sequel to <i>Solerna</i> in the works as well. It is in the rough outline stage, but I continue to fill in details and story arcs nearly every day.<br />
<br />
Another exciting project is the current Call for Papers for <i>Pagan Ethical Dilemmas</i>, a non-fiction essay anthology that I will be editing. Response has been slower than expected, but the deadline for submissions is over a month away. I've noticed that locating collegiate Pagan Student Associations is rather difficult, and compiling email addresses for those PSA groups is akin to herding cats - and just about as effective. I think more emails have bounced than have gone through. <br />
<br />
I am excited to see my gardening efforts begin to unfold. After a week of watering and countless wheelbarrow loads of thistle remnants carted away, some of the seeds have begun to germinate! In fact, the only things that have yet to poke above the ground is the lettuce and the spinach. We have baby radishes, carrots, cucumbers, pumpkins, several types of beans, beats and kohlrabi. Oh, and sunflowers and cabbages! And I think the cilantro may have sprouted as well, but the leaves are tiny at this point so it's difficult to tell the plant from any weeds that may have rooted in that pot. Inch by inch, row by row - goes the gardening song that seems to be my theme song of late - I'm happy to gather those inches and rows, those hours and days, and weave them into my tapestry of life.<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-37894413477284365872012-03-19T19:44:00.001-07:002012-03-19T19:44:09.919-07:00kicking bucketsNow that I have a little more breathing time, I thought I'd revisit that bucket list and see what needed updating. Come to find out, I've completed quite a bit of the list. The original list can be found <a href="http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=10150513489851158" target="_blank">here</a>. Thanks to several very helpful friends and family members, I was able to cross off all except the following items:<br />
<br />
1. Throw away/give away/sell/recycle all the stuff I'm not actively using and/or don't love.<br />
2. Grow cotton.<br />
5. Busk as a bard.<em> </em><br />
9. Read aloud to a group or an individual:<br />
- The Schubark Chronicles<br />
10. Grow orchids.<br />
11. Learn to identify 10 constellations. (I already know 5!)<br />
12. Make an amigurumi.<br />
14. Spend 24 hours in silence and without technology.<br />
15. Get certified to teach in Florida (and Missouri?)- halfway there - got my certificate of eligibility for FL!<br />
16. Go to Dragon*Con in 2012.<br />
17. Wear a lolita outfit. In public.<br />
25. Watch a Cirque du Soleil show.<br />
26. Make a basket.<br />
29. Go on a road trip with no destination and no plan.<br />
30. Build a cabin.<br />
<br />
Leaving fifteen of the original 30 items. Not bad.<br />
<br />
I've even made progress on several of the remaining tasks. I'm slowly working my way through the accumulated treasures in the office, donating and discarding with a severity I've never before attempted. The results are slow in coming, mainly because of the sheer volume of things I need to go through and the amount of time I'm able to commit to each session of sorting. I have made some inroads, however, and am quite content with that for now.<br />
<br />
The cotton is another story. I am having a heck of a time finding a source for seed. I will continue to search.<br />
<br />
I'm nearly confident enough in my storytelling abilities to attempt busking, though it would be better if I had a singing voice and/or musical talent on a stringed instrument. Though with the persona I've developed, it doesn't really make that much difference.<br />
<br />
I have had the pleasure of reading several things aloud to various groups and individuals, but am still trying to schedule a children's story-time event with one of the local libraries for a reading of <i>The Schubark Chronicles</i>. Soon, I hope.<br />
<br />
The orchid growing continues to wait for the building of a permanent greenhouse, which is waiting for gainful employment and a steady income... so we'll see.<br />
<br />
I'm getting better with the constellations. I have Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Canis Major, and Taurus so far.<br />
<br />
I have a plan for the amigurumi, just need to sit down and do it.<br />
<br />
The silent/no tech thing will happen - again, soon.<br />
<br />
I applied for and received my certificate of eligibility for teaching in Florida. The English part went off without a hitch, but apparently I need a course in Mass Communication for the Public Speaking bit. Or just pass the test. I'm thinking it's nearly test time.<br />
<br />
Dragon*Con hotels are completely sold out and the alternate hotels are nearly gone as well, but I am working on a couple of angles that may still let me go. I continue to have hope!<br />
<br />
The lolita outfit will be finished by this weekend... and I'll be wearing it while I serve at a Red Hat tea party. I think that counts as "in public."<br />
<br />
Cirque du Soleil is still a dream. Perhaps next year, now that I have a next year.<br />
<br />
I very nearly made a basket out of mimosa bark, but I waited too long and now the bark has dried. I'm going to soak it soft as soon as the chickens get out of my bathtub.<br />
<br />
Though the road trip sounds like fun, the only one I'll be taking soon definitely has a destination and plan. I am honored to be presenting at a Pagan Student Association workshop for the gang at my alma mater, FSU. That event will be this weekend, and I couldn't be more excited! The topic is "Kitchen Witchery," and I will be engaging the participants in hands-on cooking activities as we charge and cook an entire menu of deliciousness.<br />
<br />
I've begun to design my dream cabin, and intend to construct this diminutive dwelling as soon as finances permit. Believe me, photos will be taken and shared, because no one would believe I'd done it otherwise.<br />
<br />
So, that's the rest of the list. I think it's a good list, and I'm still happy with it. I look forward to crossing off the rest of these entries... all the way to 30. Of course, that won't mean I'm finished - it will just mean it's time to make another list!Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-15621747115936089842012-03-12T11:52:00.003-07:002012-03-12T11:52:28.571-07:00support groupThere's nothing quite like watching four grown men fling themselves onto the slender aluminum legs of a canopy in an attempt to keep it from going airborne. This is even more entertaining when potted plants and rusty metal sculptures with very pointy edges are flying through the air and tumbling along the ground.<br />
<br />
The Lake City Home and Garden show was an obstacle course of adventure last weekend. Canopies were lost, plants were unpotted and the indoor booths for once got more attention than those outside. Of course the wind whipping up clouds of scouring sand and mini-cyclones of razor blades (okay, they were oak leaves, but they left nasty scratches) might have had something to do with driving attendees indoors.<br />
<br />
I entered a raffle for a Wolfgang Puck indoor grill and was one of two who remembered to show up at 3pm for the must-be-present-to-win drawing. The man called out seven ticket numbers, none of them were mine. None of them were the other lady's either. Well, that's not true. He was calling the last four digits. She was reading the first digits and wondering why the numbers he kept calling were shorter than the number on her ticket. When she finally figured it out (at the point where he had MY ticket number in his hand to call next) she realized he'd called her number four tickets ago. She walked off with the grill. 15 seconds longer and I'd have won. <br />
<br />
Oh well, I'd have probably burned down the house with the thing anyway.<br />
<br />
Because that's what I do. Not intentionally, of course. But some days it's more cost-effective for me to stay curled up in the center of the bed, not touching anything electronic or alive.<br />
<br />
"What had happened was..."<br />
<br />
I got up at 2 am to fix breakfast for my husband before he left for work at 3:20. Normally I will pull the blanket over my head and mumble "bye, love you, haveagoodday" and make kissy noises toward him as he leaves, getting up to make my own breakfast a respectable 3 or 4 hours later. But this day I wanted to be nice and make him a good, hot breakfast. <br />
<br />
Well, sort of.<br />
<br />
We make big batches of breakfast burritos and freeze them. That way, 2-3 minutes in the microwave gives us a quick, hot meal when we are running late. However, if you take a few more minutes and pop the burritos in the toaster oven, you get a delicious, crunchy-shelled breakfast of deliciousness and win. I opted for the long version. I even remembered to spray cooking oil on the pan so they wouldn't stick. Tossed them in the oven, plugged that sucker in and set it for 10 minutes. Turned. Walked to the bedroom door (about 8 feet away). And just as I reached toward the door knob, I heard gosh-awful popping noises from the toaster oven. I dashed back to the counter as sparks and smoke started issuing from beneath the device, jerked the cord out of the outlet, manually shut off the timer and decided the microwave method might not be so bad after all.<br />
<br />
The toaster oven is... well... toast. The burritos weren't quite as tasty, what with the scent of burnt electrical wiring wafting through the air and all, but they were edible. And making my husband breakfast in bed completely threw off his groove for the rest of the day. So instead of a win-win, I ended up with a fail-fail.<br />
<br />
But it could have been worse. If my leg hadn't been numb from sleeping all twisted up in the covers, I'd have walked faster to the bedroom and most likely missed hearing the sparking. That would have been a disaster of epic proportions. <br />
<br />
Of course the toaster oven was our only oven - because of some quirky circumstances the house was only set up to accept a gas oven - which was fine for a while. I love cooking with gas. Except our local propane company has some sort of additive in their gas that makes ash build up on the pilot lights, putting them out every other day or so. "Why do we have headaches all the time?" "Oh, wait, because we're breathing in gas because the pilot lights are out again." So we moved the gas stove out to the shed and had the propane company come pick up their tank. But, when we went to install an electric range, we discovered the lack of wiring. Lovely. Now we have to find an electrician to install an outlet for the range. And to figure out what the breakers marked "range" actually control.<br />
<br />
So, breakfast over, I move to my next task - laundry. Toss in a load, move a load to the dryer, no worries. Turn everything on, wait to make sure no sparks fly (see, I can be taught!), and work on the next book while I wait for the buzzers to go off. <br />
<br />
Two hours later, no buzzers. Hmm. Curious. The washer is done, the buzzer had just been turned off. No worries there. Open the dryer to pull the clothes out. They are still wet. Warm-ish, but wet. This is not good.<br />
<br />
Try another cycle. 45 minutes later, the clothes are still wet. Lovely. That's ok, I can deal with this. I'll just haul the clothes out to the line and hang them up to dry. Except I can't find the clothespins from the last time I used the line (about 2 years ago, I think). Necessity becomes the mother of invention. Plastic hangers - hang the clothes on the hangers, hang the hangers on the line. Added bonus: don't have to put the clothes on hangers after they're dry, just hang them right up.<br />
<br />
But the dryer is not working. I go online to try to figure out what could be wrong with it. And it beeps. Wha? Beep. Beep beep. Beeeeeep. What the heck? Go, turn off the dryer. Back to the computer. Type-type-type. Beep. Beep beep. Beeeeeep. Okay, I know I turned it off. I'll just ignore it until I finish this search. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeep. Beepbeep. This thing is possessed! It is making noises I've never heard before. I'll just unplug it for now.<br />
<br />
Only, I can't reach the plug. Because we have the washer and dryer up on lifts to make them easier to use (they're both front load contraptions) and this has blocked access to the outlet. And I'm short. So I can't just reach over the dryer to get to the plug. Aha. This is why we have a step-stool. Well, this, and reaching top cabinets. So I pull the step-stool over and climb up. But I still can't quite reach. So I lean over the dryer. And my foot slips off the step-stool, slamming my belly into the front edge of the dryer, scooting it back along the lifts and making it absolutely hopeless for me to get to the darned plug.<br />
<br />
Alright, fine. Put the step-stool back, go back to my computer to look for the source of the problem. Start typing. Screen goes black. What?<br />
<br />
Not screen-saver black. Not sleep-mode black. No, this is "the power just died and you are screwed" black. Only the power in the house didn't die. the power to my laptop cord didn't die. And the laptop battery is fully charged, so that wouldn't have killed it anyway. Hmm. Pick up the laptop to see what's going on. No sparks, but wow, it feels kind of warm. Odd. <br />
<br />
Turn it back on and it works just fine. Something is different though. Can't quite put my finger on it. Hmm. Wait - it's being very quiet all of a sudden. Aha! The fan isn't coming on. Well, that's just peachy.<br />
<br />
So, instead of the toaster oven, we're now doing all our cooking in the microwave and on a hot plate. Instead of the dryer, we're hanging out our clothes. And I still use the laptop, but I save, often.<br />
<br />
Which brings us back to the home and garden show. Where, for some unknown reason, I signed up to do Relay for Life as a survivor. Which is fine. But I also said I'd go to the next meeting of their women's cancer support group. And that's tonight. So I'll try not to burn down the house while I'm getting ready.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-43221598060291740132012-03-07T23:46:00.001-08:002012-03-07T23:46:45.616-08:00vehicular pornographyThe past few weeks have been a little bit of everything: crazy, fun, tiring, sad, thrilling, scary, joyous and downright weird. I wouldn't change a thing!<br />
<br />
Let's start with vehicles. Remember the old blue Honda Civic? Yeah, we'd pretty much forgotten about it, too. It's still over at my brother's house, waiting for the day when either he is out of the wheelchair and able to work on it or we find a way to tow it over here so we can work on it. When we parked it, it ran. Just needed a transmission rebuild. Then field mice happened. Now it needs a whole new wiring harness and who knows what else. It won't even start anymore. So, we moved on to the station wagon. Good, dependable car, circa 1988. The head started leaking oil, so we pulled it to do a gasket change. And a nut off one of the rocker arms ended up falling into the engine and somehow we can't find the darned thing. Magnet-on-a-stick is too big to fit in the hole, we've probed every orifice (and even checked in the oil pan just in case it fell all the way through) but no luck finding the nut. If it weren't so heavy, we'd pick it up, flip it over and shake it until the thing fell out... but it's freaking heavy. And now the car has one very flat tire and one kind of flat tire and the engine is out and sitting on top of two old tires and we've been without a car for quite a while.<br />
<br />
Of course, we have the truck. And the truck is awesome and good. But it holds exactly two people. Unless you're a contortionist or under three, that little bench seat behind the main seats is more like a medieval torture device. This means that whenever Peter and I and his mother want to go somewhere together one of us has to squeeze into a space the size of a cat carrier - or we take her truck and our truck. Not very fuel efficient.<br />
<br />
Today we added a 2003 Chevy Malibu to the mix. It runs great, rides great and has a spacious, comfortable back seat. And the dealership almost couldn't sell it to us because they couldn't find the paperwork from when they bought it. Hilarity, and an hour or so of waiting, ensued.<br />
<br />
What will become of the other two cars? We're thinking of taking them apart, piece by piece, and hauling them to the scrap yard. Or, more likely, we'll borrow a car trailer from someone and haul them there mostly intact. Either that or we'll make some sort of installation art piece from them in the front yard... where it can annoy our fussy neighbor. I'm thinking of painting them in garish shades of chartreuse and fuschia and positioning them so they appear to be breeding. Now that's an idea!Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-72599097112875514052012-03-05T02:05:00.001-08:002012-03-05T02:05:08.157-08:00sometimes there is no bad newsMy sister-in-law arrived Saturday for a whirlwind weekend visit. We had a lovely lunch and walked through a local Home and Garden show made extraordinarily amusing by excessive wind. It is difficult to shake hands with people when they are busy holding their canopies with death-grips in an attempt to keep them from blowing across the fairgrounds. Most were successful. There were a few highlights of the show. <br />
<br />
I very nearly won a Wolfgang Puck indoor grill. And I would have won, too, if the other lady hadn't figured out she was reading her ticket incorrectly. Why, yes ma'am, I have been reading the last four digits, not the first four. She had actually won several tickets prior to her figuring out the process. <br />
<br />
We did get four free dogwood trees from a landscaping company. They look like sturdy stock. I hope they do well where we want to plant them.<br />
<br />
I popped in at the blood mobile to see how my hemoglobin levels are responding to the new treatment and got a very pleasant shock. When tested a little over a month ago, my level was at 5.5 - steadily falling from the first of the year. Saturday, however, after three weeks on the new medicine, that level was up to 15! 15 is out of the danger zone completely. I still couldn't donate due to the blood transfusions from earlier in the year, but it looks like I've managed to beat the old man with the scythe yet again. Going from a prognosis of 3-5 months to one of 3-5 years... now that is an event worthy of a kermit flail. <br />
<br />
After this fantastic news we wandered through the last set of displays and happened across one for the Women's Cancer Survivors of Lake City who were talking up Relay for Life. Well, hey, I'm a survivor. Granted I'm also currently playing host to those wildly multiplying cells, but so far I'm still breathing and that counts, right? I was on such a high from finding out my new magic number that I signed up for Relay for Life on the spot. Oh, I won't do the whole thing. I think 18 hours of walking would give me a whole new meaning for pain. But I'll at least do the survivor's lap - and maybe a few more for good measure. And I'll try to collect some donations. And I think I'll toodle on over to the group meeting this month as well. They seemed like nice ladies. We shall see.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile. I have chickens in my bathtub.<br />
<br />
Yes, you read that correctly. Chickens. In my bathtub. More specifically, in my guest bathroom bathtub, with a heat lamp hanging from the shower rod. The chicks, four White Jersey Giants, are in that stage of fuzz-and-feathers where they are almost cute but not really. I'd forgotten how much chicks poop. And, incidentally, how much chicks eat. These little girls (the feed store lady assured us they were sexed pullets - but would make no guarantees) are more fuzz than feather, but they can already fly up to the edge of the tub. They sneak out when I'm not looking. I know this to be true because they leave little birdy poops on the floor outside the tub. <br />
<br />
The puppies are very interested in these new additions to the family. Morgie, in typical fashion, wants to be their surrogate mother. Okay, she wants in the tub under the heat lamp, and if she has to play mommy to four peeping feather-heads to manage that, she's in. Stripe wants to sniff them. Stripe wants to sniff everything, though, so that's nothing spectacular. Stitch wants them to shut up. Little Bear wants to make sure they don't steal any of his blankets. Guinea Pig wants to make sure they don't steal any of her belly rubs. Anubis wants to know what chicken tastes like. No, he doesn't seem to want to harm them. He does want to lick them, however. A prospect not welcome in the world of chick. So, for now, I have chickens in my bathtub. We'll see how long that lasts.<br />
<br />
In book news, The Schubark Chronicles is increasing in popularity according to sales, and has even garnered a couple of nice reviews. Solerna is just now going live, and early signs look positive for its success. It is so gratifying to know that even if the cancer wins, I have managed something that many people only talk about doing. I thought it up. I wrote it. I edited it. I sent it out for others to pick apart. We edited again (and again, and again, you get the idea). And finally, it was finished. And in a couple of days, I'll hold a copy in my happy hands. I think that will deserve another kermit flail.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-62244572821493969242012-02-27T23:43:00.001-08:002012-03-05T01:17:47.757-08:00birthday madnessI don't know how to express the depth of appreciation I have for my husband. He pulled together a birthday party for me that was a beautiful event full of laughter and life and love, and for one blissful day I was able to ignore everything that is going wrong and concentrate on the things that bring me joy. I was surrounded by friends and loved ones and even received presents (which were totally unexpected on my part - I thought people were just bringing snacks!). We played games and went from naughty to silly and back again. The food was great, the people were even better and I think good times were had by all.<br />
<br />
Of course I stayed up too late and had too much sugar and missed a dose of my new meds, but the payback I've been feeling since then has been oh-so-worth-it.<br />
<br />
I've also been whittling down that bucket list. I ePublished my Children's book of puppy-point-of-view stories, <i><a href="http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/the-schubark-chronicles/18913474" target="_blank">The Schubark Chronicles</a></i> available now as an EPUB file, and soon to be available in the iBookstore and at Barnes & Noble for NOOK readers. One of my dear friends not only bought the book, but read it right away and posted a review - then listed me on Goodreads as well. I'm still pretty excited to be listed as an Author on Goodreads - that's a pretty big deal!<br />
<br />
Now I need to move forward on <i>Solerna</i>, my YA novel. I need to add a glossary and tweak a few things from the latest editor review, then format it for ePub and standard publication. I hope to have it up and available (at least for ePub) by the end of the week. Standard publication will take a little longer as I will have to go through a proof copy before it goes live and that will take a couple more days.<br />
<br />
That bucket list is shrinking day-by-day. Here's what's left: <br />
<br />
Throw away/give away/sell/recycle all the stuff I'm not actively using and/or don't love.<br />
Grow cotton.<br />
Busk as a bard.<i> </i><br />
Read aloud to a group or an individual:<br />
- Solerna (my YA novel)<br />
Grow orchids.<br />
Learn to identify 10 constellations. (I already know 5!)<br />
Make an amigurumi.<br />
<i></i><br />
Spend 24 hours in silence and without technology.<br />
Get certified to teach in Florida (and Missouri?) <br />
Go to Dragon*Con in 2012. <br />
Wear a lolita outfit. In public.<br />
Publish Solerna<br />
Watch a Cirque du Soleil show.<br />
Make a basket.<br />
Try raw sugar cane.<br />
Go on a road trip with no destination and no plan.<br />
Build a cabin.<br />
<br />
My next goal will be a book signing for Solerna, hopefully at the local community college. I think it would be fitting to do it there as a sort of "local grad does good" event.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to find time to do the 24 hours without speaking or technology - maybe this weekend will work.<br />
<br />
For now, I have a tutoring job in 11 1/2 hours (so yes, I should be sleeping) and have a bunch of work to do on the first entry on that bucket list. I have a job interview on March 13th that I am very excited about. It is a part time position at a library of sorts, so it is something I'll be physically able to do - at least for a while yet.<br />
<br />
And now the best news of all - the medication seems to be working. I don't have definitive proof of that yet, because without insurance it is difficult to get the testing done that will let me know for certain, but I do know that I am more alert and able to do more things for longer periods of time since I started on the new program. I've had some other signs that things are healing, but I want to hold off on that bit of news until I know for sure (or at least until I have more data.)<br />
<br />
tl;dr - Great birthday. Book published. Job interview. Medical improvement.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-83125558494093395692012-02-20T14:51:00.002-08:002012-02-20T14:51:25.392-08:00if I had another dayI am frustrated, confused and rather hurt.<br />
<br />
Guess what? I'm dying. It should come as no surprise if you've even had a passing interest in this blog. It isn't an absolute, of course. Sure, sudden miracles have been known to happen. Maybe, just maybe, the new medication I've been taking will turn things around or at least give me a little more time. But the cold, harsh reality is: I'm dying. If things continue as they are, I have about three months left.<br />
<br />
I've been asked, over and over, what I would like to do with the time I have remaining. My overwhelming response has been that I would like to spend time with my friends and family, preferably while I am still coherent enough to enjoy the experience.<br />
<br />
Plus, my birthday is coming up. In 5 more days, actually. And it happens to fall on a Saturday. And I've never had an honest-to-goodness birthday party on my birthday. Ever. So my darling husband decided it would be an awesome thing to invite tons of my friends to share in what could be my last birthday. We envisioned a party with plenty of fun and loads of laughter and a break from the typical "oh, you're dying" awkwardness. A day where I could relax and visit with friends and snack on delicious things and play games and just enjoy myself.<br />
<br />
Sounds pretty darned perfect to me. So, what's the problem?<br />
<br />
He invited loads of people. Around 50 or so. (And in this case, if it was a couple being invited I counted them as 1, collectively... so really around 80 people total were invited.) And invitations were sent out weeks in advance, giving plenty of time for people to plan ahead. Again, what's the problem?<br />
<br />
The problem is, we've heard from 4 people. Four. Two of those are regrets. One is an "I'll try." Only 1 person cares enough to do this simple little thing - to take a couple hours out of their day to stop by and say "happy birthday" to someone who is facing the end of their days on this Earth.<br />
<br />
Do you know someone who has died? Have you ever wanted just one more chance to tell them you care about them? <br />
<br />
Apparently the people I have always considered to be my friends are using this opportunity to instead tell me that they are like honey badger - and they just don't give a fuck.<br />
<br />
You know what? I love them anyway. Every damn one of them. <br />
<br />
I just wish they'd give me the chance to tell them that... because headstones aren't very talkative.<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-2863667920747741602012-02-15T09:09:00.001-08:002012-02-15T09:09:09.657-08:00care to take a turnThings have not been going well. I have a lingering cold, which my husband and I seem to be passing back and forth. I'm starting to feel the effects of the falling hemoglobin levels - I am constantly tired and my body aches, my feet are twin icicles and my ankles and wrists/hands swell quite frequently. I can feel my pulse as my heart struggles with the lower oxygen levels. The dark patches are back and my hair is falling out again. Other symptoms, however, are more troubling. Increasingly I've been experiencing something that I can only describe as "my guts hurt" - abdominal discomfort in a twisty-wrenchy-burny sort of way. And there is another indicator that the cancer is thriving within my bowels - more blood clots are being expelled. I know, "eww!" But I promised to be honest here, so there you have it. My body is determined to lose blood, and since I took away the 'via the girly-bits' option, it has found another outlet.<br />
<br />
But, I've found another way to fight back. I've begun a promising herbal treatment program that has had some success in other countries. After extensive research, this particular blend appears to deal with most of my odd array of symptoms and disorders: the smooth muscle cancer, the immune system gone haywire and the low hemoglobin levels.<br />
<br />
Brewing the stuff makes my little witchy self all sorts of happy. Though I have the herbs in a pre-blended package, the process is somewhat intensive. Boil a gallon of water, add 4oz of the herb blend, stir, cover and boil for 10 minutes, stir, turn off the heat and let sit for 12 hours, stir, bring back to a boil, sitr, strain and decant into a bottle. Ok, it's not labor intensive so much as it is time intensive. The smell is rather pungent, but it's not so bad once you get used to it. I've just taken my first dose and the flavor isn't bad at all. I expected bitter, but was pleasantly surprised. It does have a somewhat woody taste, but overall it's smooth. I'm glad it doesn't taste horrible since it has to be taken on an empty stomach, and I have to wait an hour before eating anything after each dose.<br />
<br />
At this point, what do I have to lose? At worst it will have a placebo effect - which might give me a little more time. At best it will kill the cancer and help my immune system and hemoglobin production. Heck, I'd be thrilled if it would just fix the blood problems. At least then I'd have the energy to tackle the rest of the issues.<br />
<br />
And speaking of issues. I'm still looking for work... and still getting rejection notices. If it weren't so sad it would be funny. One company told me that they wouldn't hire me because my facebook profile photo wasn't a picture of me - and my having a profile photo of an aardvark wasn't presenting the professional image they expected from their employees. I guess if I'd been in a low-cut top doing duck-face I'd have a job.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I've started the process to attain my teaching certificate. Essentially that process is: pay the DOE lots of money. Oh, and send transcripts to prove you have a degree. I am optimistically applying for admission to an EPI (Educator Preparation Institute) program at the same local college where I earned my AA. The class cycle starts in August, and is eligible for financial aid. So, that should be fun. I keep looking to see if any of the local (or semi-local) schools need English/Reading/Speech teachers, but no luck thus far. <br />
<br />
So I'm occupying my time by working on <i>The Schubark Chronicles</i>, a series of puppy-point-of-view stories that will be e-published (hopefully) in March. Don't worry, as soon as they are available, I'll let ~everyone~ know.<br />
<br />
<br />My main project right now, though, is preparing for a Kitchen Witch demonstration that I'll be doing for the FSU PSA (Pagan Student Association) on March 24th. I have no idea if I'll be doing this in an actual kitchen or not - so I'm trying to be very flexible with my plans. I'm sure it will be fun times, regardless. Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-88084676736382861822012-01-24T04:40:00.000-08:002012-01-24T04:40:24.295-08:00it's okay to let yourself feel badI keep falling into the trap of trying to be brave and stay strong all the time. Honestly, it's exhausting. Yes, my dishes are piled up. Yes, I could stand to do a couple loads of laundry. Sure, mopping the floors is on my to-do list. But sometimes there are more important things. Even when those important things are simply sitting still and letting go of the to-do lists and the "I ought to" concerns. <br />
<br />
Even when it feels like I'm not being as good a wife as I should be, or as good a daughter, or mother, or friend; sometimes I just need to get over myself and understand that it's not my fault.<br />
<br />
I didn't ask for cancer to happen to me. I didn't do anything to encourage it. I went to doctors. Many doctors. Many times. For many years. I did what I was supposed to do. It's not my fault that my body doesn't remember how to be healthy. It's not my fault that tests expected to show climbing levels instead show plummeting numbers. There is no one to blame; no outlet for my rage, my dismay, my confusion or my sadness. I have to keep reminding myself that it is okay to let myself feel bad. This, too, is part of the experience of dying, even as it is part of the experience of living.<br />
<br />
<br />I can be as optimistic as... someone who is really optimistic... but that doesn't change the ticking of the clock and the turning of the calendar page.<br />
<br />
I feel like my friends are drawing away from me. Insulating themselves. And though I can understand that desire, I selfishly want to hold them close. I want the last sounds I hear to be their laughter. I want the last things I feel to be their love. When I finally rest in Summerland, I want to be able to look into this world and see them at peace.<br />
<br />
I want to make plans and do things with them now, while I am still able. I want to be able to say goodbye on my own terms, not have a chaotic rush at the end when I won't be able to respond. <br />
<br />
<br />
So, on mornings when I sit here alone, feeling hot tears spill from
my eyes, although I want nothing more than a focus upon which I can
pound my fists in frustration, I am left only with the simple fact that
what I want has long ago ceased to be relevant.<br />
<br />
I don't want anyone to realize too late that they won't have another chance to say what they feel.<br />
<br />
The worst thing about ignoring mortality is living with regret.<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-28556250363291683272012-01-18T23:07:00.000-08:002012-01-18T23:07:55.592-08:00ramblings of an unemployed insomniacWell, January is rather more than half over, so it's time to assess my progress.<br />
<br />
I am losing weight - just not as quickly as I'd hoped and with more up-and-down fluctuations than I'd like. I haven't missed a single day of checking in on the Wii Fit - and most days I do 25-30 minutes of yoga, aerobics and strength training on the system. In addition, when it isn't raining or sludgy outside, I go for walks. The walks aren't particularly brisk, but they seem to be effective.<br />
<br />
Now, the problems. Going all-liquids was a no-go. I couldn't manage to get enough of the animal protein my body requires and therefore ended up getting sick rather quickly. We rapidly modified the plan to include a sensible meal: low carb and heavy on the protein. On the days I remember to eat, I tend to do well. It is easy to get off schedule, however, and end up not maintaining the small amounts throughout the day. When I screw up, I feel it the next day. I end up sluggish and listless at best. At worst, I end up harfing violently (and often without much warning) and going through chills and fevers. So, I'm trying to stay on some semblance of a schedule. At least I'm managing to eat more than once a day for the most part - so that's a start.<br />
<br />
I can now understand how people get addicted to exercise. I feel better when I go through my yoga/strength/aerobics routine. It feels good for a while after I've finished - even when I'm a little sore from the workout. Unfortunately, the good feeling fades within an hour or two and it is often tempting to run through the workout again just to get the feeling back. I've learned not to do that, though. When I do too much, I end up unable to move very well the following day.<br />
<br />
I can tell that my body is slowly fading, even as I'm getting a little more toned and losing a little weight. My vision is blurring again and I'm having trouble focusing on tasks. Concentration slips easily - though I've been dealing with concentration lapses for so long that I'm generally able to force myself to keep going, even when I have to read and re-read several times. My joint pain has returned, flaring and easing in completely random cycles. Not unexpected, but still unpleasant. I can't remember the last time I didn't have a headache. And the insomnia is definitely back. I guess that's kind of obvious as I'm writing this at 2 am. I slept for a little while earlier - about 30 minutes or so. Every household noise wakes me up. I even have a fan on for noise - to drown out the sounds of puppies lapping water or crunching kibble - but since Morgana is in heat, I hear every whine and whimper of the boys trying their best to charm her through the door.<br />
<br />
We spent an enjoyable several minutes earlier watching a towel disappear beneath the doorway. I thought that if I dropped a towel there it might block the smells and let the boys get some peace for the night. The boys had other ideas. I'd no sooner get the towel in place when a puppy foot would dart beneath the door to dig it through to the other side. As soon as it got far enough through, the pup would grab the towel in his teeth and pull. Our side of the door = magically disappearing towel and lots of giggling. We'd grab it before it went all the way through and pull it back to our side, setting it in place again. This went on for several cycles before we figured out that if we doubled the towel it was more difficult for them to drag through.<br />
<br />
Keeping the boys away from Morgie is turning out to be more difficult than usual this time around. While we were out the other day, the boys apparently got into a fight. They mostly ended up with bruises and small cuts. Anubis got the brunt of it, though. Three of his feet were torn up, one with a split pad and another with a broken toenail close to the pad. We switched the sleeping arrangements around that night - put Morgie out with Guinea Pig and Little Bear, brought Stitch, Stripe and Anubis in with us. Gave them all baths and doctored their wounds, then let them sleep on the bed with us. They all seemed to get some good rest - of course Stitch couldn't help but "mark" the entire room - so that isn't acceptable for a long-term situation.<br />
<br />
I'm still looking for work and still getting rejection letters. Trying to stay confident that something will turn up soon.<br />
<br />
Peter's alarm is going off so it's time for him to get up and for me to try to get a few hours of sleep before starting my day.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-9479043634930314292012-01-08T10:36:00.000-08:002012-01-08T10:36:05.227-08:00the measure of successThis new year is kicking my arse. I'm one week in and have already looked at that liquids-only-for-a-week thing and had a good, deep belly-laugh. Oh, I've modified my intake and I've bumped up the liquids a great deal and I've had some success in lowering caffeine and eliminating sodas, but I haven't exactly been as stringent as I initially intended.<br />
I'm having difficulties coming to grips with the simple logic that my body is already in starvation mode and has been for quite some time. I am one of those awful people who tends to eat once a day, which plays havoc with the metabolism. Sticking with my usual intake with a smaller portion size and adding exercise ended up with a net GAIN of 4 lbs over three days. Not a good thing at all. So I've started eating more. Counter-intuitive, I know, but realize that my usual intake was something along the lines of... nothing until 2 to 4pm... then a 6-8oz protein, 4oz vegetable, 6oz carb and 20-30oz beverage... and another beverage before bed... modification was in order.<br />
I'm now attempting the following:<br />
Monday-Saturday<br />
Morning: nutritional shake<br />
Late morning: 4oz fruit<br />
Lunch: 4oz protein<br />
Afternoon: 4oz vegetable<br />
Dinner: 4oz protein<br />
Evening: 4oz vegetable<br />
along with a minimum of 20minutes aerobic exercise and yoga daily, plus at least a short walk - working on increasing the distance and duration of both the walk and the exercise.<br />
Sunday is my free day. I can eat (or not eat) as I want, though I still have to do the exercise.<br />
<br />
Exercising isn't all that bad - I'm using the Wii Fit program with the balance board. It is a pretty good motivational tool and has the advantage of a daily weigh-in and tracking features along with the ability to set short-term or long-term goals.<br />
<br />
I'm already having some success with this plan - I've ended up with a net LOSS of 3.3 lbs - and any progress is good progress.<br />
<br />
With all this attention to what I'm eating and when, I've also noticed some things about myself. First, it will be impossible for me to eat vegetarian. My body continues to reject plant-based iron sources. In fact, only when I've eaten beef do I feel an increase in energy level and overall well-being the following day. Second, I have scent-related issues with consuming pork. Unless it is highly seasoned (or cured, like bacon), I just can't bring myself to eat it - and it's all about the smell. Third, it is difficult to change my eating patterns and habits. I'm struggling, but managing. I just keep reminding myself that I'd like to go on living - that makes it a little easier to make the difficult decisions and to eat when I don't feel like eating.<br />
<br />
Now that the dietary portion of this post is out of the way, on to fun things!<br />
<br />
While the job search continues, I've been spending time working on household projects once again. Peter and I tackled the daunting task of emptying out our chest freezer. It contained less than we thought, but held a few surprises. We lost the last of the chicken to severe freezer burn. But we salvaged the remainder of the pork - which I thawed, cut up and ground for sausage. We ended up with over 20lbs of sausage in a variety of flavors: cajun, middle eastern, regular, chili and plain. Sample tastings of the cajun and middle eastern were promising. It will be interesting to see how those flavor profiles develop as they age a little.<br />
<br />
Also in the freezer were seven rabbit pelts I'd stored around 5 years ago. The pelts are from New Zealand White rabbits, a large meat producing breed. Two are smaller pelts - about 1 sq foot, three are closer to 1.25 sq feet and two are large, around 1ft x 2ft. I thawed the pelts overnight, then washed and split them. They are all in excellent condition - the fur has retained its loft and is firmly attached. I opted to begin the salt-and-acid tanning process to cure them into usable hides. This is one of the easiest tanning methods and works very well on small pelts. In a 5-gallon plastic bucket, mix 2 lbs of non-iodized salt in one gallon of hot tap water. Once the salt is dissolved, add one gallon of cold tap water, stir and let sit until the temperature is tepid. To this, carefully add 8 oz sulfuric acid (available at auto parts stores)... the easiest way is to tilt the bucket and let the acid flow along the side of the bucket to the water so it doesn't splash. Stir this in carefully (giant wooden spoon - or plastic - don't use metal anything with this method of tanning.) Pelts should be split along the belly and to any leg openings so they can lay flat - but you don't have to worry with fleshing them at this point - just make sure any large chunks of fat or flesh are off - the little stuff will come off later in the process. Wash the pelts in dish detergent and warm water to remove any blood or debris. These hides were pretty clean, but I made sure to give them a good once-over anyway. Rinse twice to make sure all the soap is off, then squeeze out as much water as possible - don't wring them! Put the pelts into the salt-acid solution and stir to make sure they are fully saturated. Weigh them down with a large scrubbed rock... or, in our case, with a glass pie pan weighed down with a hunk of scrap marble counter-top we picked up from a friend. Just make sure all the pelts are underwater. Loosely cover the bucket (we used a plastic trash bag) to make sure nothing falls in accidentally. Then leave it alone for three days. We're on day two today and it's tempting to mess with it, but I'm resisting the urge. Tomorrow I'll pull out a pelt and see if the inner layer will peel off easily. If it does, I'll rinse them all and flesh them by peeling off the membrane layer, then put them back into the solution for another week or so, stirring every day to make sure they all get an even soak. At the end of two weeks (or a little less), I'll pull them out, wash them again, and lay them out to dry. As soon as they are "almost" dry, I'll stretch them against a chair-back or the porch railing until the hide is soft and supple and evenly white, then buff the fur side a couple times against the railing, brush it out and figure out what I'm going to do with 7-9 sq feet of tanned rabbit hide. Suggestions are welcome!<br />
<br />
Now that the washing machine pump has been successfully replaced and the leak fixed (thanks, Peter!) I am going to catch up on the laundry. Catching up on the laundry will clear off the bedroom floor so I can vacuum. Vacuuming will prompt the rearrangement of furniture so I'll finally have a mock headboard on the bed. The plan is difficult to describe, but I'll try. I intend to turn our two nightstands so the drawers face either wall and slide them behind the head of the bed to make the base of the headboard. On top of those, I'll stack the dresser with drawers facing toward the bed. Because of the size of the nightstands and dresser, it should end up making a lovely, unique headboard with tons of useful storage. Moving the furniture around will let me get to the closet to clean and reorganize it. Fixing up the closet will let me move the clothes off the rod along one bedroom wall - opening the bedroom up again. So, essentially, having the washing machine fixed will let me rearrange and clean the bedroom - which is all moot, really, because we're tossing around the idea of turning the master bedroom into a workshop and moving our bedroom to the guest room... which I will need to clean out first!<br />
<br />
Let's just say I'm finding plenty of projects to keep me busy while I continue to search for a job. Meanwhile, the struggle to regain my health continues. Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-53489367842991666902012-01-01T06:25:00.000-08:002012-01-01T06:25:50.445-08:00making it or breaking itJanuary 1, 2012. <br />
There are a few new things going on this year. First, I no longer have medical insurance. Once I graduated from FSU, insurance coverage became a thing of the past. I did have one more test done while still insured - more on that in a bit. Second, I am unemployed. That's not really new, but it is more of a problem now that I'm not in school. I've been applying to places like crazy, so something is sure to pan out eventually. Third, that bucket list I've been talking about? Yeah. I'm seriously attacking it.<br />
<br />
Back to that medical test. I figured I'd go get one last finger stick to see if my hemoglobin was tracking as it should. Two stabs later (because surely those initial results were not correct!) and it was official. I'm not stabilizing as we'd hoped. If I were, my level should have been at 6 - which is horribly low, but personally acceptable. It's at 5. A full point below expectation. What does this mean? Well, it pretty much confirms the time line we have already been looking at - things going critical in or around March and the possibility of lingering as long as May. Meanwhile, I can expect to be increasingly tired and out of breath and I'll have to be wary of anything that could significantly weaken my already taxed systems.<br />
<br />
The nurse wouldn't let me leave until I'd talked to the doctor. She, of course, recommended immediate hospitalization for a round of blood transfusions. I managed to maintain a calm and controlled emotional state (at least on the exterior) while I quietly refused. No more transfusions. We've proven that those don't work for me. She gave the overall issue some thought and then came up with a new plan.<br />
<br /> <br />
If we can't find a way to increase the hemoglobin, we'll just have to make it easier for the blood to reach everywhere in my body. That means having less body. We did a weigh-in. Last January I topped the scales at a whopping 296. As of this weigh-in, I've dropped to 268. Although a 28 pound loss is cheer-worthy, it isn't enough. Because of the extensive adhesive disease, I am not a candidate for any of the gastric surgeries. Instead, I have to act as though I've had one. I can't even call what I have to do a "diet" because it's more extreme than any plan I've ever seen. <br />
<br /> <br />
The initial goal is a loss of 50 pounds. The issue is that I need to loose this as rapidly as possible - within two to three months. Now, before any comments about weight loss that fast being hazardous to the health, remember that I'm already pushing a deadline ~literally~ and doing something drastic is my only hope for survival.<br />
<br /> <br />
Thus, starting today, I'm on a week of liquids only. Two nutrition drinks and the rest water, weak tea and a little broth. Since I have an allergy to artificial sweeteners, I have to simply cut out all sodas by the end of this week... and I'll have to cut out tea within the next 2-3 weeks. In addition, I'm bumping up my activity level with daily walks to and from Mum's house and adding a bit of exercise to that every day.<br />
<br /> <br />
Next week the real struggle begins. 6 meals a day, each with 4 tablespoons of food. I can eat whatever I want within reason - just tiny, tiny portions of it. That goes on for 6 days a week, followed by one day of somewhat larger portions - to ensure my body doesn't go into starvation mode. Along with longer workouts, this should keep me on track.<br />
<br /> <br />
The hope is that if I can get the weight off, it will ease the stress on my heart and give me some more time to let my hemoglobin stabilize.<br />
<br /> <br />
Once I reach the initial goal, the next will be shedding a total of 63 more pounds, bringing me to 155. Although the second stage can be slower, it still needs to happen at an accelerated rate. I'm not going to worry about anything other than the first stage right now, though. Because if I can't do that, it all becomes moot.<br />
<br /> <br />
Now I have to swallow my pride and ask for your help. I will need encouragement throughout this process. An occasional uplifting comment or just a hug from time to time will go a long way toward keeping me on target. And if you see me out and about and you notice that I'm in danger of slipping off the path, feel free to chastise me. I'm hereby giving each and every one of you a "free pass" to be as politically incorrect and blunt as you see fit -- because I love each and every one of you and would like to continue being a part of your lives for a lot longer than three more months.<br />
<br /> <br />
<br /> <br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-59408778247267138482011-11-13T22:49:00.001-08:002011-11-13T22:50:36.002-08:00an absence of apologyI haven't posted for some time. I could say that I have been feeling
better, but that would be dishonest. No, what I have really been doing
is waiting. Mostly I've been waiting for my sister-in-law to be happily
married. But I've been waiting for other things, too. I've been
waiting to set some short and medium and long-term goals. I've been
waiting to write out that ever-elusive bucket list. I've been waiting
to see if I'd feel better on my own without having to go back to the
doctor and deal with the poking and prodding and stabbing and testing. <br />
<br />
I've also been thinking. And talking. And thinking some more. I've
been thinking about who I am and what I truly want to accomplish. I've
been thinking about what is important and what I can let go. I've been
thinking about my friends and acquaintances and family. I've even been
thinking about those of my readers that I've never met. I've thought
about wills and finances and endings. I've thought about hopes and
dreams and I've realized quite a few things - some of which surprised
me.<br />
<br />
Finally, I couldn't manage not knowing some sort of solid number. So I
gave up on waiting this thing out. I know the signs of anemia by now.
I've lived with it in one form or another all through my life. The
blood transfusions last year and early this year didn't do any lasting
good. Of course I was still bleeding then. But I've stopped bleeding
now, so there's no logic to why my hemoglobin levels would continue to
fall. The IV iron didn't do any lasting good, either. But I told
myself that it was pre-surgery and the drop after surgery was to be
expected. That's true. It is. What's not to be expected is for the
levels to continue to drop long after the surgery is over and the scars
are all that remain. So I went from having that magic number get up to
12 (still not close to the 30+ we'd like to see, but out of the
single-digit danger zone) to an 11 just before the start of the fall
semester. I'm now a month away from graduation and the numbers continue
to fall. Immediately prior to my sister-in-law's wedding (October
30th, the day before our 10th anniversary) I dropped back into single
digits with a 9. They re-tested because they were so sure they'd messed
up the test. I get that a lot.<br />
<br />
The wedding was beautiful and I am glad that I went. My new brother is a
good man and my sister-in-law did right to wait for so long until she
found the one that was a perfect fit. The wedding also made me realize
how worn out I was. The wheelchair was my friend by the time the
wedding day arrived. But it was more than that.<br />
<br />
The ice cravings are returning. The dark patches on my face stand out
in vivid relief as do the circles beneath my eyes. The headaches are
rarely interrupted. The restless legs are back in full force... as is
the insomnia. I'm experiencing episodes of confusion again and that
very unsettling feeling that comes from knowing that I know something,
that tip-of-the-tongue word or phrase or idea, and having it slip away
as though it never existed. I am once again having to read books two
and three times just to follow the basic plot. I am terrified that I
will get to my final exams and have no idea what any of them are asking.<br />
<br />
The latest test had me at an 8.5. Down half a point in two weeks. That
was a week ago. If this trend continues I'll be at 7 by graduation.
6.5 by the new year. 5 by my birthday. 4 in March. The expectation is
that sometime after this point my body will go into crisis mode. As my
hemoglobin continues to drop, my oxygen saturation level will fall, my
heart will struggle to pump harder to keep me going and will either give
out or slowly give up. I expect that there will be pain involved.<br />
<br />
Don't mistake my analytical explanation for a lack of concern, an
absence of fear or peaceful acceptance. Well, maybe there's some
element of peaceful acceptance. I know what I am unwilling to do to
sustain my life. I am unwilling to have marrow samples taken. I am
unwilling to have any more transfusions or iron IV infusions. I am
unwilling to go through chemo or radiation treatments.<br />
<br />
What does that leave? Well, I'm using supplements that may enable me to
maintain a level of 5-6. I'm regulating my food consumption. I'm
meditating and utilizing self-healing methods. I'm controlling my pain
primarily through visualization techniques augmented by the occasional
tylenol or ibuprofen.<br />
<br />
I'm trying not to let fear or panic control me. I refuse to let this
illness keep me from accomplishing the things that are most important to
me. I'm working with my professors to let me write my final papers a
little early - and perhaps take my final exams early - while I retain
the majority of my faculties. I am setting goals and working toward
them. Not just long term goals, but those ever-important medium and
short-term goals as well.<br />
<br />
Right now my goal is to graduate. I will be the first in my family with
a BA. So many of my brothers started college and fell just short of
their degrees... I need to show them that it can be done. I need to
show myself that it can be done.<br />
<br />
After that, my goal is to see my son in person again. It's been almost a
year and I miss him. I'd like to go visit him in Louisiana, then go up
to Missouri to see my mother and two oldest brothers. It's been too
long.<br />
<br />
Another goal is to get an online business started - something that my
husband will be able to continue regardless of my outcome. That one is
in the works, it just needs a little push to get it going.<br />
<br />
I joke and say that my long-term goal is to go to Burning Man in 2012,
but that isn't entirely accurate. It would be fun, I'm sure, but
honestly what I really want is to experience that sort of freedom. To
live in a way that doesn't leave a physical trace. To give freely. To
love wholly. In fact, I hope I already do those last two.<br />
<br />
So, for a little summation. The best guess is that I'm experiencing
some sort of chronic hemolytic anemia. The marrow just isn't doing it's
job correctly anymore - after years of being under horrific stress, I
kind of don't blame it for giving it up as a lost cause. I'm not
looking for sympathy or pity. I'm not trying to come off as heroic. I just want to live as normally as possible for as long as possible.<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-27935391584003497172011-09-18T18:40:00.000-07:002011-09-18T18:40:58.361-07:00when did all of this happen?It's been a little stressful around here lately. And by stressful, I mean that I've been sick again. Sick as in gastro-intestinal distress coupled with an unhealthy dose of blood leaving my body through various orifices. <br />
<br />
For some reason, that word looks like it should be pluralized as "orifi" but maybe that's just me.<br />
<br />
The illness means that I missed another day of school which has me bummed a little. What irritates me more, however, is that one of my professors decided that we should have a spiffy little writing assignment due on Tuesday and chose today (Sunday) to send out an email reminding everyone -- or surprising the heck out of those of us who missed last Thursday. The assignment isn't difficult. It's simply annoying. The syllabus says two papers, two exams, a few note-taking and posting assignments and occasional reading quizzes. I realize that the instructor thinks of these little surprise writing assignments as reading quizzes. I just can't agree with him on this point. Don't call writing assignments "quizzes" when you also hand out actual quizzes which are done during class. I guess it's just one more thing to put on my "don't do this" list for when I'm finally teaching a class of my own.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, September snuck up on me again this year. September holds such diverse holidays as Peter's Mum & Dad's anniversary, Peter's Dad's deathday, his sister's birthday, his dad's funeral anniversary and his birthday. Of those, I'm most concerned about the birthdays. The rest, well, they happen and we deal with them as they come. But birthdays. Birthdays get me every time. Peter's sister is awesome. I love her beyond belief. She's a strong, independent woman. And being a strong, independent woman, there's not much she needs or wants that she cannot get for herself. Birthday present. I could go with the typical card and a gift card, but I'd rather do something / get something for her that she will remember and enjoy. She's older than I am by five months. It shouldn't be so difficult to come up with ideas. <br />
<br />
To top that off, Peter's birthday comes just two days later. I definitely have no clue what to get him. I'm thinking of making him an outfit. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what I'll be doing for him. It might not be on time... but it will be special. Still, it adds to the stress level.<br />
<br />
And then it hits me. September already. Next month is October. October. Easily my favorite month during the year. I mean it has Samhain / Hallowe'en. Definitely my favorite holiday. Which also happens to be our anniversary. Ten years, this year. How will we be celebrating? Well, we won't. That's a little harsh -- let me explain. On our anniversary we will be driving back from Miami because Peter's sister is getting married on the 30th. We'll be leaving Friday, cooking for the family and friends Friday night, meeting all of her fiance's family Saturday, going to the wedding Sunday and driving back Monday. Tuesday I will be back in Tallahassee at school. No time to celebrate.<br />
<br />
Did I mention that we're driving down with Peter's Mum? And seven chihuahuas? This is the difficulty of having four-legged furred family members. It should make for an interesting ride, though. We'll be staying at the home of a lady who has moved out (mostly) to live with her significant other... a friend of Peter's sister. It's very sweet of her to let us use her home for the weekend. Part of my stress has been trying to arrange either puppy-sitting or accommodations that allow seven dogs.<br />
<br />
Oh, and having a mouse jump on my head whilst in the bathroom on Saturday? That was stressful, too.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-66982782339404416222011-09-14T09:08:00.000-07:002011-09-14T09:08:50.649-07:00night terrors and day dreamsI had such high hopes that things would settle down once I managed to get back into the school groove. Either I've not found that groove yet, or I have, and things are just refusing to fall into place.<br />
<br />
Some good things have occurred. I've reconnected, albeit briefly, with a handful of old friends. I have a small wardrobe of wigs - three so far - that I can rotate through as the mood strikes and I've encountered less embarassment from the shaved head than I expected during those days when a wig is just too uncomfortable or too much of a hassle. I found wig stands - but more on that project in a bit. I'm keeping up with my classes and it should be a relatively stress-free semester, all things considered. I'll be writing a total of six 5-7 page papers - no research, two annotated bibliographies (in lieu of actually writing a research paper) and will be taking three midterms and three finals. Other than the random smattering of "reading quizzes" - which are generally announced ahead of time and are brain-numbingly simple and straightforward - that's it - that's all I have to complete in order to receive the next document in the series of wall-hangings.<br />
<br />
I keep looking at my syllabii and wondering when the 16 page research paper is going to appear... or the 10 page essay with sources... or the journal with weekly entries... but no, nothing shows up, and I'm left wondering just what exactly I'm supposed to be learning this semester. Patience, perhaps? Tolerance? How not to bang one's head repeatedly against hard objects out of frustration with an instructor who insists on treating 4000 level students as though they are freshmen? The up-side of that was the reading quiz last class - he handed out expo markers and turned us loose on the whiteboard to draw "sketches" of what we'd read. English majors. Drawing things. Hilarity ensues. Along with "how many stick figures does it take..." jokes. One comment from the crowd: "Is it bad that my first impulse was to write words instead of drawing something?" A response: "Oh, crap! I put words on mine!"<br />
<br />
We are English majors. We use words. Get over it.<br />
<br />
I felt a little bad for the group that came to do a presentation about FSU's international programs. 90% of our class are graduating seniors, 5% are first semester seniors (neither group can study abroad as you have to have classes the following semester on the home campus)... and the other 5% had a marked lack of interest. Our only question to them? "Do you have to be studying abroad in order to use the passport services?" The answer: "No. Anyone enrolled at FSU can get a passport through our office and it's the same price as it would be going through regular channels, only more convenient because we're right here on campus." (Can't you just see the perky little grin?)<br />
<br />
Oh, and the instructor embarassed the crud out of one of our classmates - by pointing out that she was a "celebrity" for having been on the cover of the prior international programs catalogue. He had a copy of the catalogue. He held it up and showed everyone. The girl tried her best to melt down into her desk. It didn't work. I felt bad for her.<br />
<br />
Back to times not changing.<br />
<br />
I'm still getting very little sleep. Not because I'm not going to bed. I get to bed at a very reasonable hour for the most part. But when I sleep, I've been having horrific nightmares. Nightmares that are so vivid that they snap me awake. Yet when I fall asleep again I'm right back in the dream, only rewound a little. I ended up with over twenty endings to the last one of these dreams (two nights ago). And last night, when I finally fell asleep again, I added another half-dozen more endings to the same dream. Enough is enough! How many times can I be in a car, flipped over on its roof, in a lake, sinking? How many ways are there to die/survive this scenario? I can name 26, just off the top of my head. Sometimes an infant was involved. Sometimes there were people standing on the bank. Sometimes there were alligators. Or more specifically one alligator. One giant albino alligator with the attitude of a vengeful god. I was never driving. I was always in the passenger seat. The driver was always the same. She sometimes lived, sometimes died, sometimes got attacked by the alligator, sometimes got tossed back into the water by the people on the shore. Sometimes the people on the shore stole the baby. Sometimes there was no baby and I died looking for it. Sometimes I knew there was no baby and died saving the driver. Sometimes everyone lived. Sometimes I fought the alligator. Once. Just once. I let the alligator win. Let it. I was done. I'd had enough of the dream. I was well beyond the point where I recognized -inside the dream world- that I was dreaming, again, of the same scene. And I just let the alligator win. I felt the clench of the jaws around my midsection. I felt the air escape my lungs and the water enter as the 'gator did the death roll with my suddenly lifeless form. I felt the scrape of branches as the 'gator tucked me into his larder. I was dead, but alive, gone, but there, and the driver was safe on the bank (no baby this time around) and the car slowly settled down to the bottom of the lake and I saw that, too. And when I stopped fighting, and let things play out... the dreams finally stopped and allowed me to sleep. I remember feeling a little sorry for the 'gator, because when the car settled down, it blocked the entrance to the larder... and after all that work, he wouldn't even be able to get to me later on. <br />
<br />
Moving on.<br />
<br />
I ordered "Salt" again. This will be my third attempt to get the novel from this major online retailer of books and sundry items. Some may recall my first attempt, which ended in a 6-week wait for them to email me saying they didn't have the book after all, followed by an email three days later saying they recommended I buy "Salt" based upon my other selections. I tried. They told me it was out of stock. I wrote them, demanding to know why they recommended I buy a book that was out of stock. They told me (in an automated email) that the recommendation emails are automated. I told them their automation needed some fine-tuning to make it link up with their inventory. I used nice words. I didn't actually type "Bless your heart." But I thought it. Oh, I thought it. UPS tells me that my shipment should arrive sometime today. It is currently "out for delivery"... the company tells me that both "Salt" and "The White Witch of Rose Hall" are included in the parcel. We shall see.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I've tried my hand at ordering underwear online. Ok, it started with a search for "lunch lady bras" because I can't find anything that fits correctly. I'm a big lady and I need a big bra. You wouldn't think it to see me - because for the last 5 years or so I've been strapping the girls down with too-small sports bras. It's time for a little freedom. I've ordered a set of "foundation" garments as well. Ones designed for those of us with ample curves and voluptuousness. Here's hoping they fit. USPS says they're in Jacksonville today - which means they should be here tomorrow. The foundations are a standard brief-style panty and a tank-style camisole top. I'm not looking for miracles. I'm looking for something to smooth out some of the bulges when I go to my sister-in-law's wedding in October. And, in order to get the free shipping, I added something pretty and frivolous to the order - a midnight blue nightgown. It looks... cool and swishy and comfortable and sexy all at once. Strange that I go through these phases of total body acceptance followed by a desire for constrictive undergarments which tends to end in frustration and disappointment before coming full circle to body acceptance again. Maybe if the unders that I found actually -fit- I would be able to break the cycle. <br />
<br />
I was asked, rather bluntly, why I didn't just lose the weight if it made me so unhappy. Sure, let me wave my magic wand and have that happen. Have tried. Am trying. Heck, I even do a weigh-in every week and write the result on the bathroom mirror as a constant reminder. I've tried the many small meals a day thing, I've tried eating once a day, I've tried meal replacements, supplements, and portion control. I've tried programs where they send you the food. I've stuck with plans for 6 months to years hoping for results. I've been small once since my son was born. I made it down to a size 10 using that aforementioned program. Yes, I consider that "small." I looked like I was dead. My cheeks were hollowed, my eyes sunk in with dark circles and I was miserable. Within months I was climbing back up the weight-gain ladder. Still, I've no desire to be that small again. I'm in the midst of a plan that rewards me for pounds lost. I've made it to the first reward, a sketchbook, and am working toward the second, a lovely scarf. So yeah, I am losing the weight. It just takes time. Meanwhile, don't begrudge me the joys (or the heartaches) of foundation garments. And just wait, naturally slender people, one day your metabolism will catch up with you.<br />
<br />
How did this turn from a nightmare and back-to-school rant to one about weight-loss? Oh well, love me anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-82238893048734278222011-09-05T09:11:00.000-07:002011-09-05T09:28:56.639-07:00aware of the awarenessOne of my friends posted this status earlier today: "<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Can
I make a request? Is anyone willing to post this and leave it on your
status for 1 hour? It is Special Education week & Autism & ADHD
Awareness month, and this is in honor of all children who struggle every
day. Lets see how many of you do it."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Hmm. Now, being all too familiar with ADHD, I know that September is, in fact, ADHD Awareness month. However, being a good friend of several Autistic persons, I know that Autism Awareness month is actually in April. Odd that they would be combined. But what about Special Education week? When is that? </span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">A somewhat exhaustive web search revealed that there is no such thing as "Special Education week." </span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">All of the above researched facts contribute to the growing mountain of support for my "I don't care what it's for, I'm not reposting that status" attitude. I like kittens and puppies and children. I volunteer with the elderly and veterans. That doesn't mean I have to post my support. </span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">While we're at it... I'm not posting the color of my brassiere, where I place my purse or converting my birth month and day into baby-on-the-way lingo. It doesn't help spread awareness of breast cancer. I'm pretty sure everyone is already aware of breast cancer. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">How about we post things like "I just donated $20 to breast cancer research, will you match it?" or "Logged 5 hours volunteering today, how about you?"</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Back to awareness months/weeks/days... if you're curious about what we're supposed to be aware of during September, here's the list:</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Childhood Cancer Awareness Month<br />Fruit and Veggies - More Matters Month<br />Healthy Aging® Month<br />Leukemia & Lymphoma Awareness Month<br />National Alcohol and Drug Addiction Recovery Month<br />National Atrial Fibrillation Awareness Month<br />National Cholesterol Education Month<br />National ITP Awareness Month<br />National Pediculosis Prevention Month/Head Lice Prevention Month<br />National Sickle Cell Month<br />National Yoga Awareness Month<br />Newborn Screening Awareness Month<br />Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month<br />Prostate Cancer Awareness Month<br />Whole Grains Month</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">And then there are specific days and weeks:</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br />13th - National Celiac Disease Awareness Day<br /><br />15th - National School Backpack Awareness Day (Although why we have to be aware of backpacks is beyond me. Perhaps they are planning to overthrow the education system.)<br /><br />18 - 24<br />National Farm Safety & Health Week<br />National Rehabilitation Awareness Celebration<br /><br />18th - National HIV/AIDS and Aging Awareness Day<br /><br />19th - Get Ready Day (It didn't say for what we are readying ourselves.)<br /><br />21st - World Alzheimer's Day<br /><br />22nd - Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN) Day<br /><br />24th - Family Health & Fitness Day USA<br /><br />27th - National Gay Men's HIV/AIDS Awareness Day<br /><br />28th - National Women's Health & Fitness Day<br />World Rabies Day<br /><br />30th - Sport Purple For Platelets Day<br />World Heart Day</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">And if that isn't enough, feel free to celebrate the birthdays of my lovely Sister-in-law (22nd) and awesome husband (24th).</span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><br /></span><br />
Awareness data for this month, and all the rest of them, can be found at this nifty location: <a href="http://www.healthfinder.gov/nho/nho.asp">Awareness Data List.</a><br />
<br />
I'm still not changing my status. Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-35318904989284580992011-08-29T01:57:00.000-07:002011-08-29T01:57:12.817-07:00serpentineIt finally happened, just as I've been dreading since last year. The conversation started innocently enough.<br />
<br />
Peter: Hey, honey? Do you know where I put my glove?<br />
Me: Glove? No. Why do you need... oh.<br />
And it hit me... there's another snake in the house. Dangit.<br />
Peter: Oh, here it is.<br />
He dons the glove. <br />
Wait a second, he's going into the guest bathroom. The same guest bathroom I'd just been rummaging in trying to find my composition books for class on Tuesday. The same guest bathroom that is, I now realize, chock full of snakey hiding places.<br />
Me: Where is it?<br />
As I try to see around him in the tiny space.<br />
Peter: There. I lifted the toilet lid and it was just hanging out there on the seat.<br />
On the seat. The seat. This fellow had nestled his snakey self in multiple draping coils along the back of the toilet seat near the hinge. Lucky thing it was toward the back when Peter lifted the lid.<br />
Peter grabs the awkwardly positioned snake. I have retreated to my desk.<br />
And then I hear Peter quietly talking to the snake.<br />
Peter: You cheeky bastard!<br />
Me: What happened?<br />
Peter: He bit me.<br />
Me: What can I do?<br />
Peter: Reassure me that it's not poisonous.<br />
And without even getting a closer look at the snake, I respond calmly.<br />
Me: It's not poisonous.<br />
I look closer, confirming that it's the same type of snake we've been finding all year and repeat again that it's not poisonous. Peter brings it out into better light, unhooks its fang from his finger and gets a better hold. I look again.<br />
Me: No, definitely not poisonous.<br />
Of course, inside I'm freaking out, thinking I -could- be wrong. I could have misidentified the thing. There might, right now, be venom coursing through Peter's veins. Oh geez, what if I'm wrong?<br />
Peter: Ok. Going to go release him then. <br />
Me: I'm going with you.<br />
Thinking, just in case you pass out and I have to drag your toxin-filled body to the ER.<br />
Peter gets to the end of the driveway, gives the snake a not-so-gentle toss up into the branches of a pine tree about 20 feet away.<br />
Me: Nice distance. <br />
We watch the snake as it casually makes its way along the branch to the trunk of the tree. We return to the house before it can get down and exact further revenge.<br />
Peter: I was ready to just hang onto the thing and have you drive me to the ER, you know. Bet they wouldn't have kept me waiting long with Mr. Slithers in my hands.<br />
Me: How are you feeling?<br />
Peter: Hmm? Oh, fine.<br />
Me: You. Our bathroom. Now.<br />
I rinse the area under running water, which has the effect of taking away the minuscule drops of blood and removing all traces of the shallow bite. But I insist on a soap-and-water wash. Then rinse it with alcohol.<br />
Peter: It's fine. Itches a bit, but it's fine.<br />
Me: I'm going to peroxide it.<br />
Peter: It's fine.<br />
Me: I am going to peroxide it and you are going to let me because you have just been bitten by a freaking SNAKE.<br />
Peter lets me pour hydrogen peroxide over his fingers - no bubbling occurs.<br />
I douse it in alcohol again and finally let him escape from my semi-frantic wound care of his now nonexistent wounds.<br />
<br />
So. It finally happened. Snake number six managed to get a bite in before being removed. We figured it out, though. The way Peter had to grab the critter is what got him into trouble. Usually he can go for the tail and tease them out from their hidey-holes, but this time it was curled up and he had to go straight for the head. In a cramped space, that's difficult to do.<br />
<br />
He's fine, by the way. No redness, no swelling, no itching after the first few moments. <br />
<br />
I'm fine, too. But I'm steering clear of that bathroom for... maybe forever.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-16335617731774707972011-08-24T03:35:00.000-07:002011-08-24T03:35:03.538-07:00(don't) panic!It's 5am and I'm minding my own business, clicking away at a game on Facebook. It's dark outside. Periodically I'm making an attempt at walking puppies. The weather is mild. A bit warm for still-dark-morning, but not overly humid. No thunder or lightning. No rain. No wind.<br />
<br />
I mention the weather because suddenly...<br />
...the room goes DARK!<br />
<br />
30 seconds of pitch black. Computer: off. Kitchen light: off. Fan: off. Fridge: off. Absolute silence reigns.<br />
<br />
And then it's light again. Computer starts to reboot.<br />
<br />
And I think: "I should get a candle ready. Just in case."<br />
<br />
Ah, there's the beautiful candle lamp on the kitchen counter (because it hasn't found a home yet) I'll just move it to Peter's desk and light the candle. Just in case.<br />
<br />
So I go over to the counter and move the lamp. I go back to the counter and look for a lighter. Or matches. Nothing.<br />
<br />
I check the tool drawer. Because who doesn't put a box of matches or a couple of lighters in their tool drawer? Nothing.<br />
<br />
For good measure, I check the hot-pad drawer. Lots of birthday candles. No matches. No lighter. Found the beaters for a mixer we no longer own. But no incendiary devices.<br />
<br />
What the heck, I'll check the other drawers. Cooking tools: Nothing. Silverware: Nothing.<br />
<br />
I'm in a bit of a panic now.<br />
<br />
There's nothing on the shelf in the living room because we've just redone the living room.<br />
<br />
There's nothing on my altar because, well, I'm a slacker and don't have the altar back up completely yet. Besides, I don't keep matches or a lighter on the altar, anyway.<br />
<br />
How can I be living in a Pagan household and NOT have anything handy to light a fire?<br />
<br />
Bathroom. There are votive candles in the bathroom. Surely there are matches. I rummage. I search. None.<br />
<br />
Finally, on a shelf just above my eye level, I find a lighter.<br />
<br />
And I remember a late-night conversation with Peter. Several weeks ago I wanted a candlelit bath to soothe my headache and help me sleep. The lighter was his solution to the "no matches in the matchbox" problem.<br />
<br />
It's ok. I have a lighter and a candle and if the power goes out again, I'll have light.<br />
<br />
Let me just light the candle. Just in case.<br />
<br />
Click. Nothing.<br />
<br />
Click.<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
Shake. Liquid noises. Ok. <br />
<br />
Click.<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
Notice that the clicking part of this particular lighter is split in two. What? Hmm.<br />
<br />
Click the tiny edge portion.<br />
<br />
FIRE! <br />
<br />
And in my exuberance at figuring out what is apparently a child-safe lighter, I manage to burn myself with said lighter.<br />
<br />
But the candle is lit. Just in case.<br />
<br />
Just in case another freaking squirrel farts on the power line causing a blackout of half the grid serviced by our local co-op.<br />
<br />
(That's the only thing I can imagine that may have caused the earlier interruption in service.)<br />
<br />
Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-87700680467625372532011-08-16T23:48:00.000-07:002011-08-16T23:50:53.229-07:00emotional turmoil equates to physical distressI have such rage within me at this moment that I cannot speak. I have trembling in my extremities and my vision is blurred. My intestinal fortitude is being sorely challenged.<br />
<br />
Why? What has cause this distress in one who normally maintains at least an outward semblance of calm?<br />
<br />
As with most things, this rage-inducing event is the culmination of the rock-strewn pathway I've been navigating today.<br />
<br />
Today started with some alarming physical issues. The leg of the infamous jellyfish sting refused to bend at the knee this morning - and absolutely resisted bearing weight of any kind. I graciously spent the morning abed, with hopes of improvement.<br />
<br />
No such luck. At least not for several hours. At this point, nearly 24 hours later, I can finally bend the knee and have learned a somewhat awkward shuffle that allows me to walk from point A to point B with only moderate discomfort.<br />
<br />
But that was only the first boulder in the path.<br />
<br />
Suwannee County turned out to vote today on a single issue. Should the county remain dry or permit the sale of alcoholic beverages? And if yes to wet, should these beverages be available only in packages or should they be available in drinkable form from eateries and bars and such? Overwhelmingly Suwannee County voters turned out to declare they wanted to be able to give their tax dollars to their home county rather than having to drive to adjacent locales in order to purchase their poison of choice. I voted wet, all inclusive. As did my spouse. As did his mother. As did over 7,000 voters. Wet won.<br />
<br />
While at the voting place, I was mistaken for a man. Maybe it was my hat? Or the dragon-print t-shirt? Or the grey jersey mid-calf length yoga pants? Or the yoga shoes? Whatever it was, boulder number two quite clearly addressed me as "Sir." Not once, but twice. The first time I shrugged it off. The second time I stopped, looked at her with what must have been an odd expression and watched as realization dawned that I am not, in fact, a Sir. She stumbled through an apology. I smiled and nodded and agreed that no harm was done.<br />
<br />
We had a lovely dinner and made our way home. Granted we encountered several other drivers intent on killing us, but we made it through. I'll call them rock number three.<br />
<br />
Once home, and once the election results were posted, boulder number four came rolling in my direction. I, my spouse and my mum-in-law, along with the other 7000+ voters who said "Yes" today were called "FOOLS" (emphasis is most definitely not mine) by a friend of mine. Although I think we've managed to finally agree to disagree on this issue (as we have on so many others), it has put a rather nasty ding in our relationship. And the buildup of stress is taking its toll on my body. Intestinal distress. An upswing in joint pain. That hazy glaze to my vision that means my heart is not behaving itself.<br />
<br />
All of that means I need to calm down. Slow down. Maybe meditate a little. At the very least I need to do something I enjoy to take my mind off the pain.<br />
<br />
I enjoy writing. I've been working on The Sequel, an apt working title for the sequel to my first novel. Things have been going well lately and I've been churning out some rather good quality work. I'm a half-dozen chapters in, have the outline set for the rest, all the character descriptions are done and tonight, the muse was working overtime. My fingers were itching to type.<br />
<br />
And then I opened the file.<br />
<br />
For reasons unknown to me, the current version of Word insists on making its own decisions as to font, font size, paragraph spacing, blocking and will not - not even when I muck about with the actual internal files - will not accept any alteration to this strangely set default. I don't think it's too much to ask to have 12 point Times New Roman set at single space with no blocking when I open a new document. Apparently Word believes otherwise. I've solved this dilemma somewhat by making a template file which I open when I am going to start a new document.<br />
<br />
Tonight, Word had a new trick up its sleeve. I opened my work-in-progress file to find that the entire thing had been reformatted to the strange Word default. What the heck? Ok, staying calm. Select all. Reset the settings. Save. There, all better.<br />
<br />
Except it wasn't.<br />
<br />
It wasn't all better because it was gone.<br />
<br />
Completely gone.<br />
<br />
The file. The folder. Gone.<br />
<br />
Not in the recycle bin. Not saved somewhere strange. Just gone.<br />
<br />
Virus scan... negative.<br />
<br />
Virus scan from an online source... negative.<br />
<br />
Virus scan from a different online source, just in case... negative.<br />
<br />
I tentatively opened a different file. A letter I'm in process of writing to my aunts. The formatting was fine. I saved. I looked for and found it again. It opened just fine.<br />
<br />
Ok, am I paranoid? Where the heck is my book?<br />
<br />
Breathe.<br />
<br />
Looking again. Well, the "writing" folder is back. Whew! But wait. It only contains the original novel and some publishing notes.<br />
<br />
Continuing to look.<br />
<br />
And... wait, let me look in the original novel folder ...<br />
<br />
Jackpot. Well, sort of. The who's who is there. The outline is there. But the entire file for The Sequel is gone.<br />
<br />
That's not entirely true. There IS a file. But when I open the file, it is a blank page. With the default Word settings.<br />
<br />
Microsoft, you mock me, and I have RAGE.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, that rage is making me harf uncontrollably, shake violently and whimper with pain. Don't get mad, your body will get even.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8040393681772487382.post-38931851213539862932011-08-15T07:05:00.000-07:002011-08-15T07:05:22.004-07:00sun, surf and stingraysWe have never had a vacation. I'm not talking about those trips where you go to a relative's house and spend a few days or the day-trips where you exhaust yourself by trying to cram as much as possible into a short time and then deal with the lack-of-sleep grumpiness for the entire next week. I'm talking about time away from home, just the two of us, for more than one night. <br />
<br />
Heck, even if you disregard the "more than one night" requirement, we've only had one vacation. That was a trip to St. Augustine, the weekend after we were married, nearly ten years ago.<br />
<br />
So, we planned an overnight camping trip to <a href="http://www.floridastateparks.org/stgeorgeisland/">St. George Island State Park</a>. Granted, this was to be a single night of camping, but because it was at a beach and we planned two days of fun-in-the-sun activities, we were calling it a vacation.<br />
<br />
Excitement mounted through the preceding week. We had the tent. We had a giant beach umbrella. We found two cheap beach towels. We started planning our menus and gathering together odds and ends.<br />
<br />
We planned to leave home between 4 and 6 am on Saturday, stop along the way for breakfast, then have a sandwich picnic lunch on the beach when we arrived. We planned dinner for Saturday around some chicken we began marinating in Mojo on Friday morning. Peter even pre-cubed the meat for skewer cooking. We gathered this, along with some other refrigerated items, put them into a canvas shopping bag in the fridge and planned to grab the bag on the way out the door Saturday morning.<br />
<br />
Ah, plans. How they go awry.<br />
<br />
Friday, we gathered with two good friends for an afternoon/evening of pizza and games. One thing led to another and we found ourselves getting home around 2am. Obviously a 4-6am start had become unrealistic. Instead, we went to sleep with the alarm set for 6am. We still had to load the truck, after all, and we hoped to be on the road by 7. <br />
<br />
7am rolls around and I happen to wake up, look at the clock, and panic. Upon waking Peter, we discover that the alarm had been set for 8, not 6. Still not a big deal - after all, we're on vacation! So what if we're running a little behind schedule. Throw out the schedule and have fun with it.<br />
<br />
So we load the truck and we head down the road. About an hour into the trip, Peter turns to me and says something along the lines of: "Chicken." I am somewhat confused. "What about the chicken?" and then it dawns on me... "We didn't bring the chicken!" <br />
<br />
Yes, the lovingly marinated and painstakingly cut-up chicken was left in the fridge. At home. Turning back was not an option. So, I laughed. "We're on vacation! We'll cook it when we get back, it will be fine. We'll just have to improvise something when we stop for groceries."<br />
<br />
Because we'd not only left the chicken. We'd left everything food-wise except the sodas and the cooler-jug of lemonade. We could stay hydrated... but not fed. Not to worry, we were stopping for brunch anyway, so we'd stop by a store and pick something up.<br />
<br />
10:20am found us in a Burger King, having one of the best fast-food breakfasts we've ever eaten. The eggs were perfect. The pancakes were fluffy. The sausage was a little spicy but not too greasy. The biscuit I could have done without, but otherwise the meal was quite yummy.<br />
<br />
We found a store and picked up the necessary supplies: charcoal, some bratwurst things for grilling, lunch meat, bread and pork chops to replace the missing chicken. Only we couldn't find any Mojo! At least not of the flavor we are accustomed to using. So we substituted a different flavor. Chipotle pepper. Now, I'm not particularly fond of spicy things. Not true. I like them, but they do a number on my tummy so I tend to avoid them. Still, we weren't going to be marinating for long, and it was better than the other option - bitter orange.<br />
<br />
We arrived at the campsite around 2pm. Pitched the tent in the blazing heat while being eaten by mosquitoes. Apparently no one has informed the blood-suckers that they are not supposed to be out and about during the heat of the day. We pulled most everything out of the truck, stuck it all in the tent, changed into swimwear and headed for the beach.<br />
<br />
I've been to St. George Island before. Once. With friends. And I used a new-to-me sunscreen applicator - the spray-on kind. I didn't realize that I needed to rub the sunscreen around once I sprayed it on. So I ended up looking somewhat redder than a firetruck.<br />
<br />
I headed off that problem this trip. We had sunscreen, oh yes, SPF 50 sunscreen without aloe (because I'm allergic.) Waterbabies sunscreen, even. A brand I've never had reason not to trust. So I slathered. And I had Peter help me slather. Head to toe. And with as short as I've cut my hair, "head" in this case means "face, scalp, ears, neck." Every exposed inch was carefully covered. Peter declined use of sunscreen. I asked if he was sure. He said he'd put it on after he went in the water for awhile. Okay. His decision.<br />
<br />
We went in the water to play.<br />
<br />
It was... wonderful. The waves. The sand. The swim goggles that decided to leak when I tried to swim underwater. The giant patch of hermit crabs that I found with my feet, the water being too cloudy to see deeper than about 6 inches. The little fish that kept trying to nibble at my fingers... and then proceeded to attack my toes and my leg. It appeared to be a juvenile damselfish of some sort. Apparently I was tasty. I had to explain to the fish that I was not "noms" and finally Peter startled it enough that it left me alone.<br />
<br />
So, it was wonderful. Interacting with the sea creatures. Peter would dive down and scoop up whatever pointy object I happened to step on and bring it up for us to examine. I saw quite a few things for the first time. Hermit crabs smaller than a pencil eraser - shell and all! A mollusk shell of the sort usually used by hermit crabs but with an actual mollusk in it. A live sand dollar. They are brown and frilly looking when alive. Quite different from the bleached white of the washed up remains.<br />
<br />
It was wonderful. And then the jellyfish incident happened. Stung my foot. The top of my foot. While I was standing still minding my own business. And it hurt. It hurt with a great muchness. Tears came to my eyes. That was one mean jelly.<br />
<br />
My foot still has red lines on it from what I am calling "the aggressive attack by jelly or jellies unknown" and my lower leg is sore. I don't know if my upper leg is sore or not because that happens to be the leg with nerve damage - the thigh area is always sore. <br />
<br />
We took a break from the water for awhile and built little sand creations. Dug some holes. Giggled as the water filled them up. Generally acted like we were little kids. I wore my <a href="http://realdealbrazil.com/">Real Deal Brazil</a> hat most of the time. Considered wearing it into the water, but decided against. Meanwhile, Peter continued to avoid sunscreen.<br />
<br />
We were only on the beach for about two hours before heading back to the campsite to make dinner and get settled.<br />
<br />
Peter burned. Oh did he burn. Poor dear is burnt from his waist to his shoulders on his back, and most of his front. Lucky for him, he is already starting to turn to tan. I felt confident that my sunscreen had worked... so I might have been a little bit smug in my offering of sympathy to my lobster-esque spouse.<br />
<br />
Dinner was delicious. We even foil wrapped several baking potatoes and two apples and placed them among the coals in the fire-pit, anticipating lovely roasted treats for evening. <br />
<br />
As the sun was low in the sky, we decided to take an early evening stroll along the beach while our potatoes and apples baked. We were using charcoal instead of the wood-fire we usually use for such things, so figured the cooking time would be a little longer than usual. No worries.<br />
<br />
An hour or so later, we arrived back at the camp to find our securely packaged treats had become potato and apple shaped blocks of foil-wrapped charcoal. Apparently a charcoal fire is much hotter than a wood fire. Oops. We each managed to salvage about a spoonful of somewhat burnt tasting applesauce from the center of our blackened orbs before giving it up as a lost cause. The potatoes we didn't even try. When unwrapped the largest of them revealed a solid black surface that gave off a hollow, dull thunk when tapped with a fork. It was toast. In the toastiest sense of the word.<br />
<br />
No worries, though. We were still quite full from dinner and content to have had a warm shower (courtesy of the state park system!) and slip into our jammies. It was at this point that we discovered, although it is possible for the two of us to sleep on a twin size inflatable mattress in an air-conditioned environment, doing so in a very warm tent is quite another story. We had power (again, courtesy of the park) and had thought to bring an extension cord and small fan - so we had some air circulation at least. But it was miserable. And trying to sleep on the floor of the tent with the underlying rippled sand was even worse. <br />
<br />
I stared at the moon and tried to shift position as little as possible, but sleeping was simply not happening for me. Peter, of course, has the lucky ability of being able to sleep almost anywhere. I finally gave up around midnight-thirty and announced that I was heading to the restrooms. Peter woke up long enough to help me escape the tent and I hiked the short distance to the facilities. While washing up, I noticed that my skin was roughly the same shade as my sleep-tank-top. Unfortunately, the tank top in question is a vibrant red.<br />
<br />
I wore sunscreen, dangit all. I wore it. Peter helped me put it on. We applied the heck out of it.<br />
<br />
I burned anyway. Oh did I burn. My burn, it appears, is actually a deeper burn than that of sunscreenless Peter. His covers a larger area - but mine is over my entire back and shoulders and the back of my neck and is not so much red as almost purple-red... with throbbing pain at every heartbeat. Imagine my joy and delight at finding out the reason I could not get comfortable. The source of all the pin-prickly sensations I'd been having. <br />
<br />
It was all I could do not to break down in tears.<br />
<br />
My foot and leg hurt with the sting of the jellyfish. My sunburn, well, to say it was like fire would be inaccurate. I've been burned by fire. This... this was different. This was a sneaky burn, deep and thorough. <br />
<br />
I walked back to the campsite. Stubbed my toe on the side of the road. Tripped over my flip-flops - and realized that they had given me a pair of blisters on each foot from the plastic strap. <br />
<br />
I walked past the truck and up to the tent. I heard Peter snoring inside. My spirit collapsed. I said the only words that would come to mind.<br />
<br />
"I want to go home."<br />
<br />
Peter snapped awake with an "Okay." followed by rustling and rummaging for bits of discarded clothing... then he stepped out of the tent and asked "What's wrong?"<br />
<br />
I could do nothing but repeat, "I want to go home."<br />
<br />
"But why?"<br />
<br />
"Because I'm burnt to a crisp and I can't get any sleep and I ... just... *fighting back the threatening sniffle* want to go home."<br />
<br />
He sighed. I started putting things in the back of the truck. He started helping. We broke camp in the middle of the night and my wonderful, patient and understanding husband... took me home.<br />
<br />
Except.<br />
<br />
We discovered around Tallahassee that we were both hungry. Of course, we were both in pajamas, too. So, where could we go to get food at 3 am in Tallahassee looking like sleepwalking vagrants? Of course. Steak-and-Shake.<br />
<br />
They didn't even bat an eye. We ate. We wished we hadn't. The food made us sleepy. Dangerous when we had another hour and a half to drive.<br />
<br />
We ended up stopping at a rest area along I-10 and there we discovered that the seats in my truck do not recline. At all. So I leaned on the window and Peter leaned on me and we were both asleep before I could even pet his hair. <br />
<br />
An hour later, we tried driving again. Didn't make it very far. Maybe another 20 minutes. We weren't quite to Suwannee county when Peter pulled over and let me drive. Somehow I made it the rest of the way home. I don't really remember much of the drive other than concentrating very hard on the lines and the lights of traffic. But we made it home in one piece and didn't hurt anyone else doing so.<br />
<br />
We walked in around 6 am, let the puppies out for a walk and called Mom to let her know we were home so she wouldn't need to come over to walk the dogs. Got the puppies in, walked Morgie - who is still in heat - got her in and then took a short, warm shower to get the last of the sand and the rather thick coating of bug repellent off. Each had a something to drink. And that was where the energy completely ran out. We fell into the bed and were out before we finished making contented I'm-in-my-own-bed groans.<br />
<br />
Around 4pm we managed to drag ourselves out of bed. Well, we'd each been up individually before then, mostly for bathroom trips for us and the dogs. But at 4 we both got up, pulled ourselves somewhat together, and headed over to Mom's. After all, we had to cook that chicken. And the breakfast sausage. And the brats (which I split, stuffed with onion and a little mozzarella and foil-wrapped for baking.) And we did. And it was all tasty. And we added some lettuce and cucumber that Mom had, and a bit of leftover pork tenderloin, and quite a bit of beverages... combating dehydration, one glass of kool-aid at a time.<br />
<br />
We went home around 7:30pm. Set the alarm for 2am. Went back to bed. <br />
<br />
Got up this lovely Monday morning a little before the alarm went off and have been trying to think up excuses to crawl back into bed ever since.<br />
<br />
Sunburn status: dark blood red<br />
Jellyfish sting status: red stripes have faded to red spots on foot, foot and lower leg still hurt when I walk<br />
<br />
We can't count it as a vacation - not even an overnight vacation - because we left before we were there overnight. But it was still a nice trip. Peter had never been to St. George Island and he likes it there. The state park is awesome, even with the mosquitoes. (And inexpensive. $26/night for a spacious campsite - and no park admission fee if you are camping! For day-trips, it's around $6/car.)<br />
<br />
And when we called them on Sunday to find out if we needed to do anything about check-out since we left in the middle of the night, and told them we'd done so because I wasn't feeling well, they were nice enough to ask -in all sincerity- if I was feeling better. Good people.Ms. Schubarthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02715833841964885577noreply@blogger.com0