Cut up

I am not sure my nose will ever heal.

Several weeks ago I coughed, sending my nose into an up-close and personal handshake with my desk.

Last week I sneezed at the dinner table, broke my glasses on my iPad and opened up the cut on my nose again.

Today I kept coughing at work and falling into my keyboard.

It has never hurt, but my dashing and debonair looks are taking a hit.

Back in the office

Every time I flew back from vacation to North Carolina when I lived there, the same woman would be in the booth at the long-term parking lot.

She'd ask how my trip was and I'd tell her, but she said she never took vacations because it was too hard to come back to work.

I suspect most of my co-workers would have sympathized with her today. I know I did.

I spent a good part of the day trying to remember what I needed to do and what I had been doing five weeks ago.

I didn't have any issues, butas good as it felt to be back, I keep thinking: What about three weeks from now?

Scared

The longer this shutdown goes, the more scared I get ... that they will solve it.

Don't get me wrong: I want, and need, to work. But the longer I go without transferring at the work restroom, the more likely I am to fall.  The longer I don't have to go to the work restroom, the more likely I am to not leave enough time for me to get there.

And a host of other things I will have to relearn.

Doing my part

As I have mentioned, the bike trail is clear of snow, but I went around my block today. I was worried about rain, not snow.

But I would like to revise my statement about the trail. It is mostly clear of snow with three exceptions:

The wooden bridges are slushy. This is not a big deal. I have plenty of trail I can use between the bridges. Actually, I debated going across the bridge over Route 7 because if  I got stuck, I could wave at cars for help. But given how oblivious some drivers are, I decided not to.

On one of the trails I use, there is a four-foot stretch of snow. Again, not a big deal. I have gone through it four times and only got stuck once. And even then, I got out myself easily.

One curb cut is not clear at all. This is a big deal. I've gone through it three and one half times. The half a time was when I got stuck and managed to back out. I turned around and went back home on streets, despite a 60-something who stopped her SUV, got out and kicked away the loose snow. The worse problem was yesterday. I  got stuck, tried to free myself, got more stuck. A car passed. I waved. They stopped and helped!

I could stay home, but Fame would get fat, we'd both go stir crazy and people would not be able to help me. I am just doing my part to help people get to the Good Place.

Yay, bikers

The issue is where the weight is in my chair or something like that.

It goes backward on normal surfaces fine, but if the front gets even a little stuck on mud, the wheels just spin, getting me more stuck. I have to go forward, and sometimes I get free.

Often I get more stuck. Today, for instance.

I went for a walk on the bike trail, which was clear of snow, but I started a turn a little early and got stuck. I couldn't back up, so I tried going forward. That worked, but I just got more stuck.

I was wearing a hood, so I didn't see who but I heard someone ask if I was OK. I turned and saw a biker who had stopped. I told her 'I m stuck and asked if she could pull me back.

She started trying without much luck. But then another biker stopped, then another, then two more.

The five got me out OK and made me feel better about humanity, although one biker did pedal by us when there were two helpers, so my cynicism isn't completely dead. But today, I like people. Mostly.

Still missing work

As week of of my furlough started, I watched Springsteen on Broadway. Very good even though it may have made me cry.

He talks about how his mom derived energy and social pleasure from work.

Me, too.

And without it, I am struggling.

I like staying up late and sleeping late. I like taking Fame for walks. I like having time to exercise.

But I need to work.

The nose knows

I coughed on Sunday while at my desk and ripped skin off my nose.

It's not unique in any way for someone with Friedreich's ataxia to have such wounds. It's super-noticeable, though, and every shower makes it worse because the scab washes off.

The bumpers on my desk didn't help. They just pushed my glasses into my nose.

Walking with friends

Yesterday on Facebook, I proposed a simple proposal. Next time, we have a shutdown, can we have  during a dry spell in May?

That way, I said, when I run off the trail, I wouldn't get stuck in the mud and freeze while awaiting help.

The idea came to me as I waited for the FCVFD to come pull me out of the muck. I may have not been paying attention to where I was going.

The problem of the cold was amplified by where I was stuck -- off the beaten path because only by going to newer, less-traveled path can I reach the trash cans to dispose of Fame's poop.

Fortunately, before the firefighters (actually, it would have been the police), someone else came, Fame got his attention, and he freed me.

My head-shrinker hypothesized that why the Thanksgiving incident bothered me so is because it is proof I am screwed because people are jerks. (Well, that might be my take. She just said I need people who are aware of the surroundings, like dudes in  wheelchairs waving for help.)

Several friends offered to walk with me today, and the woman I walk with frequently was indignant I didn't 1) ask her to walk with me and 2) call her when I got stuck.

So today I walked with two people and didn't get stuck!

I moved a car with my bare hands

My cousin who got my name in the Christmas gift draw gave me a bag of her husband's trade paperbacks (bound comic book collections) as part of my present.

This was awesome for me, but I feel for her husband, who was thinning out his  collection to make more room for their baby.

The gift meant I had to make room for them, but no comics were gotten rid of. Well, actually, one was. But it was a single comic that was ruined by water. Also, I had a copy of it elsewhere.

Mostly, it just meant reorganizing.

One of the items that needed organizing was my binder of exercises given me by physical therapists over about 35 years.

I went through it, disposing of ones that required standing or even the floor. And I found some from an occupational therapist in Winston-Salem about hand exercises.

I mentioned those to Mom who replied that "sometimes thinking about your life makes me so sad. Me, too, I told her. She said it made her proud, too.

But I am sticking with sad.

I don't know how I survived my five years in Winston.

My parking lot had two levels. To get to work one wintry day, I somehow walked the length of the second level, down a hill and  got in a friend's car. Not before I slipped, grabbed the car for balance and wound up sending the car skidding toward me on the ice.

Now I need to go read comics to keep from crying/throwing up. Good thing I have a bunch of new ones.

Above and beyond the call

I went to the dentist a few weeks ago.

The office is on the second floor of a five-story building, but I always forget the floor.

As I went in to the building, a woman said, "Can I get that door for you?"

I told her no, that I was going to the elevator.

Then she said something else. I didn't hear it, but figured it was just "Have a nice day" or something and just nodded.

But when she started to get up, I realized she asked if I needed help with the door on the floor I was headed to.

When what she said registered, I told her I was fine. She just ignored that.

On the way in, I thought the office was on the second or third floor. but my new-found helper flustered me, and I skipped two to try three.

Then four.

Then five.

Then two.

I kept apologizing and telling her she could leave.

She kept saying it was fine.

I wanted to be alone with my stupidity.

Welcome 2019; please don't screw me over

It rained all day yesterday, a fitting end to a crummy year.

While I spent time in the ER, OR and the hospital for my heart, other loved ones also had medical issues, which meant that I couldn't worry only about myself. That's no good.

I received confirmation from my neurologist that my hearing aids aren't really going to improve my hearing.

I continue to degrade.

Oh yeah, and I'm furloughed.