Bad then good

Yesterday was a bad day.

I tried to write about it, but I was unable to wrestle it into a more palatable form that wouldn't leave me curled up into a ball weeping. Suffice it to say, Dad had to drive to or from my office eight times yesterday, and Mom said "Goddammit" twice.

But ... (I am doing my Pollyanna-best).

I slept all through the night.

No jumpy legs, no full bladder, nothing.

I closed my eyes after Forever and opened them after my alarm went off.

Not bad. It doesn't make up for the crappy day, though.

I'm scarring the kids

My little sister's name is not Eudora, but let's pretend for a moment.

I needed her today to help with Matt's version of a Wardrobe Malfunction, which is really a bladder malfunction. But when I called out to her, my niece answered.

She's not here, she said, but you've got mini-Eudora.

She quickly realized the situation was out of her league and helped me call Mom, although there was a little misunderstanding that led to her calling her mom.

Mom quickly fixed me up, and my niece doesn't appear ruined, but geez, what am I doing?

Great teeth

For the first time in 40-some years of dentist visits, I did not get into the dentist chair yesterday.

That was fine, the hygienist said, "I'm used to cleaning teeth standing up."

So she did. I reclined my chair and hung my head back. It wasn't real comfortable, but it worked. And it is quite cook when people go out of their way for you.

It didn't hurt that both the hygienist and the dentist both told me I had great teeth.

F*$# February

Far be it from me to question a poet like T.S. Eliot, but I am pretty sure February, not April, is the cruelest month.

More often than not, I just feel like crying.

I'm cold. I recently tried wearing my sister's half gloves to keep my hands warm while typing. They were a little frilly and I took a lot of grief.  They did sort of work, but I got tired of taking them off whenever I went to the bathroom.

I'm tired. The recent snow brought back my jumpy feet.

I've felt out of breath for no particular reason lately twice, and Mom remembered it happened last February, too. I find it especially annoying because I recover and then have to do something really strenuous like getting out of bed that legitimately wears me out.

I hate that it is dark, too.

I need summer.

I wish I could say snow what

I was already to write something, but the falling snow has sapped my energy to write.

I know I'll survive the storm -- this one and any others thrown at me -- but I am tired of just surviving.  I want more.

The snow doesn't scare me -- I am warm and can telework fine -- but it wears me out. Who wants that?

Fates be damned

Some friends and I have been trying to get together for months. We had a date, but one person got sick and another canceled. The make-up date worked for three of us, but the fourth was out of town. Then came the holidays.

We finally all got together last night, and it awesome as expected. This is a fun group.

But the fates again threatened to put the kibosh on diner. Luckily, I am a hoss, and I had my Advil.

At work that afternoon, I turned around in the bathroom. Let's just say the bathroom is not real open. But it has never been real open. I know this.

Anyway, as I was turning, my foot got caught on a wall that juts out into the restroom.before I stopped, my foot turned pretty sharply and quickly 90 degrees to the outside while the rest of my leg turned the other way.

When I was little, I could dislocate my leg at the knee. I don't remember how. I moved some muscle and my lower leg shifted grotesquely. It was gross and didn't hurt, so I enjoyed my odd party trick. As I grew older, I lost the ability, but I never forgot what it felt like.

This felt just like that with one exception: It hurt ...badly.

Everything from my calf to my groin -- ligaments, muscles, bones, etc. -- screamed in agony. I am glad I had just gone to the bathroom because I had nothing to empty when my system demanded: VOID. I spent several moments trying not to throw up and was covered in sweat.

I got back to my desk and called Mom to get her advice.  I didn't really want to leave work because I figured it might be better by the time I got home. In the end, I agreed because it still really hurt by the end of the conversation.

At home I transferred to the toilet. It felt like my knee was bending the wrong way, but it wasn't swollen. I napped for a while, then went to dinner.      

I hardly noticed it.

No sale

The other day I read a roundup of cool wheelchair products. It showed what looked like this awesome wheel cleaner. Plus, it was only $243. I was sold.

But when I went to find a seller, no luck.

I finally emailed the maker. After a few days, they responded that it isn't for sale yet. They are planning a kickstarter campaign soon, but ...

This is why I was out in the street tonight while Mom hosed down my muddy wheels.

What's with her?

I blame Claren.

She has sapped my will to write the past few days. Well, her poop has.

On Friday, she pooped in the living room. No one saw it, so it could have been the puppy. But the evidence points to Claren.

Especially since the next night, she started to poop in the living room again, but my niece alerted her mom who got her outside in a nick of time.

She was acting antsy before her accidents, but both days she  had pooped like two hours earlier, so I ignored it, which makes me feel bad.

A friend at work told me that he uses accidents as a factor when deciding whether to put his dogs down. "It embarrasses them," he told me.

I don't know that Claren was embarrassed and she seems fine. She's just pooping on the rug.

I think he's wrong

I don't like laser eye surgery. The idea of someone cutting my eyeballs gives me shivers. 

Ned Flanders is also a concern. In a Simpsons episode Bart sees the future. Ned is blind and explains: "I never should have had that trendy laser surgery. It was great at first but, you know, at the ten-year mark, your eyes fall out."

But at my next eye appointment, I am going to ask the optometrist if I am a candidate. I am so sick of glasses.

I woke up last night and put on my glasses. It took me a while to figure out that a stupid lens  had fallen out.

I went back to sleep but decided I better call my sister for help in the morning, rather than try to get  up without seeing well.

 She got me my old glasses, then when I was getting dressed, I knocked them off. 

I HATE GLASSES.

I long to wake up and actually be able too see just by opening my eyes.

Glasses always get dirty and bent because I face-plant a fair bit.

I doubt I will be eligible for the surgery. My brother with FA wasn't. And my pupils tend to jump around so that may make cutting a bad thing. Too much whoops potential.

It is one thing for me to deal with my glasses, but when they become an issue for others, I have to act.

I just hope Ned was wrong.

My colorful brother-in-law

My brother-in-law has always been a huge help to me. My nights often end with him coming in and saying, "Time for a goodnight hug!" He then picks me up out of my recliner and puts me in my wheelchair.

But lately, he has begun helping me with more delicate situations. Delicate just means "when I need to change clothes."

I don't know whether my sister told him to. But I suspect it is more on my end. I got over being "too cool" to ask him for help. Less too cool and more too lazy to spend half an hour trying to pull up my pants.

I trace the change back to a new pair of sweat pants I got. Holy cow, they are warm and comfy. I really hope dead men wear sweats.

Anyway, they have a button at the top of the fly on the waist. It is tough to do for me. Once, I asked my sister to button me up, and I said, I didn't want to ask M. She said he would have done it, and I guess I decided to take advantage.

His assistance certainly adds ... shall we say, color, to my clothing changes.

No one else does sound effects when pulling off my pants or pretends to be grossed out.

He's awesome! (And lest my sister get jealous: Yes, she still does the lion's share of Matty care that Mom doesn't do. And yes, she is super-awesome.)