I'm in

A friend who works in drug trials did not say definitely that I would not get superpowers as a result of participation in the drug trial (I got in).

Really, she just said it wouldn't hurt me. But again she didn't say it would provide powers.

I know that physically and emotionally I will be far from alone in the trial. I am still nervous.

Screened

Well, I survived my screening for the drug trial. I haven't been accepted yet -- waiting on lab work -- but I survived. (So did my sister who came with me.)

I have decided I don't like hotels. For starters, the one we were in put us in an accessible room on the fifth floor and didn't know what we'd do in the event of a fire. My sister pointed this silliness out and got a first-floor room, but it  wasn't as accessible and we lost a bed. That was fine because hotel beds are so high I can't get into them. I slept on the couch, well I laid on the couch and worried through the night.

It was a short night because I had to be at the clinic for screening at 7.

After paperwork, I faced the dreaded nine-hole peg test, which seems simple but is hellish. All you do is put nine pegs in nine holes one at a time with one hand, then take them out of the hole. I HATE IT!

More tests and a medical history, vitals, bloodwork, etc. I learned there'll be a chance I do all this and get a placebo, but if it works I think I'd get to do the next trial.

It won't be easy.

On trial

My shoulder and neck have been hurting quite badly recently. I suspect it has to do with the arm rests on my chair, but using the computer also hurts. So I haven't except when necessary.

But I wanted to write something today because I leave tomorrow for the drug trial screening.

As I take a second or third look at the requirements, I grow  more pessimistic. I don't know my scores on most of the tests I will undergo Wednesday, but I have a feeling they want people with FA who are better off than I.

I also don't think I'll find out if I got in that day.

SIGH

At least Fame was happy

At my old job, the fire marshal dissuaded us from using an evac chair during fire drills. Just stay in the stairwell till we come and get you, he said. The stairwells are fireproof.

I'd hand off Claren to a friend, and my boss and I just hung out in the stairwell.

It was a brand new building, so maybe that's the difference. The building I am in now doesn't seem super-safe.

That's why this morning when the alarm sounded, two co-workers transferred me to an evac chair, one brought Fame, who doesn't like fire drills, and a fourth held doors.

We found a spot out of the drizzle but not out of the chill. I had my jacket on backward and  my friends kept trying to pull it around me.

We eventually got the all-clear and returned.

Fame might have been the only one happy to be outside. Once she saw I wasn't moving anymore, she was good.

I don't know

On our walk today, all I could say to Fame was "I don't know, Fame" or "What do you think, Famey?"

I was thinking about two questions: Should I stop seeing my headshrinker and what should I do for a personal care attendant  if I get into that drug trial that starts in less than a month (but I won't know if I got in for another week)?

My inability to  answer these questions made me feel rotten.

The Headshrinker

I've not improved since I started chatting with her. Not her fault. I know it's mine. My sister agrees.

But it is nice to talk to someone about my troubles, and  I do sometimes take hr advice.

The PCA

I know I need someone with me during the trial, although I may not use them. If all goes well, I won't. But my life rarely goes well. So how to find one I trust by February 9?

I am working on it. Mom, a brother and sister-in-law are, too.

Good question

On my way around the block today, I ran into a little family with two little girls. One asked Why are you sitting in a chair?

I wanted to answer that I ask God why almost every night, but so far I don't know.

But I didn't think a 5-year-old was ready for such theological issues.

I just told her my legs didn't work right.

I wanna go to work, sorta

In Barry Louis Polisar's I Don't Wanna Go To School, Tommy does not want to go to school. As someone  who missed an average of 25 days a year from about third through eighth grade, I sympathize with Tom.

But (***spoiler alert****) Tommy is the principal.

I thought of the tune as I went back to the office for the first time since December 18.

It wasn't that I didn't want to go -- just the opposite really -- but I was afraid.

What if I fall or this or that?

Maybe I just  shou not take leave.