Gimme some sugar, baby

I try not to watch "reality" television because most of it isn't real. Oh, and the people are so irritating I want to bitch slap them many, many times...with a heavy object. Unfortunately, I was sucked into the cesspool called "Celebrity Detox". Yowza, what happened to Jeff Conaway? He's become my poster boy for everything I never want to be - pain meds are scary stuff. He's convinced me that I don't need to climb the pain medication ladder to the OxyContin top rung. I think I'll stay here on the first two steps with Neurontin and be happy. Some of the other freaks from "Celebrity Detox" I've seen on teasers for different reality shows in the past. They don't interest me. Only Jeff does.

The thing with pain meds is that when you have chronic pain, you really need the meds to take the edge off. Chronic pain is so difficult to control, though. It's like a seesaw - trying to find the perfect balance so that you don't become a blithering idiot like Jeff.

I spent most of last year completely medicated. I slurred my words, said the same thing (always in 3's), forgot words, slept the day away - but I didn't feel the pain. It was still there only I didn't give a shit because I was in lala land. It was a good visit but my visa expired in July '07 and I don't think I'm going to go back. If I have to feel pain, so be it. I'd rather be in pain then totally out of it - and peeing on myself...or vomiting everywhere...or screaming for pills...or having a seizure...no, thanks. I'll take a chocolate cupcake and go whimper in the corner.

Friends and a food frenzy

This weekend has been such a blast. Met with two of my favorite girlfriends (Karen is too far away!!) for lunch and yakking. If I'm in a mood, these two can always lift me up and bring on the laughs.

Had lunch at a local Persian restaurant and fell in love with their imported feta cheese - so I had to find it (that's the glutton in me). Next door to the restaurant is a small middle eastern shop and from there it snowballed...

One of the more amusing parts of the day was when I was using my walker to get to my wheelchair. Missy P. was in charge of holding it, only she kept backing up every time I tried to sit. The more Missy P. backed up, the louder I stomped my walker. It was like that car game so many of us have played. You know, a friend is trying to get in your car and you move up just far enough out of reach. Well, Miss P. must have moved my damn wheelchair back about a foot before Miss. R. asked what the hell she was doing! We all burst out laughing - it really was funny, guess you had to be there. Thanks for that, ladies!!

Since my back has closed and healed, I'm so much stronger. Even my girlfriends noticed how much more I can do. My need for independence keeps getting stronger too. I'm still learning that I can't do everything. My girlfriends allow me to find out that I can't do something and are right there when I ask for help - and they don't say, "I told you so"...well, most of the time and usually not in a polite manner, except for Missy P. who is always polite even in cursing. Her "you ahole!!" is about the raunchiest I've gotten out of her. Always the lady. Missy R. and I revel in our potty mouths. We usually spew all the best words in the first thirty minutes we're together.

Found my feta cheese - and just about everything else I never wanted or needed but bought it anyway. Turkish delights, dates, lavash, Iranian noodle soup - did I need it? Nope, but I wanted it. What a wonderful place to discover new foodie items. I know the girls will have to bring me back in a few weeks. The gentleman that ran the store was very aware of my wheelchair and helped us. He also sniffed out that I was in a frenzy and kept bringing me items to try - and buy.

We bought more food at this great Chinese restaurant and coconut bread from the bakery next door. Missy P. ripped into that coconut bread and the aroma of freshly baked dough and coconut filled the car. The tantalizing smells of the Chinese food made me drool. We sat in the car for a moment and laughed about our day - and all the food we had with us.

Friends, food and laughter. What could be better than that?

glutton, glutton, who's got the glutton?

I am a glutton and I don't deny it. I always seem to overdo when it's not necessary. It leads to all kinds of problems, you know. It's not that the gluttony bug is activated all the time, either. Usually I start to get that twitchy feeling when I'm super stressed, which I am right now. My normal response would be to grab the biggest bag of chips and not stop until I hit bottom - of the bag, that is. Sometimes, to stop the mental shakes, I would shop...okay, I prefer shopping. The results are just as instantaneous as eating with none of the bloated tummy in the morning. With shopping the only thing bloated is either my credit card or my overdraft protection. As I get older, and maybe a little smarter, eating doesn't work. Shopping works less but still manages to take the edge off.

I tried exercise. All I did was think about what was bugging me while I walked on the treadmill like a hamster going nowhere. Plus, I sweated, which I'm not fond of at all. Read self-help books, recognized the problem - I said right off that I am a glutton.

I think that in a very Twilight Zone kind of way I've been slapped by the glutton superbug. Think about it. I've had two years of excessive health issues. Let's do a recap: 10 surgeries the first week in the hospital, 25 dialysis treatments, 20 blood transfusions, 18 months of open wounds, 12 infections, 86 days in the hospital (the first time around), 9 different kinds of antibiotics, 5 pain medications...it's a warped Twelve Days of Christmas song!!

I hear the siren call of a chocolate cupcake, the seductive tease of my credit cards...luring me to go forth and be a glutton. Maybe it's time to squash this bug under the heal (get it?) of a new shoe.

Baking therapy

I almost titled this, "Someone left the cake out in the rain" but there are some that might not remember that disco classic. Anyway, I baked a cake yesterday. My parents had to bring all the ingredients to the table but from there, I did the real work. My mind calms down when I'm measuring, cracking eggs, and whisking. The hum of the mixer, the liquid sounds of dry and wet ingredients blending, the sweet smells of vanilla and chocolate are a soothing narcotic for my emotions. It's very satisfying to pull out a perfectly moist, golden cake from the oven. You know when it's ready even before the timer because the aroma of vanilla goodness warms the air. Don't forget the frosting! Luscious chocolate smoothly swirled all around that yummy cake. Sprinkle some coconut and crushed macadamias on the sides and presto! Pretty cake! And for me, three hours put to good use. After the week I've had, I needed it.

Tonight I'm going to an art gallery opening. The floors of these places and art museums are so smooth I feel like I'm gliding. It's a great sensation. Have to be careful, though. I tend to build up speed, wouldn't want to take down an expensive art piece because I'm being Ricky Racer.

Tomorrow are football playoffs and I can't wait to watch the game. GO CHARGERS!! Have a great weekend!

Pieces of me

This past week has managed to unhinge me a little bit more than I'd like. Before surgery (BS) I had so much energy. After surgery (AS) my energy level fluctuates. AS this past July, I was tired all the time. Gradually my energy has returned but not to the level I had BS 1 and 2. Now I'm discovering my emotional energy is not as solid as before.

It was bound to happen. The past two years have been about surviving more than anything else. This year, and it has only been 17 days into it, seems to be starting off more as an emotional awakening. As I find out what really happened to me AS, the strongholds on my emotions aren't so strong. What I truly believed AS is not true, the more I find out, the more I tailspin. It's a different kind of whirlwind. Anger, sadness, violation, disbelief - I can't even find the words to describe how horrible it is right now. I had put together a scenario that I could live with and now I'm forced to realize that what I needed to believe to be true was, in fact, nowhere remotely close to what happened those early days in December.

As I sit and slowly read the different versions of what transpired, one thing is clear - while these men talk about what happened in their version of the truth, I am the only one stuck living the real truth every day. I'm trying desperately to gather my emotional blanket around me. I may have lost most of my physical ability to stand on my two feet but I won't give up my emotional steadiness. I'll just have to wait out this storm and come out stronger on the other side. I only hope it doesn't take too long.

Prickly feeling

It's been a long few days. It took me until late yesterday evening to fill out that damn questionnaire. In the old days, BS (before surgery) I probably could have answered the number of questions asked in an hour or two depending on my attention span. Now, AS (after surgery)it takes me longer because I can't focus on the pages too long, and my writing has never returned to what it was BS.

Anyway, in between all that lovely stuff, I've had appointments. In particular, I had an independent medical exam. Usually these doctors, and I give these people the title very reluctantly, are hired by insurance companies to prove you're not as disabled as you claim. Again, it's about the bottom line.

For three hours I answered this guy's questions. For three hours we played the, "no matter how many times you rephrase the question, my answer is not going to change" game. Seriously. If I tell you I can only see forward, I mean only straight in front of me. No, not a circle, no, not a rectangle. Straight. No top, no bottoms, no sides. Front and center. He must have asked me three or four times, "...you mean like a circle?" Or if he didn't say circle, he would make a circle with his hands around his eyes and say, "so your vision is like this?", hoping I would say yes and he could then claim my vision was more than I had previously stated. ARGH!! I just wanted to tell him to f*ck off!! But I didn't because I'm really working on not being a bitch. Even if it's justifiable bitchiness. Dammit.

After he subjected me to over two hours of torture - the real fun stuff started. By the way, not to make light of the whole water torture thing but maybe we should hire some of these doctors for our interrogation process of war prisoners. This guy was that good, as much as I hate to give him any kudos. I was getting to the point of saying whatever he wanted me to say just to make him stop asking me question after question - 20 pages at my last count!!

Okay, so the fun stuff. Physical exam. Hah!! What a joke. When he opened up his briefcase he started pulling out items I recognized: stethoscope, reflex thingy, blood pressure cuff and then he took out a tin cigarette case. He opened it up and out popped some safety pins. I asked him what he thought he was going to do with those pins. It wasn't a question, really. It was more of a belligerent statement. I told him if he thought he was going to poke me with those suckers (yea, I know, but I used those words) he was highly mistaken. Anyway, he put them away and proceeded to humiliate me in other ways. My mother said that because the conference room where we were having the exam did not have blinds on the glass door, anyone passing by was able to see me, my lifted shirt, bra, belly...you name it. Maybe I should have let the guy prick me with his pins instead.

Otherwise known as DIC (that's DICK)

The sun's out. It's going to be a warm sunny day here. I woke up early because I have to finish this questionnaire I received from my disability insurance company. It's almost two years since the disability insurance company (now known forever as "DIC", please pronounce as DICK) began paying me.

Here's how it works: Once you're disabled, you contact your DIC and let them know. You fill out inches of paperwork and have your doctors do the same. The upside for me is that I have really great insurance. My employer has continued to pay for the premiums even though I haven't worked since December 2005. Unfortunately, this stops in March. That's why I have these forms to fill out.

I also applied for Social Security (now known forever as "SS", pronounced as SSSSSSSSS) when this all started but was denied because I was not disabled enough. I appealed and was denied again. At this point, DIC intervened and said that they had hired a company that specializes in dealing with SS claims (let's call them SSC, pronounced as SICK). For the next YEAR I filled out forms, answered questions, my doctors filled out forms - anything that changed in my medical life, I had to inform SSC and DIC, who would then inform SS. Finally, after 20 months, SS believed SSC and declared me disabled. Oh happy day!! To be acknowledged by the supreme, heartless, inefficient, taxing (now known forever as "SHIT" pronounced as shit) government machine!!

Anyway, right after Christmas I received a thick envelope from DIC that looked ominously familiar. Inside, DIC informed me that I had to prove to THEM I was disabled or my benefit checks would stop. Wait a minute - didn't DIC hire SSC to prove to the SS SHIT machine that I was disabled? Huh? What the hell!! If the SHIT machine said I was disabled, then I was disabled because it is practically impossible to collect SHIT benefits right away. So why do I need to get down on my knees and provide DIC with the same earnest applications that I applied to SHIT? Because of money. That's right, it comes down to the bottom line. Or rather, my bottom is on the line.

So here it is, folks. I'll be at my desk this fine morning, filling out paperwork because DIC wants my ass, even though SHIT has been all over it for almost two years. Doesn't matter that DIC hired SSC to bring SHIT into the picture and prove that I am diabled. DIC needs to find out for itself. I have the feeling that I'm going to get screwed.

Mirror, mirror

I did what I sneered at in the past. I committed a disabled person no-no.

We were standing in line at the local buy in bulk store. I was chatting with my Mom when I noticed the guy waiting in line after us. It wasn't that he was cute (horrors! I missed that!) because what attracted me was the brace on his leg. I couldn't stop staring at it. He was wearing the kind of brace that my doctors are suggesting I use after my tendon release. By the way, girls, it is fugly. No way around it. Instead of my little black velcro crap, the brace is knee high and covered in velcro straps. It is a velcro monster. We all know how much I love velcro!!

So, I wheeled up to him and said (with my cheerleader pom poms waving metaphorically in the air), "Did you have a foot release? Is that the brace they gave you after surgery?" Can you see me CRINGING as I write this down? I didn't even say, "hello, excuse me, pardon me for being an ignorant bitch..." and then I made it worse. He kindly said that,"...the brace was to help him walk. He had suffered a bad infection and his leg wouldn't last." I, ever chirpily, replied, "oh, good for you!" He looked at me like I had eaten a bowl of shit (which I really did this time) and said to me, "No, they're cutting it off" as he gestured with a slicing motion to below his knee. Again. I. did. not. get. it. I replied, "Oh, me too! Mine is coming off also!!" I practically sang it out for anyone in line to hear. I sounded excited. This guy was not amused. I swear, I thought my face was on fire it was so hot. I'm not one to embarrass easily, but when I do it to myself, what can I say? I smiled and told him good luck, he just turned away. If I could have slinked away, I would have slunked as low as I could...because that's the way I felt.

I forget that other people facing amputation might not be as adapted to the idea as I have become. Sometimes I get so high up on my soapbox about all the inconsiderate people I run into, I forget that one clumsy misstep and there I fall. I fell fast and hard. I deserved it. I forgot, in my excitement, that perhaps he, like me, didn't want to be reminded by a total stranger about his own disability.

Mister - if you're out there, I'm sorry. I opened my mouth and swallowed my left foot - it's bigger so I figured that's the one I should insert. Nothing like a big bitch slap of humility to take me down a notch. Sigh.

As the pee turns...

The newest, and possibly oddest, turn of events is that my pee is dark brown. Oh, I know, I share too much but I already told you the story of my ass wiping so don't get all girlyman on me now. It's from the strong antibiotics I'm taking, was taking. I called my infectious diseases doctor and he told me to stop taking the pills for three days then resume the twice daily schedule. This would help him decide if the meds were the cause of my nutty brown expelled fluid. What else could it be?

My parents are on a ridiculous pee watch. I can't pee unless one of them inspects the color - remember how I told you about my Dad making comments about my poop? Well, he's added another to his repertoire. "Hmmm...not too dark, a latte kind of color, not the nut brown we saw yesterday." Additionally, I now carry sterile urine sample cups in case I'm not home and need to urinate. It's a tragically funny world I live in, people. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

We all knew that taking antibiotics for almost 13 months would have an effect on my body. I thought in more obscure terms - growing fungus on my chest, oh wait - I had a fungal infection on my neck in the hospital. Perhaps a yeast infection - that too, only on my tongue. Those have all cleared up - wipe that disgusted look off of your faces. I told you, the body does strange, strange things when it thinks you aren't paying attention.

So we wait. Get some blood tests done. Have my urine tested too. It's possible that my kidneys or liver have been damaged. Duh. I've had renal failure twice, dialysis and blood transfusions. Not to mention my lungs failed and I was on life support for three weeks. I think I'm doing pretty damn well for all of that to have happened. A little bit of brown pee doesn't scare me - much.

It's raining men...

Ha! I wish but it's only rain. The wind and rain have been so strong at times during the night that I woke up. For me, there's nothing better than being all snuggley warm in my bed while the wind howls and the rain bangs against the windows.

Yesterday I stayed in my pajamas all day. Here in my house we call it "Jamama Day", because my young nephew, at the time three years old, could not say "pajama". I think there is something so very therapeutic about staying indoors, in your pajamas on dark, rainy days. Keeping your pajamas on is a lovely reason to keep crawling back into bed - no need to change! The bed constantly beckoned to me, which is a bonus since my bedroom is in the living room.

My leg, however, doesn't appreciate the finer points of rain. Something about the atmospheric pressure or the cold or the damp, maybe a combination of all three. Whatever the reason, my leg lets me know it is not happy. The jerking movement increases, as does the swelling and the sharp jabs of hot pain. The rain is almost enough to distract me, almost.

From the lovely cacophony of rain and wind outside my door, it sounds as if today is going to be just like yesterday. Yea! Ouch! The night darkness is slowly creeping away and the day is beginning. I suppose I'll change into new pajamas today since it's obvious another Jamama Day is here again. I woke up about 5am when the wind and rain were at their loudest and I think it's time to roll back to bed.

Dinner at the OK Corral

To celebrate one of my dear (see? I didn't call you "best") friend's birthday, a group of us went to Ruth Chris' Steakhouse. This place is known for great steaks, side dishes and for dinner, it looked a little romantic. The lights were set at low, our table was in a corner overlooking the freeway. It doesn't sound as nice but it really was a lovely place to eat.

I love having dinner with my friends. We are never at a loss for words, we jump from subject to subject and there is nothing better than sharing a good laugh over good food. Too bad the food wasn't as good as the company.

It started out promising. Appetizers were good. We shared the BBQ shrimp and calamari, oh, and the house bread they bring out is yummy, too! Salads and soup next. The lobster bisque is superb, according to the Bday Girl's hubby, as are the following salads: Caesar (made with Parmesan crisps), tomato, onion and blue cheese, and baby arugula with spinach, bacon, eggs and red onion. The portions were generous. As the Bday Girl stated, "..we should have stopped at the appetizers..."

When the steaks came out in their famous butter sizzle, I could hardly wait to cut into my rib eye, rare. It was tough despite all the fat surrounding the meat. Yes, rib eyes are fattier cuts but this had to have been a porker cow. There was gristle in the middle, too. The ends were a tad overdone, which I suppose I could have overlooked if the steak itself hadn't been a tough tire ringed in fat. The Bday Girl didn't fare much better. Her medium rare was medium well on the ends and medium in the middle. The server told us this happens when cooking the steaks sometimes but I didn't think we should have to buy that bull. For $50 dollar steaks, it should be cooked as we like since the price is premium. I guess the rest of the table had acceptable steaks but no one was raving. In fact, my other girlfriend said that the quality of the steak had gone down. Maybe we simply had a bad cow but for a dinner price tag of $400, that is not acceptable. The fresh veggie side dishes were good. The mashed potatoes barely tasted of garlic and the scalloped potatoes weren't thrilling either.

The manager took my steak off the bill after he told me that, "... he wished I'd told him sooner so he could replace my steak." Well, I didn't know my ENTIRE $50 steak was going to be crap. I kept hoping as I sawed away that it would improve, really I did.

Two things to point out, though. The busboy, Scott, was most excellent and helpful. He cleared a path for Scooter Girl as we left the restaurant. Nothing worse than having to dodge diners in the middle of their meal. The wines the server selected were nicely paired with the food.

P.S. I forgot to mention the cake! From KonaKakes - a mouthwatering confection of cake and frosting. We ordered the butter cake with hazelnut and macadamia, drizzled in homemade fresh caramel. It was the perfect ending to the evening. I had an evening full of shared laughter and fun with my good friends.

Incident at the elevator

Okay, so I'm not always the most patient of people - I'm more patient now than prior to all this happening to me but that's not saying much.

Today my parents and I had to go back to the mall. Yes, we are brave souls. At this particular outdoor mall, the elevator to go between the three floors is sluggish, which is being kind. I'm talking to my parents as we wait for the elevator and we hear the ding. Stepping out is a woman with two children, both girls, and one of them is having a screaming hissy. In the doorway of the elevator. Just enough so that we can't reach around them to stop the doors from closing, and just enough so we can't push past them to get on the elevator. The kid is pissy because she "...wanted to ride the escalator and she wanted to go back on the elevator and do it right"...her words, not mine. I thought that for a little ankle biter she was damn articulate about what she wanted.

We missed the elevator. I was about to have an even bigger pissy hissy fit than the bratty kid. Then, the mother shook her daughter's hand and said while looking at me, "Now look what you did, Alyssia. You made the nice lady in the wheelchair miss her elevator. She needed to take that elevator because she's handicapped and can't ride the escalator like you want to." Dead silence. How do you even begin to react to that kind of stupidity? I know, I know, she was trying to reason with her child. But honestly, did she need to point out TWICE that I'm different than everyone else? Am I being sensitive? Probably, but understandably.

I would have grabbed the screechy kid off of the elevator and taken her to a quiet corner then spanked her butt for being a brat, being rude and disrespectful. That's the way I grew up and I learned my boundaries. I don't ever remember my parents pointing someone out and stating their differences. I would be horrified if some young child came up to me and said, "My mommy says you're handicapped and that's why you're in a wheelchair." I'm sure the first thing that would come out of my mouth would be, "Well, little girl, your mother's an ignorant bitch." Yea, I know, but I'd say it ever so sweetly. Really.

So the mother and daughters walked away. My parents and I waited another few minutes for the slow elevator to return. We didn't talk for awhile. There wasn't anything to say.

No Pain, No Gain

First of all, I did not make any resolutions. I've decided to meet each day head-on and deal with whatever happens. Pretty much what I've been doing the last two years.

Have I ever discussed my physical therapy? I go three times a week, an hour at a time. In the past I called physical therapy, in very dramatic fashion, "my hour of PAIN". Now, it is simply physical therapy. One more step to my wellness.

Each session has the same components. Massage - which is mostly painful. The muscles in my leg, particularly my foot, are really tight. Lightly applied pressure makes me want to scream, my nerves are so sensitive. In case I've never mentioned it before, my nerves are damaged. I can feel pain but not sensation. What a trip, huh? So, you can stick a nail up the heel of my foot and I probably wouldn't feel it but the nerves higher up on my leg would be screaming because they are being disturbed. Weird, weird, weird.

Then we do fun stretches and what I call "tummy time". I must look ridiculous, lying on my belly, squeezing my butt cheeks. Whatever. It's suppose to help, I just hope I'm not scaring someone walking by me. I don't want to look like that Jim Carrey character (Ace Ventura) that talks with his ass. Sigh. I probably do.

For the last bit of fun we mix it up. Pull weights, walker exercises or like today, sit on a big ball. I told my therapist that if I sat on the ball and it burst, I would never be able to return. So I sat. It didn't burst. I did exercises most people would find easy. For me? I was twitching, my heart was pounding, and I was so afraid I would fall off the ball, despite the belt tethering me to my therapist, my Dad anchoring me in the front, and chairs on either side of me. I was unsteady at best. Trying to lift my left foot in coordination with my right hand was incredibly difficult. It brought back memories of my, "walker, step, walker, stomp, stomp!" days when I first started walking again.

My therapist is telling me that once I'm comfortable on the ball, we're moving to the floor. THE FLOOR? I haven't sat on a floor since December 2005. I don't even know how I would get that low then possibly get back up. It's tremendously scary. But I'll do it. I have to do it. Dammit.

Ring a ding ding

Happy New Year!! I hope you celebrated more than I did - I was wrapped up in three blankets, snoring away as 2008 began. I think it's an auspicious way to symbolize the new year!!

Thanks for reading Scooter Girl. This blog is a great place to vent.

Not much else to say - I know, surprise surprise! Today is a mellow day. Enjoy being with my family, eating yummy chili, cornbread and 7-layer dip with chips. I've laughed at my dogs, came across some super deals while shopping and teased my parents mercilessly. Ahh, it truly has been a satisfying day.

Happy New Year!!