Sympathy my ass!!

I think my body is turning into a circus (cue the circus themed music)...

I went to get fitted for my left leg's compression stocking. You see these all the time on older citizens, you know, it's flesh colored and shiny. Thick, verrrry smooth looking (for the vain ones) and tight. Once my ankle and calf measurements were taken, I was presented with my very first set of compression stockings!! Joy, joy, joy!! Yowza - these suckers are tight!! You have to don special $5 gloves, though they may look like the kind you buy to wash dishes (for $3), apparently, they are not the same. They're not comfortable, but then, they are not meant to be (can you tell I'm quoting the therapy specialist that fitted me? Kinda wanted to smack her, in a gentle, teasing, hurts so good way...) Like the lymphedema therapy wrappings, the compression stocking is a more permanent way for me to control my leg swelling. So, I think I'm all set and the therapist raises my right pant leg, I'm assuming for shits and giggles...

She looks at my right leg and then at me. "You have what I believe to be sympathetic dystrophy (S.D.) in your right leg. Do you know what S.D. is?" I nod my head in agreement but my Mom chimes in with a, "Can you please explain" kind of question. To put it in a few words, my right leg is feeling sorry for my left leg and is now having sympathy symptoms. Yup, my right leg pities my left leg sooooo much that it wants to share its pain. Damn. I might conclude that my right leg is jealous of all the attention the left leg has received the past two years but I don't wanna for fear it kinda sorta might be true knowing my perverse body and it's strange, strange ways. It really is a case of the right side knowing the left side. D.S. is not uncommon, of course, but puleeeze, couldn't this one have skirted around me? My parents and I have noticed the red discoloration around my ankle and lower calf (like my left leg) and the swelling of my calf (like my left leg) and I've been complaining of that "foot is asleep" feeling on and off for a few months. Long story short, my right leg has its own matching compression stocking now. Oh joy, joy, joy!! I have officially joined the ranks of the old and infirmed. I was pretty close anyway, but now I'm dressing like 'em!! Pretty soon I'm going to break out the mothballs and stale rose-scented perfume. That's what I think an old lady smells like, anyway. Okay, nothing against the older set. I'm venting and frustrated - I'm sure there are lots of elder women out there that can kick my ass in most anything physical - oh - and they can drive!!! More than I can do, nowadays.

Every time I say sympathetic dystrophy I giggle. Once again, I'm reduced to laughter because my body doesn't know when to stop. I should start selling tickets to this circus!!

Welcome to my world

One of the most unpleasant side-effects of this whole thing happening to me has been the weight gain. I've always had a problem with controlling my weight, or rather, I liked being able to control something that no one else could. Basic psychology. When I turned 40, I realized I had to change my outlook and I lost 60 pounds. Yup, 60 pounds. I worked so hard at losing that weight, exercised and generally drove some my friends crazy with my weird eating habits, talking about dieting all the time or my sudden interest in name-brand clothing. Hey - when all you can fit in are "Women's World" clothes its so intoxicating when you can walk up to any clothing store and fit in most of the clothes hanging up on the racks.

Anyway, when I got home from the hospital I was skinnier than I'd ever been. It didn't really hit me how much thinner I was until I tried on my clothes and NOTHING fit me. They were all too big!! The knowledge was bittersweet because while most of my body was tinier, my left leg and stomach were big from the injuries. Oh, more on my abdomen stuff at a later time.

Lately, whenever I go out with my folks, my Dad, bless his grouchy old man grousing, complains about how heavy I am to push compared to last year. That even from the prior month I'm heavier. Look, I know I've put on more weight than I'm comfortable with but it's been a real struggle. Nothing is moving the weight off of me. It would have been helpful if I had been taught prior to coming home how to eat more healthy with fewer calories and an even lower activity level. I've been told the meds I'm taking coupled with a change in my metabolism from all the trauma has added to my weight problems. The constant infections and antibiotics added to the weight gain. The many, many pain pills added weight - one damn pill helped me put on 20 pounds in 6 weeks. My Dad had me on a limited protein, soup and salad diet so we knew it wasn't poor eating habits. Sigh.

Now that I'm healthier, I'm trying different options. I'd like to be more active but that's going to come later when my back and leg are stronger. So, in the meantime, I'm back to Woman's World. Yeeeech. I didn't miss this at all.

Happy Easter

Hope you had a lovely holiday weekend. Today was really warm here in Sunny...CA. Nothing like summer weather in March!!

Have a great week!

The Wacky Duck

Humph. What is it with guys? You think you've got it figured out and then, plop! something drops in front of you and what are you suppose to do? It's not that dramatic, it's more confusing than anything else. Remember the guy I mentioned in my post about letting go? We had been friends for ages and then he kissed me (I didn't make the move) and things kinda shifted. He was into it for awhile and then nothing. Well, a few months ago I asked him if he wanted to explore into whatever we were doing. I didn't say I wanted to be his girlfriend, I didn't ask to spend more time with him, I didn't start talking about china patterns. I simply asked, "...do you wanna explore this thing we've got?" (sounds like we both had the pox or something, doesn't it?). His response? The typical male non-response. "I like you, you're totally cool, I have fun with you, blah blah blah. I'm not ready for a relationship, I've got too much on my plate, it's not you, it's me". Pooperhead! A simple, "I like you but this is as far as it goes for me" would have been sufficient...and less ego damaging. When a guy can't come up with an original thought and has to resort to trite phrases, well, to me, that shows I'm not worth the effort. At least with the direct route, I would know he tried and it wasn't working for him. Fine. You still lose but thanks for the honesty. Because, guys, when you say those stupid always said phrases - we KNOW it IS about us, and you DON'T want to have a relationship with ME.

Anyway, Dumbass, as I affectionately call him, sent me a package today (I could do the innuendo thing but why bother?) and I couldn't figure out why. It's not my birthday, I didn't ask for anything, I didn't talk about any purse I really, really, had to have. Imagine my surprise when I pulled out a Hallmark Wacky Doodle Dandy Duck, an Easter present!! Wacky Duck dances to the Chicken Dance when you press his leg. He flaps his wings, he sings...faster and faster in a Wacky Doodle Ducky Dance!! And I got an Easter card, too!! What a sweet thing to do, really. I like that he showed he was thinking of me (even though he works 16 hour days and remembered to buy this for me while he was doing whatever he was doing in Hallmark), I like that he took the time to go to the Post Office, stand in line and mail this to me (I don't know what else he was mailing), I'm happy he thought I would get a laugh out of this - because I do, it's soooo me!!

Humph. None of my other guy friends sent me an Easter present. Hell, I didn't even get an Easter card from most of my girlfriends. One of my girlfriends asked if we were doing "our thing" again. "No", I said. "We're just friends." She said, "That's not really something a guy friend would do, you know." Whatever. I'm not going to over analyze my Wacky Doodle Dandy Duck. But I gotta say it. Why is it sometimes so clear to everyone else but the guy doing the driving? Dumbass.

Escandalo!!

I've been busy this week - still have the normal PT, lymphedema treatments, blood sucking, doctor appointments - added to that, I've been fascinated by this blog about DJ Montano II. He's from the Philippines and an alleged scam artist. His ex, an Australian cutie patootie named Brian, was allegedly cheated out of $70,000AUS dollars. DJ allegedly conned Brian into thinking the money he (Brian) sent would be used for their restaurant. Brian would move to the Philippines and live happily ever after with DJ. Brian found out that DJ was scamming him, there was an altercation in a ritzy hotel and Brian was arrested on assault charges (dragged through the hotel lobby, screaming and crying, in his underwear - ESCANDALO!!) but later released for lack of evidence. Additionally, Brian is claiming that DJ's closest friends knew all about the scam but did nothing. These friends all belong to an elitist group of wanna-be social snobs.

Anyway, Brian left broken-hearted. Went home to Australia, tried to recoup his lost $$$ and was laughed at. See, the way it works for many of us girls is if you break my heart, I'll be sad and blue. Break my heart and then laugh at me - that's it, I'm pissed and you're forever f*cked. And there's nothing like a wronged, broken-hearted bitch on the loose. Sigh. It's reality blogging. I'm hooked and it's taking up hours of my life I can't get back and I don't care. I feel sorry for this Brian. He was fooled and foolish with his heart and his money. He's become a blog sensation in the Philippines and parts of Asia. The anger of an angry ex knows no boundaries!

I think Brian was hopefully eager - I don't like the word desperate - for love and companionship (Brian is openly HIV positive). DJ was able to sniff that scent and pounce. I guess part of my fascination with this particular blog is that I feel a bit like Brian might have felt and yes, I know, I'm projecting. Wondering if he would ever be in a loving relationship again. The first blush of attraction. The butterflies fluttering in the lower belly when he touches you. Look what happened to Brian when he thought he found love - I don't want to be foolish and fooled! (I hope that Brian gets his money from DJ and the satisfaction of knowing he showed the blogger world what a jerk DJ Montano is and that he's a heartless bastard as well. I know, I know, I'm totally sucked up in this drama!)

Recently, I signed up with a disabled dating site just to check out the people and the scene. Wow, I guess it doesn't matter if you're on two feet or four wheels...we all want love, acceptance and sex...and not necessarily in that order! I've been hounded by men who want to drive to my neck of the woods for a date and "whatever else happens"...hey, that's internet innuendo for SEX. One guy said that he could tell by looking at my picture I was, "intelligent and cute". Right. Because my picture really does speak a thousand words, dude. There was a chat room started by this gal who claimed she found "the one" because of what he wrote to her in an e-mail. She was arguing with several different women until two of them posted the same e-mail he sent to them. See? At some point in our lives we're all eager for love. And if we're not careful, some "DJ" is going to waltz in and break our hearts. Too bad no one has invented a heart filter for emotions. It would be a top seller.

DIC head

I'm on my knees (only in my head, and not giving...get your head outta...well, okay) with joy!! Disability Insurance Company (now known forever as DIC, that's pronounced DICK) has told me that yes, indeed, I am disabled! What great news! I'm disabled - wooo hooo! Thanks for telling me, DIC. At least now I don't have to kneel (again, metaphorically) at your feet, DIC and constantly suck up to whomever is wielding the big stick of authority. Two years until the next review. It's so reassuring that DIC has agreed with the SS SHIT (Social Security's supreme, heartless, inefficient, taxing) machine's decision, even though DIC has been lobbying for two years to prove I'm disabled to the SS SHIT machine. Whatever.

It was a good day. Hope your Monday started out as well.

I got laid on the floor...

Not what you're thinking, potty brain!! In PT today, I knelt down then laid on the floor for the first time in TWO years. YEA!! Did it once then had to do it again to prove to myself it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't but it hurts and I'm still feeling the throbbing in my left foot.

See, the way you do it is: Find a good sturdy chair. Put your walker beside you, lean forward and grab the chair arms. Move your hands to the chair cushion and slowly lower your left leg, keeping it bent behind you (keep in mind that my foot points down so I have to deal with an automatic stop and still keep going) once your left knee touches the floor, slowly lower your right knee until you're in a kneeling position. From here, place your right hand on the floor to your side as you slowly lean to the right, swing your legs to the side and straighten them as you lean on your right arm and voila!! you're on your side. Reverse to stand up again. It's not easy and takes concentration because while most of my strength is in my arms, that's offset because of my poor balance skills. I was pretty beat afterwards. I asked my physical therapist if we could start floor exercises soon.

Having my back closed and healed has definitely helped my recovery. I'm more confident, eager to try new exercises and feel bouncy. Do you get what I mean when I say bouncy? Now, if I could only get laid on the floor...

Walkers in Rhythm

Short post. Dad hurt his back on Sunday when he lifted a 60 pound plant. It was too heavy. Dad's returned to his sickbed/couch and he's making me laugh. Wednesday morning, while Mom and I were rushing around before leaving for PT, Dad asked my Mom in the most plaintive tone, "Honey, do you have time to massage my back? It really hurts!" Listen, I don't want to be bitchy but I am going to be - men can be such babies! I didn't laugh until I was in the car. Mom looked at me and said, "I love your father, you know?" as she gave me a small smile. Mom didn't have to say anything else.

Dad is now using one of my walkers to move about the house. This afternoon we were out front trying to do a little dance number, as seen in The Producers. It didn't work, of course, but I was laughing. Dad moves slowly and it's a nice change for me to move faster than somebody, anybody else. I love my Dad, you know?

Well....hell

Well...hell. It deserves to be said twice. I went to see my orthopaedic surgeon. Wait, first let me break down some other news. One of the clots in my leg has dissolved! When the clots were discovered and I was put on all these really gross blood thinners, (have I mentioned I'm allergic to Heparin and didn't know it until AFTER it was given to me for a few days?) I was told that the clots should dissolve within a few months to a year. It took a little longer but I got rid of one of the suckers!! The other clots are not as wide and the lengths haven't changed. I'll take the loss of a clot - who knew that one day I would be celebrating such medical news? Before surgeries (BS) I celebrated scoring a great deal on an outfit, some new makeup or fragrance. Now, clot gone? SCORE!!

The visit with the orthopaedic surgeon was more stressful. We arrived early, since a 7:30pm appt. means arriving at 6:00pm. We were told the doctor only had three patients ahead of us so we probably would get in early. HAHAHAHAHA!! He saw us at 8:15pm. Anyway, he wanted to schedule surgery in three weeks. Oh, if you could have seen my face. I'm sure I looked like I was taking a huge dump - because I was. He scared me. I actually yelled out that I wasn't having any surgeries for a year - nothing until at least July 08. He looked kinda surprised and a little taken aback (good, I owed him for the surgery thingy) but agreed with my decision, okay, hysterical outburst. Freaked the shit outta me. So, obviously, I'm not as mentally prepared as I need to be. Then he told me the options in surgery, which unsurprisingly, all circled back to "if things go wrong, amputation"; "if your blood vessels are compromised and blood flow is restricted, amputation"; "if infection sets in, amputation"...okaaaaay, I can follow. Amputation. Got it. He also said that he wanted to do a lot of tests, including tissue sampling. HUH? Apparently, he's going in a few weeks before surgery, after taking me off the antibiotics for a week, and helping himself to some leg tissue. Um, I don't have much left, where the hell does he think he's gonna get it from? More importantly, how much is that gonna hurt and do I need to be under anesthesia? Then he mentioned I would most likely need skin grafting because my skin was probably too thin and compromised by infections. Crap. Skin grafting? I haven't really talked about it because I'm still trying to forget my first experience. Have to say, skin grafting is a bitch. It hurts like, well, dammit, it frickin' hurts. My entire upper left thigh was a donor site, now, my right upper thigh is the new area for redevelopment. My plastic surgeon showed me the tool he used for getting the donor skin. Kinda looks like a cheese grater with spikes. He said the skin lifts off similar to shaved cheese. Haven't been able to eat freshly shaved Parmesan cheese since then. Makes me wanna puke.

Life is still good, though. Being much more healthy has a lot to do with my outlook. But, come on, skin grafting? Well...hell.

Walking on sunshine, yea yea

Life is so sweet right now. My leg looks like a leg again - well, except for the missing tissue, scars, redness...but it's a leg again!! I'm cautiously optimistic. I know with my medical history that weird things happen out of nowhere (remember the leaky leg incident of April 07?) so I'm moving forward slowly.

It helps that I spent Sunday with Missy R. and Missy P. Can't help but laugh most of the day when I'm with them. Thinking of how we spent the day brings a smile to my face.

You read stories about how people's lives are changed for the better or worse, depending on how that person deals with the event(s) that did the changing. Can I say, without sounding too arrogant, that I've handled all of this crap pretty damn well? I didn't turn into a sloppy, blubbery mess. I didn't become a pill popping, drinking myself stupid victim. I didn't fall into a dark pool of bullshit, acting like an angry, vindictive bitch (mostly not, anyway). I'm still me, only with the volume turned down and the color much sharper. Oh, I'm still loud - just not frantically loud. Not venti mocha frappucino with extra chocolate loud. More skinny vanilla latte, tall loud. I'm mellower. I can accept things easier. I've learned to compromise gracefully without too much of a tantrum - hey, I'm still me. I don't like giving up, remember? But I've learned that sometimes bowing out doesn't mean I'm giving up, I'm merely reevaluating my options.

So, life is good. I feel, for the first time in a very long time, possibility. That maybe, just maybe, things have taken an upswing. I'm seeing my orthopaedic surgeon tomorrow night to talk about surgical operations. Probably in August or September. It's time to take a step into the future.

Fast forward

I'll keep this post as brief as possible. Lymphatic treatment is working - even my foot is cooperating. My toes look like toes again - not fat, squat, ugly boiled sausages! Hooray!! I lost 4 INCHES around my thigh, that's a whole lotta water. Full day at the hospital tomorrow. Infectious Diseases, PT, lymphatic treatment, and finally, a sonogram of my clots. Geez, we'll be at the hospital from 9am - 5pm. They really should just give us a room or at the very least, pay us an hourly salary.

Since my edema is better and if my clots look improved, I'll finally get the okay to travel via air again. Drumroll please...I'll be able to visit Missy S. in Phoenix next month. Yeah!! I have plans to visit my sister, Missy K. in the early summer and I'm planning a trip to New York. To quote Mr. James Brown, "I feeeel good..."

Conjunction, junction, what's your function?

Remember those great Schoolhouse Rock cartoons? I knew that they were trying to teach me something but I didn't care because the songs were fun to sing. My lymphedema treatment reminds me of those days. Well, not completely because there aren't any songs to sing and it's not always fun but the message is still there.

For the past week we've been trying to ease my lymphatic system back into working more efficiently in my foot and leg. The leg is doing well, the edema has really gone down. The problem is my ankle and foot - my conjunction junction isn't getting into the spirit of the treatment. While the swelling has gone down, a few hours after the bandages come off, the foot begins to swell again. My lymphatic therapist is telling me I might have to wear bandages all the time to combat the swelling. Oh, you should have seen her face when I mentioned I was still considering amputation, "Why are we doing all this work if you're going to chop your leg off?!" I have to admit I mentioned amputation in retaliation for her belly comment. I asked if lymphatic massage should be started because it might help the lymphatic flow, as I pointed to my stomach and chest area. "Honey, I have to tell you something. That isn't lymphatic fluid. That's just plain old belly fat." Wow, thanks, lady. It's not like I'm carrying around a 12 pound ball of fat in my belly. I honestly thought that coaxing the lymphatic freeway, as it's called in technical terms, to flow better through other parts of my body, that maybe it would help. I wasn't bargaining for the belly fat comment.

I have another week of treatment then we'll see what happens. On another note, my Dad has recovered quite well since Mom returned home. I'm almost over a bad cough. I saw a wooden sign today that said, "One shoe can change your entire life"... Cinderella