Cat Crazies

Violet went crazy around 3:00 a.m. this morning. I'm not sure what set her off; I may have come up a notch or two toward the sleep-wake threshold. She came flying across my lightly sleeping body, murmured something near my face, then jumped off the bed and skittered into the living room. She returned to me before I fell asleep again as if to say she was sorry. She was already softer, slower, gentler. When I awoke an hour later with a headache, she was sympathetic and soothing, only barely touching me as she laid down beside me. Her black-and-white catness delights me, even in pain.

Checking In

I’ve been numb for some time now. Lately I have found myself making my day “busy” so that I don’t feel the pain of my existence. I don’t tend toward optimism, never have. I came out of the oven a sad cake – one that fell and mushed together in the middle.

Here are some things I don’t like. I’ve been sick for six-and-a-half years now. It doesn’t get easier and, in fact, more difficult and complicated – in all ways (physical, spiritual, financial). I got breast cancer on top of the liver disease. Now I’m taking medication that gives me hot flashes all night long to add to the night sweats I have anyway from liver disease.

Here are some things I like. Being vegan and proud of making that choice (even though I cheat sometimes and even ate a hamburger and fries recently). Living about half a block from Cherry Creek at one of its wildest spots as it meanders through Denver. Walking along the creek in the morning under the shade trees. Having friendly neighbors and living in a tree-lined, single-story brick community of about 100 people.  Violet the Cat is my little tuxedo treasure, even when she runs off on 20-minute-long adventures that frighten the hell out of me.

That middle part of the sad cake? It reminds me of pudding cake, where all the good, yummy, tasty, rich things fell.

Comfort

      Did you ever want about 10 seconds of comfort (ah, I'm sorry that happened to you)? And somehow what keeps arriving is advice on how to be better organized, how to handle such things in the future, etc., etc., etc. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong. Mostly I'm just human and can only conjure up human-sized strength. Oh, sometimes not even that. Also, I know how to find the silver lining in most situations. Really. I do. But sometimes the silver shines through the tears.

Change in Perception

     Yesterday I downloaded a scientific dissertation to read about fatigue and PSC, the lovely liver disease I have. I'm reading and reading and learning that more women than men experience the fatigue, that it comes with depression-like symptoms but doesn't respond to antidepressants and on interview with a psychiatrist doesn't add up to depression either. I also read that sleep for the fatigue is not "restorative." Now I snagged onto that idea and put some time and thought to it.
     My naps don't really make me feel better. It's not like I jump out of the nap-bed and think, "Oh, gee whiz, now I can do ..." or that I run out of the house and exercise or anything else that would indicate I really felt better after napping. Huh. So, last night finally I asked myself this whopper question, "Why nap?" It just subtracts from my waking hours and doesn't accomplish anything positive.
     Keep in mind also that I have trouble sleeping at night and that goes with what they term "daytime somnolence." Hmmm. I may nap now and then, but it's not part of my daily plan anymore.
     So what's the change in perception? I am no longer putting PSC at the center of my life anymore. There's no need to – now, and perhaps there never was a need. It's difficult to have a disease for which there is no treatment except for transplant. And to be eligible for transplant, you need to be really sick. It's easy to make the goal "oh boy, let's get sick!" But that proves to be a rotten way to live your days.
     It's daily life I am concerned about. The quality of each day is what adds up to a life. I want more creativity, more writing, more love, more fun, more happiness every single day. That's what I choose right now.

Working on Health

      I've been recuperating and have been absent from my blog. I have continued to write everyday, though, and made some decisions. About life, you know. I had been looking at a couple of writer's conferences to go to and had gotten really excited about the Woodstock Writer's Festival in April and the Taos Summer Writing Conference in July. I finally decided that I was putting the cart before the horse and had some other priorities to attend to first. I did discover two writing teachers and consultants that I plan to contact and try to work with them in the future, though.

     What I chose to focus on was my health. I want to improve it in any way that I can. It takes more than diet. Even my thoughts need inspection. I listened to a few minutes of Wayne Dyer on TV last night and he suggested a practice for the period of time between drowsiness and falling asleep at night. His advice included things like saying, "I am well, I am prosperous, I am happy." Whoa, that threw me. I realized how often I have a pre-sleep litany sounding more like this:  "I'm sick, I'm poor, I struggle to be happy." Oh brother, now I was wide awake.

      I went to bed anyway. After reading for awhile and getting drowsy, I tried out Dyer's suggested phrases. I woke up around 2:30 a.m. and thought it was time to get up. What happened, though, was that in the middle of the night, I was happy. That's usually the time I wake up from some new worry I had forgotten about during the day. This time, no worries. I was happy when I got up at 7 a.m., too. And life just felt better. I'm trying it again tonight.

      One aspect of my health I am working on for this year is my energy level. I want more energy. Much more! This means more exercise, starting with a lot more walking. Daily. I walked today for 20 minutes! It's not much but it's a start. Even if I only work up to 30 minutes every day, the regularity of it will help my energy level. I just know it will. I'm not interested in being an athlete, just in reversing some of the fatigue I feel.

     I need more energy to write. Writing does give me energy, so it remains part of my plan for health. But I need all the boosts I can get. So I'm using my mind to boost me out the door every day and walk now, and see what happens. I'm hoping! And I will keep you posted on my progress.

Hospital Stays and Why to Stay at Home

             I remember brightness and light about hospital stays. Way too much. So much I can’t relax or sleep very well. There was a doctor covering all the liver patients on the transplant floor for the week, and he would arrive for his Visit For The Day at 4:30 a.m. Switch on the overhead light for the room, and stand there grinning and saying (far too loudly), “Good morning!” Are you kidding me? “How have been feeling?” Fine, till you arrived. What I was doing, it’s called “sleeping.” Most doctors make you wonder if they are coming by at all.

            There’s always the daily morning stick in the arm for yet more blood, and this comes far ahead of sunrise. Sleeping. Awaken to a light being switched on over my bed so he or she can see. I’m always nice to them because they seem apologetic from the get-go. Then they take my blood, shut off the light, and I lie there thinking about going back to sleep. After about my sixth or seventh hospital stay, I could forget it and fall asleep. But sometimes, I just toss around and then finally pull out a book to read.

            Attending to bathroom needs is problematic because I’m attached by tubing and a needle in my arm to an IV unit that is plugged into the wall. Long before the nurse places the IV, I check out the plug and see how easy or difficult it is to pull out of the socket, what needs to be adjusted to attain easy access to the plug. When the urge comes, depending on just how urgent, I roll out of bed, reach for the plug and free it, grab the IV pole and run or walk to the bathroom. IV antibiotics always make it an urgent matter for me. I beg for Imodium. The medical staff wants to make sure I don’t have C. diff. and I am elected processor of the samples. Now I tell them to find my doctor and she’ll okay the Imodium. One intern got past that system and I yelled at him. He ran away whimpering.

            They want you to wear their non-slip, very attractive (heh-heh) beige socks all the time. I prefer bare feet; probably unhygienic, but I hate being in bed with socks. Once I fell with an IV pole rolling alongside when it stuck in a doorway, and my nurse gave me red socks to wear. They show you can’t be trusted to walk. I wandered the hallways in them, proud and happy.

            The best way to be in a hospital is unconscious. Then make sure you have an excellent advocate who will move heaven and earth to get you the best care. A conscious life there with too much light, noise, lousy food choices and worse food, an uncomfortable bed and basically being tied to it – all of that sucks. The only breaks are visitors – the best – and a nurse who will have a conversation with you. Oh, and finding someone to bring you a latte from Daz Bog on the first floor. Extra foam, please.

My Body Calls Me

     Just when everything is going really great, I started getting inexplicably sick last night. Right after I left the library and my fun time there, I felt greatly chilled. I turned up the car's heater and was still cold. Oh, this is not a good sign, I thought. I turned up the heat at home but still felt chilly, and really tired. By bedtime I was burning up with fever. It was almost 101 degrees. Two Tylenol and pulled the sheet over my head. Soaked with sweat when the fever broke.

     I don't want to go to the hospital. Not at least until I get my hair washed. Just want to stay at home with my kitty and write and pretend I'm normal. I'll make a really nice green smoothie and see if it will all go away.