Days upon days

It's been a rough few days here in Jefferson. Oh yeah you know we had heat but that broke earlier in the week, and it's been in the mid 80's which is down right chilly to us now. I haven't been in the best of shape for typing (or keyboarding, whatever you call it these days) because the RA has flared and every joint is on fire. But you know what, I'm getting through it. I'm not having to worry about my home washing away from flood waters. I worry about my friends all along the Mississippi and wonder how they're getting along and praying that they are safe from the swelling river. Hoping against hope that help has arrived with sand bags or boats...that they had time to put things that are precious to them where they won't be lost. My knees decided they didn't want to bend well long about Monday but thank God I don't have to outrun a tornado or a forest fire encroaching on my home...I worry about my friends who now find themselves living in Tornado Alley or in the middle of a fire plain. So, while my fingers may ache my knees may creak and my head may bend with the pain in my neck, I can still laugh at Hound's antics and know that I am safe. I don't worry about any returning illness that is much harder to fight then Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). I worry about my friend who is waiting for word and praying that the word is benign. So, I'll be back in fighting form soon...and praying you are all safe from storms, flood fire and illness...I love you all...

Shoes

I know I haven't mentioned going to the Doc's much the past little while. My Pod Doc that took such excellent care of my once really pretty feet, up and left for parts unknown. (No, really they were once a foot fetishist's dream...long and slender, fine boned with delicate ankles...nails covered with bright red nailpolish called "I'm not really a Waitress" (which I still wear...just not on my toenails anymore). Because the once lovely feet are also aflicted with the hateful Rheumatoid Arthritis, they are no longer a dream...good heavens, nightmare, now that might cover it. The first time I was told I had RA, and that the ankle bones in my left foot were mostly shot, I sat on my bed (carefully tucking my legs beneath me while I still could) and cried. The left ankle was already affected, swollen and ugly, while oddly the right foot was still absolutely untouched. I hadn't been able to wear proper shoes in ages. I tried, but it was a no go. So, I lined up all the beautiful shoes I have collected over the years, the gorgeous Italian high heeled Sandals in a lovely reddish brown leather, strappy and sexy, the lime green silk heels that I wore to my son's wedding...the black leather boots that hugged the calves of my legs like a lovers hands, the ugly steel toed boots I once wore with my uniform that were strong enough to save my life, but gawd ugly (and oddly comfortable.) I held the red satin pumps (oh yes, I love me some high heels...) with the wrap around my ankle and tie in the front satin straps and wept because not only could the swollen ankle not accomodate the lovely straps, but my balance was mostly gone due to the broken neck injury I have mostly recovered from. I cried because these shoes were only decorations now, decorating my closet mostly. I bagged them up to take to the dump, but couldn't quite make myself wallow in that much self pity, so I put them back in the closet in a box till I decide what to do with them. Yes, I was a whining ,whimpering mess who sat on her bed and cried over SHOES. I had been through so much what with heart surgery, paralysis, (when the doctors told me I'd never walk again, I laughed in their faces because I knew God would not have brought me this far to leave me lying on the ground. I knew it.) The night of the world's noisiest pity party was the night I saw a show about the young men and women who are returning from war with their arms and legs so sadly damaged and missing and some coming home in coffins that I knew...I'll never cry over anything so insignificant as a pair of shoes ever again.

Look Out...I'm back...well Sort of

They call it a flare up. I call it hell. It started out on Sunday when I opened my eyes. When even your eyelids hurt, yes, that's hell. But it reminds me why I'm taking this medicine, a mini chemo treatment each week. And while the medicine makes me feel green (it isn't easy being green) a couple of days a week, I'd rather be green than in the pain I've been in this week! I had one finger that could go in and comment on posts. It's taking me a little longer to do this post, but rest assured, I've been in checking on you. That one finger that the Rheumatoid Arthritis has left fairly unhindered has had quite a workout this week~! But I feel the medicine beating it back and hopefully by tomorrow I'll be my normal abrasive self. So, it's not quite over, but I'm getting there. I hate a whiner, so I'm going to stop now. See you all tomorrow...you're all in my thoughts. And just a quick addition here...Kat (at Just a Beach Kat) has awarded her pals a special award...I just love it and I am passing this on to all my bloggy pals who visit. Bare with me, the typing is slow and I can't type out everyone, you know who you are...you're my buds, my friends, my company my family....and I love you *** *** this much! Pardon me while my mind takes a walk on the lovely sands of Myrtle Beach...wish we were all there. And thank you David for offering the choice of parties...think I'll settle for a Spirit party. I like champagne on days like this...but a wee dram of sherry does wonders!

OMGIF

This is that special red letter day I call OMGIF...tonight is the night I get to take those five little pills that are meant to stop my Rheumatoid Arthritis in its tracks. I've been taking it for six weeks now, and I think maybe I'm seeing some improvement. The stiffness upon arising in the morning doesn't hang around the usual hour, I can now make a fist and release it (and anyone with arthritis knows exactly what I mean) in about 10 minutes, now. I remember the first time I bent a finger then had to use the other hand to lift the finger back to the straight ahead position, how funny it was. I was in my early forties then and it didn't happen often. It seemed to me to be just a quirky little thing my finger had decided to do every blue moon. It was about that same time that I noticed a distinct soreness in my left shoulder. Didn't last long, I simply did some little exercises to unfreeze it and Bob's your uncle, it was all cleared up. When I turned fifty I was still able to jump out of bed with a bound. Now just a couple years later and I feel like I have been bound when trying to roll out of bed. There is much grumbling going on because this hasn't gotten any easier. So, those 5 little pills. I will stand and look at them lying so harmlessly in my hand while Mac draws me a glass of water. Tomorrow won't be so bad, but Sunday's are rough. Monday's I go from the bed to the couch and that's my day. I may struggle in to read some of my favorite bloggers, because I need to laugh. All of you guys have your own style of comedy and so I have decided that Monday, while I am lying like a zombie on the couch, I am going go make myself get up to participate in the weekly Just Living Large Menopause Marathon. I refuse to let 5 little pills beat me down. I am woman, hear me roar...well, maybe not roar, a good strong meow may have to do. This is a form of Chemo Therapy and so I go to Society Hill every two weeks to get blood work done. (Don't you just love that name? It was supposed to be the capitol of South Carolina before Columbia took that distinction.) So when I go in this morning I see it is Attila the Hun who is in the lab. She scares me. She always asks what I need blood work done for. This is my fourth trip and she has been the one doing the job 3 times out of four now. I prepare myself for blood work. I don't look at the person doing the procedure at all. I turn my head and look at the wall and talk to the phlebotomist in joking terms like "so how's Dracula and all the little vampires this morning?" and carry on small talk. Then she announces "little prick here" and I always wonder if it's a comment on her personality or the actual pain she is about to inflict. I have to say in her defense she always gets that darned vein in one stab. Stab is the operative word here. When I leave I am careful to let my arm remain straight (bending the elbow in a tight position causes bruising)when I am leaving the clinic. The little gauze pad she has plastered over the hole she made is deep red with blood before I can get to the truck. Coward that I am the last time I had blood work done 2 weeks ago, there were two of them in the lab and I actually begged the other one "don't let her be the one to jab me". Bless her, she protected me and there was no excessive bleeding. I told Mac this morning, "you know, I think she may be using a ball point pen," as I uncovered the wound in my arm. I would watch her carefully to see what it is she does, but I don't like the sight of my own blood. It makes me queasy. So, until then, I look forward to reading your blogs and seeing who's the craziest one out there and prepare an award of my own design. It'll probably have something to do with a cat, don't you think? So be funny. And spelling counts.