The official blog of Susan Landis-Steward, writer of whatever she likes, and co-founder of Puddletown Publishing Group

Posts tagged ‘drugs’

Fibro Report…As If You Wanted to Know

People talk about having “raw nerves” and that’s as apt a description of fibromyalgia as I can think of.  Your nerves are so raw that, instead of being nice little insular beings,  they are able to talk to each other in a neuromuscular game of telephone. The message sent is seldom the message received. A nerve starts a conversation saying “ouch” and by the time it hits the optic nerve it says “close me.” Hence today’s problem. I am stiff, sore, can barely move, and all I want to do is close my eyes. Good thing I only had to go to the post office, less than 1/2 mile away. There is no way I could have walked it, just too much pain and too much rain. But I was able to drive there and back and keep my eyes open, barely. It’s not that I’m tired, although there is that as well. It’s just that when I get this bad, the eyes flat out refuse to take in sensory information. As I write, I find myself typing by touch with my eyes closed. And I have to struggle to make my eyes focus to read anything. Which is sad as I have a new book.  My guess is there is “no knitting for you” at my meeting tonight, too. Bummer.

All this because of the convergence of working really hard for the party this past weekend with the rain and cold I woke to today. The brain is such a funny thing. It clops along, doing all the things it should, day in and day out, for many years. Then it starts to go. In my case, it was my first death that did me in. I died on the operating table, minor surgery, and my brain was oxygen deprived for a short time while they jump started me and then forced me to learn to breathe on my own again over the next several hours.  Just long enough to do minor damage. I lost my sense of direction and I got this lovely parting gift of fibromyalgia. So now I have no sense of where I am in space but it hurts to be here anyway.  I can now get lost finding my way home from church but I seldom feel like leaving the house so it really doesn’t matter a lot. I have Jenny, she-who-will-drive-anywhere, as my personal chauffeur and I work in a home office. I can shop on the internet, I have both a cell phone and a landline to keep me connected, and I am an introvert. The furthest I need to go for most of my social life is about 10 minutes from here. For the most part, I do well.

And there are drugs. It’s odd, just like fibro is odd, that many of the drugs are really drugs for other things. Treating it is a matter of treating symptoms, sometimes with drugs meant to treat other things. Example: I take Parkinsons drugs to treat one of the sleep disorders, anti-psychotics to treat another, and an anti-depressant to treat the pain. It’s like the whole brain turned into fried noodles and now nothing, including the drugs, works the way it should.

But some days, like today, remind me that the suicide rate is quite high for folks with this crap. Now don’t freak. I’m not suicidal. But on days like today it’s hard to take it one day at a time. This is one of those shitty days when I am reminded that a) fibro won’t kill me and b) sometimes I wish it would. And, unfortunately, it will never go away. Although I look forward to summer because it’s almost like being remission for a few months.

A friend says I should try living gluten- and corn- free. I think I’m going to give it a try. This is ridiculous.

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Midnight Musings

It’s actually 1 am and I JUST finished indexing the Portfolio Management book. It was a long haul, and chapters came late, and it’s due tomorrow. It’s still too hot so I’m drinking Mike’s hard lemonade. Over ice. With a straw. On the presumption that the faster you drink it, the faster it will put you to sleep. I want to sleep. I crave sleep. But I can never sleep right after working and I can NEVER sleep when it’s too damned hot. So booze.

Jenny and the evil cat generate a lot of heat and they are already in bed. And Jenny believes that a comforter and a quilt are necessary even when it’s too damned hot. I’d sleep in the guest room but we just moved in, the barn was just built, and the guest room is full of crap that belongs in the barn. For example, a crib. We have no use for a crib, but we are hopeful that there will be more grandkids someday, so we keep a crib. Actually, the crib I slept in. It’s very cool because it folds. But it still takes up too much room. All the art is also on the guest room bed and somewhere in there are the discs to fix the problem this computer is having with my laser printer. I should move stuff to the barn. But it’s too damned hot.

Besides, I have three books in the index queue and had an email from an author in my inbox when we got home. So that may be four books in the queue.  I’m not sure what is going on but suddenly I’m getting almost more work than I can handle. It’s nice, but it means I’m not doing much else. Well, catching up on some bills, putting some away for taxes, saving a little. But I’d like to ride my scooter more! And record all the old cassette tapes into iTunes. And hang the art.

I do get some extra points because I worked for awhile on the novel I’m writing. I’m really enjoying this one, although I’m having to do a lot of research for it, and try to work on it daily. Which means once a week mostly, usually just the night before I need pages for writer’s group. Which is tomorrow. And I’m going to ride my scooter there. And send the Portfolio book in. AND THE INVOICE. My favorite part.

So, the Mike’s is gone and I’m still here.  Can’t have another because, due to a brain injury six years ago, I take every drug known to man as long as it ends in -zepam. Drugs to fall asleep, drugs to stay asleep, drugs to keep me from kicking Jenny out of bed, drugs to keep me from acting out my dreams (Jenny REALLY hates that one), and drugs just for the sake of drugs. Brain injuries are interesting, and some day I’ll write more about it, but the upshot for me was fibromyalgia and six? seven? sleep disorders. I’ve lost track. All I know is there are EEGs out there of me sleeping and I was a mess before the drugs. Now I’m not a mess, but I am drugged.

And the dog has decided that it is her job to alert me if Jenny leaves the house. Which she does, four days a week, at a bit before six am. Now, it’s 1 am plus and I’m still up. I’m not fond of six am. I’m not even fond of 8 am. And I’m particularly not fond of a dog barking in my face, demanding I open the door just so the dog can sit on the porch and stare at the driveway, willing Jenny to come back. And she doesn’t even like Jenny best. But she likes to annoy me most.

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