i so wish i could say things were looking up. actually, *i* am looking up, as i am all scrunched down in the bed, with my neck in an oh-so-comfy perpendicular formation... which, yes, i will fix in a minute. sadly, stuff like that requires lots of effort.
oh, poor moi!
i feel a strong need to get to a neurologist and soon. the crps dystonia, aka the screaming ninnies, have returned, damn each spasm to hell. but what scares me, terrifies me, is the first 15-20 minutes of it. it must fire or trigger in an area of my brain in charge of emotion and impulsiveness. i don't even know if such a segmented brain area exists. but in those first minutes, i come perilously close to committing suicide.
if i can make it through, and obviously, thus far i have, those 15-20 minutes, i'm okay. or at least not suicidal. i used to be full of gratitude and relief. now, it's more like, "well, damn... still here."
it's clearly neurological and not "emotional."
i tell myself: "come on, it's just a few minutes..." i tell myself: "the meds will kick in, the spasms will ease up, nothing has really changed." i tell myself: "if only i had a gun, i could end this."
tuesday, when they had to call 911 at the infectious disease dood's office, i got hit with total body spasms, but couldn't let anyone touch me. i remember doing wheelies with the wheelchair and yelling, over and over, "what am i going to do? what am i going to do?" this really sweet, but slightly (okay, extremely) weird infusion nurse kept grabbing me by the non-existent shoulder and that actually kept me going, i believe. it hurt so bad, and it kept me so busy snarling at her ("don't touch me, don't touch me" -- to which her everlovin' reply was, "oh, god, i did it again, i am so sorry, it's just the nurse in me!" grrrrrrrrr...) that it kept my BP up and me alive.
forget my near 104 spike in temp, my BP did some funky, scary stuff. 200/100 for a good while. then, they said i got all pasty pale and it began readings like 150/25, 145/30 over and over again. what does that mean?
and my brain HURT. fred helpfully pointed out that it was not, technically, my brain that hurt, as it was incapable of doing so. i tried to reach fred with the business end of my cane, no luck.
so... can youse dear readers understand a little hypochondriasis over the state of my brain when my exquisite body goes dystonic?
i have tried to put together some things to help me through the 15-20 minute of please-slay-me, slay-me-now. these include:
trying to stand and walk
getting into the chair and going anywhere
distributing treats to the felines
doing a swan dive from the computer turret into the least algae covered area of the moat
calling a creditor and promising to pay in full
my nephew adrean, whom i've never met, managed to break his arm in two spots... so i think about him.
my other nephew john, whom i've also never met, writes keen emails, so sometimes i compose answers.
the ManorFest 2012 labyrinth has developed some humongous holes in its otherwise pristine english boxwood density, so i dream up solutions to that pressing problem (they could be archery stations, or maybe beanbag toss spots?)
i pick things up so that i can drop them, and pick them up, so that i can drop them.
well, one mission accomplished: by writing this, i've made the big hand move on the clock to the time where i'm supposed to run in the last antibiotic of the day. so... excuse moi while i go do that.
thanks for getting me through this quarter hour.