CCSVI Journey

Freddy Krueger

2011-08-25T03:42:00.001-07:00

Hi y'all. Long time, eh? Guess I've been a busy girl since my latest LIBERATION attempt. That must be it. Out paintin' the town ya know. Workin' on my top ten list of things I wanna get to do this go 'round. She must be busy takin' her boys to Holiday World. Nah. Ridin' horses? Nah. Playin' basketball? Volleyball? Swimming? Dancin'? Bakin' a cake then. How 'bout that? Surely she could manage that. No? Maybe she went to walk the mall and got lost then? Ha! No such luck this time my friends.

So what's she been up to then? I believe the high school basketball program read at one time up to 5'10" but I'm way closer to 5'8" on a good day. And now Oompa Loompa's tower me from my handy dandy wheelchair. But seriously I've filled this 1st month post procedure with nothing but being a big sissy. And I don't mean Amelia's bigger, older sister. Quite frankly I mean I've been a whiny over-sized chicken shit! And that my friends is a hard truth for this Orth girl to swallow.

I've never really thought of my self as scared of much of anything 'til now. Bees and wasps I suppose whilst out mowing or riding horses. Big hairy spiders maybe. (Little ones too, as size is relative, especially to little girls screaming for their daddy's help.) Snakes longer than your riding mower. Yeh. All very real entities just like the end of the world and Freddy Krueger. C'mon now . . . what's not scary about them? The end of the world - self explanatory, right? Saw a movie. Heard of end times from the Bible. Are you ready? Still scary!

And as for Mr. Krueger. Jinkies! He scared/scares the holy hell outta me. To this very day I still don't even wanna see pictures of that child molesting burned up nightmare jackin' living dead bastard. The whole idea terrified/terrifies me. You don't know Fred? Well if you are over 18 - you're about to. [spoiler alert] Ha. Or should I say the following content is not meant for audiences under the age of, blah, blah, blah. You get my point. Back story. So the parents of some kids this guy molested and or murdered got together and went all vigilante and burned him in a big wood burning furnace. Nothing you or I wouldn't have done (or do) if anything like that ever happ'n to our kiddos, right? Right.

But Fred comes back. Not like 'ol Shadrack and his boys from the Bible. Three men didn't go in and four weren't seen inside. (Yes, prolly my favorite Bible story of alllll time!) His remains, well, remained. He however was showing up in all the elder kids' dreams. Long gruesome story made short he'd show up whilst they were sleeping and kill them and others of them while they were sleeping. Redundant much? Yes. Dying in yer sleep. C'mon already. I already had enuff trouble trying to sleep worrying about the end of the world.

Anyways, maybe I was a chicken shit, or at the very least had chicken shit tendencies. I just never really considered myself as scared. If the house was ever broke into I had an escape plan. Too much information yet? I knew were all my Daddy's guns and ammo were and I knew (know) how to use 'em. If I could make it to the cabinet that was my first stop. And then out back to the barn to hide and assess my situation unless of course that is where they had parked earlier to hide out until Dad left for work or G'pa left the fields.

Next move would depend on the season and on what was planted in the field next to us. If fleeing from the front of the house and corn had been planted and was tall enuff I intended to high-tail it thru there up to G-pa's. I knew/know where his guns are too. Doubt in this scenario tho that I'd get to be the one wieldin 'em. Plan B. Beans or milo wouldn't allow for much cover tho, so if that had been the case I'd have had to cross the road and run the tree line to our other neighbors Denny and Debbie's. This was also my winter plan.

Sooooo, maybe I was scared. Didn't feel like it tho. Know why? 'Cause I had a plan. MORE ON THIS LATER. For now on to more scary stuff: lock yer doors yet? What ever you do - don't fall asleep! Seriously tho what I consider truly being scared is having absolutely no control over something. For example Dad's surgery in Cleveland. My mom, sister, aunt and I sat in the waiting room waiting (of course waiting, what else?) to hear how Dad's super risky - Evansville wouldn't even touch him anymore - quadruple bypass had went. We were told they would call the phone on the desk with updates.

The phone rings. And who of the four of us gets up to get it? ME. And why? I may not have been able to control how the surgery was going but if it was to be bad news I sure as hell could control how that news got to the three others that loved him the most in this entire world. So although the situation was indeed scary just as it woulda been had our house been stormed by 'bad' guys wanting to steel our big screen and murder us - some how it was all okay cause I had a plan. Bizzarro enuff for ya? Then quit reading already! Geeesh!

Years later, Dad dying . . . again scary, but we'd talked. Made plans. Dad was ready. I was more scared for Mom and Amelia than anything. Sooo, speaking of them two hooligans they've prolly been the ones to scare me the most lately. Mom of course losing her leg and nearly dying. Had no control over any of that cause I was so selfishly wrapped up in myself, remember? Cried and prayed all the way home from ATL as Jason made record time getting us back. But you can read allll about that back a few entries -- there will be a test on it later. Winner gets a 3ooM.

On to Amelia then. It wasn't her that scared me exactly - it was her beautiful little nearly newborn girl. Not sure how long they'd been home from the hospital and back we went. Amelia driving and me in the back with Arlissa. Her color just wasn't right. So we were off to emergency. I won't make you wait for the outcome. She stayed overnight, came home just fine, fast forward 5 stunningly beautiful years and she's now ridin' her new pony all over Creation and going to kindergarten. You go girl!

Where was I? At a horse show getting a sunburn under the tent? Yeh, but with my blog. Oh yeh. I had been blessed with 2 strong healthy boys. The 1st after over 30 hrs. of labor and the second 1 month early, but both praise the Lord haven't had anything but a cold or flu or two. I tried to stay all calm, reassuring and such for Amelia at her baby girl's ER visit, BUT truth be told it was horrific. Seeing baby girl so tiny on that table and Amelia wide eyed and pale. There was nothing I could do. Not even a plan damnit.

Alas we'd over reacted. Before the night was over the hospital she ended up at was fulll . . . of her family and loved ones. I bet they'd never seen such a crowd for one little baby and an over reaction. I guess I'd done something after all. As I prayed that Arlissa be okay I prayed too for Amelia to have all the support she needed. GOD ANSWERS PRAYERS PEOPLE! She was and she did. Amen. Where was I going with all this anyways? Who knows? Not this girl. Maybe it's time for a proofread then, try and get back on track.

Proofreading done. Some spelling issues, but some words I like better spelled my way anyways. So take that spells checker! Anyways I titled this entry Freddy Krueger 'cause I wanted to write about things that scare me. And right this very second just as I've been since returning from my latest LIBERATION attempt - I AM SCARED!!! Hell, today I might have even graduated from scared to skeert. For those of you not from around here - skeert is even scarier than scared. Worse yet? SKEERT in all caps. Just sayin' . . .

So here I lay. Back in the hospital. What of the future? What indeed! Thank God our house is big enuff we don't have to go upstairs. Like putting a puzzle together. A few fancy maneuvers later, help from Granny and Papa and . . . bed down stairs? Check. Bed side commode. Check. Shower chair. Check. Wheel chair. Check. Scooter on the way. Check. A plan? Not really. I gotta accept all this first. Yeh, it's takin' awhile. I'm an Orth, remember? So what if I've had it 11 years now. "So what?" Pink wails. I only used to think I had it. I only use to think I felt bad. I was wrong. I got 'er now tho y'all.

For long term readers then you know my father-in-law is always saying he doesn't hear the fat lady singing. The other day ladies and gentlemen, I told him she was half way thru her first verse and fixin' to start the chorus. Ha! Maybe then we could all join in with her. Any who, I hate to disappoint him, but I may need to throw in the towel on this whole getting better idea and focus what very little energy I have left on just stickin' around.

And I know I keep saying 'just one more try' and then I'll focus on nothing but my boys, BUT this time I mean it. Seriously. Help me keep to it friends. OK? You have my permission from here on out to just bitch slap me if I should stray from the path. No need to worry about retaliation as you can surely take a step back from my wheelchair and escape. So here's the latest plan:

Stay put in the hospital as long as they'll have me. Rehab after if they'll have me. Follow-up with last LIBERATION doc. If block is back I'll get stents. And dare I say it? Get better. If block is open --- gotta start the whole acceptance game. So either way, life must go on. I'll get better or I won't. Can't control that now can I? What I can control however is how I handle it and move forward. Rather it be in a chair or on two very sexy legs. Just sayin' . . .

Thanks to everybody still reading and especially to those who put up with me everyday. I love you all! You know who you are. <3 <3 <3 <3

Meat and Potatoes

2011-07-30T00:15:00.001-07:00

We walked (wellllll, you got me - Jason walked and I glided along in front of him in my handy dandy wheelchair). Ha! Nothin' like starting a blog out with a lie. I promise to keep all tall tales to a minimum from this point forward. Anyways, we went from the third floor of our swanky motel across a walkway and into the third floor of the North Campus of the hospital.

Forgive me for lack of details as this doc is only serving a few patients, BUT he is serving them well. This guy cares y'all! CARES I tell ya! And why do I know this? He had me on the table for just over 3 hours. 3 HOURS I said, but let me get back to the beginning. Okay? Okay! After finishing my last blog entry I visited the potty and was whisked away to LIBERATION Land, we'll call it.

Our swanky hotel only got swankier as we found our way to the hospital. I wore my America's Next Top Model "T" and black capri sweats. And Jason had on his torn Carhartt jeans and faded out maroon company issued polo. A bleach spill on the front – no biggie – today was to be about comfort. Out of place much? Yeh. I felt like I was lost in the White House. Marble décor, regal executive blue and gold carpeting – nice place, we covered that already tho, eh?

On with it then. We asked directions at an info desk just once. Then we were greeted immediately at Interventional Radiology, gave some insurance info and waited all of maybe 5 minutes before nurse Jim came to get me. Can I get a, "Yeehaw!" y'all? Things was going good. No time for a before video. Oh well. These peeps were all business. I'm cool with that. Very cool! Not cold tho – I DO NOT NEED A WARM BLANKET – thank you very much.

Huh? I tend to shiver or shake or spasm uncontrollably when nervous. And everyone and their brother wanted to bring me a warm blanket. Nice but HEAT WILL KILL ME! Anyways, during this prep time I undress and 'gown up' as I've come to call it. Again with the stretching of the truth. Jason undressed and gowned me. HE IS THE MAN! Jealous ladies? It's okay. You should be. Hehehehehe. I LOVE YOU, BABY!

Carry on nurse Jim. Commence with the standard questioning. No I don't have dentures. Do you have dentures? Funny guy tho cause he asked if I had kicked my marijuana habit. Jeez 'o Pete, ummmm, uh, yes I guess I had. Especially considering I've never partaken of the wacky tobaccey. Funny guy. I don't drink or smoke or do drugs but that marijuana – I'm alllll over that – NOT! Had a girlfriend in high school that was, but that perhaps is a blog entry for another time. Anywhooooo . . .

The doc comes in to be sure I hadn't come up with any questions from last week's appt. and goes over his game plan. He's gonna look at the left jugular and azygous and definitely balloon the right jugular. Sounds good to me doc. Let's start this party! Are you cold he asks? Nah, just eager! And I think he may have been the only one in the entire building not to rant and rave about the availability of heated blankets. Smart man, I tell ya!

Exit doctor. And Jim commences his desperate search for an IV site. As Willie, my favorite character from Swamp People, says, "Well good luck to ya." He looked and looked and the clock was nearing 11. Guess what? My procedure was scheduled for 11. After one unsuccessful try he went to fetch some help. Bring in the cavalry, I'd thought. And boy did he. Nice enough woman nurse but geesh! I would preferred Jimmy give it another couple of gos.

I refer to her as woman nurse cause she didn't give her name. She said she wasn't gonna give it 'cause that way I couldn't complain about her later. I thought she'd been a jokester like Jim but after our meeting concluded I had mixed emotions. She stuck me, ummmm, I believe it was four times. And I'm not even bitching about the number of times. It was the darned location! Square in the middle of my pee pickin' wrist. In all my years of IV'n . . . I NEVER . . . nor will I ever again. HAVE MERCY, that hurt.

30 + hours of labor, 2 C-sections, a bladder reconstruction complete with bladder spasms, being thrown from various horses, having my feet stomped by, yes, prolly those very same horses, getting a concussion having a basketball slammed into my head, getting rear-ended in a car accident – none of these things hurt nearly as bad as that woman nurse going in both, yes both of my wrists and fishing both aggressively and unsuccessfully for an IV site.

Was it my screaming, moaning or yelping in pain that prompted Jim's return? O.K. - I didn't really scream but tears were flyin' and teeth were grinding. The second wrist hurt the worst. Thank you, God for only giving me two. Seriously, I'd been praying for strength and veins since Jim informed me in the beginning of this ordeal that I musta left my veins at home. So now as bad as I wanted this procedure, needed it even, I was considering telling them thanks for their time but I was READY to go home. Seriously? Yes, seriously.

So then Jim decides to assist the woman nurse. They think maybe they've found one. They do this one together. The underside of my right arm between my elbow and my wrist. I begin to shed tears of joy. I even say, "Praise Jesus!" out loud and proud. And then they leave the room. Woman nurse returns and I thank her. She manages a "mmmhmm," and exits. Enter Jim shaking his head no. Then he exits and Jason approaches. And he shakes his head no too. I say, "What's everybody shaking their heads for?"

Jason tells me it ain't lookin' good. Well what's HE know, I'd thought to myself. And then Jim re-enters to find Jason eyeballing the site and Jim reaches across me to show Dr. Spindler the site is failing. "See how the fluid is bunching up outside of the vein?" Jim asks. Well duh. Of course he sees it. He's been around the block with me a time or two or 10 or 200. Anyways, had I not still been writhing in pain from the last wrist stick I'd have prolly known it hadn't worked too. As noon approached more tears followed as I couldn't help but wonder if I'd be able to get my procedure at all now. Please God, I need your help!

During this lull in time I got to meet Paul who introduced himself as my photographer. Very nice guy. Very talkative. We talked sports. Why, I dunno. Surely I can't after all these years still appear to be an athlete of some sort. Of course not, nah, he was just tryin' to somehow connect to a girl from Indiana. So you must be a Colts fan? Nah. Pacers? Nah. NEW YORK JETS! Well, how does an Indiana girl come to like a New York team? And with that the pain in my wrist started to subside.

And then Jim introduces me to my new nurse, Albert. It was no big deal when Jim said his name, but when Albert said, "Hi. I'm Albert." Again with the waterworks already. For those of you who truly know me you'll completely understand, but I lost it at this point. I flashed to my cousin Albert's face looking down upon me and smiling, just as the nurse was doing during his introduction. He looked perplexed. I bet the poor guy thought he'd done been assigned to a looney tune.

Why on Earth would such a warm welcome hello result in tears? A blog entry for another day I suppose. Or maybe not. I will say I miss you Albert, prolly my most funnest, favoritist cousin ever when I was only a little tree climber. Aggravated the crap outta me he could always go higher. Just sayin' . . .

Anyways, back to the vampires. I mean nurses. Finally just before 12, a whole hour past when my procedure was scheduled, they decided I was to be medicated/sedated after access to my femoral vein. The plan was to lightly sedate me via oral meds first. Yippeeeee! If only they'd have thought about a little sumthin' for anxiety nearer to the beginning. Finally some good news. I'd have gotten up and danced a jig if I could have. So Jason kisses me and assures me it'll all be fine and he'll see me in a little bit. My God I love this man!

Then Paul, Albert and myself sashay down the hall to the LIBERATION lounge let's call it. Paul introduces me to zillions of other technicians as they hurriedly prep and or fuss with whatever it is they are there to do. And in comes another nurse to get an IV started. WHAT THE HELL? Paul explains to her yadda, yadda, yadda about oral meds and she explains to him that my doc will not do it that way. Yikes! Will not, eh? Even after what I'd already been thru? Don't make me get off this table lady!

The woman nurse from earlier had already said if she couldn't get me I couldn't be got. And I sure didn't want her back in on this. More tears Angela? Really? No doubt dehydrated, I had no idea how producing any more tears was even possible at this point. She stuck me. A swing and a miss. "We'll try the other arm," she said. Yeh, ummmm, I'd heard that before but I at least liked this one's style. Stick and go. If ya didn't get it, move on. NO FISHING! And especially no violent deep wrist fishing. Pleeeeeeaaaase, God. Please.

And with stick number two and photographer Paul and nurse Albert's confirmations I was successfully IVed up and ready for prepping. Again with the waterfalls gushing from my eyes. I praised God again out loud and thanked the nurse who had finally won the war. I told Paul I thought maybe it would take 8 times since that is Mark Sanchez's number. (Jets' Quarterback for the non-sports fans out there.) But I sure was grateful it had happened in 7. "Seven sticks?" the successful nurse asked, her eyes nearly popping outta her head. No way she'd have ever let anybody stick her that many times. Huh, well, yeh. Me either. But what else was I supposed to do?

Sticky heart monitoring placements, a sexy cap (specially made for me Albert says), oxygen on, area sterile and we are a go. Huh? I still ain't got no meds y'all. I can feel it ALLLLL. And hear it all. Thank God I couldn't see it too. Well, I prolly could've had I kept my eyes open but a girl's gotta draw the line somewhere. So I listen as my doc directs the learning doc on how to begin. Details, details. Questions. Answers. And then a little silence and I ask, "Should I be awake for this?"

Immediately Albert is at my side asking if I need anything for pain. And although I wasn't really hurting, at least no more than normal, I promptly replied, "Yes, please!" I prayed this would put me to sleep. I knew the left side was picture perfect and the right was … "a problem," he said. "We'll figure this out," I remember the doc saying. Oh my God! Ummmm, Albert? You still there? And sleep.

Then in what seemed like no time at all I woke feeling someone or something on the outside of my neck. Huh? Where was I and what was going on? Maybe they were done and were doing an ultrasound to check flow. Or not. Once awake enuff the doc explains to me he was going to be entering from above the blockage too. HUH? Was he asking permission or what? This my friends I'd never heard of and had done no research on whatsoever. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

Oh my indeed! Oh my God they were going in and I was still awake. Still awake I say. God? Albert? Somebody? Anybody. Pleeeeeaaaase knock my ass out! I bet the woman nurse from earlier woulda had she been there. Just sayin' . . .

So what seemed like seconds but were actually hours later I awoke to good docs voice explaining it had been a tough one but that he got thru. Through as in finished or through as in past the block – I dunno. But I was relieved to have been blessed with sleep thru most of it, either way. So as the doc exits telling me he'd share the good news with my husband and me later I ask Albert how things really went. I reckon my cousin Albert woulda gave it to me straight and thankfully so did this one.

He told me I hadn't really rested until he'd given me a healthy dose of benedryl. Thank you kind sir. And thank you benedryl. So "the parts I missed," he said the doc would go over with me in detail with my husband but he could report that it had been after all that time – wait for it – wait for it – a success! Praise the Lord! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus! Amen! Unhooked and unharnessed we made our triumphant return to wince we started. And the hubs looked relieved. Had he been nervous? Should I be then?

And before I could question him or him me, in comes the doctor. He apologizes to Jason immediately for it having taken so long. Soooo long? What the hell time was it? 4? After 4? WHAT? So let's start on the left. The left looked good. No treatment needed. Small abnormalities in the azygous so he ballooned that a few different places which by the way, for those following the whole story, I'd never had done before. Sidenote: This left me very excited about possible new improvements.

And finally the meat and potatoes. The right jugular was not only severely narrowed as the earlier ultrasound indicated, but just at the collar bone apparently it had closed off completely. For the mathematicians out there that'd mean 100% blockage. 100%. You hear me? Sooooo. He said he almost gave up trying to get thru at all but decided to try coming in thru the top down as well as from the bottom up. Made me think of a teeter totter. Up down up down up down.

Looking exhausted but relieved he explained that once he'd finally gotten thru he ballooned the area to 14mm vs. the 12mm I had done in Atlanta. So he'll see me back in a month and should it be blocked again we may have to re-visit having a stent placed. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I'd done well he told Jason. And after we both thanked him and he had left the room, I told Jason that the doc had done well! What kinda doc woulda took allllllllll that time and worked so hard to get thru that occlusion? Praise God! And praise Dr. _________! Thought I was gonna slip and tell ya, heh?

Next up was to lay flat. I've got that down cold my friends. Problem was tho I'd been laying flat on my back perfectly still for nearly 7 hours already. And they wanted four more? Uhhhhhh!?! Albert's pain meds and benedryl had completely ceased to work by 5. And in come the shakes. All I could think of was how that couldn't be good on my newly opened jugular. Could a girl at least get a Tylenol up in here? I know I got Advil in my purse. Just sayin'. Fast forward thru an hour or so more of moanin' and groanin' and in no time at all we had returned to Hotel Swankville and were discussing our dinner options.

Calls home were made and pizza was ordered. Had I made it in time for the Project Runway premiere? More on that later. "Make it work!"

Meat and Potatoes

2011-07-30T00:04:00.001-07:00

Make it work.

2011-07-28T07:56:00.001-07:00

No Food Or Drink After Midnight

Sooooo, I may have had to shut down my nervous eating and drinking last night but shutting off my brain was a whole 'nother issue. After a late Applebee's dinner fetched by my gorgeous husband and served to me in bed, we curled up and caught up on episodes of Pawn Stars, Storage Wars, and Suits. "Pleeeeeaaaaase, can we watch just one more?" I begged at 11:57 p.m.

"No," replied the hubs. And although I immediately deployed my puppy dog eyes and pugged lips, he continued, "You need to try and get some sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow." A short silence followed as I contemplated whether or not to commence further conversation on the subject. Hmmmpf. Guess he was right. (Don't tell him tho, okay?) With that followed kisses g'night and my listening to him fall asleep. Sleep well my knight in shining armor. I LOVE YOU!

What next? Prayers of course. And tears. Emotional much? Yeh, wellllll, sue me. I had a come apart – aka breakdown, earlier this week when I'd become too hot and was consequently rendered a complete invalid. Scary shit. Heat intolerance is no joke. The well lit room I found myself in went dark. I like to call these 'dark moments' as a homage to Dexter's dark passenger. Only difference is I don't kill people – hehehehe . . . inside joke! Sorry.

Anyways, everything stopped working. I seriously wonder if that experience is anything like actually dying. Morbid stuff, heh? Sorry again. But I go there from time to time. MSers on Facebook droppin' like flies, my condition worsening . . . I go there. Can't help it. Again, sue me. Where was I? Ah yes. Prayers. Got a call from Aunt Ann earlier. She wanted to wish me well and let me know our entire church gathered around the alters in prayer for me this evening. Again, I began to cry and she assured me everything was gonna be alright.

Soooo in my prayers I always try to thank God for stuff first before I ask for anything. Harder and harder to do these days. Selfish hussy! After my usual rounds of thanking God for all those near and dear to me and praying for each of them – everyone at Pt. Township Church included tonight – I found myself greedily asking/hoping for all that I'd been blessed with after my last procedure. The mantra has been that we want the same good stuff this time – we just want it to last longer.

But guess what sports fans? I've gotten MUCH worse than I was before the first procedure. MUCH, MUCH, MUCH worse. Not to mention since then Msers have died. Some from MS and one weighing especially heavy with me who died just after her procedure. Sure she may have had other stuff going on they say, BUT that other stuff may be the same as my other stuff. Who knows really? Point being there is risk!

How dare I be asking to walk again when I should be asking to survive it. I should be asking to see my boys again. I should be asking that my family not be hurt by my having made the decision to risk my life trying to get better. How dare I be so shallow! God's will, Angela! God's will! How 'bout don't ask for anything. Just be thankful for what you have. I am already so blessed. As bad as I may feel there are always people worse. Always indeed but that doesn't really make things better now does it? Nooooo! No indeed! Jeez 'o Pete. Worse even! Thanks for that Angela! And with that I had to wake up the hubs and ask him not to forget to say his prayers.

And you know what that goober did? He recited word for word the prayers the boys say each night. "As I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . . Amen." Not exactly what I'd had in mind but adorable all the same. And then a moment later he assured me he prayed for me every night. And I'm sure he does. Just as sure as I am that I thank the Lord for him each and every time I pray. And in no time at all he was back asleep. Grrrrrrr . . . lucky sucker!

I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing. Football sign-ups are upon us. Will I be able to go to practices this year? Games? How? Greedy? Shouldn't it just be enuff that I am blessed with two healthy boys that are able to play football? Damnit Angela! Thank Him and move along already. So fast forward thru hours upon hours of this kind of thought. Unable to toss and turn even. Weak ass loser. Lay still and get over it. Eventually I suppose I musta fell asleep 'cause here I am – just now awake and askin' for a Coke and my lap top.

SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP! It's a new day!

But, geesh, this fat girl is thirsty! For what? Ice cold Coca-Cola my friends. The very same drink she is giving up this very day. And the very same drink whose sexy red and white 2-liter exterior is at this very moment beginning to glisten from the newly risen sun peeking in the tiny crack between the lush drapes hanging in our swanky hotel room this beautiful morning . . . this beautiful morning that God has made.

This beautiful morning given to us by Him – where miracles are plentiful, and especially so today of all days. Why on Earth should I be frettin' over a Coke when I'm zero sleeps and only a couple of hours away from a potential life changing procedure? Jeez 'o Pete I gotta lot on my mind. What'd I ever do before I discovered blogging as a way to release all this, ummmm, errrrr, ehhhh, CRAP for lack of a better word? I gotta blog before I explode.

What else is on yer mind, Angela? What else could there possibly be? Well, I'm so glad you asked! There's a whole heck of alot I tell ya! There are even more wayward thoughts rattling around up there than there are pesky lesions left by my MonSter friend – multiple sclerosis. Yeh, let's focus for a tic on the subject at hand instead of blathering on as I'm know to do about with goofy poems, lists, analogies and such. FOCUS!

MS sux. Neigh. I mean CCSVI. After all, with my whole heart and soul I believe it is to blame for my MS. It seems to me without a shadow of a doubt that if the freeway that's supposed to take blood from your brain back to your heart is blocked with construction or cluttered with stop lights like the Lloyd it would make absolutely perfect sense, at least to me, that it would be the primary reason blood was being forced to hangout in said brain and wreak havoc whilst waiting on an exit ramp.

So okay I can't write but so many words without spewing forth an analogy of some sort. My baaaad. How bout a poem then to pass the time 'til LIBERATION? Roses are red. Violets are blue. I'm wasting time. And if yer still reading – so are you! Good one, heh? Could you tell that's all I've been up to is wasting time? Will 10 o'clock ever get here? Anxious much?

I WANT THIS SOOOO BAAAAAAD! Pray for me people! Right now, pleeeeeaaaase! And I'll pray for you. Lord please help the people that have read my blog this far. Please give them something better to do with their lives. Cure them of the boredom of which they clearly must suffer. Hehehehe. I tried to make a funny. So what have I left out of this blog entry? "Nothing, Angela, nothing at all," you say – desperately hoping that I will conclude this installment and put you out of yer misery.

And alas, maybe that is what I should do. Put 'er to bed as they say . . . nah. I got nearly an hour to go and, ahhhh yes, I've yet to include a list. So here ya go:

Top 10 things Need Fixin'

Number 10 - This frickin' "HUG" needs to go the frig away.

Number 9 - I wanna go to the potty alllll by myself like a big girl.

Number 8 – Ahhhhh, screw it . . . Number 1 – I wanna walk!

I'm over it. Maybe I'll make another sad ass before video. But I'm getting' off here. Time is dwindling. If these are my last moments should I be spending them blogging. Noooooo! Pray for me, k? I love you all! Peace out!

more f'ball

2011-06-03T11:14:00.001-07:00

Adele's whaling, "we could have had it allllll . . ." and I can't help but think we could have too if it weren't for this damned MS. Grrrrr! Just made it to the last day of football camp. Barely. Overslept. Lost keys. Struggled hoisting gimp leg in the truck. Once in – gimp locked in a spasm. "No time to get help, Angela!" says the loud ass Orth girl in my head. "Go! Go! Go!"

I throw my right leg aside and go for it with my left. Yikes! Reverse goes ok but I don't back as far as I need to. Screw it. No time. We gently go forward over a bit of the front yard. Just a bit, Jason. Promise, Baby. Plenty of room between us and the light post – promise. Foot on brake. Shift to drive. Relatively smooth, maybe a bit too much for the small bit of road we have before the stop sign at Smith Rd. So where'd the brake go? Wham! A complete stop prolly five feet or so before the sign courtesy of my overzealous, underexperienced left leg.

Anywhoooo, long overly exaggerated, super ultra edge of your seat dramatic story made short - Asa survived the heart attack he says I nearly gave him, we took a different route, and arrived unscathed (at least physically) at 7:58 as the other campers were marching out of the locker room. "Lousy Mom!" yelled the voice in my head as Asa instructed me to stop right where I was so he could get out. "Now, Mom, now!" he demanded, "I still gotta get my equipment!" Ask and ye shall receive my son! Wham! This truck has phenomenal brakes.

Once stopped, I began undoing my seatbelt to open my door and let Abe outta the back. Cha, right Momma! Think again. Like Abe is gonna wait on my slow fumbling ass to operate both the seat belt and the door. Luckily, Asa, sensing his little bro's urgency, allowed for his exit too before slamming his door shut. Shew! That could've gone real bad. Thank you Lord for looking out for us!

So as Asa has turned to alert the coaches that he has arrived, Abel says to me all meek and whiny, "Mom, they've already took attendance." Nearly in tears myself at this point, I somehow muster a reassuring smile and retort, "It's okay, Baby. They see you're here." And again, thankfully, he trots off to join the others in line as Asa climbs the truck bed to retrieve his pads and helmet. Once Asa catches up with Abe they kick things into higher gear passing some of the other campers destined for the dust bowl. Ahhh, the Spindler boys – here comes Thunder and Lightning - eager and excited to give it their all . . . Momma may be weak and hurtin' but she sure is proud!

Next stop – handicapped parking. Same spot I had all week. Seat back, computer on and who's that sexy guy in the Durango checkin' me out? What's this? He's walking over here to me. My first thought was that I looked like Hell. Of all days, I hadn't even brushed my teeth this morning. Oh my goodness! Had I forgot to put on my shirt? What's a disheveled, crippled girl like myself supposed to do at this point? "Smile back at the sexy man," says the voice in my head. And I did. No harm in a little flirting . . .

With my uber sexy husband, that is! I knew it was him the entire time, goobers! Anyways, he brought me breakfast and some cash so I could buy the boys some ice cream to celebrate their last day. I love him soooooo much. It's no secret I'm a very lucky girl in the husband department. Thanks for the Pepsi, the biscuit, and the cold hard cash Sexy Man! <3 <3 <3 And thank you, God, for Jason. Amen.

So . . . where were we? Where, that is, besides the high school parking lot? Gettin' out of the hospital? Right. Full of 'Roids, muscle relaxers and pain killers (as needed) I was home and couch bound. When I wasn't sleeping I was stewing about Mr. Billboard. What to do? What to do? Hmmmm . . . if only I'd had more steroids. Lucky billboard bastards. Anyways the abridged version goes a little sumthin' like this:

I call them again and again and aside from each time being reminded I am no longer a member, they have no recollection of anything plus no bills even to refuse to pay. Huh? All this back and forth and refusing AND it's finally discovered, wellll, ummm, they are now claiming they don't even have anything to pay let alone refuse to pay. So at this point it's Aprilish and the procedure was in early Decemburrrrrrr people! Hello?! McFly are you there? Fine, I say. This info sure coulda been useful the umpteen times I'd called before. I now focus my rage on Atlanta. Had they not billed the insurance afterall? So help them God if they had not. Matter of fact, help us all!

So I call the hubs to get their number and he refuses saying he'd handle it himself. Well lah-te-dah. Something about not wanting to burn bridges and such. Hopeful for another procedure. Blah, blah, blah. Fine. "Handle it," I say, 'cept this time I ask him to have them send it all to me so I can drag my sorry ass to the locally based Welborn HMO headquarters and hand deliver the bill to Mr. Billboard personally. So many conversations on the phone with this dude, I felt I needed to see his greasy face. Anyways, I did say abridged version, right? Yeh, then on we go.

Jason talks to Atl again and they assure him everything had been sent. They'd be happy to send everything again but feared re-sending may confuse things and those result in non-payment. Etc, etc. And guess what else? They themselves had taken awhile to send out the bill, so they suggested that Welborn may too be struggling with a backlog. Guess what persistent bitch calls Welborn back and suggests such nonsense? Ah, yeh – this bitch! And they deny, deny, deny that that'd be the case. Grrrrr! They do say tho that if indeed my place of service had actually sent a bill I should call back about every two weeks or so to check on it. Ummmm, so daily is overkill then, heh? I just can't help but think they get a bill marked PAID they immediately file it in the round filing receptacle – you know what I mean?

Fast forward another month to May. So much other stuff had been going on. Outta painkillers, coming off the 'Roid high, and the muscle relaxers now failing to relax anything – the MS was baaaaaack. Meanwhile, my great aunt passed away. The flood water was threatening my Momma. So much so my sister and her kiddos even came to stay awhile after they'd helped evacuate all my g'pa's horses. It was scary people. But back to my point → I was distracted and thus laid off the insurance for a bit.

And the hubs, instead of focusing on terrorizing Mr. Billboard for $ he knew we'd never see back, he began focusing on our new insurance and how wonderfully willing and speedily they had just paid nearly $10,000ish for my recent hospital stay. Whooopeeee! That's how insurance is supposed to work boys and girls. And with that revelation fresh in mind he began thinking maybe, just maybe there could be a paid for round two in his wife's near future. A phone call or two later, my appt. for round two in Atlanta was scheduled for May 11. And even more good news – the 2011 price for the procedure is only $7500. Yippee do. I could care about savings as we'd thought the ins. Would be taking care of this one.

But hold on up there a tic partner! My $10,000 procedure in Dec. plus my $200 consultation fee in Nov., ummmm, WHERE THE SAM HELL IS MY REFUND??? $10,200 - $7,500 = $2,700. Math never was my strong suit, but I'm feelin' a bit cheated. Had I know the savings I sure as hell woulda waited a couple of weeks – just sayin'. Common sense people. Hello, McFly? Geesh!

Having said all this I actually convinced the husband to call back. Wellll, he wanted to confirm the appt. anyways. Whatever happ'n, I dunno (memory's an issue, remember?). Good thing he'd called though 'cause we discovered another new policy since Dec. was that ALL patients pay in advance and they were no longer billing insurances. WHAT??? The only silver lining at this point was that we hadn't packed our bags yet. Grrrrr!

Then one unsuspecting day after this jewel of knowledge we get notification in the mail that our good 'ol Billboard friends had paid on our freaky deaky Atl claim. Jason studies it awhile looking perplexed. And then passes it to me. 2000 sum odd bucks, my friends. Huge money, I know. Very nice since it was deemed both experimental AND out of network, but still no where near what we'd spent. And are y'all sittin' down? Way, way, way far away from what they'd actually been billed. I know I just used this silly remark in my last entry, but I feel like the re-telling of this situation calls for it even more loudly than before. HOLY SHIT, BATMAN!

Whatever do you mean, Angela? Well, I'm glad you asked. Atlanta had billed Welborn 20,000ish. Oh my! In my pee brain, instead of being pissed at Welborn for grossly underpaying, I was more upset with Atl for arrogantly overbilling. "Prolly common practice," says the hubs. All I can think about is Atl and their new fancy corporate billing department re-billing us for the unpaid balance now. Scary, heh? And all the hubs can think about is whether or not Atl has received the $ yet and whether or not they'd be willing to just put it as a credit for round 2. So my super hubs calls and is damn near laughed at.

Note to readers: It is not so smart to laugh at a man on a mission – especially if he's 6'2" and 300 lbs. A refund on the change of price? Ha! A credit for what your ins. Paid? Ha, again. This girl here would not be getting LIBERATED this May. Or ever in Atlanta if this was the way things were being ran these days.

"Don't let this get you down," the hubs so lovingly says. Ohhhh, I ain't down, Baby . . . I am good 'ol fashioned pissed. Don't go and let yourself get those two confused. "What next then?" asks a friend. Hmmmmm? What indeed, I wonder to myself. But whatever it is – everything happens for a reason. God's plan, I tell ya. God's plan and God's time my friends. And until I know what that is I will trusr in Him and keep on keepin' on . . . or at least tryin' my damnedest to.

So any thoughts, ummmm, and or donations -hehehehehehe- you know where to find me. Thanks for readin'.

Long time . . .

2011-06-02T11:37:00.001-07:00

Well here I sit with the truck running so I can be in the air. Hard on the truck? Prolly. Bad for the environment? Surely. Keeping Angela alive? Absolutely.

Why on Earth are you sitting alone in the truck, Angela? It's true – very few circumstances get me off my couch these days, let alone out of my 68 degree home. Summer has begun, my friends and my men are in FOOTBALL CAMP! Yeeeeehaw! I love me some football! Just seein' my big man in full gear gives me chills.

Enuff to give the truck a rest? Hmmmm, afraid not. Oh, look! There they go. Right past the truck today, then past the field, beyond the tennis courts and on to the dust bowl. They took a different route on Tuesday. Anyways, it's quite the trek. I so wish I could go with them. See. Hear. Feel the crack-a-lackin'.

What am I bitchin' about now? Trophy wife all comfy in our truck? Seat laid back a bit. Air blastin'. Radio playin'. Laptop fired up. Why complain, right? Welllll, this wouldn't be my blog if I weren't bitchin' 'bout somethin', right? Don't get me wrong – I am blessed to still have as good of vision as I have, BUT it is hard as Hell to see all these healthy parents parading around here. How dare they parade! Not parading? Be-bopping then. Call it what you like. Walking perhaps? Whatever. I'm jealous. Thou shall not covet . . . hmmmpfh.

I'm sooo not the 'jelly' type. Never have been. Never! Never had a reason to be jealous. Always had the best. OK, wellll, even if I didn't – always thought I did. Am I being punished for that attitude now? Yikes! So not in the philosophical mood at this point. Nevermind. Let's get back to where we left off, shall we? It's been awhile. The entire month of May, for example, bang, zoom – gone! Did I leave you in March or April?

Any whoooo, I was in the hospital. That I remember. A special thank you to all who visited. Thanks to my boys for the ice cream. Ryan and Angel for the coloring book and crayons. And last but not least a shout out to Melissa for visiting. It was awesome to talk to you. We were tight in the first grade and tho we'd grown apart over time it was as if we'd stayed close. I pray your Dad is doing well and that your girls are enjoying their summer. It's clear you rock at what you do. Deaconess is lucky to have you. Keep up the good work!

As a matter of fact I was pretty impressed with all the hospital crew I encountered this time around. I used to play basketball with one of the therapists I had this time. She said it sure was weird seeing me this way after having played ball with me in high school. Imagine how I feel, my dear. Standing before her I had the terrible urge to get down in the defensive position and await her to make a cut for the basket. Anyways, I digress.

Aside from my neuro practically refusing to see me – even once inside my room – shit got done this visit. No joke. And who do I owe this visit to? Dear 'ol Dr. Lee. Odd for me to speak well of him, I know, BUT after accusing me of using him he musta ran into the man who calls himself a neuro in the hall or something because he actually called me. Yes, besides my daily kisses on the forehead I got my very own personal call from Dr. Lee – moments before, by the way, I was about to call my Momma to bitch about him.

Anyways, he called and told me he was awfully sorry about my MS prognosis and that he would see to getting some stuff done for me while I was there. WHAT? There's stuff you can do for MS? Holy shit, Batman! I had no idea. Were you aware there are daily exercises you can do to combat spasticity in your legs? Well, I'll be darned. There are and since the hospital – I been doing 'em. And guess what? They help. Fewer spasms. Take that know it all neuro!

And guess what else? Braces for your feet to combat foot drop. Holy cow! Who knew? "How long have you known you've had MS?" asked my former teammate Lori. I answered 11 years. And she replied, "They've never talked to you about braces or assistive devices?" And guess what else I learned while there? There's medicine to combat the infamous MS hug. Huh?! Odds are that just may be what got me admitted in the first place. Oh, yeh. That reminds me. What came first the chicken or the egg? That's where we'd left off. Memory is an issue too. But we've covered that, right?

No? Humor me then, k? K. Back to which came first. What's it matter? Fry 'em both up and they are delicious. Damn. I'm makin' myself hungry just thinkin' about it. Breakfast or supper? Or both? Sunnyside up and extra crispy. Anyways, it was supposed to be an analogy to why I was in the hospital. Did I really have pneumonia or was it just the hug masquerading as pneumonia? Or even more educated and scientific – had the pain from the hug caused me to breathe weird and present as or actually even cause pneumonia? Again I say, either way . . . delicious! I was in the hospital getting' stuff done. Praise the Lord – progress.

Only trouble was – would progress continue once home? Welllll, depends on what one considers as progress. The exercises? Still helpful tho I'm not doing them as consistently nowadays, as I just don't have the energy the IV steroids must've given me. The muscle relaxer given to combat the hug? Still on 'em but they just don't have the magic they used to. Maybe I should take more. Note to self: Call Dr. Lee. For now tho the extra-strength back pain stuff my hubs got me is doing pretty decent. Just don't take 'em during the day and expect to stay awake.

The braces? Gave 'em a legit try but turned out using them caused more falls than not. But I did start the new "walking" drug for MS – Ampyra. And I'm trying real hard to get more comfortable using my walker/rollator. Huge. Clunky. People staring. People wondering, "What up with that loser?" and "How come her hair ain't blue?" Kinda pessimistic, heh? Soooo, maybe they're thinkin' . . . "She's a hottie! Way too sexy for that walker!" Ohhhh, great! Now I have Right Said Fred stuck in my head.

So on the mobility front . . . nothing worth writing about. Nothing nice anyways. So what up next then? What indeed? Atlanta round 2? A no go. Northern Indiana doc then. Denied. Mention of Bulgaria – laughed at. More on this and my struggles with Mr. Billboard Insurance Man later. I've typed 'til my fingers are tingling. Now excuse me whilst I dance off here to the music in my head. Ha! I guess the dancing'll have to be in my head to. Oh, well at least it's somewhere! "Everybody . . . FOOTLOOSE!"

What happened to March?

2011-04-08T06:26:00.000-07:00

Wowza! I go on an insurance rampage and somehow or another an entire month slips by. And you call yourselves friends? 'Ol Steve Billboard coulda had me bound and gagged in an office supply closet down town somewhere. C'mon people! Were you not at least a teensy bit worried about me?

Okay, okay, looooong time readers - prolly not - as you all know even on my worst days I am not one to go easily in to said closet. (A). I would only approach with a formidable entourage. (B). I'd be packin'. And, or (C). Once in the closet I'd go all McGuyver on ya with paperclips, staplers and toner cartridges. No, no, no. Better yet, (D). All of the above.

"I'm sorry Steve. Was that your letter opener I used to open your eyes?" Too graphic? Too bad. My bad, tho. Forgive me, won't you? Or not. I don't care. It's been a rough month. And April ain't lookin' too promising. "Well, what's been up, Angela?" I thought you'd never ask.

Where'd I leave you? In mid to late February I was fired up to fight the fight and still feeling well enuff to fight it. Ahhhh, those were the days. The weather was promising to get better and the kiddos' Spring Break was approaching, BUT what's this? My MS HUG had crept back in to remind me, "YOU STILL HAVE MS, DUMBASS!" So saying it crept back in and saying it yelled at me in all CAPS is a bit contradictory.

What happened was just this: I thought maybe I was just using muscles I hadn't in near to forever and I was sore. Makes sense, right? Work thru it says Coach Tucker and Coach Dixon. And I tried. Until the fatigue and weakness crowded their way in too. Forced then back to my 'lazy' ways the muscle soreness should have subsided, right? WRONG. Try worsened.

Shower frequency - down. Standing to brush? Ha! Still going out? HA! (louder) To bed earlier and earlier and waking later and later. A nap in the afternoon? Sure! Walking? Worsening. The so-called 'hug' was ravaging me. To explain, should anyone hug another with such force it should in no way shape or form be considered a hug. It's more like a malicious, forceful violent crushing just below my breasts around my entire ribcage.

If there were indeed a visible figure causing this pain (giving this hug) I would without a doubt writhe against it. Biting at its neck, clawing its face, gouging its eyes. Kicking, screaming, spitting, cursing. Can't tell I'm in this pain, can you? If only you'd have known me before - maybe, just maybe you'd be able to see it now. This bitch as I've come to call her makes it hard for me to breathe. Just talking, I now get winded.

Small walk to the potty? Huffing and puffing like I just finished a day of volleyball conditioning or ran sprints in basketball. Hungry? Yeh. Starving, but I can't eat hardly anything anymore for the overwhelming feeling of fullness. Shouldn't gripe tho, right? More weight loss, right? All fun and games 'til I lose too much. And, "Yes, Virginia there is such a thing as too skinny." People die of such things. No joke. And speakin' of . . . there have been more senseless deaths in my online MS community since I've written last.

Yes, people die of MS. Some how or another tho, MS always escapes as the official cause of death on the 'ol death certificate. My Dad for example died of respiratory failure. He had lung cancer, kidney failure, and a bad ticker tho. Could it not have been one of the other reasons he now ceases to exist? I'm just sayin' . . . when I go, I don't care if it's in a car accident --- I want MS as the frickin' cause. Richard Pryor's heart attack? I say MS. Heart problems need exercise to overcome. MS = lack of exercise = cause of heart problems. Just sayin'.

Okay. Enuff of that tangent already. Back to the hug. No, vice. I prefer vice. So the bitch comes back with a vengeance and stays. Pain lessens only after hours of bed rest and or inactivity on the couch. And what a fun, productive life that is - ESPECIALLY AFTER HAVING AN ALBEIT BRIEF TASTE OF THE GOOD LIFE! That and plus layin' around makes my a$$ sore. I know, I know. Bitch some more, Angela, right? Right!

So my gorgeous, wonderful, ever optimistic hubby and I concoct this idea that maybe, just maybe I was comin' down with somethin'. Made perfect sense. Whenever someone with MS gets sick with say a cold or flu or whatever - it is common knowledge my friends that old MS symptoms can flare up - nay, in my case, WILL flare up. And quite often new symptoms find this prime time for rearing their ugly heads as well. Kinda like, "Hey guys, this one's feelin' weak! Let's gather 'round and kick her while she's down!"

Anyways, wishful thinking. No temp. No runny nose. No cough. No upset tummy. Oh well, a girl can dream, can't she? The hope had been that I'd be sick and once better the MS symptoms would again subside. No such luck. PHOOEY, I say! PHOOEY!!! Guess whose vision is blurry in her right eye and who can't feel the cold tile beneath her feet any more? This girl! Yeehaw, y'all!

So I worsen. Hubby threatens emergency room a time or two. I say, "So they can tell me I have MS?" Laughable. I hadn't been in the hospital in years. Actually admitted as a patient, wow, not me, nope, not in four, count 'em four years. That my friends was quite the record considering I was once a regular going in at least once a year - sometimes more. I was a sick girl back in the day, what did I have to be bitchin' about now? SUCK IT UP, BUTTERCUP!

And again, I tried. This time it was nearly a week in bed that prompted the hubs to go around me and get an appointment with good 'ol Doctor Lee. Previous attempts at trying to get me to make an appt. failed 'cause, wellll, 'cause he wasn't gonna do nothin', right? Right. "You got MS," he'd no doubt say. "You're gonna feel bad," he'd no doubt say. Waste of time and energy - one of the two of which I had absolutely zero of.

I remember hurting so bad Thursday night I even thought about the ER. No, no, I could wait 'til morning and try my neuro. So what if he didn't treat MS patients with IV steroids in the hospital anymore? Surely the pain I'm in he'd be able to order some home health IVs or prescribe me some huge oral dose or something, or anything. BZZZZ! Wrongo! I call in to the world's unfriendliest, least helpful, most uncaring person in the world to ask my equally as worthless doctor for help.

And what do I get back nearly 5 hours later? "You need to call your general practitioner," snarls the ugly hag. Huh? She explains that MS acts up when other things are wrong and it would do no good just to treat the MS. WTF? Oooooookay?! If you don't wanna treat patients with MS - grow some balls and say, "I don't wanna treat patients with MS." SUCH A$$HOLES!!! But stay tuned, it gets better!

My appt. with Doc Lee is at three. Jason comes to get me. Gets me a chair. Wheels me in a packed out office. My distaste and hatred for this whole situation grows with each tick of the clock. Three-thirty, four, four-thirty. Angela Spindler. Me, me, me. That, by God. That is me! At this point I am about to have a 'come apart' as my sister, I believe so eloquently coined the term. To have a come apart is to throw a royal a$$ banshee of a fit. Anyways, here I am Dr. Lee. Screw the pleaseantries! Make me better.

Blood pressure. Stethescope. Breath in. Out. "Well, Honey, you're sick." Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle! No shit? Really? As he goes for the script pad I go for the, "Now wait just a minute!" I explain with the hubs help I ain't been sick. I've even wanted to be sick but instead been in nothin' but pain. "Shortness of breath?" he asks. An understatement, I struggle to say as I can hardly find the air to do so. I tell him I can't even eat. And that, especially to any of you that know the good doctor, is mucho seriouso.

The next words from the doctor's mouth were, "Better take her over to the ER, Poppa, to rule out a blood clot." I role my eyes. But Jason, Jason looks concerned. I work on getting my breath to begin my already well thought out protests as Jason begins maneuvering my chair into the hall. Next the doc is barking at us to back up and get a little shot of something for pain. Now whether it was for pain or to dampen my fight, we'll never know for sure, but it wasn't long at all before we were arriving at the ambulance bay at the hospital.

I remember the stick. I remember looking at the clock in the truck and telling Jason he could still make it to go out and eat with Ryan and Angel. And I remember the nice guard helping me in the wheelchair. Where did Jason go? To park the truck. Duh. EKG. Fine. Off to the waiting room with the rest of the losers, you faker! Hadn't I waited enuff today? Shot, don't fail me now! And it didn't. Wish they'd have given Jason one too, poor guy. I slept thru the waiting room and a good deal of the ER.

But hold up! What had that EKG shown? You all got the right girl? Usual visits to the ER are non-eventful. Just like a doc's visit. Hi. How ya doin? No biggie. Here's some fluid or not and follow-up with your doc. Okay? Okay. Bye. This one, however was different. First off, it seemed I was whisked off to a room vs. meandering towards one. Then I was speedily helped into a gown and re-hooked back up to a heart monitor. And given oxygen. Huh? That sure was a new one. And my blood was taken almost immediately and an IV drip started. And get this. They came to me for the chest x-ray.

Had there been a doctor in yet at this point? Had Jason explained symptoms? Was I getting something for pain? Wasn't hurting . . . wasn't feelin' much of anything. Dr. Guest, I think. Not for sure. Tall guy, that I remember, but what guy isn't tall when you're layin' on a table? Anyway, he ordered a CT scan and sadly that I did have to leave for. Sadder still the dye needed for the pictures exploded back out of my IV and went all over my glasses and face. And in answering a previous question: Whether or not I was getting anything for pain - moving from table to table - I sure needed something now! Morphine? Yes, please.

So the scan showed no clots. Wooo whoooo! But, what's this? "We're going to admit her." WHHHHAAAAAT? Morphine? Yes, please.

To be continued . . .
with "Which came first the chicken or the egg?"

And . . .

2011-02-16T13:34:00.000-08:00

Guess who I just noticed was on my News Feed? Ann Komis, that's who! For the out-of-towners Ann is a news anchor at our local NBC affiliate. Had she finally accepted my friend request? Why did I just notice her today? Today when a fire had been lit and was refusing to go out? Whatever. Enuff with the intro.

I decide to write her whilst I had my 'write-on.' And here's a little bit of how it went:

I titled it STORY IDEA.

Multiple Sclerosis, Alzheimers, Parkinsons may have found new hope. An Italy doc's wife got MS and he re-discovered an old vascular link. Thanks to the internet the idea is spreading like wildfire this time. I say this time because it can't be snuffed out by $$$ hungry drug companies. We are patients looking out for patients this time and not big societies looking out for a bottom line.

I AM SOOO MUCH BETTER. It'd be such a great story. Remember me? I took Broadcasting from you years ago at USI. And sadly I've had MS now for 10 years. But now I am getting better instead of worse. Google CCSVI for details. Before and after videos are all over youtube. And I'd be more than eager to show off some of my new skills on camera. Please, please, please consider this!!!

Sincerely, Angela Orth Spindler (USI class of '98)

And then of course I left all my numbers, blood type, first born child's information, etc. I'm comin' for ya Billboard!

Meandering

2011-02-16T12:21:00.000-08:00

So meandering thru the News Feed on Facebook as I do almost daily now, I stumbled upon an Asasociated Press link a friend had shared. Thank you Tessa! For those of you who don't know her Tessa is one of my first MS friends and hails from Canada. You simply wouldn't believe the number of Canadian friends I have these days. Point is, living waaay up there, she'd have had no idea whatsoever that this article would have peeked my interest so. Now sit back and allow me to share the articles title with ya.

Ind. Senate panel advances marijuana, meth bills

By TOM DAVIES - Feb 16, 2011 7:32 AM By The Associated Press

So as I'm sure she posted it for the as yet to be discovered, MS link but there are all too many of those floating around out there today and I pass many of them by without a glance. This one however grabbed me. Ind. --- well, I'm from Indiana. And meth??? Well, it just so happens the little southern town in Indiana that I live in, although its true name is Mount Vernon, has been called out as Meth Vernon from time to time. A quaint little rural community made up of mostly farmers, a couple factories and an oil refinery I'm sure our anhydrous ammonia supply makes us ripe for the meth manufacturing, but alas I digress and meth or no I love it here and wanna stay.

On with my story, or snip-its of the AP story first:

INDIANAPOLIS (AP) — A state Senate committee on Tuesday backed having the state crime policy panel study whether Indiana should legalize marijuana after hearing a legislator with multiple sclerosis say he wished he could legally try the drug to relieve his pain.

The committee also approved a bill requiring computerized tracking of cold medications used in making methamphetamine rather than mandating prescriptions, as some law enforcement groups urged.

Rep. Tom Knollman, who has multiple sclerosis and uses a walker, told committee members he regarded himself one of the most conservative members of the Legislature but that he believed legalizing marijuana for medical uses should be considered.

He said he has spent up to $25,000 a year on pain medication that often is ineffective. "I hear that one of God's plants is working to help ease the pain of multiple sclerosis," said Knollman, R-Liberty. "I know when my leg starts twitching and I hurt, I'm looking for any alternative."

Hmmmm . . . so I look this dude up. A Rep. since '08. A Republican. Previous employment? A farmer. Member in good standing of the National Rifle Association. Sounds like my kinda guy. So what if he reps Southeastern Indiana and not Southwestern. Close enuff. Plus the poor sucker's got MS. Hmmm, indeed. Lightbulb y'all. I get downright inspired. He has his own webpage. An easy email form. Kaa-chow! Five minutes later I'm clicking SEND. Here's what I said:

Blah, blah, bla with the form fillin' out. And then the point.

I realize I'm not in your district, however I just read the Associated Press article you were quoted in and discovered we have a little something in common. Multiple Sclerosis. I too am Republican and come from a farming family, etc. etc. I could go on, but I'm writing to be sure you have heard about CCSVI.

A simple venoplasty allowing proper drainage of blood from my brain back to my heart has made many of my 10+ years of MS symptoms disappear. Thanks to the internet a growing number of us are discovering neuros have too much $$$ to lose by admitting there just might be something to this.

Long story short my insurance company is refusing to pay on the grounds this is experimental. I argue that its discrimination. MS or not if veins are blocked causing blood back-up and havoc in the brain they should be allowed to be fixed. I hope you can help, but if not PLEASE look into this as it most likely will help you too. I've gone from a walker to using no assistance at all. Plus I've been able to stop two drugs totalling nearly $2,000 per mo. Kind regards, Angela Spindler

Sooooo, whatcha think? I only had so much space. My plan is to wait a bit for a response generic or heartfelt and then send an actual letter. To him and to every Rep in the state referencing him and his plea for help. Ahhhh, I love shit stirrin'. Ya know I may have missed my calling. I should be a politician y'all. What should I run for? Mayor?

But seriously, don't forget to officially become a follower if you would. Even tell your friends about me. Nobody has to really read me. I just need numbers to show Mr. Billboard. Like, "Hey, Buddy, this many people know how crappy you are treatin' me!" "Hey, Buddy. Can you spell fight?"

Anyways . . . Happy Hump Day y'all. Just needed to type a bit. Thanks for puttin' up with me. Love ya!

CANCELLED, you say?

2011-02-09T11:17:00.000-08:00

Really? Cancelled? Terminated? Done? WHATEVER. Ahhhh, yeh. I'm fully aware thanks, but it was I that cancelled you Mr. Billboard. My family of four left you for greener pastures in 2011. Please, please let me explain. It was a tuff decision . . . NOT!

Ya see we left ya for an insurance company that covers "insert catheter in vein" as I believe you termed it. It goes by sooo many names these days. I prefer LIBERATION!!! But it can also be called a venogram. Venoplasty. It's very near kin to angioplasty. Ever heard of it? It too was experimental eons ago. But guess what? People got over it 'cause it saved lives.

Damn near what the procedure has gone and done for me. Given me quality of life back. Terminated my a$$. So once I clear up who kicked who's tookiss to the curb he continues, "Well it doesn't matter. What matters is that you are no longer a member and thus we do not have to allow you any further appeal." Oh yeh? Them was fightin' words. Jason left me the 300 today. Don't make me come over there!

Breathe in. And out. Makes me think of the radio skit, "How big a boy are ya?" Anyways I, as calmly as I could muster, explain that at the time of service I was still a member in good standing. Then of all things he tells me and I quote. Yes seriously. Pay close attention to this one. "You haven't had the procedure yet." WHAT? HUH? WHAT? REALLY? And this whole time I'd thought I was feeling better. Bunch of liars. Is there really even an Atlanta. Hello? Virginia? Is there really not a Santa Claus?

Only one word works here. And God forgive me please. But seriously?! Dumbass! So again with the phone silence as this new found bit of information has me baffled. No. A better word - bumfuzzleed. Anyways, I'd been knocked silent. And for anyone who truly knows me, that my friends, is hard to accomplish. Yet this Steve Billboard had gone and done it. I hope he didn't take it wrong but the next noise I could muster was a chuckle. And then a throat clearing to fight back the tears the pure upsurdity of the conversation had caused.

"I had my procedure successfully completed Dec. 10, 2010," I explained. And guess what? I think I baffled him this time 'round. Who in their right mind would pay out of pocket for an experimental procedure? Huh? Who indeed? More dead air. Then he explains I was not covered at that time. Then I explain I was. Then him. Then me. You get the jest. The long and the short of it was that I could go no further 'cause I was no longer a member.

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. WHATEVER!!! I wasn't after $200. I was after $10,000. Grrrrrrr! So when we tired of the back and forth shenanigans I calmly asked, "What is it that you need from me next as I am no where near letting this go?!" And with that he suggested I start with having the facility that did the procedure send them a bill. NO PROBLEM! I would have thought they'd have done this already but perhaps because I arrived with $$$ in hand they hadn't seen the need. Or maybe they had and he was full of shit. Either way, I could call Atlanta. 'Cause yes Virginia they do exist! No biggie.

So I answer, quite simply, "No problem." And then he threatens that we'll have to start this whole denial and appeal process over again. Woooooo! So what? It's big money we're talking about here. If I don't get it out of them I'll still be paying on it in 5 years. You betcha I'm gonna fight for it. My cars gettin' old and about to hit 100,000 miles. The house needs a roof. The windows leak air. New carpet'd be nice. Remember, I can feel it now? I could go on and on here, but the point is --- INSURANCE SHOULD PAY!

So I thank him. Yeh, I know right? Overkill maybe. But Momma taught me manners. (FYI she also taught me to fight HARD and never give up. NEVER! Not even with your dying breath! Know why? 'Cause if your breathin' you ain't dyin' - just sayin' . . .) Again, I digress. So I thank him. And then I take a break to relax my jaw. HUH? Yeh, you read me right. Relax my jaw. Having realized I'd been gritting my teeth for much too long at that point I needed a Coke and some Advil. Darned headache. I needed a nap.

And I tried but needed to get this all off my chest. And awwww, doesn't that feel better? No? Well it does for me. Blogging (aka, bitching) can be very therapeutic. Wonder if the insurance was billed for blogging therapy if they'd cover it? Experimental? No, wait - I've been cancelled. Dah, dah, daaaah! Cue dramatic/sarcastic music.

Next then? Next I call Atlanta and write a letter requesting my appeal, THIS APPEAL, be brought to the next level. We spent plenty of our own money the first trip. Why shouldn't I fight for that too? Oh yeh. And be expectin' another appeal on the procedure. You know, the one I'm almost sure I had. And while your at it go on and bump it up to super dooper appeal status 'CAUSE I AIN'T CHANGIN' MY MIND!!!

LAH TEE FRICKIN' DAH

2011-02-09T09:23:00.000-08:00

My appeal rejection letter states the following: "Upon review of available information, WHP has determined that the above-mentioned services are experimental/investigational and not a covered benefit. Therefore, the charges for the above-mentioned services will remain your financial responsibility."

Blah, bla, bla. [grits teeth] Blah, bla, bla. It goes on to say: "If you disagree with this decision, you may request an additional level of voluntary appeal before the WHP Grievance Committee. You must notify WHP, orally or in writing, of your request for this additional voluntary internal level of appeal, within 180 days from the date you are notified of the first appeal decision."

Allllrighty then! Let's break this down, shall we? My supposed date of procedure was Nov. 18, 2010. And thus like a good girl should I attempted pre-authorization as is recommended to do. And guess what? DENIED. When exactly? Well I'm glad you asked. I was denied the very same day we were packed up and leaving for ATL. Anyways, old news.

So we go anyways. Surely there'd be a payment plan. Remember? Right? People don't just have $10,000 layin' around. $550 for the scan. $200 for the consult. And everyone else's insurances had paid - NO PROBLEM! Fine. We can appeal and reschedule. Or take out a very high interest rate 'medical loan.' Yikes! So if everyone else's insurances are doing it. Hmmmm. Maybe with a little hand holding, peer pressure, being shown the money they'd save . . . Just maybe they'd come around.

Y'all know the Welborn Health Plans billboard up on the Lloyd Expressway? Makes me literally sick to my stomach to see the smiling faces on there. Turn off the expressway then Angela before you wreck. Noooooo! There's one on 41 too. Bastards! It's a lie I tell ya. A lie! If they truly are the "BEST" . . . Lord please have mercy on us all. Ahhhh, but I digress.

So I launch an appeal. I even shared it with you. Remember? Took some re re re re-writing to get it to a 'G' rating but I got 'er done. No cursing even. Look it back up. I think you'd be proud. Anyways. Bottom line was savings. Costly monthly drugs vs. a one time procedure. Simple economics. Plus me feeling better = less medical expenses overall, etc. etc.

Screw it all. The hubs wasn't waitin' and the good docs appointment book was fillin' up fast. Before we left the office I was rescheduled for Dec. 10, 2010. That was to be my new birthday come Hell or high water. And we had both remember? Sure woulda been nice if I could have been LIBERATED in November. Just sayin' . . .

So you know the story. Nearly a month and $10,000 later (which we'll be paying on for 5 years by the way) I AM LIBERATED! Upon our return home we admittedly don't find opening the mail is a top priority for us however within a week to 2 weeks from our return we discover a letter from WHP. Yippee. A reversal of their initial denial perhaps? Hah! Laughable! Try a rejection of my appeal - this one dated Dec. 8, 2010.

And the wording. HILARIOUS! "If you disagree with this decision . . ." Now what pray tell could have happened that would have changed my mind in less than a month. Oh gees, if you say it's experimental Mr. big bad insurance company with smiling faces on billboards, then it must be experimental and scary so I MUST NOT WANT TO FEEL BETTER AFTER ALL! I mean really?!? If a couple of docs paid by Welborn Health Plans deem something experimental am I supposed to be okay with that?

Am I supposed to give up feeling better? Standing to brush my teeth? Washing my hair with my head tilted back? Baking? Walking? Staying up late? Getting up early? Feeling like going out? Playing with my boys? Thank God my husband could get a loan fast and easy. But what about the poor souls who have to listen to the billboard monsters? This sickens me. Seriously sickens me. Whilst I'm doubled over in angered despair riddle me this: Is this everyday procedure only experimental because I have MS???? Bastards!?!?! Forgive me.

Where was I. Ahhh yes. Today's oral requestfor "this additional voluntary internal level appeal" because NO, OF COURSE I HADN'T CHANGED MY MIND! So why had I waited so very long to notify WHP of my plans to go in front of this so-called Grievance Committee? Again, dear readers, I'm sooo glad you asked. I, as an Orth, a Spindler, an Angela, hahem (clears throat), I don't do anything half-assed. PERIOD. I wanted all my ducks in a row should they answer my request with a "come in to see us in an hour."

Preparation. I wanted all my clinical notes together. I wanted the disc of the procedure. I wanted before and after videos. I wanted a professional, well thought out plan of attack before proceeding. Up bright and early this morning. 2+9=11. Just a coincidence, but whatever. Today was gonna be the day. At least I'd be put down for wanting to take this to the next level which would catapult me into finishing all I would need to stand in front of this Grievance gang. As many times as I've typed 'grievance' in this entry I can't help but think of General Grievous. Just sayin' . . .

So at 9:25 a.m. this beautiful Wednesday morning I call. As per the letter ORALLY to me in these circumstances means I can call and or show up at their Evansville office and say: "I wanna take my appeal to the next level and go in front of your Grievance Committee." Or something calm and cool and curse word free like that. So I get a very nice CSR Sarah who gives me to Steve in Appeals. "This is Steve," he answers.

Whoopity doo. I thought. I gotta name too. It's even longer and more impressive than yours. Ha. Ha. Ha. Okay. I wasn't at all bitter at that point. Nervous maybe. Apprehensive sure. But I wasn't the pi$$ed off Angela you all know and love until much later on in the brief one sided conversation. Long story short - I'm well aware you have already denied me. And in both rejection letters it mentions different levels of the appeal process. Thus,

"All I'm wanting today kind sir is to notify you orally as per your last letter that I want to heighten this appeal to the next level which is to go in front of a Grievance Committee as I understand it sir." Welllll maybe I didn't use 'Sir' so much but I was civil and kind. My Momma raised me right. His Momma? I dunno. Anyways he says I cannot make such a request orally. Fine. His letter says I can, but WHATEVER.

I undestand trying to make it hard on someone. I mean ya can't just give $10,000 to anybody who just calls in and asks for it right? I was prepared to jump thru a few hoops. And you know what? Thanks to LIBERATION I even felt like jumping. Anyways. Anyways, back to the story. He tells me I must submit the request in writing. No problem. Whatever. His address right in front of me I verify it with him. 1. It's always good to do. And 2. I wanted to show him I had all my shit together so to speak.

An arrogant answer to follow I kindly retort "While I've got you could you tell me a little bit of what to expect going in front of this committee?" Blah, bla, bla. Doctor this. Specialist that. Vote this. All very formal, legal and scary sounding. I retort, "Should I bring legal council at this time then?" Whoa! Phone silence. Verizon guy, you there? Can you hear me now?

"No. No," he says. "This evening meeting is to be quite informal." Huh? We'll see about that. Again per the letter (that apparently doesn't mean beans): "You will have the opportunity to represent yourself or designate another person to represent you . . ." So ummm, yeh, I was a member of Drama Club in high school and I'm wondering if for show's sake I shouldn't rep myself and have about a dozen or so friends and family speak on my behalf as well. Any takers?

More to come my friends. After lunch I'll get to this billboard man actually calling me back. Actually telling me not to bother 'cause I'd been cancelled. What the #@*%???

202 to 188: 'Condensed' Pt. 3

2011-01-31T06:54:00.000-08:00

Where was I? Hmmm . . . IMPROVING!!! So what can I report? Let's address the title first, shall we? 202 to 188. Random numbers? Nope. I'm proud to announce they are pounds people! Pounds, I say! Before leaving for the ATL I weighed in at a hefty 202 lbs.

Just to give you a baseline - my first prom dress was a size 3. I was an athlete in high school. Still fit in college. Then at 21, I remember feeling embarrassed that my wedding dress was a size 10. I weighed 140 at the time. The most I'd ever weighed. Ever.

Enter MS and the kiddos . . . and the POUNDS. I really can't complain as I have been lucky enuff to maintain right around 200. Steroid use due to exacerbations would rocket me up to near 220, but that has been my all time high. I've always eaten what I wanted - still do.

Trouble has been my darned inactivity. Lack of energy. Lack of ability. Grrrrrrr! MS sux! So I get LIBERATED. Have I joined a gym? No. Doing rehab? No. Insurance wouldn't pay, remember? And my docs don't believe I need therapy just out of the blue. Anyways . . .

So I've been feeling better. So much so, people are noticing. "You look good." "You are smiling more, Angela." "Your color is better." I told you about the guy at church asking me if I'd gotten taller, right? And my favorite compliment thus far: "You losin' weight?"

Welllll surely not. I wasn't doing therapy or working out or eating healthier. If anything, thanks to my reawakened taste buds, I'd been eating more. So I'd reply, "Nah. Just feelin' better, but thanks." Or, "Nah. Just wearin' bigger pants." Ha! Yeh, I know, sad attempt at being funny.

Then I try to get in the truck the other day and can't lift my leg. Oh no! Was the MonSter back? Whoops! Long story, short - welllll, thank the good Lord and my Momma 'cause my ass was all them bad boys was hangin' on. Huh? Those once perfect fittin' jeans gave a whole new meaning to ridin' low. Too many more steps they'd surely have wound up 'round my ankles.

Maybe I had been losin' weight. There's that word again - MAYBE. So I'm at my Mom's for dinner and there sits her fancy new scales. "Do you mind if I try those out, Mom?" Up, up and "WHAT? That can't be right." 188. Ta da. Another LIBERATION miracle. Hmmm . . . must be 'cause I'm able to be more active. Not alot, but apparently every little bit counts.

Just imagine what I could accomplish if I worked at it. Ahhhh, yeh. But this entry isn't about my future. This is about now! So what else is going on? Let's make a list, shall we? Where to start? Where to start? I mentioned taste, right?

1. Taste is revived. Some stuff I don't like as well. Some I like more. Eat! Eat! Eat! And swallowing is easier too. Knock on wood - not once have I choked since LIBERATION. I'm even swallowing pills easier. (Ahhh, pills! A perfect segway to my next improvement.)

2. I've been off of my Provigil for 1 month. Thanks in part to my new insurance requiring prior authorization and in part for the med being $600 a month for cash paying customers - long story short - I chose to wait it out. And low and behold - I made it. A couple innocent little naps here and there, but by golly, I MADE IT! Up w/out uppers! Yeehaw!

[Sidenote: Now I'm struggling with whether or not to start them back up. Not because I NEED them but because I can't help but think they'd make me feel even better. Make me more productive. A better me perhaps. Just sayin'. Dunno. Jury's out. Maybe just half. Or maybe every other day. Any thoughts?]

3. SHOWERING!!! The jury didn't even have to deliberate on this one. Yes, Todd, I'm sure the water bill has skyrocketed but my bathing daily, as Ms. Martha Stewart would say, "It's a good thing." And why is it special? Isn't there some unspoken rule that bathing daily is just what people do? Well if you hadn't picked up on it yet I'm just gonna come out and say it. I didn't!

I used to dread it. It would zap me of all energy. Even sitting in a chair, yeh. Sad, sad ordeal. Just the act of undressing. Soaping. Standing to rinse. Drying off. Dressing again. Killer! Shampooing? Hated it. And thus didn't even do it every time I'd shower. Nasty, I know. But think about it. It's more sad than nasty. And then there was making my way outta the bathroom to drop like a ton of bricks and not be able to function for hours afterwards.

And speaking of dropping. Nevermind all the wet slippery circumstances prime for falling. Nobody who falls in perfectly safe conditions ever goes enthusiastically into a more precarious environment. Just sayin' . . . until now! Now I look forward to it. I even stand a great deal of the time. And I can put my head back to rinse my hair. That is a luxury I'd forgotten about, my friends. I'd been rinsing from a chair, head down facing the floor for much too long.

Opening of the shampoo and soap bottles is going better too. I don't need help people! Do you hear me? Drying off is easier too. Standing and drying outside of the shower is much more time effective and efficient than attempting to dry while sitting inside on my chair. (And yes, I do turn the water off first.) Drum roll please!

I have energy after I shower! I can dress. I can stand to brush my teeth. Yeh, you heard me, STAND! And then leave the bathroom and do something else. Get a snack in the kitchen. Shoot some pool. Watch some TV. Or get this people . . . you sittin' down? Dry my hair! That's just crazy, heh? Actually on purpose applying heat to oneself. Suicide, right? Not anymore!

So I'm "all gussied up" as my Dad used to say. And no where to go? Huh? Here's a shocker for ya - I feel like going out. And I have been. Guess what. Walking better = not worrying about falling or embarrassing anyone. Yippee!

4. WALKING! No walker. No cane. And, yeh, I may be just a bit taller. I still waddle, sure, and at times could pass for drunk, but the point here is - I AM WALKING!!! Yes, everywhere! With a hand up and down curbs. And with just one hand on the railing - the stairs! Walking up and down the stairs y'all. Hear me? Not crawling. Not struggling. WALKING, I said!

5. Dancing.
6. Driving.
7. Staying up later.
8. Getting up earlier.
9. Baking.
10. And what kinda writer would I be if I didn't leave a little sumthin' sumthin' for your imagination? Suffice it to say there have been improvements even where improvements weren't needed. Yeh, take that and let your mind wander. EVERYTHING IS BETTER. EVERYTHING!!!

'Condensed' Soup Pt. 2

2011-01-06T11:27:00.000-08:00

Did I make y'all wait long enuff? Too long? I can't help it it. I'm a sucker for cliff hangers. Know what else? It tickles me pink I actually have readers. Pinker still when they call me DRAMA QUEEN. (Thanks Shawn!) And when I'm asked, or even begged to continue . . . now that's an all together different shade of pink.

And in the spirit of 'Seasame Street': The color pink has been brought to you by Dr. Sullivan and the American Access Care of Atlanta. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" adds The Count (my favorite Seasame Street resident). "So far in this entry Angela has used the color pink four times. Count them with me. One - Two - Three - Four. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

And the number four has been brought to you by, "NOBODY!" yelled Oscar the Grouch. "And furthermore, YUCK!" he grumbled. "That's an awful lot of pink for just two lousy paragraphs." So although clearly aggravated The Count had nabbed his top spot on the street, the beloved trash talking goblin had a point.

And how on Earth had I wound up on Seasame Street to begin with? Perhaps I should have simply said: Knowing I have readers makes me smile. I hear tell smiling now turns my cheeks a rosy pink. And to what do I owe this new found pigment? LIBERATION. The End. Boring, heh? Yeh. I liked my puppet dialog much better.

On with it then . . . I believe I'd left you not knowing the outcome of something or the other. Had it been a steel cage match between The Grouch and The Count? No? Of course not. I was telling you about traveling with the varsity basketball team my sophomore year of high school. No? Not that either? All right already. Enuff with the teasing.

I'm on the bed waking up from my procedure. And when I say waking up, I mean waking up. "Rarin' to go," as my Dad used to say. But unsure of what the doc had or had not found OR was or was not able to fix, I did not want to immediately go bragging. Besides, how does one explain feeling 'awaker'? And another patient had been a curtain over from me. What if his procedure hadn't faired as well?

Thus far then I am 'awaker.' A definition, please? By this I mean faster to wake. Easier to wake. Even eager to have woke. How 'bout that one? Was my vision better? I know that light was not that bright earlier! Hearing? Tennis shoe squeaks on the floor. Interesting, but maybe that was just 'cause nobody was talking to distract me. Deep breath in. And out. VERY NICE! People had reported breathing better - deeper. And until just at that moment I'd had no idea what they'd been fussing about.

I was thinkin' I needed pinched at this point. Where was that gorgeous husband of mine? You know the one - the one who actually told the doctor to "balloon something - anything - whether it needs it or not!" (Not an irrational request since he was paying for this himself.) Anyways, I knew Jason would tell me the news - good or bad, just as the poor guy had to back in May.

So all this, and before I'd heard whether or not all had gone as it was planned. And as soon as our eyes met I could tell somethin' wasn't as it should be. How disappointing. And I'd thought I was feeling improvements. Hello Mr. Placebo. C'mon in. I'm just as big a sucker as the next guy. Too bad I can read my hubby's non-existent poker face. Screw the pleasantries. "What happened?" I demanded.

And then he smiled. Or tried for one anyways. Enuff with the teary eyes. Enuff with the swallowing hard. He cleared his throat as I continued, "There wasn't anything wrong with me was there?" He looked perplexed as if I weren't meven speaking English. I rephrased my question. "They didn't fix anything did they?" And with that he was up on his feet standing over me and holding my hand. (A sidenote: His hand was warm. Was my being able to feel the warmth of his hand on mine another improvement?)

Finally he talks over my nervous rantings to tell me the right jugular was blocked % and left was blocked % . . . AND that they both appeared to respond well to ballooning. Welllll, correct me if I'm wrong but that sounded like pretty good news to me. Who am I kidding? Phenomenal news. Fan frickin' tastic! Music to my ears. Why wasn't he dancing a happy jig? Had the despair he'd been fighting so hard to mask not been so telling - - -

Commence with the interrogating. Boys okay? Yes. Mom then, or g'pa, I'd thought. Still with no offering of information, I ask, "You talk to Amelia?" And with those four words my friends, all Hell broke loose. "Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughs The Count. "Count with me. One - Two - Three - Four. Ha! Ha! Ha! Four words 'til all Hell breaks loose."

"That's garbage!" interrupts Oscar. "Using us to stall with details is just plain dirty." Again with the infinite wisdom of a trash can inhabitant, right? Couldn't be all that bright, heh? Then forraging thru the gnarly green hair on his head with one hand and pulling at his chin with the other he asks me, "Know what would be even trashier?" What with the loaded questions I wonder? I pause to think. And I got nothin'. So I reply, "What?"

His monobrow raised hauntingly over his left eye and quivering with anticipation, he looks around to be sure no one is listening and whispers slyly, "Can this entry. Make 'em wait for part three." Hmmmmm . . . as I take a moment to ponder this genius he begins to grin ear to ear and laugh devilishly arms flailing all about. Genius indeed, I'd thought as I raised my right eye brow in contemplation. Not a bad idea.

But, not a good one either. Sike! Did I getcha? No? Well, my sister nearly got me. And now, without further ado, an explanation. "Well, what did Amelia say?" I asked. And he says, of all things, really and truly, "She told me not to tell you." Yep. Those exact words. "She told me not to tell you. WHAT? Well whoopity doo! Them's was a fightin' words my friends. Who cares if she's Red Sonja? It was on like Donkey Kong. No joke. Nobody was keepin' nothin' from me. Not no way. Not no how. WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?

A bit of backstory must be inserted here. Way back when, when my Dad had his first heart attack - it was kept from me. Whilst I was partying at a slumber party my Dad was having a heart attack. I was dancing, singing, maybe even drinking and he was near death. The next day when I was supposed to go with these same friends prom dress shopping I was told "No!" by my Momma. And my g'pa would be there to get me in an hour or so. WHAT?

Long story short I report to my grandparents house instead of home. Anyways, there I was all mad I wasn't still out havin' fun. I was quite a little brat about it if I remember right. Guess what else? Had I not gone off the handle about missing out on a girls' day out I'd have prolly never been told about it at all. Had they thought I wouldn't be able to handle it? Amateurs!

When finally I had dragged every last detail out of 'em I was livid. I coulda been there. I coulda helped. If for nothing else I coulda been there as support for my Mom. What if he'd have died? Huh? What then? All whilst I was partyin' hard. Well, not that hard. But still, you get my point. And from that moment on it was sworn I would be made priivy to everything pertinent and done so immediately. Get it? Got it? Good. And so it had been 'til this escapade. Grrrrr! For my own good and whatever. I know that now. But still, WHATEVER.

I finally get that they MAY . . . just MAY have to take my Mom's foot. Please pay extra especially close attention to the word MAY. It's not just the month between April and June. Without looking up the word's official Webster's Dictionary definition, to me it means possibly. Not for sure. Might. Maybe, get it? Notice how the word MAY is even in the word maybe. Coincidence? I think not. Propping myself up on my elbows (as if getting closer would help me to understand him better), I ask, "When?"

Had I been getting loud? Or was it that I should have still been laying flat? The real reason unknown -- seconds after this exchange -- enter Jacob. Yes, the nurse. "You doing okay?" he asks. "I know it's early," he says. "But I just have to ask. Notice any improvements yet?"

Bring on the water works. No. That description does no justice to what actually went down. A better illustration: Niagra Falls. I answered Jacob with a "no" although it had not exactly been the truth. A "no" however was all I could muster thru the tears. And as I had not been given the chance to share these potential improvements with my husband yet either, he somberly explained to Jacob the news I'd just received from home. He looked concerned thru out their conversation and nodded his head several times to let us know he understood. His only request before leaving my bedside was that I try my best to lie still for as long as I could manage.

Fine. Now back to the "When?" WHEN? WHEN? WHEN? We were at least 7 hours away. And I was supposed to lay flat for four hours. She had to wait. "Call 'em back," I'd demanded. "Tell 'em we'll be there as soon as we can. They gotta wait." Irrational much? I know, right? That made no sense whatsoever. It was gangrene, people. Wet gangrene even. That shit travels fast people. And if it gets in the blood, welllll, I don't even wanna go there. But until I got to my trusty internet, those delicious morsels of information were unknown to me.

Allow me a tick to clarify. Ask me about Multiple Sclerosis, lung cancer, kidney failure, dialysis, heart failure, diabetes, stroke, high blood pressure, heck, even pit bulls and I've done my fair share of research. Somebody gets somethin' or worries about somethin' I dive in to learn more. It's what I do. But had I done it with gangrene? Not exactly. Self-centered hussy! I'm going to forever feel like I should have/could have done more. Again, Mom, I am so sorry. So I knew a smidge about gangrene but as she'd never been diagnosed with it - I didn't know enuff and what I did wasn't exactly good. The short version was that gangrene meant infected, rotting flesh that needed to be removed. But Mom was only admitted for IV antibiotics, right? Couldn't be anything that horrific. Couldn't be.

So back at home: Mom was being prepped for surgery. Or already under the knife? I still don't know exactly for sure the timeline. Remember I learned later that they were even considering doing it the night before? Remember the night I got aggravated at my sister for not being able to leave my Mom alone? Remember me telling Amelia that Mom was a big girl? You don't remember? Wellll, I do! So --- under the knife in a surgery deemed 'emergency' and for a longer time than they had originally estimated.

I hear tell it was touch and go for awhile during, and even after surgery. I can't imagine what poor Amelia had been going thru. And all whilst 'The Wheel' was partying it up in the ATL. I'm aggravated I wasn't told the truth and aggravated I wasn't there. BUT, and this is a big BUT - BUT I am and forever will be eternally greatful I was given the opportunity to get my life back. What a mixed up mess 'o emotions. Geesh! And that's not all folks. She didn't just lose a foot. She lost almost her entire right leg. No one would know 'til the next day whether or not the doc was able to get all of the gangrene or whether or not the infection had spread to her blood.

All this excitement whilst I'm layin' in a bed balling my eyes out. Uncontollably sobbing. Hmmmm. Jacob? Where you at? "Could I get another one of those little somethin's to help relax me?" He checks with the doctor and - booyah, score! And not long after the Xanax arrived so did Dr. Sullivan. Very concerned. Came to my bedside. Sat. Talked and listened about my Mom. Yeh. You heard me right. What doctor does that? And the very same one to give you your life back? WOW! This man rocks! P.S. He even wrote RX for a little somethin' for the next few days. Help get me thru the rough stuff. Unheard of.

Where was I? Mom touch and go. And me a mess in ATL. Ahhh, yes. Lunch time marked my halfway done mark. A turkey croissant from the deli next door. Oh, my! The best food I'd ever eaten. Ever! Had my tastebuds been revived too? Another improvement? If all food was gonna taste this good, I dunno, could be a problem. 200 lbs was already more than enuff. So with my belly full and my xanax, ummmm, xanaxing time flew by. It wasn't long and Jacob came around with discharge instructions. I was to return the next day at 9am to get a blood thinning shot in the belly. WTF? Nooooooo! I'd done my four hours flat and that was hard enuff. That was four hours closer I coulda been to home. "Please, please, please, no!" Was there anyway I could do without? Had I not made it clear I wanted to go home? C'mon Jacob. Work some sorta werewolf magic would ya? Hehehehe. And with the good doctor's approval Jacob readied a syringe that my hero hubby could administer in the a.m. no matter what our location.

Soooo, we're ready then? Ready? Ready. And we were off. Welllll, off to the lobby. We needed paperwork and the prescription from the doc. Not really so much a part of the story, but definitely worth mentioning: The clinic is also a dialysis center. While we are there waiting an older gentleman enters with a nice big lumpy fistula on his left arm almost exactly where my Dad had his. I know Jason noticed this too as I caught him doing so. Our eyes met then and we shared a smile thinking of Dad. Then a nurse came out to get some of the patient's information. You won't believe what his name was? Give you one guess. Robert. And as he exited the lobby, "WHAAAAAAA!" You'd have thought I'd cried myself dry, but alas I had not. What a blubbering baby! Had that been a message from beyond? Was Dad telling me Mom would be alright? That I needed to take care of myself? OK, now I've cried myself delirious.

Anyways . . . The plan was to swing by the motel, check out and head home. Who cares that my sister had given instructions that I was to stay there overnight as had been planned? Who did she think she was after all, heh? A pretty darn good 'wheel' I hear. I'm so very impressed with how she handled everything. I've heard stories since I've been home. Stories even that she'd actually wished I had been there. A source (who I'll leave unnamed for safety's sake) even told me she'd said, "I don't know what I'm gonna do without Angela." And she may not have known. Not right away. But she sure figured it out. I'm so proud of her. (I taught her all she knows, ya know. wink, wink)

The 16 lanes of Atlanta traffic were stressing on a girl from a town that not all that long ago only had two traffic lights. We're big time now tho -- we got five. "Count with me," says The Count. "Ha! Ha! Ha! One - Two - Three - Four - Five. Ha! Ha! Ha!" Needless to say by the time we'd made our way back to the Drury, I was spent. Physically and emotionally drained. Where had those improvements gone? Were they a figment of my imagination? Had they been there at all? Would they come back? And even more important, how did any of this even begin to compare to what my mom and sister were going thru? God be with them!

And He was. He was with me too. Even at the Drury. We'd gone in just to get our bearings and maybe rest up just a bit. Maybe. And covers up. I was out and out fast. No drugs required. Zonked. And I don't think I moved a muscle 'til 4:30 or 5 the next morning. I had to peeeeee, BAD! Huh? I'd held it all night? Another possible improvement? Or a fluke? Or maybe complete and total exhaustion had been the culprit. Either way, I was a happy, well-rested (and dry) camper. Yippee for me. I walk without any disorientation, support or stumbling to the potty. Another yippee. And then, "Yeeeeeooow!" The tile beneath my bare feet in the bathroom is ca-ca-ca cold! No big deal, right? The big deal is that I could feel the cold floor.

Wanna hear more? No cliff hanger this time, but there is more to come. A part 3 ought to catch us all up quite nicely. So much has happened. Improvements, improvements, improvements! For me and my Momma! You won't believe the stuff we can do. Heck, I don't believe alot of it myself.

Miracles Abound - A 'Condensed' Soup Version Pt. 1

2011-01-03T10:50:00.000-08:00

Dec. 10th, 2010. A gain. A loss. Both miracles. A contract I'd have never signed, but one I'm sure my Momma would have. Silly girl! And now (pause for dramatic effect) - an explanation, not only of my LIBERATION, but of my mother's fight for survival. [cue cliffhanger music]

A two for one, heh? Now you can't say I never gave you anything. MERRY CHRISTMAS, late my friends. But a very MERRY CHRISTMAS just the same. My apologies for the wait. Please know I have written and re-written this first post-angio entry a bazillion times in my head.

Do I give the gritty details of the trip? Do I focus on the clinic? Do I write only of Jacob, my nurse? How's about skipping to the results? Soooo very much has happened since my last entry there is no way to truly catch you up. And tho my memory is among my many improvements, well, nobody's got that much time on their hands.

That said, this prose doubling as your Christmas gift, I shall condense it down (note the catchy title) and hit upon the more miraculous of events as best I can. And of course wrap it all up with a fancy bow. Deal? Deal.

Where'd I leave off? It was snowing. Mom had a wound. G'pa was in the hospital. And I was, by way of a 'Wizard of Oz' analogy, coming to the realization that the world did not revolve around me and me alone. The weather. The illnesses. My baby boy's begging. So many reasons to stay crossed thru my mind. But never a quitter I had to take one more swing.

May 2010. Strike 1. November 2010. Strike 2. Sooo, if and only if this third attempt was a strike would I officially be called, "OUT." You know what? I don't even follow baseball. Let's make this easier on all of us, shall we? It's fourth down. Seconds on the clock. With me?

No punting. No field goal attempts. And even as beautiful as they can be at times - no hail marys. If I'm runnin' the show we block like our lives depended on it and run it right up the middle. So. Down. Set. Hike. The 'ol 300 gassed and ready - we were off for the ATL.

Boys off to school and Ryan calls to see if he can take us out to breakfast before we leave. Well, of course! I loves me some breakfast. But alas, he took only Jason as I had made a last minute appointment with my hairdresser, and dear, dear friend. Thank you, JoAnna!

Thank you for just so happening to have a little extra time at the beginning of your day for me. And on such short notice. And get this readers, after working her magic on me, she wouldn't even let me pay! And I got a hug. Meanwhile in the Vern, Ryan bought Jason's breakfast. We are so blessed in the friends department.

9:30 a.m. Thursday December 9, 2010 and we were off. Whether or not I'd return successfully LIBERATED this time out -- I would come back with a new do and a new additude. Pinky swear. That was the deal. Christmas was coming and it had beenm a year I'd been wrapped up in all this business.

Hell or high water I was coming back refocused. Less me and more them. Them being my boys. My mom. My g'pa. My Jason. My Gooch. My sister. All my family. All my friends. You! Yes, you! So aside from not having received the call from my Mom that I'd been promised the night before . . . all was right with the world.

We were 'On the Road Again,' Mr. Nelson. But country wasn't among our listening repitoire. At least not at first anyways. Thru some of Tennessee it seems to be all we could pick up. (Truth be told, this 'ol country girl didn't mind.) Talk of Christmas and of Santa and of hopes for what the new year may hold set a cheery tone making this mountainous trek much smoother than the first. "Roll on 18-wheeler. Roll on!"

Almost too easy some might warn. Little did we know everyone at home seemed to be paying for it big time. Earlier in the afternoon I had called my sister to see if she would be able to get to the Christmas program and grab a video of Abe for me. "Sure. No problem," she replied.

There'd be plenty of time after taking Mom to the wound clinic to get back, retrieve the kiddos and the camera and be at school by 7. Again, with the easy peezy, right? Looking back I should have thought it odd her overly eager willingness to help. Anyways . . .

So Mom had a wound clini9c appt. the previous Thursday. If you ask me she should've seen somebody way before then, but stubborn does run rampant in the family. They 'treated' the wound and instructed her to return in a week. (Nothing new here, as that is always how they do there. Same 'ol, same 'ol).

But what with the unbearable pain? Did that not make this different than the other sores or wounds? Guess not. Well once home -- it worsened. So much so all I will say is KUDOS to my sister for being able to care for it - her weak stomach be damned. Or perhaps a better phrasing would be blessed. Alas her weak stomach had been blessed with the strength it needed to endure what lie ahead.

Back to the story. Something was wrong at the OK Corral. Mom called the wound clinic everyday reporting in to them with new foul findings practically begging to be seen again, yet they repeatedly answered, "That's normal. We'll see you next Thursday." Grrrrrrr!

I pushed for her to go see her general practitioner, dear 'ol Doc Lee even having offered to accompany her although we all know how our last attempt at that turned out. I even offered Jason to assist in the endeavor to no avail. And Amelia pushed for visiting the emergency room. I'd have been happy either way. WHAT HAD SHE BEEN WAITING ON? Me?

So Thursday gets here. Finally. I'm on my way and Mom will finally get to show the (forgive me Lord) idiots that have been putting her off all week just the horror she's been dealing with all week. I discover not until my return home post-angio that she was welcomed at the wound clinic with many, many dropped jaws. (Forgive me again Lord) Dumbasses! Grrrrr!

She is sent immediately to the hospital. Not by ambulance. Not by bed across the street. Nah. They instruct Amelia to take her to emergency. Great people, heh? Not an "I'm sorry" in the hole group. One lady I hear tell even followed them around with an aerosol can to mask the horrid odor.

Pop Quiz: Did you know wet gangrene travels fast and is accompanied by an odor? I didn't. But you'd think that a wound care clinic would, right? Geesh. I feel so horrible I didn't drag my self-centered crippled butt down there and take a look at it myself. Why hadn't I? And why hadn't I taken the time to consult my handy dandy internet about it? I'm so sorry Mom.

Just as it's starting to get dark we arrive at our destination. Drury Inn just outside of Atlanta. We even got the same room right next to the back door that we had last time. As little walking as possible makes this gimp a happy girl. Yay, me! Awww, the king-sized bed. Hello, lovely!

And Jason left for Taco Bell. I loves me some Jason and some tacos. Then a call to my sister. Or did she call me? Either way . . . I did not get the news of my mother being admitted to the hospital until I had confirmed my arrival to Atlanta. And with that all I was told was that they were admitting her to administer IV antibiotics.

Fine, I had thought. Nothing out of the ordinary. We had suspected as much. Was it odd that Grandma was with them? Nah. Not at all 'cause g'pa was still at the hospital himself so she would have already been there when they arrived. Weird I still hadn't talked to my Mom tho. Just plain weird, I tell ya.

Weirder still Amelia calls back as I'm finishing up my taco feast to ask me why my in-laws couldn't get a video of the Christmas program. Simple answer: Welllll, 'cause they don't have a video camera. And there's plenty of time to make it home and to the program. Mom's already admitted. "Mom's a big girl," I said.

(Such a smart ass, I had been. Please Lord, forgive me.) "Why can't you leave her? I think she can handle a night at the hospital all by herself." Such horrible words. Had I only known the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Yikes. Unbeknownst to me at the time thy were considering removing her leg right then and there.

Of course, Amelia should have been there. Guess who else woulda been there too had she known what her baby sis knew. Damn right I would have come home. Damn right, I'd never have left to begin with. WHAT HAD SHE BEEN WAITING ON, INDEED? "I dunno," Amelia replies to my taunting. "I just don't think I can make it home in time," she says.

A bit put out, even aggravated, I go to Facebook and commence to begging anyone attending the program to getting some video of it for me. The only thing I should have been begging for is prayers for my Momma. And for my sister. God she was gonna need strength for the upcoming days. 'Cause her big sister - 'The Wheel', as our Dad had come to call me - would not be there to take charge of things.

Boys skyped goodnight, alarm set and prayers said Amelia calls to say she's on her way home. (About time I had thought.) Whatever. Glad to hear Mom was all settled in, Amelia was nearly home, boys safe and sound -- I could drift safely off to dream land. No limits to what tomorrow may hold. Thank you God for everything! Amen.

Bright and early Friday morning Jason went down to the lobby for that meal he dare not speak of since I couldn't partake before my procedure. Tacos don't fail me now! And yeh, I'd eaten extra knowing I'd be without for so long the next day. A bear preparing for hibernation, if you will. It makes no sense. I know. But I've never advertised as making sense now, have I?

With minutes to spare I must, must, must talk to my Mom before I do this. It had been waaay too long since I'd talked to her last. Somethin' just wasn't right people. I tried everything. I called the switchboard. I called her room twice. Then her nursing unit. Then her room again.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. 'Cept sitting just outside the front door of the clinic I was about to make us late. Jason reasoned we'd better go on in and we could try her again before I went back. Had he somehow known something I had not?

Enter the clinic. Familiar smiles welcoming me. Hands reaching out for payment. Ha! We got this. As if we'd come all that way again empty handed. Then just as I was feeling sour about the whole ordeal. Beginning to see nothing but $$$ signs dressed in scrubs in comes the x-ray tech.

Was his smile forced too? Had his out stretched hand been searching for the $10,000 cashier's check that I'd already surrendered? As my dad always used to say, "If you snooze, ya lose." If I was a bettin' man I'd say the girl I gave the check to already had it cashed and deposited, maybe even spent.

Paranoid. Yeh. Glass half empty, girl? Hell yeh. Bitter much? I know, right? God help me. I needed my Momma. But maybe my x-ray tech would just have to do. Hand outstretched he introduced himself to both my gorgeous husband and myself. Great sincere eye contact. I love me some eye contact.

Then he asked me if I was nervous. Wow! What a loaded question. I could have unloaded on this poor unsuspecting soul. But prolly having asked this a few times before, he quickly followed his own question with further nurturing reassurance that all would be okay. "Even better than that," he'd said.

Tricky sort I had thought at the time. How dare he not allow me time to answer. Then he went for my hand again and eye contact locked in he continued, "Just know that if my mother needed this done, I'd be sure Dr. Sullivan was the one doing it." Jason says he wenton about the good doctor's caring and compassionate ways, but alas HE HAD ME AT "MOTHER."

Exit the x-ray tech. Teary eyed eye contact with the hubs, a couple breaths in and out and enter Jacob. Not the werewolf - the nurse. And a very good one at that. All this time later and I'm still considering having a Team Jacob t-shirt made although I am not a fan in any way shape or form of the Twilight saga. (Sorry dear sister!)

Soon I was dressed (or undressed rather) and ready to go. Vitals checked and rechecked and a little somethin' to relax me. Hmmmm. When was that little somethin' to relax me ever gonna kick in? And more importantly when was I gonna be given an IV? Time was a wastin' people and I was not gonna be an easy stick. Just sayin'.

I'm not one to tell anybody their business. Well, okay, maybe I am - but, I knew there were patients scheduled after me and I didn't want my lousy veins to hold anyone up. You sittin' down readers? NEWSFLASH: They do not feel having IV access in the arm is neccessary when they will already have access once in the vein in my leg. BRILLIANT!!! Absolutely, positively brilliant. Makes perfect sense to me. You?

Guess what else? I didn't hurt like hell during the procedure. I didn't beg for pain medicine. I didn't cry. I felt pressure at times, but mostly I slept. Now there's a concept. Why cause a patient excruciating pain when you don't have to? Again with the brilliance. Yay, Atlanta! And more important - yay, me!

And then there was the after I had sooo been dreading. Coming home from my failed attempt in May I remember breaking out in whelps and itching and just being plain miserable. Commence with the high dose of Benadryl. Yikes! I don't wanna have to go back to the blind Maverick. He might not see my rash. (Mean. I know. Forgive me Lord.)

Anyways, back to recovery. Woke right up. Not groggy in the least bit. Kinda cool. Should at least be groggy from the meds, right? Wrong. Hungry then? Nope. Plenty of tacos I suppose. Itchy. Had to be itchy. Nearly two hours of dye vs. the maybe 15 minutes of it in May - in my pea brain that meant I'd prolly had enuff of it in me to kill me this time around.

Or worse yet maybe I'd just change colors and swell up like poor little Violet did in 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.' Surely my husband and Jacob could fight off the Oompa Loompas when they came to roll me away. Fear not movie-goers. I always fancied myself more of a Veruca Salt anyways. Singing, "Don't care how - I want it now!!!!!"

And whilst I'm on a movie tangent I must pay homage to 'TRON.' Not the original. The Legacy. For seeing it last night is what has spurred me back in to blogging. How easy it was for the creator to heal Cora. I cried. It seemed as equally easy for me to be healed. Tragedy not everyone is having this done. Grrrrr. But more on that later. Promise.

Where was I? Comin' round, heh? Feelin' good, heh? Then why the long face gorgeous husband 'o mine? Can't be there wasn't anything wrong with me. Dare I shout it out that something is different already. Dare I climb upon my bed and shout? Nah, I was suppose to lay still for awhile. And so I would try. Didn't wanna jinx this new feeling.

But still, "What up, Buttercup?" Hello? Husband? What's the haps? (To Be Continued)

Chain e-mails aren't always bad

2010-12-07T12:04:00.001-08:00

Please read this forwarded e-mail I got today from my in-laws. But be warned: it's a doozy.

AND GO OUT AND DO SOMETHING NICE FOR SOMEBODY WHY DON'T CHA?

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.

Their father was gone.

The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.

Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.

If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.

I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job..

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town. No luck.

The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.

Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.

It was called the Big Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.

She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.

She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could st art that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.

She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep

This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.

That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.. And so I st art ed at the Big Wheel..

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.

As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home..

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!

There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.

Had angels taken up residence in Indiana ? I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service station. In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.

I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.

Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .

I found a can of red paint and st art ed repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.

Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, ana state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.

The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.

I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat..

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.

Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!

I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.

There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.

And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.

And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

THE POWER OF PRAYER.

I believe that God only gives three answers to prayer:

1. 'Yes!'

2. 'Not yet.'

3. 'I have something better in mind.'

You may be going through a tough time right now but God is getting ready to bless you in a way that you cannot imagine.

What A World

2010-12-06T06:41:00.000-08:00

"What a world. What a world," she cried just before her untimely demise. Do you know of what poor, misunderstood soul I speak of? Any guesses? No? Anyone still reading? No? Mom? You there? Amelia? I know my little sister knows.

As the wretched ruby slipper snatching Dorothy sloshes the gorgeous green one with water she begins melting away in steaming agony. "What a world . . . " were sadly, among some of her very last words ever spoken - at least this side of the rainbow.

Such a tragedy when all the old gal had been after were the shoes her recently senselessly murdered sister had been wearing at the time of her death. I mean, really?! What gave that bubble riding fairy the right? Who was she to bestow anything upon that undeserving, self-centered, gingham wearing brat?

Should anything ever happen to my sister -- YOU BEST NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT MESSING WITH HER SHOES! I'm just sayin'. Those Nikes my friends, wellll, they'd be mine. End of tangent.

And now back to my admittedly overly lengthy explanation of this installment's title. 'What a World' is named so because since my last entry I have felt just as the unjustly named Wicked Witch of the West felt that horrific evening at her castle.

For those not as well-versed on 'The Wizard of Oz' as my sister and myself, please allow me to explain. First and foremost when one is in her own castle and surrounded by hoards of her own faithful flying monkeys - one should feel loved and safe - nearly indestructible, if you will. And as a bonus, she even had the punk that took her shoes locked up. All was soon to be right with the world.

In case you hadn't noticed, that my loyal monkies, is a parallel to what I was feeling back in early November. The stars were lining up. My family and friends were all behind me. Prayers and well wishes brought with them a love I hadn't realized in quite some time. My LIBERATION date approached. There was no stoppin' this momentum of hope and love. All was soon to be right with the world - my world - ME - again.

I felt good just as the witch should have that horrid night. God forgive us, we may have even - amongst the high of it all, felt a bit arrogant. (No worries of that happening again as the witch done met her maker and I, wellllll . . . I just somehow now know better. Lesson learned, okay? More on that later.)

Anyways, as you know, my insurance said, "NO!" And as for the witch, in lieu of the slippers she received a bucket of water to the face. And, buh-bye! Lucky for me denial of insurance coverage didn't mean instant death my melting. What it did mean however was another trip home UNLIBERATED. And more waiting. So basically the next couple of weeks could be akin to the witch's slo mo spiral to oblivion. "What a world!"

As you know, if you know me at all, this being told, "NO!" business never sits well with me. So immediately all fired up I dive in to an appeal. A solid week after returning home I do nothing but focus on this as if my life depended on it. I tweeked and re-tweeked the first draft I posted for you 'til I thought my head would explode. And finally I settled on and sent a version as heart wrenching, fact packed, and mind blowing as I could muster.

So thanks to God first, my husband second, and my family and friends third, I now sit here this beautiful Monday morning anxiously awaiting this week's appointment. I sit looking out my sliding glass doors - snow falling - the lights from the Christmas tree glowing - my pitbull snuggled to my right - a cold Coke to my left and a warm Dell on my lap. All should be right with the world, then, right?

Wrong. My mom's got a sore on her foot. A wound rather. An open wound. And she's diabetic, remember? So healing isn't all that easy a thing for her to do. She's in horrible, horrible pain. Please pray for her.

My g'pa. He's sick too. May be pneumonia. May not. Please pray for him. My g'ma whose foot is in a boot and whose just been released to walk is having quite a time trying to take care of g'pa. Please pray for her. All this kinda makes my problems seem trivial, heh? I know. But while you're praying it wouldn't hurt to go on ahead and mention me too. Pleeeeaaaase.

But you've already been so blessed, Angela. And yes, I have. I've been given hope of a cure. I've been given a husband whose willing and able to borrow money needed to obtain it. I've been given family and friends who have generously given to help us out. I mean it's Christmas time people! Money is always tight at Christmas and there's always plenty of charities needing help, right? It's been astonishing, really!

Many fellow MSer friends of mind have even begun having fundraisers. Not me tho. Nope. I haven't asked for a dime. That's not to say should I need additional procedures and the insurance still hasn't come around, that I won't be heading a bake sale, a bowl-a-thon or dare I say even a pitbull raffle in the future. (Only kidding Gooch!) Seriously nothing wrong with fundraisers -- I'm just flabbergasted at the response to my need without ever having asked. So, yes. Yes, I am very blessed.

An Aunt, unbeknownst to me, at Thanksgiving writes out a check and forcefully gives it to Jason. She makes him promise not to give it to me 'til we've left. And he begrudgingly obeys. Barely out of the driveway that evening he hands me a small folded piece of paper and says, "Here, your Aunt _ _ _ _ y gave me this to give to you." And there it was. A check all signed and dated with generosity and love. I cried like a baby on the way home amidst "Mommy, what's wrong?" coming from the back of the truck.

I don't know why it had gotten me all shook up. I'd been given money before. My Mom had just given me some as a matter a fact before we'd left the first time. And G'ma and G'pa had given me enuff to pay for the pre-testing. And my sister wanted to pay for a night's worth of the hotel and dinner and, wellll, okay, I cried then too. I've actually become quite the ball bag lately. But they're family, right? Family takes care of family, right?

But it's not just family y'all. One lady (you know who you are) even after warnings that the house was a wreck and I was couch ridden in my pajamas, insisted she wanted to just drop by and see me. Odd, I'd thought at the time. We'd been talking back and forth on Facebook and a bit on the phone. Wonderfully kind lady. Used to go to my church. Has children all older than me. Recently was told she might have MS. Yikes! So we'd gotten closer thru this but close enuff to just drop by?

I hadn't even brushed my teeth. And I told her it would take me eons to get to the door. "No problem," she'd said. If the door was unlocked she'd come on in. I knew her well enuff. Sure. Come ahead. And she had. Gift in hand. She said, "It's not much but we wanted to help out." How awesome is that?

Allergic to cats, she sat and stayed a bit anyways. We talked about her last hospital stay, her son, my mom - a little bit of everything. When she got up to leave I stood too in an attempt to see her to the door and she just wouldn't have it. She said, "No. Now you sit back down." And with that I hugged her. And she hugged me. It was a loving, tight motherly hug. (The best kind if you ask me.)

The call, the visit, the gift, the hug. So outta nowhere. Friends you think are friends, well they might just be there for their own benefit. Or not even there at all. And then there are those you prolly wouldn't think of as 'close' who swoop in and do something like this. So thoughtful. So selfless. There are truly angels among us.

I hadn't even opened the card until she had left and realized just how generous she'd been. When my husband came home from work that night I told him I'd had a visitor. His first reaction was to look around at the house in disgust and roll his eyes. I told him that hadn't mattered at all to her and that she'd brought us a card.

I handed it too him. As the gift was still inside he stood there shaking his head in disbelief as he is not a very good gift receiver (he's a much better giver). Anyways, he continued head shakin' whilst he read her kind words that accompanied the gift and this time his eyes began to tear. Then he wrinkled his forehead and asked, "Who is _ _ _ _ _ ?" Crazy, heh? That the hubs wasn't even sure who I'd been talking about. "Ohhhh," he'd said, "my. How nice is that?"

And then at church on Sunday. Another gift. Unexpected. Gracious. Kind. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And a special prayer from Beverly to boot. Everything she'd said - perfect. And that's not all. That was all before service had even actually got started.

I received yet again another special prayer. This time I had already made my way up to the alter (thanks to my Uncle Scott who'd been preaching directly to me the past two Sundays, maybe more), I was also anointed. Emotional, much? You betcha. Jason to my left. Aunt Ann to my right. Uncle Scott across the alter. Robin close by with kleenexes. Amelia and G'ma just behind me. Cheryl with a hug. And many, many more. Have I mentioned I love my church family? Welllll, I do!

Soooo self-centered. I know, right? I'm sure everyone who had gone so out of their way for me had surely had problems of their very own. Maybe I was more like Dorothy than the Wicked Witch after all. It always kinda rubbed me wrong it was alllll about her getting home. Nevermind the Scarecrow wanting a brain, the Tinman longing for a heart or the Lion searching for courage.

And while we're on the subject did it never don on anyone that the Scarecrow was always the smartest? The Tinman the most loving and the Lion the most courageous? Just sayin'. Maybe the Emerald City we're all searching so hard to find isn't at all what we need. Too cryptic?

Maybe we ask the Wizard for the wrong stuff. He was smart enuff, right? So being sooo brilliant and wise the Scarecrow surely should've asked for about a blue million other things. And the Tinman. Why not ask for a rust free exterior? So my point? Ahh yes, my point. Get's lost pretty easy, don't it?

My point is maybe this whole ordeal hasn't been for me to realize and obtain this procedure, but to realize and receive the unwavering support and encouragement I have from soooo many loved ones out there. Loved ones I didn't even know I had for Pete's sake.

Perhaps this has been a lesson in being selfless. Pay better attention to what others are going thru. The world does not revolve around you Ms. Spindler. It's a hard pill to swallow, I know, right? Gulp! There. I did it. Now, mind if I pray for you?

Appeal

2010-11-19T11:36:00.000-08:00

November 19, 2010

Welborn Health Plans Attn: WHP Appeals Committee 101 S.E. Third Street Evansville, Indiana 47708

Wednesday (Pt. 1)

2010-11-19T08:56:00.000-08:00

Wednesday morning. Test to take. Doc to meet. But first things first. Put on some clothes. Brush your teeth. Splurge and brush your hair too. Geesh! Eager much? Ha! Eager was an understatement. Four trips to the potty later I was ready to go. Nervous much? Uhhhh, yeh!

Although we'd planned on raiding the free hot breakfast offering at the hotel we found ourselves short on time an opted for a Mickey D's drive-thru instead. I should clarify it was Jason that did the opting, whereas I partook of nothing but a nibble of hash brown and a forced slug or two of Coke.

In my aforementioned precarious condition I would have passed on even that had I not needed to take my morning med and be adequately hydrated for my approaching test. Nerves wrestling nerves I prayed for composure - of stomach and of self. Amen.

CCSVI Atlanta was awesome. We had arrived a bit too early. So much so that the door to the suite was still locked. Eager, remember? Back to the lobby. This MS riddled body needed a place to sit. 15 -20 minutes later the building began to fill. Everyone very friendly. "Hi." "Good morning." "How are you?"

So far so good. And then we met Finesse. Sweet, gorgeous girl. She asks, "You guys here for CCSVI Atlanta?" Why, yes. Yes we are. She introduces herself and says she's on her way up there now. She hoped we hadn't been there long. Even if we had it was still well before opening time. Our bad. Silly out of towners.

Jason told her we'd give her time to get settled in before we came up. A couple more smiling, polite people thru and we got another kind soul involved with CCSVI Atlanta, this one insisting we accompany her upstairs. She reasoned that the chairs in their waiting room were more comfy and they had magazines. Very sweet. And we were sold. Up, up, and away.

Once there, we were again greeted by Finesse. We had a very small questionnaire to fill out. A trip to the potty. The one just past the reception desk in the office vs. the one way down on the other end of the hall - thanks for that! And a tiny wait for the sonographer to arrive. I was to be her first for the day.

And what's this? She's nice too? Yep. Phenomenal experience I tell ya. The hardest part of the whole ordeal was walking down the hall and trying to stay still for nearly two hours. Free to go? Yeh. Cool. So off we went. Back to the hotel to rest up before meeting the doc.

What a joke. Rest? I was too excited to rest. Anxious much? And away we went. Time to kill we stopped for a sit down lunch. I was stoked as we'd been dining inside the truck for some time now. Lookout IHOP - we're comin' in. And it was delicious! I had a breakfast sampler. Eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, hash browns and pancakes. And I cleaned my plates ladies and gentlemen.

"On the road again . . ." Sing it Willie! And off we were to see the Wizard. I mean doctor. Of course I mean doctor. And what a quaint little area his office was located in. Just outside of Atlanta this place was like a cross between New Harmony and downtown Evansville but with more hustle and bustle.

Just past the hospital we took a left at a historic looking, yet very well maintained government building complete with columns out front. Down a couple of blocks of cute little window front shops and one more left before our destination.

Anyways, I was dropped at the curb with 30 minutes to spare and Jason headed for the nearby parking garage shared by local businesses and the adjacent medical center. And just so you know, yes, they validate parking. So they may have cost us $200, but they saved us $8 in parking fees. Whoopity doo, right? I'm not bitter.

Really I'm not. Disappointed, yes. But bitter, no. Everyone inside the doc's office was super nice. And that is a monumental feat considering they were having to be the bearers of crappy news. Ahhhh, yes - a silver lining. See it?

Has she gone mad? Nah. I'm just choosing to look at this as a learning experience for their office in case future patients' insurance fail them too. Perhaps having an appeal letter at the ready would help expedite such proceedings. Or maybe using alternate coding would be beneficial as many MSer friends have suggested.

Genuinely as taken back by all of this as I was, seemingly distraught even, everyone involved was willing to do whatever they could to help me out. One dove into steps needed to launch an appeal. Another looked into applying for medical credit. Even the doc admitted, "Your insurance has been the first to deny coverage."

I've always thrived on being a trend-setter. But, Lord please don't let this be a trend. Please, please, please this needs to me more widespread and acceptable. People are feeling better. Doing better. But You know that already as You're behind all that is good. And for that I am truly grateful. Amen.

So get to it already! What did I think of the doctor? And why didn't I go ahead and have 'er done? That is, afterall why you're reading, right? Get on with it then! I will. I will. But, maybe next installment as I have a few Christmas trees that need some attention. Priorities! I know.

Until next time . . . oxox

Decisions, Decisions

2010-11-19T06:48:00.000-08:00

With money we had been saving up and with the overly generous offer of help from my mother we could have gone ahead and paid for the procedure right then and there. So now I have aggravated readers, right? Disappointed? Please let me explain why I made the decision I made. It sure was a tough one – maybe the toughest I'd ever made.

Shall I begin at the beginning? I was born May 13^th, 1976. Huh? Nooooooo? Not that beginning? The beginning of our Atlanta journey? Ahhhh, yes. I remember it well. We left out later than we'd planned Tuesday afternoon. It was nasty out. Sloppy, pooring. We had to deposit some money at the bank and go by CVS for some meds before leaving town.

So anyone who knows my husband knows then that during this little jaunt he had checked his phone about a bazillion times. Albeit a small time frame, you never know what might be waiting for you in a missed call or e-mail. He had checked it one too many times if you ask me. “I got a voicemail from the doctor's office,” he says. “Prolly about the insurance.” Silence. “You want me to call them back?” he asked.

And in my not so infinite wisdom, I eagerly reply, “Yes! Absolutely, yes!” Drum rolllll, please. Even only having heard one side of the following convo, I could tell it wasn't going my way. “Uh-huh.” “Yes.” “Well . . .” “Ummm.” “Really?” “Uh-huh.” “We'll let you know.” Short, sweet, and sobering. Pale faced, Jason turned to me and said, “They said no.”

We continued with our errands in silence. Then in the CVS parking lot, as the rain strengthened, Jason dialed our insurance company. Luckily (for parties on both ends of the phone) he received a very nice lady who at least seemed sincerely sympathetic to our situation. She even went so far as to suggest we launch an appeal of their decision.

As their convo ended I remember the rain pounding on the roof of the truck grow louder in the silence. It was in that moment that of all things I thought back to being in our gooseneck horsetrailer listening to the rain. It used to be a melodic, soothing noise to fall asleep with, BUT as it grew louder and closer to morning it had always been unsettling to wake up to.

None of us ever wanted to have to show in the mud. Even in the indoor arenas it was never any fun trying to get ready in the rain. Funny where your mind takes you some times. Anyways, I snap back to reality to find my husband staring at my blank,distant face with tears welling in his eyes. I don't speak. I don't wanna make anything worse.

Then when he's just about to get a full blown cry on, in hopes of lightening the mood, I interject, “Well, Honey, let's just get some lunch and get you back to work.” Again with my infinite wisdom, right? Honestly, I had thought that would get his mind off of this and somehow make things better. “Ya think long. Ya think wrong,” my Dad used to say.

“Abel's not feelin' well,” I went on pleading my case to stay home. “It's prolly best we just stay home.” This brought with it less crying but more tears - if that makes any sense. Then, gripping the steering wheel, he said, “I shouldn't have listened to you. We should be on our way by now.” Pause. Silence. “We should still have the test done. We should at least talk to the doctor.”

What seemed like eons passed. Later, I agreed. Not because I really DID agree, but because my not going seemed to be breaking my Baby's heart. I needed to back track. And back track fast. Perhaps moonwalking would be in order. Smooooooth Criminal,right? What to say? What to say?

I reasoned, we were packed. All of our boys had been left in capable hands. What would our going on a little mini vacation hurt? So finally, I say, “What the Hell, Baby, let's just go! You deserve some time off work.” Skeptical about how or why I'd come to that I was met with a shrug of the shoulders and a shake of the head.

Sure, I had made a 180. My Baby had dried his face and was putting the truck in gear. A 180 well worth it. Now my eyes began to tear. Had I just made the first of a long line of wrong decisions for the week? Geesh! Hormonal much? Sure would have been a waaaay funner road trip had we not received that little nugget of information.

Next decision to make was when to call our parents and break the bad news to them. Or should we call them at all? Best not to. Why pull loved ones in to the bog in which you are trapped and sinking? Nice responsible adult decision, right? Wrong! I wanted my Mommy! *sniff, sniff* I am such a baby. Whatever! Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words'll never hurt me!

I called my Momma. Unshaken, she responds, “No biggie, right? Didn't you expect them to turn you down?” Hmmmm. Uh-huh. I guess so. Expect, yes. But I had hoped they wouldn't. OK then. Mom put it all into perspective for me again. Paraphrasing of course: Suck it up buttercup! We knew this would happen. Go down there and if he's the 'right' doc . . . get 'er done!

Can I get an “Amen?” How's about a “YAY, Mom!” A sidenote: I love my Momma soooo much. I honestly don't know what in the world I would do without her. Please, please, please if you still have your Momma with you today give her a big hug and tell her how much you love and appreciate her!

Alas, maybe it wasn't bad news. A game changer, sure. But at least the game wasn't over. Quite the contrary, it was actually just beginning. The next seven or so hours there we discussed what we planned to do. First order of business, we were gonna get the ultrasound at CCSVI Atlanta. Period.

No insurance involvement whatsoever with this. We knew this going in. They'd help us file with insurance but would not wait for insurance reimbursement. Fine. $550. Paid. Once and for all we needed to know if I did indeed have this vascular disease. Please God, I really wanna have this disease. But it's His will, not mine. Remember the sermon, Angela. Got it. But I can still want it, right?

Now we would also pay an extra $200 just to talk to the doc. The consult was to be free, but due to insurance denial of procedure we were advised our first appointment would run $200. A bit aggravated, but whatever. It would be nice to talk to a doctor that actually understood CCSVI. As many nay-sayers as I'd dealt with the past year, actually meeting and conversing with an actual believer might just be worth it.

If and only if he turned out to be a match made in heaven, the absolute perfect doc, would we go ahead with the costly procedure. We had a few thousand with us. And surely, I had reasoned (although wrongly yet again), he wouldn't expect people to just come bebopping in his office with $10,000 cash in hand. So what we had would suffice, so I'd thought. Hoped. Prayed.

Next, how would we know if he was 'the one?' What would constitute the perfect doc? With this we flipped the Yahoo! Maps print out over and commenced to writing out questions we wanted answered. #1. Why are you a believer?

And now you are thinkin' she can't be serious, right? Oh, I am! I'm as serious as a heart attack! That poor guy had no idea what was barrelling his way at over 70 miles per hour. This little 'ol country girl was gonna get her money's worth. Booyah!

And finally we'd decided that whether or not we were able to have it done we were gonna return home to the boys and drop all these shenanigans. No more CCSVI or MS nonsense! The holidays were gonna be all about them. I say 'we,' but I mean, 'I.'

I feel I had been neglecting them. And I was gonna focus on them. Feeling better or not I was gonna come home smiling. Not lying. No. If I hadn't got the procedure I wouldn't lie and say I had. I would simply say I hadn't had anything done YET but that I was feeling better. And so it was a plan. The plan. My plan.

Finally then, well into the Tennessee mountains we turned on the radio. Yeehaw. We had some singing to do. “Whoa, baby! You better get outta this turn lane!” It was nearly 9 when we'd made it to our hotel. Late sure, but we'd made good time. Just two potty stops.

Anyways, it was a very nice room with a king bed located on the very end of the hall. Quite the haul had my Drury Inn saavy hubs not known about the back entrance. We parked by this secret door and our room was the very first upon entering. Sweeeeet! (Spoiler alert: Before we left, I had Jason reserve the same room for our next visit.)

Next order of business we call the parents. The boys and the pup are doing fine. Bummer about the insurance but as I said before my Mom had suspected as much. She encouraged me to go on with it. Pleaded, even. She assured me the money would be there. Remember – me and Amelia are to her what Asa and Abel are to me. I assured her I would do it if he was the one. God's will! Remember?

Caught up with Harry Potter on the lap top and fell asleep in no time. Had Harry made a good Seeker? I dunno. Talk about brain dead . . . I had alot on my mind. My poor little mind. Never mind that it is damaged by iron deposits due to lack of blood flow out and back to the heart. CCSVI? Huh? Anyone? Sound familiar? Grrrr . . .

Wednesday morning. This is gettin' kinda long ain't it? I sure can ramble. I know, I know. So how's about another continuation? OK with you? Good. I'll cover the rest of the trip later today. Or try to anyways. Pinky swear!

LIBERATION Day or not

2010-11-18T18:27:00.000-08:00

Good morning world! We are on our way home this bright, beautiful, crisp Thursday morning. Why so chipper, you ask? How is it even possible, you ask? How when I was supposed to be LIBERATED - possibly given my life back? “HOW?” she screams, raising and shaking her fist in the air. I got three words for ya: God IS good!

My wonderful husband waited for me to wake up this morning before bestowing upon me the words of wisdom he'd been given in the night. He says, “You awake?” I say, “Yeh, I guess.” And then I sigh and flop over to face this conversation eager entity. What words of wisdom could he have? After an evening of near silence . . . what?

Waking, I remember a dim glow from behind the bathroom door being the only source of light in the room; however, when I had come face to face with this man that must love me more than even I can understand, I noticed the room had not been dark at all. The sun peaking thru the curtains from behind Jason reflected off the white bed linens illuminating the entire room.

He was on his right side with his head propped on his fist – his elbow bent just so. When our eyes met he smiled his gorgeous smile. Who does that, really? This guy rocks, I tell ya! Had that goober been watching me sleep? Anyways back to the story. He says, “Remember your Uncle Scott's sermon Sunday?” Well, of course I did. I was supposed to have even written about it but hadn't gotten around to it. Remember?

Before I could answer he continued, “Everything happens for a reason. And the way I got it figured is this doctor will only be three weeks more experienced by the time we come back.” Uh-huh, I'd thought. He went on, “We learned that he is booked solid thru 'til January meaning he'll see several more patients before you and maybe – just maybe – learn something that will help in treating you that he wouldn't have otherwise.”

Brilliant guy, heh? I knew I hadn't married him just for his looks. So just as I'm about to get a bit teary eyed he really lays it on thick. He says, “I think we made the right decision to try to appeal the insurance company because it is important that they recognize this procedure as necessary.” He pauses and swallows hard. Was he fighting back tears too?

He continues, “I understand completely and will fight that fight with you . . . (warning: here comes the mushy part – get out your kleenex) . . . BUT, we are coming back in December and you ARE getting this procedure!” O.K. Take a tear wiping break here. Don't need one? Well, I do.

[To Be Continued . . .]

Baseline

2010-11-15T10:29:00.000-08:00

MS or CCSVI - - - either way, symptoms I wanna keep track of:

Let's start at the bottom and work our way up. Shall we?

1. Toes aren't mine. They are often discolored. Right foot I can feel toes wriggle against each other. Left foot I cannot. Toes, feet and ankles swell often. Both ankles are weak and after too much use will give out. I suffer from drop foot. Right worse than left.

2. From the knees down my legs feel like huge blocks of ice. I can swear my feet are freezing but when Jason touches them he says they are warm?! Mystery. Knees are stiff and achy.

3. Thighs. Besides feeling extra huge and heavy I get a weird cool, trickling sensation down the backs of them from time to time. Bizarro, I know.

4. Whoa, Nelly! We've made it to the sacred private parts. Leaving out the gory details I will report here only that I have been diagnosed with a neurogenic bladder. Suffice it to say she has a mind of her own.

5. And her close buddy the bum isn't the most cooperative of characters either. Every 5 to 6 days is my normal. "End" of report on this (pun intended).

6. On to the belly. So big and so round I could pass for preggers. Yay, food!

7. My breasts? Nah. My rib cage. And the cursed MS hug! What's that you say? It's an immense, intense pressure beneath my breast spreading around my sides and at times clear around to my back. Constantly there but at times excruciatingly there. Yeeouch!

8. My chest. I get out of breath waaay too easy. And upon any exertion my neck and shoulders ache. The more I do the worse it gets. It gets to the point that I feel like I have a 400 lb. man on my back. Ever seen me walk all hunkered over? It's because that fat bastard is on my back.

9. Arms are okay, I guess. Just super heavy, weak and easily fatigued. Grip in my hands is iffy at best. Feeling is sketchy. Definitely diminished. Cannot tell hot from cold. And shaky and uncooperative whenever any precision is asked of them. i.e. shuffling cards is difficult and my handwriting never comes out the same. As for typing - thank goodness for spell check. I used to type over 75 wpm.

10. Finally to my head. Headaches. Some baaaad. Loud pulsing, swoooshing noise behind my right ear. Vision disturbances. Mostly blurring. Worsens with heat or exertion. Worse in right eye. And my teeth - I grind 'em. Also, I get light-headed all too often effecting balance and my ability to walk straight. One might refer to this condition as DIZZY.

FYI: [Dizzy is not to be mistaken with drunkeness or laziness as my condition oft is. Examples include but are not limited to my bumping into walls and furniture and remaining seated at church even after being asked to stand for prayer.]

Am I done then? Or did I FORGET anything? Ha! My memory sucks! The online MS community calls it "cog fog." And boy do I got it. It can be likened to what we call a blond moment around here. So what if I'm a blond and an MS sufferer?

Once an honor student, always an honor student. To explain, I have trouble understanding some things (especially 4th grade math problems these days) and even more trouble explaining. Understand? Good, 'cause I'm not sure I do.

Funny examples: Wanting to go see a movie we just saw with friends two weeks beforehand. Or asking Jason to go to Wal-Mart to get us lunch. There's no Wally World in the Vern. Question is did I mean to say McDonald's or Dairy Queen? Jason has become an excellent interpreter.

How about trying to tell the boys where their socks were this morning? I was pointing at the garage door. Saying the fireplace. And the kicker is they were in the hallway across from the bathroom waiting to be packed away for our trip. If it hadn't been for Jason the boys would have been sockless this cold November day.

Might as well laugh at yourself, right? Hehehehehe . . . considering the sobering content of this post it has been surprisingly fun. Has it reminded you of anything? It sure has me. It reminded me of a good 'ol fashioned David Letterman's Top Ten List. So we should give it a fancy name, right?

How's about "Angela's Top 10 Things She Sure as Hell Won't Miss Should They Miraculously Disappear?" Can I get an Amen?

Winning the Race

2010-11-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

Angela racing? Huh? Remember the story of the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race, right? My being called slow is, wellll, a polite understatement. And steady? Laughable! So what race do I speak of?

As my Liberation date approaches my mind has been racing. To explain, I mean wandering at break neck speeds. It's the worst at night. When my head hits the pillow - BAM! - my mind goes in to overdrive.

I sit here now at 20 'til 8 this gorgeous Monday morning mentally exhausted. So much to do. The house needs straightening. Laundry needs done. We need packed. The boys need packed. Do we have enough food to send with Gooch? And yet all I feel like doing is blogging. Hmmm . . .

I'm hoping I can get some of this gunk out of my head by 9 or 10 and then get down to business. Or perhaps I'll have a breakfast break at that point and return to the couch to bestow upon you dear readers a second installment. Alas, the sermon my pastor gave yesterday deserves an entry all it's own.

But back to the title. Winning the Race. Winning Hell!? I just want to finish the race! So let's purge some of that gobbaley goo. First things first - gobbaley goo? My pastor, when explaining something, often refers to what Webster says. I, however, will refer to what Angela says.

Angela likens gobbaley goo to miscellaneous paraphernalia repeatedly found in a junk drawer. Or the plethora of treasures that accumulate at the bottom of a purse. Gobbaley goo can be anything that gets in ones way. A distraction. i.e. defining a nonsense word vs. just getting down to the meat and potatoes.

All right, already! Here it goes. It's just after 8 now and although I don't know what time it is in Atlanta I'm already on edge about Jason calling them. Will he remember to call? Will they call him? Why does it matter? INSURANCE! Remember? We were supposed to hear back Friday. No news is good news, right?

Why does it matter? O.K. It shouldn't I guess, but it does. We are very blessed to have loving, caring family that are willing to help us out financially - should we need it. Many have offered. Others, including even my 'lil sis, have snuck in gifts here and there.

Crappy timing really. Just before Christmas. Plus we just had to license and insure our fleet of vehicles. And our fall installment of super high Park Ridge property taxes was just due. You know what? I accept cash, checks, money orders, PayPal and all major credit cards. Ha! Only kidding . . . maybe!

In all seriousness though we are very lucky. Jason does well. And we are very proud people. We don't like to ask for anything. We prefer to be the givers. And should this work out we do plan to pay our good fortune forward the best that we can. Back to why I've bitten all my nails off . . .

1. Many, many MSers that need this procedure as much or even more than me, sadly may not have the resources we are blessed to have. Thus, insurance needs to start covering this! PERIOD!

2. It's an everyday procedure covered for anyone else who needs it. Just because it's "unproven" to help out those of us with MS, geesh! Let me hop on my soap box a second. I'll be careful. Promise.

[Screw double blind, seven year long trials! People with MS can and very often do get or have other diseases! For example if I have a heart attack as did my Dad in his 40s - - - will you not allow me a cardiologist since I have MS?] Deep Breaths, Angela! O.K. I'm down from the soap box, safe and sound.

3. Common sense nimrods! My MS related meds are just over $2,000 per month. So that's 2100 x 12 = $25,200 per year on meds alone. That doesn't even take into account assistive devices or therapies, etc. Anyways, the procedure is costing anywhere between $9,000 and $15,000. DO THE MATH!!! Insurance companies could be saving money. Where'd that soap box go?

[Not to mention once better there's prolly other expensive meds I won't need. Plus less Doc visits. Plus, I might could even return to the workforce. You might not even need to cover me anymore as my new job might provide better coverage. Plus I'll need a new car. New clothes. Think of the economy.] O.K. so the soap box broke, but I'm fine. Enuff already!

1, 2, and 3. Enough of an argument as to why insurance should cover this, right? I think so. You think so. Right? I'm preaching to the choir. A sidenote: Since I began inclined bed therapy and high blood pressure medicine I have not cost my insurance for any hospital stays. Coincidence or concrete correlation that perhaps many of my debilitating symptoms are due to a blood flow disturbance? A treatable venous disease. Hmmmmm.

Knock on wood, right? I am. Knocking HARD! It had been 2 years hospital stay free before CCSVI. So now, nearly a year later. Do the math. 2 + 1 = 3. Wow! Three years and counting hospital stay free. Yay, me! To recap, the BP meds, I believe, have done wonders.

Sure, they were prescribed because my MS meds cause high BP. Whatever! God forbid I could simply have inherited the predisposition for the condition from my Father who fought it most of his life. Again, PEOPLE WITH MS CAN AND DO GET OTHER DISEASES.

Just to clarify: Let's say we break a leg. Will you treat it, Doc? Will you let me have an x-ray? Will you set it and cast it? I do have MS. And admittedly I prolly fell due to the balance issues I suffer from - again, related to the MS. Clear yet?

Say we get cavities too. Is it acceptable to be seen by a dentist since the MS caused the cavity? Huh? MS fatigue causes me to not brush as often as I should. And the rare times I find the energy to floss my MS riddled hands and fingers are extremely uncooperative. Thus MS equals cavities. Will insurance pay for a filling?

So I need my soap box again. You know what? Why don't I just stay on it. You don't mind, do you? Of course I'll have to sit on it because again, due to the MS, standing for any length of time is nearly impossible.

[Back to fillings. Why not just let our teeth rot out? If the Lord tarries and we don't go out in some big kaboom we will eventually need to be spoon fed liquids or worse yet, thru a feeding tube. Too much, you say? But it's the truth. Just the facts ma'am. And so, as gruesome as they may be, it's the facts I'm givin' ya!]

So why do I want the insurance so bad? Refer to 1-3 above. And I don't wanna empty our savings. I don't wanna take from others savings. I don't wanna borrow against an already paid for vehicle. I don't wanna re-mortgage the house. And I'm sure as shit not gonna sell my soul to the devil.

Thus, if insurance don't pay I say it wasn't meant to be. And this was gonna be it at least until it becomes more recognized as real treatment. Hopefully I wouldn't be too far gone in 7 to 10 years. Blah, blah, pity party, blah. GAME OVER. I need to get on with life. The boys need a Christmas. Aside from football I'd really been neglecting my kiddos.

So my Momma tried to put things into perspective for me. She says, "Well, what would you do if it was one of the boys that needed it?" And my response: WHAT THE HELL? Well, I'd have already been on a plane and had him treated in Poland. And been back again for appropriate follow-up.

Screw insurance. "My boy?" I asked. "One of my boys?" I would have taken from anyone willing to give. I would have borrowed against anything the bank would have let me. I would have been selling a kidney or two depending on the price of plane tickets. I was offended and had quite literally gone off on her - my dear Mom.

She waited for me to quiet. And then with a tearful voice she says, "You and your sister are MY boys." Hmmmm. Wow! I guess so. Really makes you think, don't it? Which brings me to another conundrum. If I do end up needing help do I take it on this unknown doc who now has nearly 20 procedures under his belt OR wait for my man Sclafani?

Still not good enuff? Costa Rica has done 350 now. Poland started waaay before them. And there's always Italy, home of Zamboni himself. Just sayin' . . . If it were one of my boys. And for the price plus travel I'd wanna be sure to get the best possible treatment. So why not for myself? Why'd I wait around in the first place and attempt to have it done near home? FAILED. Remember?

9 o'clock on the dot and Jason calls. I can tell by his tone it can't be good. Blah, blah, blah, blah. "Clinical notes." What? Atlanta called him before he'd even thought about contacting them. They say our insurance asked for clinical notes. They said they didn't have any but gave them all the proper codes. And they prolly wouldn't hear back themselves 'til the 17th. SILENCE.

"You still there?" asks Jason. "Yeh," I say, "So?". Jason replies, "So we're goin' anyway. We'll find out when we get there." Thus, if it's meant to be, it'll be. Sidenote: Trust in the Lord. Questions? See the next blog installment based on my Uncle's sermon from yesterday.

So I return to the couch. Thankfully not devastated. They could have flat out said no. So I'll just wait longer for the no . . . or yes. Whatever. I'm disappointed, but there's still hope. Back to the blog. More gobbaley goo to clear out.

I still haven't made my before video! That's really eatin' at me. I majored in broadcasting. I've been behind the camera since we got our first one when I was 12. I love editing video. Adding visual and sound effects. Why can't I get a simple video done? I keep going over and over what I want it to be in my head. Clutter, I tell ya! Clutter I don't need.

And clutter being a perfect segway into my next bit. I need to get this house picked up. I'm proud to announce that I'd been doing a phenomenal job keeping it up since it's last big cleaning before our Halloween party. But these last three, maybe four days - I've grown a bit distracted. Lax, even. My bad!

I got alot on my mind people. Remember? It's racing!

A Poem

2010-11-10T06:12:00.000-08:00

Will she?
Or won't she?
Just why the heck don't she?

She heard of this miracle
way back in Spring.
So what is the hold up?
Ding-a-ling. Ding.

Go on girl, get it;
what the others have got.
There's a fix out there waitin'
Do you want it, or what?

The answer?
Quite simply,
She just didn't know.
Will she? Or won't she?
Go on girl. GO!

Truth is she's been on list after list.
Some have shut down;
and others too dist.
On again, off again. You get the gist.

Like Poland and Jordan,
now Mexico too.
Results are a plenty,
some cure 'em; they do.

Not all at once now;
please, don't get me wrong.
Curing us fully would take 'em too long.

One thing at a time will be fine with us.
Such as driving again
'stead of riding the bus.

Regaining feeling in fingers and toes;
or standing up straight and touching our nose.

Telling the diff'rence between hot and cold,
no choking on food;
all things to behold.

Memory. Speech. And toileting too.
Dare I go there?
Think I'll skip that part. Eww.

One hadn't walked in over a year.
Yet now post procedure she's walking - no fear!
Only days have gone by and each she gets better.
I hope there are more just like her - our trend setter.

Some say they don't feel different at all.
As sad as that'd be - the risk?
That's your call.

Will she?
Or won't she?
Just why the heck don't she?

So what if the feel-goods
don't last but a week?
What if, worse even yet,
the outcome is bleak?

The odds are real small that that'd be the case,
but anything medical - it's just what we face.
Our meds for example are scary as Hell.
Many out now can make us unwell.

So many worries.
I'd call her a sissy.
Just not to her face;
'cause she may throw a hiss-ee!

Will she or won't she?
Even SHE doesn't know.

The procedure itself makes her itchy and sore.
How does she know this?
Kinda had it before . . .

Yep, he was in there -
my veins with a scope.
Shooting down - killing -
'most ALL of my hope.

Hearing my story gave quite a few doubt,
but Doc 'S' himself said, "Girl, don't you pout!"
He feared many first timers would suffer the same
but hoped just as I did they'd stay in the game.

So that's what I did. Spring, Summer to Fall.
Now Winter approaches, does she have the gall?
Will she?
Or won't she?
Just why the heck don't she?

This time to the south she contemplates going.
LIBERATION FOR ALL ~ this movement is growing!

Would this time be diff'rnt?
Wasn't sure that it would.
Then, why is she Hell bent?
SHE WANTS TO FEEL GOOD!

-Angela Spindler (11/2010)

For those just joining us . . .

2010-11-07T13:23:00.000-08:00

It all started a year ago almost exactly to this very date. CTV of Canada broke a story of a vascular doc from Italy whose wife had been stricken with that 'ol crippling disease we all know and love - multiple sclerosis. "Heart-warming fluff piece," I can see the old gruff news director tagging it.

Heart warming, yes. But fluff? Try MEDCAL BREAK THROUGH!!! It wasn't long before this man had emerged himself in the MyStery that once was MS. Love for his ailing wife driving him, he discovered this supposed auto-immune disease may just be vascular in origin.

And get this: Is it a coincidence that the majority of MSers PROPERLY tested for CCSVI test positive? I think not! To be perfectly honest I believe those who haven't been found to have CCSVI have had one of two travesties occur. Option 1: They were misdiagnosed in the first place and don't really have MS at all. Thus they don't have CCSVI. Whatcha think 'bout them apples?

Ever heard of WebMD? Several of my docs sadly have not. It's a wealth of information, I tell ya! Oodles and gobs of neurological disorders out there worthy of making it on an episode of HOUSE, M.D. many, many of which could be masquerading as plain 'ol MS. I kid you not! THINK ABOUT IT!

And my personal favorite, as I feel this one has happened to me is, Option 2: Not being tested properly. Remember this IS new territory people. For example, newbie docs set in their ways either not really wanting to find anything or worse yet wanting nothing more than to disprove this Italian vascular cuckoo. How dare he of little significance even propose their big bad MySterious MonSter of a disease could have such a simple origin. And worse yet . . . REMEDY!?

Let me clarify for those of us suffering brainfog. Yay! Another of my fave MS symptoms. Or could it be a CCSVI symptom? Anyways, why would docs wanna change the way of thinking about a disease that they learned all about on day one of their illustrious medical schoolings. Why would they wanna have to go back to school? So what if it helps their suffering patients? SO WHAT?

Or maybe they fear losing all the money they get in kickbacks from all the oober expensive MS drugs. Big Pharma? Huh?! That'll hafta be a tangent for another time. But seriously, they themselves admit they don't know how their very own drugs work against the disease because ADMITTEDLY NEUROS THEMSELVES AREN'T EVEN FOR SURE HOW MS WORKS. Duh?!?

But really. Think about it. Neuros have alot to lose with this silly little singular vascular docs discoveries. $$$$ I'll say it again. $o what if it helps their suffering patients? But I shant waste my time worrying about the greedy heartless docs of the world losing any sleep. Alas I have waaay to many MS/CCSVI symptoms of my own keeping me awake at night.

Bladder emptying issues. Muscle spasms in my legs. Throbbing swooshing behind my right ear. And last but in no way shape or form least - the beloved MS hug. If only I could see that hugging bastard, I would start by clawing his eyes out. It's as if I'm in a big medieval device hell bent on crushing my ever protesting rib cage.

But enuff about me already, this set out to be a recap piece. An anniversary celebration! Can I get a 'Yee haw!'? A year, you say? Hard to believe it's been a year since CCSVI came to light. And as widespread as it has become it has still failed to truly COME TO LIGHT! But I'm not here to rag on all my local TV stations for ignoring my countless pleas for a story. Nope. No need for that.

Much has happened in a year's time. Much. Focus on the positives. That's what I'm hear for. A nearly year long JOURNEY I've been on now. In case you hadn't noticed --- I'm growing weary y'all. Where's Bobby Knight or Lou Holtz with my pep talk already? Let's see if I can't accomplish one all on my own, shall we? Here it goes:

Seems like only yesterday I remember getting online to verify my father-in-law's hearsay that someone somewhere had , dare I say it, found a cure?! WTH? It was that fateful night that I came across the CTV news program. I remember it in eery detail. Frame for frame. Nearly line by line. And as vain as it may make me seem, I remember it more so than even the 9/11 coverage. Forgive me, this Lord, pleeeeaaaase.

But I was intensely affected by this broadcast. I didn't know it in that moment, but it would shape the next year of my life. Probably - hopefully - even longer. So there I was on my couch just as I am now watching the aforementioned life altering perhaps life saving program! Not once, but twice in it's entirety. It had been split into two clips via Youtube. I sat in silent awe of the then brief and choppy before and after accounts. MIRACULOUS!

What a weird name I had thought - Zamboni?! And to hear him talk. He struggled with his English but his PASSION came thru loud and clear! They called it the Liberation procedure. CHILLS! Everywhere! I remember thinking about one patient, "That poor bastard looks like me!" Tears welling in my eyes. Streaming down my face. I didn't dare wipe my eyes for fear I would miss something.

Denise jumping. Kathleen dancing. Marsha in heels. Yvonne's speech. There've been many tear jerking triumphs since but none has gotten to me as much as the first. The breakthru of the breakthru, if you will. I mention names you haven't heard of? I now know these ladies well. These lady pioneers!

In this time I have amassed many, many friends on Facebook from all over the world. Fellow bloggers and vloggers, all with their own wonderful stories. Boggles the mind how much I have in common with so many of these once complete strangers. I am blessed to share in the lives of so many.

Thank you all soooo much for this honor! Alice, Kimberley, Bhakti, Tina, Brenda, Tessa, Judy, Jeanine, Paul, Christopher, Ken, Diana, Dawn, Linda, Lee, Steve, Mike, Irishbear, Tommy, Carol, Devin, Sandra, Susan, Helen, Andrea, Shelly, and Thane to name just a few. As goofy as it may sound we truly have formed a wonderful family. Yay, internet! We wouldn't be nearly as far along in this miracle without you. Should I thank Al Gore too? He invented it, right?!

Alas, as always, I digress. Back to sooooo much has happened, then, right?! Docs have opened up. Docs have been shut down. One of my first new friends has passed on waiting for the procedure. Love you, Bridget! She was only 41. This is inexcusable. Grrrrr . . . And another nearly dead. Feeding tube and all. Barb is now home and resting well with her family thanks to a simple angioplasty.

There have been papers published. Conferences attended. Rallies rallied. And numerous NMSS functions crashed with handy dandy CCSVI information made available to the masses. I even hit a local walk myself, with help, of course. (Thanks, Melissa and daughter for spreading the news! And to Jason for pushing me all over downtown Evansville!)

So a year long JOURNEY! A rollercoaster. Back and forth. Up and down. Around and 'round. Then back again. And faster! You want more details? Then read my blog! Devils in the details! But pish posh with the details I say as an official MSer or over 10 years now.

Who cares which came first? The chicken or the egg? God created it ALL and I love me some eggs for breakfast and fried chicken for, wellll, truth be known - anytime hunger strikes! Whether or not this CCSVI causes MS or MS causes it is niether here nor there. The long and the short of it - the bottom line is . . . remedy the CCSVI and symptoms us MSers have thought of for years as MS symptoms are improving. Some even disappear! Period!

As if walking toe, heel, toe, heel and jumping aren't enuff - there are MSers running marathons! Riding bikes. Rock climbing. (Insert your fantasy here!) Everyday brings more good news. And bad, sure, but for every bad there's consistently ALWAYS waaay more good. And this IS my life I'm talking about so, no, I ain't lyin' people!

Some haven't seen any huge improvements. Some say none at all. That said, let me refer you back to my disproving doctors theory. Also even the most well intentioned of docs may have missed something or not done something as adequately as they should or could have. Just sayin' . . . THIS IS NEW! CUTTING EDGE!

Have I successfully gotten you up to speed? Refresher course complete? I had hoped this stroll down memory lane would fire me up to get goin' on my before video. I have a degree in journalism ya know. Emphasis in broadcasting. No pressure, right? I'd hoped to blow all the other before vids away.

There'd be super cool 80s music, of course. And it'd be all music video like utilizing my highly sought after editing skills. I've thought about mixing the wonder that I once was with what MS has done to me. But why? Why all that work? I dunno. Possibly as a distraction. My mind is racing.

Why am I not pepped? Do you feel pepped? I sure wanted to. And I don't. Maybe I should hunt down the ROCKY soundtrack and give this blog another go tomorrow. 9 more sleeps 'til the ATL. I'm feelin' like I may just need to blog. You up for it?

Or edit, or sleep, or just play Scrabble. Wait. I think my crops in Farmville may be ready. Pray for me, pleeeeeaaaaaase!

As Advertised - Part Deux

2010-10-21T05:33:00.000-07:00

So there's a bee in the truck. Yippee! Just what I needed as I am terrified of all insects that both fly and sting. Dare I say a welcome distraction from the increasingly apparent fact I prolly shouldn't be driving in my current condition. "Mom of the Year" I tell ya. Commence with the nominations already. I know I got it in the bag.

Alas we arrive. Thankfully early as I had hoped to catch a Dad of one of Asa's teammates to beg for his help. I should explain he's not just any Dad. Mr. M we shall call him. A great guy I have known since grade school. We graduated together. Him and his older brother used to mow our yard for my Dad. His mom and my dad worked together. Long time family friend. Completely trusted. THANK YOU MR. M!!!

The plan had been to wait on Mr. M to see if we could, with his help, do all we'd hoped for BEFORE getting out of the truck and going willy nilly in all directions. Wrongo! That's what I get for making plans. Enter the as of yet unseen presence of a killer bee. Once in park the truck doors fly open and the boys disperse. Lovely. Thankfully Asa turns to me after some distance to await further instruction. Good boy!

I advise to come and get me upon Mr. M's arrival and not to let Abel stray too far out of ear's shot. As the sun began sinking my nerves got the best of me. Should I even be driving at all? I remained in the truck with the rogue bee and prayed for guidance. Looky there. I had brought my cell phone. Smart girl. Yeh. I'd have patted myself on the back at this point had I had the energy to do so.

What do I do? I call my sister. Some of you may remember her from previous entries as Red Sonja. As many times as we'd fought growing up . . . I don't know what I'd do without her today. Anyways I call her and she's just getting herself or the kiddos or both out of the tub. What had I wanted from her? Nothing really. Words of encouragement possibly. Or maybe for her to tell me I couldn't accomplish what I'd set out to do. We all know how that gets me fired up.

Alas I accomplish nothing but establishing her whereabouts and my apparent lack of confidence regarding my ability or absence thereof. Quite the perdicament. She offers to help however she can. And I decline after having turned the key in the truck to check the time. Mr. M would be here. He would help me. Besides, many of the football parents just drop their kiddos at the practices anyways. He'd be fine.

Not two minutes later mom calls. I assure her I'd be okay. We'd all be okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. But unsure of that mantra myself I call Aunt Ann who I'd assumed would be on her way to church right about that time. Swing and a strike. She had been nearly all the way in Henderson, Kentucky readying to play bingo. Mr. M arrives just as I'm about to concede this battle. I explain my situation and he assures me he has no problem taking Asa back to his house after practice.

Yay! We owe you Mr. M! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. And with that and the divine intervention that must have been what got Abel's attention to retreat to the truck. Killer bee in tow we were, in the immortal words of Sir Willie Nelson, "On the Road again!" Lift the leg. Place the leg on the brake. I can do this. Left leg damnit! Right?

We arrive safe and sound to the shelter house. The scout meeting place. Once everyone arrived we were to caravan to the Black Township Fire & Rescue just out 69. Abel asked to ride with the assistant leader and his son. Mr. B, we shall call him, also a Mt. Vernon native and well trusted long time family friend.

Relieved I said, "Sure!" I felt much more at ease without the boys in the truck. Sure I was still behind the wheel of Jason's precious beloved truck, but I could sell my soul to replace that. My boys however were quite a different irreplaceable story. I'm sure you parent readers out there understand.

An awesome visit. I'm so glad we went. The Fire Chief took us on a splendid tour. The firemen had even prepared a meal for the boys. They got to spray a hose, get in a truck and a rescue boat. Abel didn't want to leave. He said he wanted to live there. He even wore his firemen hat once home and began his activity and coloring book they'd given him. We may have a future fireman on our hands here!

As the late, great Paul Harvey used to say, "And now . . . the rest of the story." How had Asa's evening gone? Welllll . . . ?! Seeing as the fire house visit was going late I panicked. I had originally told Mr. M that scouts usually ran about an hour and that quite possibly I would be back in time to get Asa from the field. But that if I was a little late I'd be at his house to get him shortly thereafter. Great plan, right?

As the fire house festivities trudged on I began envisioning Asa not wanting to go home with the M's. I envisioned him giving them a hard time. I envisioned him refusing. I envisioned alot of things. My imagination was not being very user friendly let's call it. Call in the cavalry. Amelia? You there?

Nevermind she'd had a terribly sick little girl earlier in the day. Nevermind she'd been hard at work cleaning and planting mums for her mum all day. Nevermind she'd just gotten all cleaned up and settled in for the evening. Drop everything and come help me baby sister. And, ummm, hurry while you're at it, k? So more to the point I call and ask her to please come get Asa from the football practice fields. And although it probably is, she says, "No problem."

With that I relax and began enjoying more of our tour. Alot of walking for me but I must say that having a walker with a seat is oober sweet. Don't know how I ever made it without one. And then the cell rings. "Where do I take him once I got him?" Red Sonja queries. I report my location. Apologize and thank her again. My it's taking a long time for her to get from the school to the fire house. Enter sister. But no Asa!

What the hell? Oh my God! Oh my God! Had it not been for the seat on my walker I surely would have fallen to the floor with this news. I could see in her eyes she was distraught. Just imagine how I felt. Okay? Now wipe it forever from your memories as it will surely cause nightmares. I was sickened. I was barely 7 at this point. Practice always goes longer than an hour. Something, my friends, must be wrong. God help me.

As big and as tuff as my big man is in all his football gear he his still my baby. At this revelation I found myself slumped upon my walker deaf to the tour leaders information and boys' goings-on. Dear God, please let Asa be safe. I must admit big tuff I own a gun and I'll kick your ass Angela was legitimately scared this Halloween season. Boo!

I give Amelia the best directions I can muster to the M's house. White Blazer. White Explorer. White Easter Bunny. Who knows what the hell I had said. It was by the Grace of God that I even spoke English at this point. Please, please, please let him be safe and sound at the M's. Eventually -- after much prayer and a hopefully not too rudely ignored tour -- Asa reappeared. Thank You Jesus!!! (And Amelia.)

Come to find out he had been at the football fields all along. Amelia made it to the M's house no thanks to my horrific directions only to be greeted by Mrs. M who had not seen or heard from her footballers let alone Asa. I can't even phathom the sinking feeling Amelia must have felt at this news. Geesh! Luckily she had the wherewithall to return to the fields. And behold, Asa was there. Pissed he didn't get to go home with his buddy, but alive and well readers. Alive and well!

Amelia didn't stay to chit chat. I could tell she was done doing good deeds for the night. The week? The month? Possibly the year. And rightly so. All three of us Orth girls may have earned a few extra gray hairs over the course of the evening. And you know what? Mine was just beginning. The tour continued . . .

My legs grew weaker. I followed less and less closely behind. Mostly because of fatigue but also do to Asa's snarling at me from his disappointment of not getting to go with his friend. Normally I would have corrected that attitude. He was being rude. To me and the tour guide. But in my weakened state I let relief reign supreme and just relished in the fact he was there -- pissed off or otherwise. Yell spit and kick if ya wanna -- I didn't care.

Then it donned on me that he may have also treated Amelia this way. I confronted him with this and he said, "No. I wasn't her fault." Then I reasoned, "So it's mine?" And after a pause for thought he answered, "No." And all was again right with the world. Can I get an Amen?

In hindsight I suppose a better Mom would have told niether of them that they could have their way. That niether of them were going anywhere. Mom's a crippled. Tuff luck. Suck it up! But you know what? Even after a night like last night I'm still not to that point. As down as I've been I'm still not a quitter. Nevermind the fortitude, besides, these days I don't even have the energy to throw in the towel.

So what's next in the Spindler adventures? A pack meeting tonite. Mom's already called this morning to offer to take the boys wherever they need to go. Ya know what? Tonite they ain't goin' nowhere! NOWHERE I TELL YA!!!

As for me however . . . rumor has it I may just have a little traveling to do in my not so distant future. "Where to?" you ask. To LIBERATION my friends. I need it now more than ever. Details to follow. After me and Gooch get our naps out of course. Is that snoring I hear already? Lazy pit bull!

Blog Knockin'

2010-10-20T19:20:00.000-07:00

Wellll, tonite finally did it. Tonite has knocked the blog right out of me. I'm back sports fans. And after the night I just encountered, I'm back with a vengeance. First, to those who have been scouring the obits for my name -- I AM ALIVE! Why the hiatus? Vacation perhaps? Sabbatical? Nay. I have been in a very dark place.

So dark in fact I haven't felt like writing. And for those of you dear readers that truly know me -- you know that must mean DARK! Usually I try to make lite of the grimmest of situations I find myself in. Usually I fuse sarcasm with attempted wit and poke fun at my debilitating, crippling disease. Usually. But not as of late.

Why so long getting back in the saddle so to speak? Why bring you the audience down with me? That had never been my intention. My intent had always been to share with you the ups and downs of this horrendous disease. You surely know more now about MS than you'd ever wanted to, right? I know I do!

This blog began as a journey to LIBERATION. Trouble being the light at the end of the tunnel had been snuffed out. Why keep writing from complete darkness? "I have been inside your veins," professed the Doctor. "There is nothing out of the ordinary in there." Fine.

Next the Low Dose Naltrexone battle. We won the battle but not the war. He prescribed it, BUT it hasn't showed me any improvements. As a matter of fact I'm still getting around terribly. And after two rounds of high dose oral steroids -- NADA. No improvements. None. Unless weight gain and acne can be counted as such.

Enuff with excuses. I've been here all this time. Just uninspired to write, until this very moment. Until this very night. So here goes nothin': What to do? What to do? Jason out of town. And the in-laws out of town. Not the most ideal of situations for me to be in, BUT as I've said before . . . I'm an Orth. I got this! Wellll, tonite -- not so much. Not without the help of another Orth.

I'm not sure where I left off. But Asa is shaping up to be one hell of a football player. Abel too really. I'm so proud of them both. And of myself having only missed one of their practices. And none of their games. No joke. I love it so much I'd crawl on all fours to make it there. How embarrassing for them, right? I know, but it's football. Priorities!

Anyway tonite Abel had a scout meeting at the fire house and Asa had a football practice. Both wanted very badly to go to their own things and I wanted to make it happen. I rested all day in hopes I could make this happen. Logistics be damned! I got this. Cha, right?! First was supper. Use of the oven not my brightest of ideas. Heat = baaaaad! But the lasagna was a hit. Not a homemade hit, but for a frozen Stouffer's deal -- not so bad.

Then getting them and me ready to go. Asa, bless his soul, dressed himself pads, gear and all. Abel would need his scout uniform thrown in the dryer a bit to get the wrinkles out. Another baaaad idea. Heat from the dryer is the worst. Yikes! Wasn't aware until now that this disease apparently causes permanent brain damage. I mean c'mon Angela -- you know better than this stupid shit you are doing! Buy a clue already.

So Asa offers to help me outside with my walker and Abe finds the missing keys to the truck. Great. I'm all hunkered over and barely walking, but . . . great! I was at this point still upright and hopeful. Once at the rear of the truck I lowered the tail gate as Asa stood and held the walker. As I open it out rolls an empty water bottle. And my earth friendly son goes toward the street to fetch it. "No!" I yell, now leaning over the tailgate just to stay standing. "Help me get this walker folded!"

Welllll, he obeys. But to my surprise the french fries and various other trash from last weekends excursions remained inside the storage compartment below the walkers seat. No biggie besides the fact that the compartment must be empty to allow the walker to fold. Should I sling the trash to the curb with the water bottle? Nah. After all this is Park Ridge. What would the neighbors think?

I have Asa return to the house for a trash bag and bless his heart he obliges but returns not having shut the front door. That aside, my legs are growing weaker by the second. And I still had a walker to lift. Up, up and . . . DAMNIT! How as the walker to fit with the fishing poles? I pray I didn't harm the poles, BUT the walker, especially at this point, had become a necessity.

Abel back in the house to fetch Asa's helmet and slam the front door almost shut and off we'd go. Welllll, almost. Anyone ever try getting in their respective vehicle with a jacked up floor mat? No biggie, right? WRONG! Wrong especially if it's a big heavy rubber truck mat -- wrinkled and crooked. And that's not all folks. Trash restricting it's return to proper placement. Grrrr . . .

I know you're thinkin' "quit yer bitchin', bitch" but I reply, "BITE ME!" My legs already feel easily 100 pounds or more each and my overly weakened remainder of my uncooperative body, welllll I'm too tired now to even explain. Just enuff of my right ass cheek met with the seat to allow for some grunting and cussing and hoisting and eventually I was ready to go. As ready that was as I'd ever be.

Both kiddos nervous, and mom a little too this time, off we were in to the wild blue yonder. Chit chat about driver safety and school goings on commenced as I concentrated fully on lifting my almost completely worthless right leg to brake and/or accelerate as needed. By the time we'd reached Moll's I had thrown in the towel and started using my left leg. Better, I suppose, but still very odd.

And just to add to the thrill ride as we turn on to Tile Factory Abel proclaims, "There's a bee back here, Mommy!" Yay! Mommy loves bees.

But my eyes are growing weary now. Great. I guess I'll continue this rant tomorrow . . . if my eyes will let me. And my fingers cooperate. More to come . . . I hope! Later.

A Birthday, School, and Immobility

2010-08-27T07:31:00.000-07:00

"How you feelin' this morning?" My reply: LIKE CRAP! But it's a beautiful Sunday morning. A day the Lord has made! And we should be greatful and REJOICE in it. Amen.

It was August 15th 2010 to be exact. With soooo much to do, remember? It was my youngest son's 7th birthday. And although I hardly if ever journey into their room to wake them anymore - my precious Abe had asked me last night to wake him up very first thing on his birthday. "Mommy, pleeeeaaaase!" he said. How could I not?

So even before Jason's alarm went off, I sit up on the edge of my bed to collect myself. Now where had that balance ran off to? Could he be hiding under my bed? Had him and the strength in my legs gone on a permanent vacation? Whether or not they are to ever return, their absence this day must be overcome. "God give me strength," I prayed.

Before attempting to stand, I survey the room to get my bearings. Although the windows were covered with shades and semi-shear brown curtains I could tell the sun was already up and hard at it because although the walls remained white the deep chocolate brown bed cover and dark cherry furniture that filled the room made the master bedroom easily the darkest in the house until about 8 o'clock AM these days. Thus, I'd better get a move on if we were to make it to church. "God give me speed," I prayed.

To my feet and nearly stable I call out to Jason before I set out on my journey. First, should I fall I wanted him awake to hear my cries for help. And second, I needed him desperately if this train were to have any chance of leaving the station on time. "It's time to wake up darlin'," I'd said. I imagine he may have woke long enuff to see me standing and talking sweetly only to return to sleep thinking it had all been a dream. No way, no how his wife would be standing, walking, and speaking sweetly.

First to the foot of the bed, then hands to the tall dresser and once somewhat steady my legs slowly, carefully follow. Then the door frame, the hall, turn the corner and any suspision I'd had about the sun being up were settled loud and clear. Even before I reached the always opened door the bright orange color from their walls met me smack in the face. The sun projected the vivid orange across the white hall walls and cream colored carpet. 'How could they still be asleep in all this light?' I wondered.

Although this room is officially Abe's - since it is the largest of the others both boys share it for sleeping purposes thus far. And I know I spoke of them being spoiled earlier . . . each of them sleeps atop their own set of bunk beds. Asa's has a full bed on bottom and Abe's did have at one point but has been removed to allow for more room to play. A fabulous idea by the way should your kiddo wanna tent or fort or dungeon or whatever.

Slowing a bit to give the 'ol pupils a better chance to adjust to the light I find myself grasping the tall dresser at the head of Abel's bed nearly nose to nose with Goldie the gold fish. Aside from the sunlight bursting thru the blinds there was a light heating the fish tank atop one dresser, a light from the television left on atop te other, and a bed side stop light lamp to boot. I mean what brightly decorated boys' bedroom with a traffic signs motif would ever be complete without one of those? C'mon, right?!

As ridiculous as an extra light sounded at this juncture, in the complete dark of night it does serve it's purpose showing their Daddy the way amongst the dirty clothes and toys scattered about the floor. Most helpful indeed in the prayer saying and good night kiss having bedtime rituals. I miss out on that stuff these days too. Really sux! Luckily though we have managed to change up our routine a bit. Now before they make their nightly climbs they swing by my room to kiss and hug me good night. And some of the time Asa even sneeks me up a snack. That's my boy!

A complete disregard of the rules as I prolly shouldn't be eating in bed, but he loves his Mama and she loves her snacks! Now to disregarding the stop signs and yield signs and CAUTIONS, I trudged forward feeling first along the wall, then dresser and finally to the top bunk where he had barricaded himself behind a mound of pillows. Wonder what on earth he had been protecting himself from? And even more mind boggling was how he'd gotten a hold of that many pillows? I didn't think we owned that many pillows?! Had he raided Aunt Jean's hotel? A mystery, for sure!

Finally, I reach the well-lit, pillow hoarding, fort building birthday boy. He awakens easily, and excited. Surprised to see me, the brightness in his gorgeous green eyes brightens the room even further. (Note to self: Next trip wear sungleasses!) He immediately asks, "Is it my birthday?" And holding tight to the upper bunk's railing I reply, "It sure is!" whilst reminding God of my prayer for strength and adding an addendum to said prayer - Also grant this bed and/or whatever other furniture I might later need to 'rest' upon strength to hold me up! Can I get an amen? All addendums need amens to work. You didn't know?

So next he gets to his knees and lifts both arms asking for a hug. Shouldn't be a problem. Didn't used to be a problem. Would it be a problem? And we hug. Such a tight sweet hug! I loved it. Standing free of all support but only my 7 year olds love and hug. A birthday miracle! And then letting go he asks for help down. Yikes! Used to I'd just reach up, take him under the arms and turn to place him gently on the floor. Hmmm . . .

Nope. Couldn't risk it. Not even 50 lbs. yet I should still be able to do it but didn't wanna risk injuring him or myself. I declined by telling him how big he'd got since the last time I'd done it. Still appearing unconvinced I grasped the railing for support again and continued, "but you're 7 now. You don't need Mommy's help." Still he looked perplexed. That little booger could see right thru me. He raised an eyebrow and commenced to a solo descent. I even offered to get Daddy in there as he explained to me it wasn't that he needed help. He rationed, "It's just for fun, Mom."

Had I just gone from Mommy to Mom in that dialog? Time flies I tell ya. No more story tellin' for me I guess. Next time I just lay out the facts: "Well baby cakes you are lucky I am in here at all. I feel as tho I'm about to fall and am already wondering how the heck I'm gonna make it out of your room let alone down thestairs and to church. MS sux, my man. Just plain sux. And I'm sorry. As bad as it sux for you that I can't swing ya down from bed like I used to, just know it sux a bazillion more times for me. There's so much more things I wanna do with you.

I wanna wake you up every morning. I wanna make you breakfast. And not just the quickie kind in the wrapper or cereal. I wanna fry eggs. Bacon. Make pancakes. Maybe french toast. I wanna see you off on the bus or better yet, even drive you there myself. I miss drivin'. I miss my car. I wanna be a room mother at school. Throw parties for your class. And help out where needed. I aced a children's literature class in college and would love to take part in some interactive story times. Heck, I'd even like to volunteer a day or two a week to help out with recess duty. That'd be cool, heh?

Why not everyday then? Well, I got alot of stuff needs doin' at home too. I wanna keep the house clean including the dishes and clothes. Daddy should never have to wash a dish again. And you guys . . . why should you guys have to waste your afternoons home from school pickin' up the living room? I don't got nuthin' to do all day, right? I could do it. I wanna do it, but CAN'T because of this darned MS. Sux! I wanna have lunch fixed for Daddy when he gets home. Or when he wants to go out he should be able to without worrying about poor 'ol mama.

He should play golf or go out or whatever and not have to come home to feed me and let out the dog. Silly really I can't perform those two little remedial easy peasy lemon squeezy tasks. And when you two arrive home from school I should have snacks and an afternoon activity ready to go. Time for homework should be set aside and I should be able to help. Fourth grade story problems shouldn't overwhelm me like they do. I used to be an honor student for pete's sake.

I pray, pray, pray each and every day that you two don't get this horrible disease. It sux not only for me. I know that. I get that. It sux for everyone I love too. So more to do after school? Screw the bus, let's say I come and get ya. I'd love to ya know? I might even bring Gooch along. Wanna get involved in any after school programs? I used to play basketball and volleyball, but I used to could throw a mean spiral too. And my cousin who used to rock at soccer showed me how to dribble thru cones.

Or, I know, horses! Why don't we start showin' horses? Anything you guys want. I want for you. And I wanna be a part of. An active helper. Coach. Assistant coach. Chaperoene. Driver. Whatever. I wanna Super Mom tights and cape. No mask neccesary as I want everyone to know my true identity. And really that's who I am. I AM SUPER MOM!!! I'm just trapped inside this body that no longer cooperates with me. She sure used to though. Damn! I'm sorry I cussed little man. I'm trying to stop, but you know that.

So after our afternoon activities whilst you all veg in front of the tv, I wanna fix supper. Yes me in the kitchen - all alone. Well maybe Gooch can come keep me company, but NO helpers needed. I know you wondering, 'can mom cook?' and as a matter of fact YES I CAN! I just so happen to come from a long line of cookers and am fairly confident I could do a fine job if I were able to stand, walk and tolerate the heat from the stove and or oven. From time to time I can churn out a delicious lasagna or casserole or cake, remember?

I think Daddy can vouch for me on this one. Waaay back when we lived in the apartment I used to have supper fixed for him. Me, yes. I used to fix supper. Mashed potatoes, peas, pork chops, etc. I'm not a one trick pony. I promise. Really. When I am capable of doing -- I do! That being said my dear birthday boy, I don't think I am capable of lifting you from the top bunk and safely placing you on the ground. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!"

That was quite a rant, am I right? Prolly a bit much for my 7 year old to swallow so early in the morning, if at all. Alas my saying whatever white little lie it was I'd said was much more fitting of the situation. Plus had I climbed upon that soap box we surely would have missed church. First because of the time the speech would have taken. And last and more realistically -- no doubt I would have fallen from said box and been unable to make it anywhere but the emergency room. Huh! Just sayin' . . .

Next order of business then was makin' it over to the big man's bunk. Option 1: continue to follow the furniture and walls back around to his bed. Geesh, this room is huge! Or, option 2: turn supporting yourself with Abe's rail and bravely make the one huge unsupported step it would take to reach Asa's rail. Yikes, right?! Or finally, option 3: just scream!

And can you guess which option Super Mom trapped in an uncooperative body chose? "Hey, Goose! It's time to get up!" she belted with gusto. Or not. Maybe I just raised my voice a little, but either way all of the birthday boy's commotion had already caused the big man to be wrestling about with his comforter. Dun, da, duhn, would it be the big man or the blanket who prevails? And both the kiddos were on their way down the hall to their bathroom as their Daddy emerged stunned from his room.

I wish I could have greeted him with a confident hand to his chest and say, "I got this!" Ha! Instead I reached out to him for assistance down the hall. (Note to self: Lose some damn weight lard ass, and maybe your hubby could just throw you over his shoulder and carry you around!) Once downstairs it all started coming together. Bippedy, boppity, boo! And we were out the door. Had the fairy godmother mistaken our house for Cinderella's? She was gettin' up there in years. It could happen.

As always, sunday school was great. Abel and Jason had even gone up front before service to be recognized for having birthdays. The entire congregation sang our church's birthday song to them. Me and Asa hands down sang the loudest. Then when it came time for church Jason and the boys headed home whilst I was left in the capable hands of Aunt Ann. Yes, I absolutely should have went home too since the cake still needed iced and decorated, BUT the Lord had a stronger hold of me. I wanted to stay. I needed to stay.

And I'm so glad I did. Sharon sang. Oh my. One of her regulars about 'no more sorrow, no more pain . . .' -- a tear jerker if there ever was one. Gets me everytime! And then one I'd never heard , or at least don't remember hearing. Wow! I didn't know whether to hug my sis sitting next to me or crawl over the pew to curl up next to Aunt Ann. It was about loved ones over there. My tear filled eyes looked back to meet Aunt Ann's tear filled eyes and I reached back for her kleenex clinched hand. Woe is me.

And the message, as always, spot on! Did I wanna re-join my loved ones in heaven? Well, duh Uncle Scott! I sure did. And what did I need to do to get there? An alter call. I wanna go! I always wanna go. But can I? Prolly best I stay sittin'. Maybe rest my head on the pew in front of me and just say a few words from there. A wise man (yeh, my Uncle Scott) once told me you can let the Lord into your heart absolutely anywhere you are! AMEN!

So on our way out to the car two different gentlemen of the church ask if they can assist us lovely ladies in any way. Why, sure, please, and thank you kind sirs! They folded my walker and placed it carefully in Aunt Ann's trunk. And then made sure I was in and comfortable before closing my door. Sweet, I tell ya! The only things missing were the red carpet and the paparazzi. And maybe some more elegant shoes than my ratty 'ol Pumas, but you can't really see 'em for my walker anyways.

So we go to Dean's for lunch. We, of course, meaning: Granny and Papaw (both mine and the boys'), Amelia and kiddos, Aunt Ann, and me and my three hunks. How'd I ever luck into such a gorgeous crew? I'm blessed. As crappy as I may feel and as down as I get . . . bottom line is I AM BLESSED!!! And days like August 15th 2010 are great shining examples of just how! Thank You Jesus for all You are doing in my life. For all You have done and for all You will do. Amen.

Examples, you ask? Well, here ya go: All of us together. My Mom joined us all after at our house. Celebrating a birthday. Cake that was iced and decorated just in the nick of time. Abe actually recognizing the free-handed drawing of the Pokemon character he'd asked for. (I'll post a pic later. I'm a wee bit proud even surprising myself with how it turned out!) All the presents and the presence.

And whilst trying not to sound too much like a mastercard commercial, having enuff energy afterwards to pick -up a bit and make it upstairs to bed - PRICELESS! OK, I admit it. I was hoping to sound like a mastercard commercial. Waaay better than the vikings yelling, "What's in your wallet?" Anyways, back to Sunday. We game and eat candy like gaming candy fiends. Then shower. Then go to bed. It had been a big weekend and a big day. And guess what readers? An even bigger day lurked.

"Wakey, wakey. Eggs and bakey!" Wait for it. Wait for it. "NOT!" It's time for school, turkeys! How's about a doughnut? Hustle, hustle, hustle! Bing, bang, boom. A whine here and a protest there. The screeching brakes of the bus and they were gone. Silence! What's a girl to do but snuggle with her pit bull? Poor guy awoke from several different naps that day to look around the house for the boys. Silly puppy! Could he have missed 'em as much as me?

When would 3 o'clock ever get here? "Six whole hours, Mom," Abel would remind me. He calls me Mom now. Bizarro! Anywho I told him it'd go by in a flash. Had I lied to him again? The day was creepin' along as slow as molasses. Another analogy? As slow as me! Ha! Now that's funny! But would I still be laughing at 3? Tick tock. Tick tock. Was that the bus I'd heard?

More next time on the first days and weeks of 1st and 4th grade. And guess who's playin' football? Hmmmmm . . . well, it ain't me!

Splish, Splash

2010-08-20T12:23:00.000-07:00

I did it. I did it. Yaaaaaaay, me! Sure I took a risk wearing my new 2 piece suit, but the old 2 piece was beginning to fail me and my trusty 'ol one piece was proving more and more difficult to maneuver during bathroom trips. I knew right away luck was on my side as I pulled up the enormous looking size 20 bottoms and heard the elastic snap snugly just at my belly button.

My Mom had gotten this suit for me nearly eons ago now, but I'd still hadn't had the energy to try it on. As a matter of fact all I'd done before packing them up was hold them up to myself to determine how huge I was sure they would be. C'mon, Mom. I'm sure I'm no more than a size 18 at my hugest. Geesh! What had she been thinkin'? I'd even planned on taking them in a bit on each side seam by hand during the ride up.

Forgetting to pack my sewing kit turned out to be a blessing. Although deep inside I'd hoped they fall off of me and to the floor, as I just couldn't be THAT big. Instead Mom had proved to know best yet again and they fit like a glove. And this was a good thing as my other 2 piece option, which I didn't even bother to pack, had quit being effective at staying up quite possibly some years earlier.

I must confess the now ill-fitting suit was one of my first official maternity pieces. And tho we've suffered a few close calls together I just can't seem to let 'er go. Ha! Trouble is she has no problem letting go of me. Maybe I'll just retire the bottoms and keep the baby doll top to wear with some cut-off blue jeans. Everything goes well with Daisy Dukes, dahling, EVERYTHING!

Didn't know I was a closet fashionista, did ya? Well, I am! I just don't have the energy needed to experiment anymore. And I turn enuff heads already with the horribly awkward way I get around. A pink wig with ultra cool funky clothes nowadays may just make people's heads explode. And I wouldn't want that mess all over me. Showering soooo wears me out.

Where was I? Ahhhh, yes, dressing for the pool. Now for the top. I'd planned on taking that in too. And that, my friends, is still my plan. Built with the same elastic as the matching bottoms it seemed more than capable of properly supporting, well, anything that needed supporting. Complete with formed cups inside just above an elastic band to aid in this "supporting role," this suit may just be, (dare I say it?) - the perfect suit!

Over the head and down with the tankini top. And, "Noooooo!" I'm all for showing a little cleveage now and then, BUT considering the elastic band failed to even ever so lightly hug me - apparently the designer planned for a thicker torso to go with them D cups. A 44D perhaps, whereas I have somehow miraculously remained a 38D. The math then? Each of the side seams would have to come in about 3 inches each. No problem once I'm home, but what to do now?

The ever kind hubby speaks up above the boys repeated pleas to hurry, and says, "It looks fine, Babe." And maybe it had, sitting there precariously low already - without the added weight of the water. That is what I was worried about. And then he says, surprised, "Oh! You're gettin' in?" Well yeh! This could be my last chance 'til we make it back up here, or maybe even - EVER at the rate I was deteriorating.

I hadn't planned on getting in right away as I wanted to insure the boys got some quality swim time in before I risked ruining it all by falling, getting stuck, or even drowning, etc. But I had scoped the place out the day before and located a lift chair in one of the smaller 3 - 4 ft. pools. As luck would have it, it was the very same pool that had the basketball goals. ; ) Score one for the former basketball player!

The plan was I'd use the steps and the hand rails to get in and if upon exiting my legs proved too weak (as they had earlier at my pool at home), Jason would alert a lifeguard and we would pray there was no outrageous weight limit on the lift chair. Worst case - Amelia was only 2 1/2 hours away. Hehehehe. Red Sonja to the rescue!

So with check-out at 11:00, we'd packed up, straightened the room and loaded the truck by 10. Why the rush? I'd hoped for a small rest before hitting the pool. DENIED! Couldn't rest for the begging. And besides, I wasn't THAT worn out, as all I'd done all morning was stuff my face and put on my suit. It was the men that had done all the tuff stuff. And if it was swimmin' they wanted . . .

Then swimmin' we'd go! And boy did we. Just as I planned I didn't get in right away, but when I did it had gone, wellllll, swimmingly! I'm not such a bad walker at all under water. And I so enjoyed not gettin' any weird ass "wonder why the hell SHE'S in a wheelchair?" stares. Normalcy is soooo underrated.

I mean really!?! What's worse than a random kid gawking at you in a wheelchair? Anybody? A random kid AND both his parents gawking at you in a wheelchair. Had they missed school the day they taught manners? Look up etiquette why don't ya. That is, of course, if you can read. Duh?! Take a picture next time people, it'll last longer. Thankfully the cool of the water dampened my thoughts of going postal - at least for a bit. I had prayed for calm. And again I received.

Also, I was reminded that all people aren't inherently bad. As luck or grace would have it, there was a very kind couple who fell all over themselves to assist me and Jason with my awkward transitions from chair to pool and back again. And get this . . . all the while they hadn't gawked. No mouths hanging open and no bugged eyes of confusion. Just kind, caring people.

Then upon leaving the pool another example of God's presence occurred when a Dad, Mom, two boys and a little girl exited the elevator we'd been waiting on. As they filed past us I overheard the Mom whisper something to the eldest of her boys who had just so happened to be holding the door open for his family. Once empty he shifted positions from inside to outside of the elevator, but continued holding the door . . .

And once on the outside the young gentleman also added a smile. How kind. Sure the Mom may have asked him to or at least felt like reminding him to, but I felt that he had intended to all along. Thank you young man! And, good job, Mom! Kudos to both parents for teaching manners and anti-gawking! And to me and Jason too as we and both our gentlemen in training thanked the young man as we passed. Maybe there was still hope for the world afterall.

Or had I been thrust into the Twilight Zone? The boys hadn't whined when we said it was time to go. And people were being nice. Somebody pinch me. Or not as it'd prolly hurt. My MS hug was nearing unbearable so surely I wasn't dreaming. But just in case, once loaded up and buckled in I clicked my heels together three times. "There's no place like home. There's no place like home." And with NO stops and NO funnel clouds - we found ourselves at home in NO time. And what's better than arriving home from being away? Answer: Arriving to a clean home. Thank you, thank you, thank you Granny and Papaw!

And Gooch thanks you too! Him and Papaw are now buddies 'cause Papaw had come over to feed and let him out while we were away. I just knew they'd hit it off. What I didn't know was that kennels aren't exactly excited about housing a pit bull? If they only about his fear of butterflies. Grrrrrrr! You may not know this, but I'm the growler in the family. Let me put that in caps, GGRRRRRRRR! Ferocious, right?!

So we're home. And exhausted. And we've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Sunday? Yep. Church? Yep. August 15th? Yep. My Dad would say, "First day of squirrel hunting season!" Maybe. I dunno. Doesn't the actual start date change every year? I'm all for shootin' squirrels whenever they'll slow down enuff to let me. Hehehe, but I've never killed one myself. My Dad on the other hand was upset August 15, 2003 'cause he was stuck over at the hospital missin' out on huntin'.

Why, you ask? Ahhhhhh, yes! ABEL'S BIRTHDAY!!! The big day ahead of us was Abel Robert's 7th birthday. (Named for my Dad of course!) So much to do and so little time left. And even less energy. "Jason?" I ask, "You feel up to baking a cake?" (Let's hope he does!) Where's Glinda and her magic wand when I really need her? Of all the times to leave town, Connie, Shelley, geesh!

Dun, Daah, Da . . . [for the hearing impaired, that's old school cliffhanger music]
Will the cake get baked? Iced? Decorated? And where did all the presents go? Learn the answers to these questions and more in the next installment of 'Big Mama's Blatherings.'

Last Hoorah!

2010-08-19T16:13:00.001-07:00

Wednesday night, not unlike Christmas Eve, was the night before my baby's birthday. We dropped the kiddos by Granny and Papaw's and headed for Evansville. We joined our very good friends, Ryan and Angel for dinner at Logan's Steakhouse. A birthday eve celebration, if you will, since we would be leaving town the very next day on his real birthday. Thanks guys! We love ya.

Next we stopped at Wal-Mart in search of Abe something for his birthday. Again with our going out of town this would be our last chance to do any shopping without the kiddos along. It was now or never as we scowered the aisles. Well, Jason pushed my chair and my belly full, I sat back and relaxed, but still we scowered. It was hard shopping for him as we get him everything he wants usually as soon as he wants it. We're horrible spoiling parents. Kids just love us.

Once home I commence to wrapping and Jason commences to deciding packing for our trip would have to wait until tomorrow. I wasn't tired, but I guess I didn't walk around all of Wal-Mart front ways and back ways whilst pushing my overweight wife. Stop here. Turn here. No there. Wait! Can you back up? Allllright. Bedtime time then. G'night all.

Thursday morning EARLY at a little past 1 on one of my many trips to the bathroom I officially became the first to wish my baby a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! He grunted a thanks and rolled over. Still early in the night he hadn't even made it a quarter of the way down the incline yet. Hehehe. An amuzing Spindler fun fact: I can tell what time it is by assessing how far down the bed Jason has slid.

Up and at 'um birthday boy! After all, birthday or not, it was still trash day. And I'd hoped we'd be up early enuff to straighten up a bit as I hate leaving the house in such disarray. Wish in one hand and shit in the other the saying goes. And see which one fills up faster. So there I sat all alone. The house nearing wreck status, packing needed done and did Jason let the dog out? I know he hadn't fed him. Poor Gooch.

Should I sit and try to rest up? Or should I wear myself out attempting to pack? Such a remedial task I used to take such pride in doing – I now feared would take me all morning, leave me exhausted, and even worse – scatterbrained, if left solely to me I'd undoubtedly leave something of crucial importance behind. What to do? What to do? It was only 2 nights . . .

So I try and relax. No good. Make a list of what we needed, perhaps? Started to but ultimately a waste of precious time. I spotted a basket of clean clothes and in Jason's small bout of optimism this morning, he had brought the large suitcase in to me. I matched the basket's contents the best I could and began two piles. Two outfits with socks and underwear for one boy and 1 ½ for the other.

As for me I'd grabbed all I thought I'd need on my way down. Smart girl, heh? Well, I'd forgotten my night times meds, BUT at least I realized I'd forgotten them. So far anyways. Jason's shirts were in the dining room awaiting hangers, but I wanted Jason to pick out his own stuff. Besides undies and socks which I'd also already thrown in with all my stuff. I was gettin' alot further along than I'd thought I would. Yay, me!

When Jason got home then expecting to see an empty suitcase, I could proudly tell him we only needed a few more things. We'd need a shirt for Abe and one extra outfit for each boy, just in case. We'd need my night time meds and all the DSs and chargers. That's not so bad for bein' immobile. There'd have to be at least one trip upstairs before our departure to turn up the thermostat and double check that everything was turned off. I wished I could've ran up there and been completely packed. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be surprised and proud anyways.

Scheduled for a meeting or meetings (not sure which) all morning long I wasn't about to call him at work, but just as I was about to worry about time, he called saying he'd be on his way shortly. He was going to go out to lunch with his Aunt Ann for his birthday. Starving, I asked where he'd be going. Chinese, heh? Nevermind. Tummy rumbling I proceeded to the bathroom to fetch the toiletries for packing. I must mention again here how wonderful my new pink walker is. The beneath the seat storage compartment – BRILLIANCE! And it got quite the work out that morning.

When Jason made it home he didn't say he was proud of me for all I'd accomplished, but his look of relief that he didn't have as much to do as he'd expected – wellll, that was worth all my blood sweat and tears. OK, I hadn't bled, broke a sweat, or cried, but I was growing desperate for rest and food. Not enuff to eat Chinese take out, but famished nonetheless.

One quick trip up. Zip 'er up. "Where's your shoes?" he asks. "You ready?" I still need to at least pee and brush my teeth. I thought I was the only one in the hurry as I was the only one at risk of missing her all time favorite show on television. "Wait for me Heidi," I thought to myself. I so hoped we'd make it in time for 'Project Runway.' Surely we would. Wanna stop at Mickey D's? Nah. Let's get the boys first in case they're hungry. And away we went . . .

Would we make it in time? A better question - - - Would we make it at all? Just past Vincennes I spot what I think may be a funnel cloud. I glance at the speedometer and determine we are going enuff above the speed limit to just get up and go past this eery cyclonic formation. Should that truly be what I think it is. "Please God," I prayed right then and there, "please keep my family safe!" Then I try focusing on scenery out the right side of the truck. There must be something alot less fascinating to look to the east. I closed my eyes tight this time and prayed my prayer again adding to it this time that my tension not be prematurely revealed to any other of the trucks fragile occupants.

Where we slowing down? SHIT! Jason had spotted it too. Trying not to alert the kiddos he motioned to the phenomenon nonchalant like with his left hand as if he were merely adjusting the visor. Ha! I'm waaay ahead of you here sweet thang. I'd already prayed twice about it. And as my jaws were beginning to ache I must have prayed each silent prayer with my teeth intensely grinding one another. If I didn't stop the gritting shenanigans a head cake would arrive in no time. Just breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

As calm and cool as he'd pretended to be, I could see past his cherades. He'd already inadvertantly slowed the vehicle. He hadn't braked, but just forgot to keep on the gas pedal as he'd been busy gawking at the, ummm, cloud let's call it. Just a cloud 'til proven guilty in a court of law. Or in this case a court of meteorologists. Either way I was growing nauseous. But stopping was the last thing I wanted to do. Sure other cars were doing it, but just because your friends jump off a bridge doesn't mean you have to do it too! I never was one to succumb to peer pressure.

"But I wanna take a picture," Jason whined. "So take one," I told him. "Hit the gas and I'll steer," I offered, "but, I want out of here NOW!" And that's when the peanut gallery became aware of the precarious situation we'd tried so diligently to keep secret. "What's that, Dad?" "Mom. You see that?" I answered calm enuff to kick Meryl Streep's acting ass, "Yeh, I see it sweet pea." Then I glance over to Jason working on his photography skills and continue my politician like answer. "I sure do see it, but I don't wanna for too much awful longer." And changed the subject. (Maybe I should run for some sort of office. Whatcha think?)

Jason did get a picture and sent it out to some of the guys he works with. One of which actually survived a tornado. Thank you, Wes for responding to his picture because he gave me the daunting task of responding to your post. He told me what to say and I was to type it in. I don't know how many times he had to re-tell me what to type. And it wasn't even that long of a response, but I apparently took my sweet time typing as we'd almost made it to Terre Haute by the time I finished. But what a truly welcome distraction that had been. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Jason and Wes. And last but not least God for answering my prayers.

Just under an hour from Terre Haute we arrived at our destination. INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA. We call it Indy. Abel carried the games. Asa pulled the suitcase. And Jason pushed the Angela. And I claimed my bed before he'd set the brakes on the wheelchair. As I searched for the Lifetime channel Jason ordered pizza and the boys began begging to swim. I would have ceremoniously kissed the floor had we not been in a hotel room and had it not been a near impossibility for me to do unassisted. I was sooo happy to have made it safe and sound. Praise God!

After a delicious pizza we kicked back a tic to enjoy more begging. Then trunks on, the men folk headed down the hall to the pool. I wanted to go but feared I'd over do and miss out on the big pool festivities planned for Friday and Saturday. And although I'd been unable to find Lifetime as of yet, perhaps I'd overlooked them amidst all the begging and pizza ordering. What kind of cruel world was this? Was I trapped in a world void of 'Project Runway?' Maybe if I went thru the channels again I'd be able to spot Heidi or Tim or Nina or nooooooo . . . say it isn't so. Guess I'd be missin' my show.

I was dozing off upon their triumphant return. Night time meds, prayers, good nights and lights out. Except for the bathroom of course cause I figured I be there at least a time or two before it was all said and done. There was just enuff space between the wall and the bed though that I'd need to be able to take an entire step unassisted more than likely resulting in needed help from my precious birthday boy. "Get up sucka! I need help. Whattya think this is? Your birthday?" Hehehehe.

Bright and early Friday morning Jason brings us all waffles and bananas. Yummy. I was thinkin' about left over pizza, but this was much, much better. Breakfast – yummy! Mmmmm! Then we watched tooners, packed and I may or may not have allowed for a little bit of jumping on the beds. Highly, highly supervised I assure you. We were on the first floor afterall. It was hard to pass up on such an opportunity as that. Good times. I only wish I could have been a more active participant. Maybe next time.

Can you believe we were ready to go when Jason arrived? We were. It was a birthday miracle. And in the words of Country Music Legend Willie Nelson, we were, "on the road again." We head south a bit and Jason asks, "You got them directions?" Well I had some directions, but prolly not 'them' directions, and more important had he lost his mind leaving the navigation responsibilities to little 'o me? Asa or Abel would be far more qualified than myself. Just sayin' . . . south is a safe bet for a while.

One old school full service gas station later we arrive in French Lick. Up, up, up the winding hill we go and we are there! Yippee! Big Splash Indoor Water Park. It is soooo incredibly awesome there. Look out once I'm liberated we may just be year-round pass holders. We make it to our room. A captain's quarters with a king bed and bunk beds. Gorgeous. Wonder if they have the Lifetime channel? Too little too late. Curse you Indy! (as I shake my fist to the north) Maybe I can watch it online later. Not even close to settled in the boys emerge from the bathroom in their trunks.

Fine. Let's tackle this MonSter. Fetch me my suit. And away we go. Again, luckily, and thanks to gracious planning by my dear husband, our room was on the same floor as the pool entrance and just a few rooms down from it very near the elevators. 1 – 2 – 3 and we were there. Yikes! The retractable roof was retracted. The ceiling fans weren't fanning. And the heat that rushed at us as we opened the doors was very much like the wave of hot air that overcomes you as you open a hot oven. Ouch. One small breath in and I was spent. The little bit of energy I'd fought to conserve for this outing had been zapped from me in an instant.

I think I heard somewhere that the heat index had reached 110 degrees that day. Friday the 13^th to be exact. Although I am in no way superstitious where this particular date is concerned, I do believe had I been made to stay in that heat any longer than I did I may have very well suffered the same fate as countless other helpless damsels in distress had on that date. Jason and the boys had not been as physically as overwhelmed as I was, but I could tell Jason knew full well what it had meant for me. He rolled me over to a shady spot and sat next to me.

I did not want to hinder the boys' last hoorah of summer. Not no way. Not no how. So what if I didn't leave my wheelchair? I'd sit there and smile for as long as I could. Now if I could just convince the husband I'd be OK alone. One of us ought to be playin' with the kiddos – not baby sittin' the Mama. And before too much longer he was off. Had it been my witty use of the English language that persuaded him? Shear boredom perhaps? Nope. It was our watching the eldest converse with our youngest whilst gesturing towards the "big boy slides" as we've come to call 'em. Had Abe nodded his head yes? Was he following Asa off the plank?

Before I could even suggest to him that perhaps it would be a good idea for their Daddy to follow, he'd made it half the distance from me to them and was gaining. Go Jason, go! He's such an awesome Daddy. But we've covered that, right? As hard as it was on me I remained seated. Watching. Waiting. Listening intently attempting to recognize familiar shreaks of terror. Anxiety grows. Time passes. Temperature rises. Vision blurs. This may just be too much for 'ol Mom's ticker. C'mon already!

And here comes Jason. He looked a little pale. Where were the boys? Was everything okay? Finally he got close enuff I could see his gorgeous grin. Then close enuff to hear him I eagerly await the news. Silence. He was gonna make me ask how it'd went. Before I could swallow the nerves that had risen in my throat he swooped in behind my chair and bent down to release the brakes. "What are you doing?" I managed to get out. Still no response. Had I lost my hearing now too?

I do my best Linda Blair impression and attempt to turn and face him. Maybe if my hearing had left the building I'd be able to read his lips. This time I raise my voice even higher and demand, "Are the boys ok?" "Sure are," he replies. And then he explains he was taking me over to where the slides empty out so I can see them on their next trip. Awesome! Once in place then with brakes back on I ask how it had all gone down. I assumed well as they were already in line again, but 'o crip sure would like some details.

He explained he'd stayed out of sight best he could and that the boys trekked the crazy steep stairs all on their own. He said when they'd made it to the bottom he was a bit worried as Asa came flying off the raft and Abel had a look of terror on hi face. But upon their return to dry land he bombarded Abe with questions about what he'd thought and he reported he loved it. Yay! Asa would have a slide buddy now, well, besides his Daddy who was less than thrilled with climbing those stairs over and over and over again.

So we waited. And waited. And waited some more. The line didn't appear that long. And Jason had rushed me over to the slides exit worried he wouldn't even make it in time. What was the hold up? I hope everything was ok. Nerves were back. Had they ever left? Jason was right here. What did I have to be nervous about. Note to self: consider lookin' in to anxiety meds once you're settled in back home. Okay? Okay. Here they come! Here they come! And . . . a raft for two with only Asa on it!

Now the look of terror could be seen on Jason's face. Slow on the uptake I look at him bewildered as to why he looked horrified. Then I look to Asa who looks pissed. What was I missing? HOLY SHIT! Abe! We were all missing Abe. I can't speak. Upon this realization of this terrifying situation I try to cry out to Asa and ask where Abe was but found myself completely unable to speak. I tried swallowing to make room for words – couldn't do that either. Wonder if I could still even breathe?

I shift my focus again, this time to Jason, but he wasn't where I'd left him. He was stomping towards the end of the tubed slide whilst yelling at Asa. Was he gonna climb up that slide? Oh my, God! Could Abe be stuck in there? Oh my God, Jason. Then I remember looking at the cute little girl lifeguard looking at my 6'2" 265lb. Husband with concern in her eyes. Was she concerned with the son he was missing or with trying to figure out how she was gonna go about attempting to keep him from goin' in the out of that there tube 'o death.

Thank God first and foremost that everything was okay. And thank Asa second for coming out of his waterlogged state just in time to answer his father's desperate cries for an explanation. Finally I heard Asa yell back thru his continued barking, "He didn't come with me, Dad!" And with that Jason switched directions heading towards Asa to help him out of the pool and requisition a calmer, cooler, more in depth explanation of what had just happened. Still no Abe, and thus still no breathing coming from the girl in the wheelchair.

And then as I'm becoming light-headed and my head begins to tilt back my line of sight is redirected upwards towards . . . wait for it . . . a gift from heaven . . . wait for it . . . Abel Robert Spindler timidly making his way down the nearly never ending flights of steps. And swallow. And a breath. And then another. Was I wiping sweat or tears from my face? Thank you, thank you. Praise the Lord! There was my baby. Damn, that was scary. Funny thing was, as I was completely paralyzed and rendered unable to speak it was as if I had remained the calm cool collected one throughout this entire ordeal.

After our reunion with hugs, kisses and stern reprimands we moved over to the netting where the kiddos could climb ropes across the water, play basketball, or take a ride in the whirlpool. Once in place, brakes on, and feet out of the way of traffic I watched Abe on the ropes while the bigger boys went a time or two more on the "big boy slides." Then Asa hit the ropes, then we went back towards the entrance near the smaller slides. Way more me and Abel's speed!

Then my ever attentive wonderfully caring husband noticed quite possibly I just may have had enuff. I don't know what tipped him off as I was concentrating on swallowing and remaining quiet. Ah-ha! Perhaps it was te quiet that had alerted him as to my need for an air conditioned break. Or maybe a higher power had whispered to him. Whatever the reason, as soon as he offered a return to the room I leapt at it. Figuratively, of course.

"But wait," I said. I did not wanna rain on the boys' parade so to speak. I explained this to him although he already knew I hated to always be the reason for leaving, or missing, or whatever. And with that he threatened the boys with their lives that they were to stay together and stay on the small slides until he returned. They had to repeat the orders and say they understood. They had to promise and pinky swear. He said he'd be right back – and he would as our room wasn't but a few doors down.

I needed assistance to even make it in the bed. And before I even knew Jason was gone him and the boys had returned. Soaked and tired. And me? I must've been dry and exhausted as apparently I'd been snoozing since my return to the air. Relieved they'd returned I continued my nap as they ordered pizza. And as good as that pizza smelled, I considered continuing it even further. ZZZzzzzzzz . . .

We ate. Watched 'Total Drama World Tour' and fell asleep. Maybe we were ALL of us pretty tired. Good sleep. Sweet sleep. Gooooood stuff. And then an all too familiar sound of Jason's alarm. Morning came fast but prayers answered, I didn't seem to mind. Sure I was sore all over, but surprisingly well-rested all things considered, AND most important of all -- there was a huge breakfast buffet awaiting me downstairs in the galley. I loves me sum breakfast. Mmmmm.

Bellies way fuller than they should've been we headed back to the room to prep for day 2. Look out Big Splash - Big Mama may just make 'er in today! An overly deep, energetic voice says, "Stay tuned to find out. Will she or won't she? And if she does, will she make it back out?"

[Insert dramatic soap opera- like music here] Cut to dramatic close up of Big Mama's terrified sweaty face with eyebrow raised. Mouth slightly opened to convey confusion. Then she looks left and right almost frantic. Roll in text : TO BE CONTINUED. Fade to commercial.

nah na, na, na, You Say It's Your Birthday . . .

2010-08-18T18:29:00.001-07:00

CAUTION: The following entry has nothing at all to do with my crippling MS or LIBERATION journey. Anyone easily grossed out by all that is sappy, you've been warned. Mass quantities of oozing sap lie ahead. Stop reading immediately. As a matter of fact, turn off your computers.

This post is dedicated to and all about my most favoritist person in the whole wide world. My bestest friend. My everything. Here's a hint: My inspiration! Figure it out yet? This is for you, Baby! Hope you had a good birthday. And I hope you enjoy this stroll down memory lane . . .

Any idea what day it is today? Thursday, August 12, 2010, right? Right. Significant why? I thought you'd never ask. It's my Baby's birthday. My youngest, Abel? Nope. His is still 3 looong days away. Poor guy has been countin' down the days for weeks. He'll be 7 and start school as a big time first grader the very next day. Goin' all day long and eatin' lunch at school . . . wow!

What about my big boy, Asa? My first born baby? Nope. He was born in February just a day short of Valentine's. He'll be a big, bad fourth grader this year and hit double digits on his next birthday. Now, THAT my friends is hard to believe. No matter his size or position on the defensive line, he'll always be my first baby.

My puppy, then? My Gooch? Wrong again. We plan to celebrate his birthday on November 14 th. A very nice day indeed to celebrate a birthday I think since my Dad was born on that day in 1949. And that works out well since that was the day we adopted Sir Gucci Bonaduce last year. The shelter said he was nearly one at the time so we'll call him nearly two on his birthday this year.

Sooooo, who does that leave? My Baby, of course! Another hint? They used to call him Spindaddy. Born 36 years ago today to Kenny and Mary Spindler . . .the one, the only . . . drum roll pleeeeaaaase . . . Jason William Spindler. A beautiful, healthy baby boy, huh? Here's a bit of trivia for ya keeping in mind that he was born apparently before the age of the ultrasound: They'd been told they were having a girl. They'd even picked out the name Georgina after Uncle George.

Just a sidenote: God evened things out later in July of '78 when my parents were set to have a boy but instead got stuck (I mean blessed, of course) with my little sister Amelia. Ultrasound machines. Magnificent discoveries. Having known of these two whoopsies, I opted to play it safe and paint my first bundle of joy's nursery a neutral yellow.

Back to the subject at hand. Jason. I wanna blog about my baby. I can't fill you in on much from birth to his freaky hair colored, skater, teen-aged years besides his idolizing his Unk and becoming an Eagle Scout but I can share with you a bit on how I lucked in to having the most wonderful husband in the world. So if you're not into sappy – now's your chance to escape. Your last chance readers. No joke.

It was New Year's Eve. I remember that fateful night like it was yesterday. My friends and I had planned to hang out at another friends house to see 1994 ring in good and proper. My friend Dave, who's house we were to be at for the remainder of 1993, had told me there was gonna be an older guy stop by there later that he was gonna try and set me up with. Ryan was his name, I think. Who knows? Who cares? I had my sights set on someone else.

"Jason?" I remember Dave asking. Then like any dear old friend would do for another Dave began warning me away from this bad boy. "A player?" I asked Dave, "Are you sure?" He'd gone out with a close friend of mine a couple months back. He'd come to a couple of our get togethers with her. He seemed like a pretty cool guy to me. On the other hand, it hadn't worked out between him and Andrea. And Dave had been a good friend of mine since my freshman year of high school.

Oh well, I'd thought. Maybe I ought to listen to Dave and give this other guy a chance. So there we were. Me and this other guy at this party talking and trying to get to know each other when in walks this long tall hottie, baggy jeans, chain hangin' from his wallet, black t-shirt with an old plaid flannel shirt on top and Airwalks on the bottom.

He waltzes in and sits down of all the spots in the room – right next to me. Boy, did he smell GOOD! It's no wonder I can't even remember that other dude's name. Yay, me! Sorry other dude.

As more people started to show up (who I don't know 'cause me and this Jason fella was hitting it off), we decided to move our party a little farther out of town. I imagine as the midnight hour approached maybe some of the other rowdy ones needed a little more space to spread their wings. Long story short we all planned to pile in everyone's cars and head out to my friend Angi's house. Fine by me as she was who I was spending the night with. So I cross my fingers and toes and legs and arms and eyes and hope he'll ride out there with me. Huh?

I drive to Angi's ALONE. And so upset that I almost make the turn off to my house on the way outta town. (I'm sooo glad I didn't.) Why oh why would this so-called friend of mine move so aggressively in on the guy she knew I liked? Whhhhhyyyyyyy? I was heartbroken. And the night was young. Screw it. I'd gone this long without a boyfriend . . . just a half year of high school left. I'd just start fresh in college. That'd be the new game plan. I'd still head out to the party though. Why not? Let's party!

And who was there waitin' on me to arrive? J A S O N. Interesting. Maybe him and Angi hadn't connected. What was I thinkin'? They'd only spent all of maybe 7 minutes together barreling down the highway. Come to find out later my dear friend had driven Jason over so she could "talk me up." And maybe she had. Whatever – there was magic in the air. Stronger than I even knew existed way back when. And thank God for that! Amen.

The entire bunch of us stayed up all night. Talkin'. Goofin' around. Morning arrived before we knew it. And hunger followed. We all piled into a car (who's I don't remember) and went out for breakfast. And to anyone who knows me – breakfast is my favorite meal. I'm sure I had pancakes, as I always do. I was prolly careful though not to inhale 'em as I sat across from this particular beau I was still tryin' to "hook 'em in the jaw and reel 'em in" as my brilliant pastor uncle would say.

When we dropped him at his house later I was able to confirm he did indeed live just 2 houses down from my aunt and uncle. What luck. As was the custom back in my dating days my parents always put a call in to my Aunt Agnes to check out any of my potential suitors. She was a counselor in the school system and without her prior approval . . . wellll, let's just fast forward and say that Jason was given the green light and the rest they say is history.

Our first date Jan. 4. I wore the lime green sweater I'd gotten from my friend Tina the Christmas before. Gorgeous sweater. I also wore it for my senior picture. Only difference being was that for date night I wore it a bit more off the shoulders. Okay, you got me – a lot more off the shoulders! He came to pick me up in his Dad's new white GMC cab and a half truck. And there was a rose in the front seat to meet me when I got there. How sweet. (Sidenote: We are the proud owners of that very same truck today!)

First, we went to eat at Taco Bell. Goofy, right? Not so. My man likes his Nacho Belle Grandes. He ate his entire meal and then opened his straw to drink his Mt. Dew. Odd, I thought. But I liked it! Then to pass time before the movie started we went to Best Buy to walk around. Geeky, right? Well it might be but we still love it there to this day.

Then we went to see Tom Hanks in 'Philadelphia.' Can't go wrong with Tom Hanks, right? Wrong. Not so much a good first date movie, BUT we didn't mind busy holding hands and sharing popcorn. And I have to add that on the way home (distracted by thoughts of the movie or my sweater, I'll never truly know) he came to a complete stop at a green light. Huh? And looked over at me. Then I at him. And then back to the glowing green from the light overhead. Then I reached across that huge bench seat, took his hand, and squeezed it gently to say, "Light's green. You gonna go?"

More dates followed. And phone calls. And dates. And on Feb. 4 just outside of our friend Dave's house he offered me his class ring. (Gorgeous, by the way). And officially asked me to be his girlfriend. What a gentleman. Oh, and in case you are wondering, . . . I said, "YES!" I mean how could I not? Even my dad liked him. We hadn't been dating long when a huge snow storm blew thru one night. Dad actually allowed Jason to stay the night on the couch. What a guy, my Dad. The next morning I woke to find them both knee deep in snow shoveling a path to get Jason's car out. Poor guy. I'm bettin' he was wishin' he'd left that night instead.

And then their was my senior prom. Betcha didn't know he's a good dancer. We played volleyball at my graduation party and I'm sure trounced whoever it was we were playing (Amelia, included). Somewhere in there we tried to sneak an overnight trip to Louisville in, but I can't write much about that without further incriminating myself. We also ventured to Garden of the Gods a time or two.

He accompanied me to way more horse shows than he ever wanted to. We went bowling. Played putt-putt. Saw a whole bunch of movies. We went to the Indy 500 time trials with my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Larry. And here's a big one, you sittin' down? I even let him drive my Cavalier from time to time. AND, even bigger yet . . . I let him test drive my nearly brand new metallic plum 1994 Camaro before I bought it. Now that's love I tell ya! And as our love grew he even got to drive that too. But not without care and caution, of course, as a girl must have limits, right?

And I did have limits. As we were going to more and more family get togethers together, including weddings, I found myself gettin' awful antsy. We'd be at the mall and I'd drop a hint here or there. Or everywhere. Like, "Wow! Look at the ring in that window!" You get the idea. Welllll, just when I was beginning to wonder if he ever would – he went and did it. Did what? Read on dear friends. Read on. It was a rainy May afternoon . . .

May 4, 1996 to be exact. Last year for my birthday he'd gotten me a huge pink velour blanket. And though I loved both the pink, the velour and the thoughtfulness of it all – I had been a bit disappointed it had not been an engagement ring. Maybe Christmas. Nope. Valentine's? Nope. Good things come to those who wait, I'd told myself. We were both busy with college and work. One of these days if it was meant to be, it'll be. "Please Lord," I used to pray, "please let it be!"

And so headed to the mall for no particular reason that rainy May 4^th afternoon we found ourselves in a few different jewelry shops. And we found ourselves talking about what would be the most awesome birthday gift ever if per chance I was to get a diamond on my birthday this year. "Oh, no, we're not gettin' anything today," I remember him telling me. Huh? What a tease.

He continued to explain he just wanted to get an idea of what I liked, just in case. So although a bit disappointed I couldn't help but have fun with the search, I mean, we ARE talkin' about diamonds. I narrow it to two. And then discover that my favorite of the two has a matching man's ring. And what's this? He's filling out a credit application. Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!

He gives me that look. You know. THAT look. I still get that look from time to time. He tells me I'm not gonna get 'em anytime soon, but eventually. Maybe. Yikes! From cloud 9 to nowhere. Geesh! What's that suppose to mean? Was there someone else and he was still deciding? C'mon. This was almost cruel. Credit approved. Boxed and bagged up he wouldn't even let me carry 'em. The entire trip back to the car I asked, "Why not now?" and "Well, why not for my birthday, then?"

Once to the car the new cargo went straight to the glove box. He pointed his sexy finger at me and then at the glove box and said, "No." Well. It was a rough ride with my knees just inches away from that sparkling diamond ring. Talk about torture. And small talk. No good. Silence then. Even worse. More rain on the windshield. Maybe he'd be so interested in driving in these treacherous conditions that he wouldn't notice me sneakin' a peak. As I shifted in my seat he reminded me with a stern, "No."

And I may or may not have begged and pleaded and questioned, why? Finally he explained that he wanted it to be special. He said if he'd just given it to me there it wouldn't have been special. Fine. Whatever. So what about my birthday coming up the 13^th? That wouldn't be any good either as I'd be expecting it. Too much pressure, heh? Grrrrr! Almost in tears at this point it wasn't the ring that I wanted so badly and screw the razzle dazzle of a big time proposal – all I wanted was to know he wanted me! Please, please, please.

Back in Mt. Vernon, but not headed down fourth like normal. Huh? Where were we headed? Dave's house? Huh? He parked his car in the exact same spot he had when he offered me his class ring. Oh my goodness. He pulled his seat back as far as he could to try and get on his knee. Tears are welling up in both our eyes at this point. Am I still breathing? I turn in my seat to face him. He reaches across me to the glove box. Oh my goodness.

He tells me he loves me. And how much I mean to him. And some other heart felt awesome stuff I can't seem to remember as I'm almost positive I had been holding my breath at this point. "Angela Gayle Orth," he says. "Will you marry me?" Can I get a "Woooooo Hoooooo?" And a "Hell, yeh!" Teary eyed and breathless I mustered up a couple hundred yes, yes, yesses and grabbed his face and kissed him like crazy. YEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!

Once the tears were dried up and or kissed off we went to spread the news. I forget in what order we told the parents but I do remember the smile on my Dad's face and the tears in my Mom's eyes. Both were genuinely happy for us. Dad said, "Well it's about time boy!" And Mom said with a smile, "I had a feeling this was gonna happen soon."

Jason's parents reaction was a bit more of surprise. I remember his mom nearly falling from the couch. And his dad trying to hide his raised eyebrows and dropped jaw with a congratulatory pat on his back turned hug whilst my future mother-in-law more closely examined my hand and its new accessory. I would have thought he might have talked to his parents about such a huge step in his life. Oh well, the shock and awe approach worked just as well.

Now to set a date. I soooo love snow so how's about the winter? "Too soon," my mom said. Who cares what people think, I thought to myself. But mom further explained, she needed more time to plan. She said, "What about winter of NEXT year?" Realizing full well she'd meant December of '97, I replied, "OK, then January of '97 it is!" Commence with the planning already. I'd only been planning this since around the 3rd grade. What more needed planning?

Off to find the perfect dress. Maybe this would take some time. January '98 would be here before we knew it. Huh? I don't think so. But some how or another that was the date that got leaked to the press. Or in my small town case, the gossips. That seemed soooo far away. I'd already waited sooo long. December 31, 1993 'til now. Geesh! Eventually we came to the perfect date. Another 4^th! October 4^th, 1997 the most beautiful wedding – ever – "since the Kennedy's" my mom said.

Our colors were black and white. My gown – stunningly elegant. My husband – just plain stunning. What more could a girl ask for? My dad got to give me away. All the flowers were beautiful fresh white roses. "Honestly" by Stryper was sung during the ceremony. Our first dance was to Chicago's "You're my Inspiration." (Because he is!) Huge party! But guess who left early?

The newlyweds, of course. And again I let him drive my Camaro. Must be love, tell ya. But what's this? Up 3 flights of stairs to our apartment and no keys?! Yikes! Uncle Randy to the rescue. And all the way from Texas too! Well he brought us the keys from Mt. Vernon, but technically he'd come all the way from Texas to Mt. Vernon to come to the wedding. Thank you, Uncle Randy.

Once out of our wedding garb and with the apartment locked back up tight we spent our first night as the Spindlers in Henderson, Kentucky. Then enjoyed a week long honeymoon in the hills of Gatlinburgh, Tennessee. From putt-putt and arcades to shopping and No Way Jose's nothing compared to our stay in the log cabin. Gorgeous, romantic place near a stream with a loft bedroom and a jacuzzi. And how could I forget? A bear that rummages thru your garbage at night. But still, I didn't wanna leave!

Then there was that hustle. Thank you Uncle Larry for all those years ago showing me how to shoot pool at the Stucco House. I Lost a few games to my precious new husband and then bet him matching tattoos as souvenirs I could win the next one. He took that bet – no problem. And guess what I did? No mercy! I cleaned the floor with him. And we were off to find us a tattoo artist. Where better than a little shop next to the Elvis museum?

Guess who made me go first? He said when I chickened out that he wouldn't have to be stuck with a tattoo all his own. WHATEVER! I got this. And it didn't even hurt. Matter of fact I loved it and to this day still want another. So I got and "S" with a long stemmed pink rose thru it on my left ankle. And a tad begrudgingly, Jason got the same only with a deep purple rose. Weird how all I could think about was that when I got home my mom and dad were gonna kill me. Not so. I had my husband to protect me! Said so right in our vows.

Other milestones in our JOURNEY together include buying a new home. I moved out of my parent's house in June '96. It was too much working on the east side, school on the west side, and driving alllll the way back to Mt. Vernon everyday. So I got an apartment on the west side. Just me, my Camaro, and my kitty. We lasted all of maybe a week. Maybe not that long when all of a sudden this handsome young man claiming to be my fiance kept showing up more and more often. And that's all I'll report about that. Again with the incriminating evidence. Besides, Squeaky had grown awfully fond of him and felt safer in the big city with him around. After all we was just two little 'ol country girls.

When my lease was up I added a one Jason W. Spindler to it. And when it came up again we opted to pay month to month as my graduation was nearing and my work had taken me back to the Vern. Yay, for house shopping. Almost as exciting as car shopping, but I'll blog about that later. My car trading deserves an entry all its own. Anyways, we look at a couple rental my aunt may have available to sell soon. Then we look at a couple older homes downtown. And then we through caution to the wind and look at a new construction of Charlie Lawrence's. In Lawrence Addition. Wow! Never even imagined it'd be possible, but the bank said ok. So, ok!

June 18, 1998. We moved in to our brand new home, owing waaaay more than we should have, but as happy as could be and proud as peacocks. What next? Jason's turn to graduate college. And what better way to celebrate than buy him a new grill and have a suprise graduation/birthday/housewarming party. The first of many shindigs we'd host at our house on Southwind.

All settled in we wondered what to do, what to do with that second bedroom. Office? Nah. How about a puppy's room? And off we went to adopt a pup. A black lab mix named Duke who bless his heart was terrified of storms. He became our baby, that is until we had a baby. June 8, 2000 the nurse from my neurologist's office called to give me the news. Tests had indeed confirmed I have MS, but bloodwork showed I was pregnant. Wow!

What's a girl supposed to do with that news. Truly bad and good all in the same breath. As always Jason was right there. He hugged me tight for a loooong time. He dried my tears. He kissed my smile. He made everything OK. The very same then as he still does today.

We were ecstatic. We couldn't wait the ritualistic three months to tell everyone. So the very next day we spread the good word. Again with my know-it-all Mom, she thought it was about time. She'd thus far been right. I'd marry at 21 and have my first baby at 24. Remind me later I need to take her with me to the casino. And she also called a boy. More specifically a big boy. And guess what I had Feb. 13, 2001 after 30 + hours of labor and 3 different docs? Asa William Spindler 9lbs. 8 oz. baby boy via an eventual C-section.

Almost 2 ½ years to the day behind him on August 15, 2003 came our second son. Abel Robert Spindler weighing in at 9lbs. 4 oz. and at just over a month pre-mature. Huh? He was the biggest pre-mie that NICU had ever seen. If he'd only stayed in longer he could have been bigger than his big bro. Maybe he could have even surpassed the 10 lb. mark.

Another mention worthy obstacle was my Dad's illness and passing. Jason was always there for whatever was needed. He even sat up with my dad on one of his last nights. And was my unfailing crutch through it all. More figuratively then and more literally now as my MS grows stronger with time. He could have tucked tail and ran screaming from the hospital halls all those years ago. I've been in and out of their plenty of times. 2 years old, 6^th grade, high school, college and even times in between.

What on Earth was he doin' stickin' around a hypochondriac such as myself? Sure I was hot, but not that hot?! Had to have been God's doing. He sent me an angel. He knew I would need him to help me thru what lie ahead. I am so blessed to have him. I thank God for sending me Jason every morning. And again, every night. I pray I get to keep him forever and ever . . .

He's not just good to me. He is a great father to his kiddos. Great son to his parents and mine. He loves his Aunt Ann with all of his heart. And he even hugs my grandparents more than I hug them myself. He takes us all to church every Sunday. He is a loyal, giving friend. He's a very well respected co-worker and exceptionally dedicated to his job.

What more can I say, on this his birthday? Thank you Mary and Kenny for bringing him in to this world 36 years ago. Thank you for helping make him the man he is today. And thank you for allowing me to steal your precious little boy away. But I do believe with all my heart and soul that God had planned for him to be my knight in shining GMC all along.

Thank you, Baby! Happy Birthday! I love you! OXOXO

And God . . . thank you for answered prayers! Amen.

Weekend at Bernie's

2010-08-09T07:36:00.000-07:00

Another Monday means another weekend's worth of inactivities to report on. Sooo, let's get this party started, shall we? Wanna start with Friday? I know I'd rather just forget about it myself. What the heck . . . maybe if I let others share in my misery it won't seem as bad. Just a theory, of course, it'll need to be tested.

Friday morning was nothing out of the ordinary. Jason came home just before noon to wrangle the herd and ship 'em to Granny and Papaw's so I could accompany my Mom to Doc Lees. Remember? She was to have a follow-up appointment regarding her plunging blood sugar. I hadn't really felt up to going but did not want to miss it.

Did I mention the ER doc, who we all seemed to like by the way (a real rarity these days) had noticed evidence of COPD both in her chest x-ray and while listening to her breath sounds? She denies this fact, however Amelia and I were there too and as our blood sugar levels were waaaay closer to normal than hers I'm thinkin' we were the ones to have heard the doc right.

Anyways it had been my intention to accompany my mom for many reasons. First I love her! I want to be there for her as she always was for me. And up until this last exacerbation I'd felt like I could help her. At the very least drop her at the door like Jason does for me. Sometimes, push her in a wheel chair. Stand at the window to sign her in. Just little stuff, but still, I felt like I was helping - as I know first hand how difficult that 'little stuff' can be.

Second, I always went with my Dad whenever I could. You wouldn't believe the mountainous paperwork I'd filled out for that man. I used to know mine, Jason's and my Dad's Social Security numbers by heart. Now I do good to even confirm my own when someone reads it to me.

Third, I need to be there! Truth be told I don't trust her any further than I can throw her. Sneaky, sneaky . . . that's all I'm sayin'. And after you hear about Friday's appointment you'll understand what I mean. I am one to research like crazy pre-appointment and arrive armed with knowledge and craving more.

So, I shower. Quite the undertaking these days. Prolly shoulda skipped it, but it had been, ummm, longer than it should've been is all I'm gonna say. Out, dry, and dressed I make it via my new Cadillac walker to the front door just in time to hear Mom pull up in the cruiser. And my house phone begins ringing to confirm. Today instead of answering it to tell her I'm comin' - I let it ring as I reason, 'she'll see me when I get there.' Plus the phone was waaaay back in the living room.

And as I'm tackling the door with my walker and figuring out how to best get the door closed behind me [note to self: look in to purchasing new front doors that do not require storm doors] I realize I failed to lock up Gooch. Both legs trembling at this point, he was gonna be granted yet another afternoon of freedom. And after we'd just gotten the last fiasco picked up. Please be a good Gooch!

So I make it off the porch. Around the front of the cruiser. Past the passenger seat. And just past the back passenger door so that I can fold my walker and slide it in the back. I'd seen Jason do it a million times. Shouldn't be a problem, right? Ha! Wrong! I try, try again. And again. All the while the shaking in my legs becomes more intense. Violent even. If I don't sit soon, this could go baaaad!

I turn to sit in the back with my legs out so I can get a better look at this darned walker. Maybe she wasn't a Cadillac after all. Maybe I'd got a lemon. Growing frustrated I instruct Mom to call Jason and ask him what the trick to this thing is. But before she could even get him on the line I'd figured things out having been closer to the folding mechanism than before. Mom to Jason, "Nevermind, honey, she figured it out."

And then attempting to keep the now folded walker from slamming into my 300 or Mom's cruiser, I advise, "Wellllll, I'm going down." And, wellll, that's just what I did. Hello, scalding hot concrete. Meet butt. Butt, meet scalding hot concrete. And introductions done they really got to know one another. Luckily I'd at least saved the Chryslers from any pink paint scratches courtesy of my newest ride.

So while I'm down here, why not load the walker? So I do. Mostly. Sure I used to lift weights. Sure I used to saddle horses, some even over 16 hands. But this light weight walker on this day might as well have been a real Caddy. Wowsers. It was heavy. By the powers of Grey Skull, I huffed and I puffed and she was up and in.

Mostly. Again, I know. What's with this 'mostly'? The car seat behind the driver's seat was holdin' her up. So I cussed a bit as Mom asked permission to call Jason again. Nope! Calm cool and collected, I said, "We can do this, Mom." So I had her get out of the car and pull while I pushed. Yay! A success. I hated to have to have her get out in such heat, but it just couldn't be avoided at this point.

Once she was back in and settling in she commenced to asking to call Jason. And I commenced to figuring out how I was gonna get my rear-end off this scorching pavement. First order of business was to close this back door. Ever butt walk, readers? It ain't easy. And I don't recommend it. Especially in shorts on hot concrete whilst your legs are refusing to move and the even hotter air rushing you from the running vehicle is causing your vision to blur. Hello weekend! Here I come!

Butt shimmy back just far enuff to close that door and head uphill towards the next one. But first a rest to reassess the situation. Back against the cruiser for just a tic I realize though I can't feel a good portion of either of my legs, as it is excruciatingly hot to touch with my hands, it's prolly burning the heck outta my long loveleys as well. Poor legs. How dare you crap out on me. Karma's a bitch . . . But who wants to be a burn victim on top of everything else? Not me.

I reach up to fumble the front passenger door knob open only to realize my fat bum is partially blocking the door from opening. C'mon. Give a girl a break already. Geesh! So I hoist her up. Again with the brute force and shear determination. I was up - here it comes again - MOSTLY! I'd made it to my knees. And yes, the driveway was HOT. My knees screamed, "FIIIIIIIIIIRRRRE!"

If they could've spoke, I'm sure they would have asked, "What the sam hell are you dragging us along this ruff cracked concrete for? And in this heat? You out of your ever lovin' mind?" And had I had time for conversation with them I would have replied, "Yes. As a matter of fact I am out of my ever lovin' mind." Ha! Then I'd ask 'em if they wanted to join me for a walk so we could reminisce about the good old days of jumping for the rebound, or the spike approach, or just for the heck of it. How's about jump rope?

So once I've given the door just enuff clearance I get it open. Tho all I really accomplished with this was skinned knees and getting to hear Mom's pleas to "just call Jason" much, much better. And to see her. She looked as helpless as a mouse. Prolly much the same as I looked although she wasn't nearly as pissed as she was concerned. What were we gonna do? What indeed!

I looked over at my neighbor Rachel's house. What was Rachel gonna do with my 200 lb. ass? And her hubby? Tho I willed him to be home and willed him to just happen to be coming outside for something or the other. No such luck. He wasn't home. When I'd given up on that fairy tale I reckoned I could handle this here perdicament myself. Yeehaw. Let's give this gettin' up a try.

At the very least maybe the concrete shaded by the open door might be a degree or two cooler. Not so much, but there we were - my worthless legs, my skinned up knees, my tiring arms and my now throbbing head. Had I hit it? I don't think so, but I'd gone from okay to a multi-layered head cake in no time. Or had it been awhile? The heat was gettin' to me.

I grasp the door in my right hand and position the left just inside and near the back of the seat. Hip muscles and the occasional help from both arms propelled my scraped knees closer to the car. A plus? PT Cruisers are very low to the ground. Yay! Surely I could do this. I tried raising my right leg first. Usually my weakest, but as of late I've changed her name to "ole trusty." But she protested. NO!

All the while my knees screaming in agony, I gave "limpo lefty" a try. No. Almost. No. And again. Yeh, maybe. Aww, awww, spasm, jerk, no, fail! Hello, knee! Meet Mr. Pavement again. And this time meet him good. PAIN! And retreat. Flopping to my backside again I returned to my previous resting position against the cruiser. But resting? I was not! I mighta cried a bit and I guarantee I cursed a bit. "Fine," I gave in, "call Jason."

Hearing her explain the ordeal to him just disgusted me further. I am not, nor have I ever been a quitter! Once off the phone Mom tried to console me. "Honey, it happens." Some other nice heartfelt stuff and then the kicker - which verbatim seems to elude me. But it went a little somethin' like this: "When we fall we can't get back up on our own." WHAT? Did she say can't? She did! And rather it was intentional or not . . . never tell an Orth she can't! We've been through this, right?

Attempt #8 or #9, (I'd lost count at 3) was gonna work. Or I was gonna die tryin. No joke. This was war. Both arms to pull my left leg up hill. Then to pull my right. Then repeat, whilst continuing to butt shuffle and maintain my close proximity to the cruiser itself making sure the small of my back remained snugly against the car. "Don't forget to breathe, Daniel-sahn!" And breath. And now what?

I didn't want to be on the ground when Jason arrived. He already thought it was silly of me to go. What a pair we'd be. Who's gonna help who? Boggled by the entire situation still this morning he asked, "You sure your Grandma or Amelia ain't going?" And as I answered he shook his head no in disbelief wanting so bad to say, "Uh-oh!" Wellll, indeed. It hadn't made much sense. But such is life, and he knew telling me no would soooo be the wrong route to take.

So I lean forward and put both hands on the lip of floor below the seat. Grasp tight and push. We have lift-off! But hold on Tex, what about your long, sexy, once muscular, now hairy, scraped and useless legs? That, my friends, is enuff pronouns to choke on. I love writing. Have I thanked you for reading lately? I should do that more. THANK YOU!

So as my arms begin shaking it comes to me I'm gonna have to reposition those bad boys in order to get this approach to work more efficiently. First things first. Butt reunites with pavement. Pavement whispers, "I've missed you so!" And then to the legs. Not really my legs at this point - just the legs - 'cause I couldn't feel 'em. Both hands now acting like spatulas to scoop up one leg at a time just under my thigh and above my knee on each leg. Once both knees were bent tight with the underneath of my calves pressing the underneaths of my thighs I reached around the outside of either leg to fine tune the placement of my feet via ankle adjustment. Once they were squared up, we'd be ready for phase 2 of this attack.

"I'm gonna do it this time, Mom," I warned. This time with teeth gritted my hands grasped the floor. Although a bit skinned from the concrete, they'd become too sweaty working with the legs. I took a tic to wipe them on my shirt. Dirty my blouse? Prolly. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Now dry and in place I clutched the flooring with all the strength I could muster for optimal traction. And successfully for the second time that sweltering afternoon - WE HAD LIFT OFF!

As my elbows straightened to lock my upper arms began to quiver earlier and more aggressively than before, however putting my newly positioned legs to use I shifted a portion of my 200 lbs. forward towards them as I scurried walking my hands up and back towards the seat of the seat. At this point better use of my legs would've been sooo useful, but alas, as my ass was getting higher my legs were becoming less and less useful in their new remedial job of simply supporting a couple of pounds or so. BASTARDS!

And admittedly I may have cussed a word or two throughout this struggle. I have a horrible time refraining from this attrocious habit when I'm stressed, nervous, or drunk. Or so I've been told. And I'm hardly ever in any of those three conditions. So grit them teeth harder and power thru. C'mon, Angela! Then I flash to Mr. T's scrumpled up mad face as Clubber Lang fighting Rocky. "You ain't bad! You ain't bad! You ain't nothin'!"

So I muscle up to get a firm hold of the seat cushion on hand at a time, and upsey, daisy, we're gettin' closer to a successful landing. Elbows are now refusing however to lock causing an inkling of panic and a bit of sweat to drip from my brow. No biggie. Once settled in I'll just use my already dirty blouse to dry my face. Won't that just get my face all nasty? Prolly, but who cares?

What next, I wonder as my legs are now fully extended outward and unable to support any weight? More work for my arms that I just mentioned no longer had the strength to straighten and lock? This was gonna call for a little work from the 'ol throbbin' noggin. What to do? What to do? Wish I could listen to Steve from 'Blue's Clues' and sit down in my thinkin' chair and "think, think, thiiiink!"

Just as I threw my head back in utter despair having had no better ideas than to sing a song from a show we used to watch when my now 9 year old son was a toddler, I felt my bum brush against my hands. Well, hallelujah! Maybe I was closer to conquering this beast than I had thought. This time I planned to heave my head, neck and shoulders back towards Mom.

I hoped her door was shut as I planned to give it hell. Now that'd be a sight, wouldn't it? Mom on the ground beneath the tree on the driver's side, me on my back on top of her and neither one of us able to move. Arms flailing about. No doubt the shear hilarity of it all would cause us both to piss our pants.

And then imagine poor Jason pulling up in the drive. I know. He advised against this whole field trip. Pretty smart guy if I do say so myself. If I were him I'd prolly keep drivin'. But knowin' him he'd prolly just be sure to get a picture first and then help us. And in this wonderful man's defense the photo would not be for comedic purposes, but to remind me the next time I want to go on some unsupervised outing.

All my chaperones from here on out MUST be able to lift 200 lbs. Sooo, I guess that means unless Jason (Conan) or Amelia (Red Sonja) are going -- I ain't goin'. Asa's gettin' there tho. We need to start him on some weight training after after football.

So I lean just enuff forward as my quivering arms will allow in hopes of getting a running start, let's call it. Then, BACK! And what's this? My butt is (although ever so slightly) on the edge of the seat. Yipppeeeee! I think this calls for a "Woooo hoooo!" So what next? I trust in the Lord and return to practicing proper posture.

I say trust in the Lord as this sitting upright could have gone one of two ways for me. (1) I could have found my self gettin' cozy again with Mr. Pavement as my butt was so precariously perched on the edge . . . OR (2) I could remain [mostly] in the vehicle just enuff that I could grasp the innermost side of the passenger seat for support and walk my butt in there one cheek at a time. And so it goes!

I instructed Mom to call off the rescue cavalry as I let my cheeks do the walking. Once far enuff in to deem myself secure I bent forward to grab my left leg and hoist her in. Enter Bon Jovi's hit "Livin' On a Prayer." My rendition, of course, "Whooaa, we're half way there! Whoooaa, livin' on a prayer, er, er eeeer!" And a pause to admire the beauty of the Chrysler's stainless steel-esque dash. It was pretty, but sooo missing the truck's grab bar.

And 1 - 2 - 3, and down for my right leg. And up to find my multi-layered cake had doubled and my right leg was uncontrollably jumping for joy. Yes, hello, Mr. Dash. Didn't mean to leave you out Mr. Door. For Pete's sake, Mom, hand me your purse! Maybe sitting something on it would settle it down. If not, look out Cobra-Kai. Stand back or I'll inadvertently kick somebody's ass.

So I'm in. Praise the Lord. I made it. The clock on the dash reads 1:26 and her appointment is for 1:30. Good thing I don't live far from Doc Lee's office. We can do this. Easy, peesy, lemon squeezy. We arrive to the one remaining handicapped parking space at 1:28 and I am in no way ready to proceed. Thus we argue about 1 minute as to what our net move will be. I won the first battle, but not the war.

She would go on in and when sufficiently recovered enuff I would be right behind her. There was always a loooong wait. So I wasn't worried. Time would be my friend. I was sure of it. Mom left the keys in case I changed my mind, so I could turn on the air. I wasn't havin' that tho so the 'ol keys quickly settled in for a nap above the driver's visor. Sleep well, my friends.

And away we go! First to get the walker out as I sure wasn't risking trying to stand for any amount of time. Next, I opened my door and turned in my seat to open the back door trying to shove the walker out bit by bit. The car seat actually assisted with this plan as the walker was already resting at an incline. And if I couldn't get it out without too much of a struggle, I'd be too spent, and it would be like divine intervention telling me to stay seated, dork! Or as Obi-wan said, "These are not the droids you're looking for." I'm a nerd too. Betcha didn't know that?

But it came out fairly willingly. I put just a bit of weight on my rubbery legs in order to maneuver the wheels around the passenger door with my left hand and push said door shut with my right. Yay! Teamwork! Once in front of me I unfolded the walker and again put a bit of weight on my legs as I tested the walker for stability. It passed and thankfully so did my legs pass not one, but two tests of willingness to cooperate with at least some of my 200 lbs upon them.

No time like the present. Let's give 'em a go with all the 200. And we're off. Shaky and weak, but on the move none the less. You wouldn't believe the people going in and out that didn't even glance my way let alone offer help or assistance of any kind. Horrible, tho, I guess before this MonSter hit me I was prolly the same way. People can suck sometime - me included. My dad on the other hand could get stuck sometimes at doctor's offices just opening the doors for people. My boys are gonna be like that. It's my personal mission to make it so! And you all are my witnesses.

Pausing twice I make it to the covered portion of the entryway. I spot an older gentleman stopping to hold the door for me. In excruciating pain and crippling fatigue at this juncture, I give it all I got to create a smile to thank him. Still a good 15 or so feet away and having used precious (non-existent) reserves on a smile I politely said, "Well thank you sir but I'm prolly gonna be a while."

To that, he replies, "I'm in no hurry." I fight for a couple steps closer to him, but not wanting to fall in front of him as he didn't look like he'd be able to lift me (at least not with ease), I activated my lock on my brakes and explained, "As a matter of fact I'm actually gonna need to sit and rest a bit before making the long walk in to the chairs." At this he tilted his head as if puzzled. Why indeed would a hottie thirty something such as my self be walking and carrying on so pitifully? Why, indeed!

He then replied, "Well, alright then, if you're sure." Then as he left he pointed out and explained to me the handicapped door opening mechanism even demonstrating to me how it worked. WHAT A SWEETIE! And just when I'd given up hope in humanity. This guy came outta nowhere. An angel in disguise. God bless him. I thanked him again, and once more before he was out of sight.

I sat a bit worrying even with using the automatic doors that I wouldn't be given enuff time to make it thru before the heavy metal and safety glass concoctions come speedily slamming shut on me, or worse yet, in to me. As I was making my way to standing and beginning the second leg of this journey two other people came out and three others in - again, none of which offering any help.

So I press the little blue handyman symbol, I call 'em, and in I go. One more set of doors. There should be a handy man to press for them too. Where is that little guy? Uh-oh. I gotta reach behind me? That's awkward and somewhat dangerous in my current condition, but just standing still would be even more risky. And so I said a little prayer to myself and made it through. "Yay, me," says London Tipton.

And then immediately to the seats nearest the doors for another rest. I lean to peer down the loooong hall of seats lining the wall to Lee's waiting room and find my Mom sitting nearest the entrance to his office. She'd made it and by golly so could I. Just another minute in the air conditioning and I think I can make it. Then I hear the nurse call her name. Grrrrrr! I was gonna have to haul ass on back there.

But what's this? My knight in shining armor, well, shining GMC anyways, pulls up in the parking lot. Guess what dear readers? My Mom had called him to come get me as I was in no way fit to make it in. Well I showed her. I was in! But when Jason came in and explained that to me and I had got him up to speed with a few of the gory details, I begrudgingly opted to go home. And why not? Apparently the doc was seein' patients in record time today. She'd prolly already talked to him anyways.

On our way out another very kind lady held the door for me. She'd even risked losing her place in line to do so. Fighting tears and anger from the whole situation I did manage to thank her too. I reckon I may have even overly thanked her if there is such a thing. Good people do exist. And may God bless her too.

I'll spare you the details of my return to the couch. Betcha didn't know that in a pinch those fancy Cadillac walkers, though the instruction booklets warn against it, can be used as a transport chair. Yay! And nearly falling sideways off the one teensy, tiny nearly non-existent step we do have going in to the house, wellll, that walker doubled well as a chair.

Jason lifted me from the seat and damn near threw me to the couch. It was more of a sling/drop. We'll say slung. I was slung on the couch. And completely and utterly exhausted the wacked out position I'd landed in was the same exact position I maintained when he returned home. Would I ever make it back upstairs? Your guess was as good as mine.

I did. And I was so greatful I did. Sleep came fast. And again - no complaints here! Sooo, that covers Friday. Dare I burden your eyes with more? Should we trudge on thru the weekend? Why not? I can edit from here on out. Okay? I pinky swear even. You say that I can't? Oh, it's on now. I bet I can do it in two paragraphs devoting one to each day. Whatcha wanna bet? Huh? As the saying goes, "It's on like Donkey Kong!"

Saturday we slept in a bit. I sure needed it and woke sore as all get out as if I'd been in a fight with a gang of concrete and lost. Once up and fed (lunch instead of breakfast as we'd just missed the fast food cut-off times), we began the task we'd set for ourselves the previous week - CLEANING HOUSE. Jason even called in for back-up. His Mom, Dad, and Aunt Ann came to the rescue. Laundry, vacuuming, dishes, stairway - you name it - they cleaned it. THANK YOU ALL SO VERY MUCH! Bed followed not too awful long after they left. And again, although I hadn't really participated in the cleaning effort besides folding a few clothes and barking the occasional direction - I was exhausted.

OK. It was a loooong paragraph, but it was a looooong day. Now to Sunday. Although we were up in plenty of time for church I layed in bed awake worrying that if I got any worse I may be completely unable to participate in the boys' back to school shopping this year. And I so loved doing that, plus we were over due to shop for them each new pairs of shoes. Sooo, I decided we'd venture to Target instead, but on the way I would share with them my favorite Bible story about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendego and the fiery furnace. And I did. And we shopped like banshees. We brought our own wheel chair and each of the three guys took turns pushing me whilst another handled the cart. We were quite a conglomeration, I'm sure. Once home we vegged. The boys swam. And Jason worked. Bed before 9. A Sunday miracle.

There. I did it. Thick paragraphs, but still . . . got 'er done. Today is Monday. I sit blogging next to a snoring pit bull. No news on South Bend yet. I'm guessin' we'll call back tomorrow. Please, please continue to keep us in your prayers as each of you are in mine. I'll post again when I know more or when another weekend has passed. Until then, "Seacrest out!"

When It Rains . . .

2010-08-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

Wow! Have I got alot of splainin' to do Lucy! So much has happened since I last blogged. Major ups and downs. So have a seat and buckle up. This could be a bumpy ride. And remember to keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times. We will not be responsible for the loss or damage of any valuables. Yours truly, The Management. I've often wondered if they considered children valuables. Huh? Only the intro paragraph and already I'm off track.

Where'd I leave ya? Early to church on Sunday? Dominatrix walker-free Monday? Awww, yes! Sore as hell Tuesday. School about to start, if it were a couple of years ago back my freshman year in high school I'd have been attending volleyball two-a-days about now. They were monsterously tuff. And I'd come home so sore. Well. After my weekend and then my belligerent attempt at going walker free- wow! I felt like, pooooo.

Kristen? You still readin'? You know. Awww, those were the days. I'd come home and flop down on the floor beneath the ceiling fan in the living room. Dad would be in his recliner and say, "This is good for ya!" And with that my teeth would clench in anger and I'd think to myself, 'Yeh, right!' Grrrrr! But why be mad at Dad? It was Coach Tucker that needed a good beating! Anyways, where'd my point go? I WAS SORE.

So sore there was nothin' to do but mess around on the internet. That's all I ever do anyways, right? What was I bitchin' about? On Facebook for a bit and my angst turned to hope. Huh? What had happened? Had it been Ryan's RSVP to the Fall Festival? Nah. It was appearing as though maybe a dam was starting to break in our CCSVI War. First up, some governmental break thru in Canada. Yay, for all my new Canadian friends!

And what's this? Before I could dive any further into the details of it all I got a message from Tommy - a new northern Indiana friend of mine also suffering from MS. He'd had a lead on a doc in South Bend and although I admit I hadn't put much faith in it at first (as newbie docs don't thrill me) . . . he already had an appointment for testing and treatment. Insurance was payin' and all it would cost him he'd said was a tank of gas. Wow! That was fast. I had to beg and plead with my newbie. Maybe this doc wasn't a newbie after all. Hmmmmm. Interesting. And Tommy passed me the good doc's # and info. Hmmmm, indeed.

As I start to dive in and research this maverick - another new facebook friend pops on. This one from Florida. This one who's before video so reminded me of me. This one who is now walking in heels. Apparently her doc has found away around all the red tape and is gearing up to announce his triumphant return to private practice in September. Even more magical is he is testing and treating for $2,000.

What? Too good to be true right? This influx of info was giving me a head cake. No that's not a typo. Head cakes are waaay worse than headaches, BUT not quite of migraine caliber. What up with that? Had it been God tapping me on the head to tell me I was being an idiot?

"Don't be a fool! Stay in school," He'd say. No, wait. That's Mr. T. God would prolly say, "Use thy walker!" and "Make some phone calls, for the doctors shall not come to you." So far tho, I remained skeptical of unresearched, unknown, docs and I was still ambulating assistance free - unless you count walls and furniture. Sure. I admit to being a bit hard headed. BUT, I also admit that I don't see there being a problem with that. Thus, no fixing necessary. No 12 steps to recovery plan needed here.

And then a knock at the door. A surprise visit from my sis and her kiddos to tell us all about their vacation. Indy zoo, museum and Holiday World. They even brought pictures. Looks like they had a blast. I CAN'T WAIT TIL I CAN WALK!!! My boys got excited about going just hearing of their cousins' escapades. I so wanna take 'em so many places and not be a hinderance to them all whilst there, but be able to join in on all the fun. PLEEEEAAAAASE! Ever feel like tellin' Santa that's all you'd ever want for Christmas? Ever, ever again?

Amelia and I caught up on some grown-up talk while the kiddos played a rousing game of Duck, Duck, Goose. Keep in mind . . . my Goose is quite a bit larger than the duck participants of almost equal height and weight. The whole thing made me and Gooch nervous. Poor puppy had to go in his cage to relax. He's sooo like his momma and not used to too much commotion.

Don't get me wrong tho, 'cause I immensely enjoyed their shenanigans too. And Amelia and I schooled them all on the 'reverse your direction trick' which in hindsight, considering my eldest son's tackling ability may not have been the best idea we'd ever had. But alas, no one got hurt, everyone had fun, and we'd made plans for swimming the very next day. Welllll, not me yet, but maybe. We'd just have to see. And, Baby Girl . . . thanks for the chocolate sundae too!

After they'd left it was near to impossible to get my two to calm down. The Aleve I had taken just before our guests arrival had failed to snuff out the ache (cake). Should I take another? Better not. I'll just play the role of referee a little longer 'til Jason gets home. Then to fight this headache and maybe get a jump on tomorrow's festivities, I'd hoped to go to bed early. It was just gonna be me and Gooch anyways as the guys had planned on going to KungFu. I planned on researching leads on docs during their absence - all from the comfort of my bed of course.

What's with me and all the plan making as of late? Was that a side effect of LDN? Whatever the reason, it needed to stop. I still have MS. Plan making never works out. I knew that. Geesh! The head cake worsens. Trips to the bathroom begin requiring the walker. And then one trip back I forget it. And SPLAT! This fall hits so hard - had my tongue not been safely resting behind my teeth - I surely would have bitten it off. "Snap." That my friends was the undeniable sound of teeth hitting teeth. Very unpleasant.

But what's this? Never mind about my aching chompers. All of my 200 pounds was resting on my calves. And my precious knees. Yikes! They were on fire. In agony. Yeeeeeooow! Good news: I can feel 'em. Bad news: I can feel 'em. How in the world was I gonna move 'em? After the uncontrollable cussing subsided, I reasoned, 'Was it time to call Jason?' BUT, I couldn't turn enuff to see the clock atop the mantle.

I look to Asa. He's a big boy. But was he big enuff? And as he looked back at me
with an Orth twinkle in his eye as if to say, "Hell, yeh, Ma! How dare you doubt me!" He had just carried in my fancy new walker Jason had ordered me. He moaned and groaned a little as the box was awkwardly large, but her got 'er done. Even Abe helped with guiding the box. What a dynamic duo.

My mind wandered to football. Asa Spindler clears out the entire defensive line making way for his little bro Abel Spindler to get thru and score the touchdown. "What teamwork!" the announcer will say. "Folks. You've just witnessed another Spindler Thunder and Lightening combination!" Sooo, he'd need to be in prime killing condition in just a couple of weeks. Alas, I asked him to fetch me the phone. And luckily it was nearing 5:00.

Enter Jason stage left. And the hero hoists the leading lady to her couch. And scene. After taking yet another call from work - even after 5:00 - he commences to putting my new ride together so I can break 'er in on my way to the stairs. As, get this, my old walker remained at the ready just outside the bathroom door where I'd absent-mindedly left it parked. "Pretty smart," says the husband. And ya know what? I am both pretty and smart! So I agreed.

My new Cadillac of walkers, which my hubby picked out and ordered a all on his own, was very cool. I was and remain very impressed. First and foremost it is my favorite color- PINK! Four wheels. Hand brakes with reflectors (for all the nighttime walking I do). A padded seat with back rest. And a covered storage compartment beneath the seat. Talk about 'Pimp My Ride.' All I needed was some fuzzy dice and a horn. Look out world, here I come! If I can remember . . .

A coke and two Aleve later I found myself too tired to research any docs. I was even too loopy to harvest crops. Perhaps I had taken an Aleve earlier and forgot I had. Oh well. Head on pillow I was set to get my sleep on. Then the phone rings. Whoops. Jason forgot to bring it up to me. (We're down to one cordless as the boys are especially ruff on them.) Anyways, about a minute later I hear footsteps on the stairs. Must be Jason bringin' me the phone before he leaves.

Huh? He didn't just toss it to me from the hall like normal?! Then he approaches the bed and puts his right hand on my hip, his left still clenching the phone. His eyes remind me of his eyes when he had to tell me my LIBERATION was unsuccessful. Somethin' was up for sure, BUT what? Just frickin' tell me already! The suspense may kill me. And he leads with, "Stay in bed . . ."

And follows with news they'd called an ambulance for my mother. I was given strict orders not to call my sister as she had everything under control, BUT was a bit too busy to have to field calls. Well sure, telemarketers and such, even drugged up worthless cripples calling just to chat, BUT I thought she might could handle one inquiry from her eldest sister. Ya know? Me. First born of the woman awaiting the ambulance. I dunno. Just sayin'.

As I began to sit up and stew over that order. He sheds a little more light on the situation and before leaving the room orders me to remain calm and in bed as no one needs me falling with everything else going on. Ha! My knees still wimpering in pain I couldn't have agreed more. But, ummmm, this is my Momma we're talking about. Back in the days of mobility I was a bit more involved, let's call it.

One particular night my Dad had thought he was dying. I made it from my house in Lawrence Addition to their Point Township house in a record 2 minutes. Have I mentioned how awesome my 300M is? Well, it is! And if I weren't drugged and in the middle of a damned exacerbation I betcha I could make that time again. And maybe even beat it if I got the distress call from the main floor. In Park Ridge now I'm closer to Point, but may have to take all the steps of our multi-level home into account. Nonetheless, I needed to be there.

I sat stewing. My head cake began baking. Maybe even burning. I posted a prayer request on Facebook to pass time. The response was enormous by the way and meant the world to me. I instant messaged with Shelley who'd just talked to Mom earlier in the day. And then it hit me - HARD! What if? What if they couldn't get her back from this? Jason assured me earlier they would and that I'd only get in the way if I were there. Blah, bla, bla. To hell with reason.

I make my mind up. If Jason won't hop on board and take me - I'll go my own self. Me and my 300M. Just try and stop us. I get up to get dressed. Reaching for my bra I'd thrown on the growing pile of dirty clothes earlier, the phone began to ring. Must be Amelia I'd thought. In mid stoop to reach the pile near the door towards the foot of the bed I switched gears to reach behind me for the phone on the bed.

A success! Well, mostly. My left hand grabbed the phone but the forward momentum of my body was still determined to get to the pile near the door. What's in between the two? I'm glad you asked. It's a huge old dresser with an even huger old mirror with shelves perched atop it. Gorgeous bedroom suite I got from my Mom when she moved into her smaller apartment. I'm so very proud of it. Anyways, I plowed into it as I managed miraculously to hit the talk button and say, "Hello?"

I cleared the dresser of nearly all it's contents atop it . . . including the mirror and the shelves' precious contents. Empty coke glasses had been strewn here and there. Koontz books and King's. A knick knack or two. Some change. A zip drive. And thank God - - - the mirror teetered but did not fall. Had it you may never have have been blessed with the rest of my story. That or I'd be sitting here blogging whilst dead.

And no I'm not overreacting. I too came down. My rear twisting towards the dresser as I had been reaching that direction for the phone I had the pleasure of hitting every handle of every drawer on the way down. Good thing my butt is big. Another good thing? Grandma's blanket was still there to soften my eventual meeting with the floor. Thanks again, Grandma! But had that mirror come down on me, wow, lights out . . .

So am I talking to Amelia during all this? Nope. God? Nope, tho I prolly should've been. It was Jason who had called. The entire event I had been struggling to carry on a calm, cool, collected conversation with my hubby who had just moments ago warned me against getting up. Had he heard the commotion and called to catch me in the act? Nah. Amelia had just called his cell phone with an update.

A sidenote: She called the cell instead of the house phone assuming we'd be well on our way to the hospital by now. The report had been that the ambulance took awhile as it had to come all the way from the hospital, but that they'd given her a shot and she was beginning to become a bit more responsive. A bit from what I'd wondered at the time. With this news I explain to Jason I'd already gotten fall #2 out of the way and that I was nearly dressed and on my way downstairs.

I may have fudged the truth a bit as I sat there in my p.j.s but I got dressed and conquered the stairs lickedy split. I fell a bit near the bottom of the steps when the phone I had stuck in my bra began to ring. It crashed to the tile in to two pieces still ringing. (OK, I admit I may be the one tuffest on the phones.) After making sure my seat atop the third stair up was a stable one Jason scooped up the pieces and reassembled the phone. It had been my Grandpa reporting the ambulance had just passed the house. He didn't wanna talk to me though. He told Jason just to tell me. Am I that ruff a customer people? Surely not. Plus that was a rhetorical question.

Once the boys were out of the pool, dried, and dressed, we were on our way. Jason had already called and given his parents a heads-up. So we dropped the boys at their house and headed to E-ville. Emergency parking was under construction. Way under! So we parked near the entrance and get this - walked! My Cadillac walker had a heck of a maiden voyage. Jason had tore the tags off it as he loaded it in the truck, but it still had the plastic wrap on the wheels. Makes em' shiny like a fresh coat of Armor-ALL.

Talk about a journey. We went on quite a trek. Why, pray tell? 'Cause my dear hubby didn't think I could, I guess. Again with the logistics. He wanted to get a chair for me but then we wouldn't have a walker. He thought we'd look silly with both. And all I could worry about with all the tiny crowded rooms was, would I fit even without an arsenal of large clunky assistive devices? So I tried my best to simplify the situation. Pray, step. Pray, step. Pause. Pray. Pray, step. Pray.

When we reached the waiting room full of sickly gagging and yacking my first thought was, 'Oh shit! I'm on immune suppressant!' But then as I held my breath and attempted to speed up my gait thru the ill masses I realized I had kicked the injections some time ago. Yay, me! When we'd made it to the check-in desk the nurse seated on the other side was reaching for her patient sign in clipboard. Ah-ha! As flushed and as out of breath as I may have been they may have very well been ready to admit me, but I wasn't here for me.

Room 16. Wow. That one's way back there. I think I've actually been in that exact one. Sadly I've been in many of them. But not in a good long time now. Should I thank the blood pressure meds? The inclined bed? God? Or wait! I know. Maybe my neuro's new policy not to admit MSers for steroid treatment. Ha! Anyways, we arrived and Amelia and Grandma were with her. As nurses tended to Mom I got caught up on the night's timeline.

I can't afford the rights to her story so I'll just give you the abridged version. Making no sense. Concern. Low blood sugar. Volunteer firemen. EMTs. Ambulance. Hospital. And when we arrived to the hospital all they'd done was started an IV, took some blood, and continued trying to get her level up. After all that and a meal it was still only at 82. A far cry from the 24 it had been in the beginning, but still not being higher after all they'd done was odd.

Enter the doctor. Thank goodness I was there. Ready to send her home, I added to her list of ailments her cough and her drowning spells. That's what they sound like to me anyways when she explains the episodes to me. So the good doc takes a closer listen and orders a chest x-ray and ekg. Guess what? A touch of pnemonia and possibly COPD. Sooo, she was in for antibiotics and further observation for the night. Guess what else? She was pissed!

And though my Aleve was starting to wear off, exhaustion was beginning to set in. Jason could see it 'cause he went to fetch a wheel chair without allowing for much discussion on the matter. I simply held my folded up walker on the chairs foot rest and everything went smooth as butter. And on the way home I got a frisco melt and shake. Yay, me! Home and in bed before Wednesday. Yippee!

I only thought I was sore Tuesday. Wednesday was a whole other story. Shew! The boys were still at Granny and Papaw's so I messed around on the laptop upstairs in bed for a while after Jason left for work expecting to hear from Mom or Amelia real soon. No such luck on that front, BUT on the CCSVI saga, the tide was a changin'. I had private messages and emails from several of my MS sisters and brothers. Thank you Judy, Irishbear, Tommy and Tina.

They'd heard of a doc in Indiana and thought of me. Yay! And it was the same doc Tommy was scheduled to see on Monday. Wow. So I called Jason to see what he thought as he hadn't been real fond of the Florida scenario. Strike that. He was real fond of the price tag, but just a little untrusting due to the whole too good to be true saying. And as bad as he wanted me liberated he wanted to be absolutely sure everything was on the up and up.

I continued with the details and background I'd gotten from Tommy. And I mentioned Irishbear had sent me an email saying I could have the procedure and walk a couple of blocks to see a Notre Dame football game. WHAT? Next to Notre Dame - must be a sign! Jason didn't need to hear anymore. He called them right away and left a message. Bummer. They must be gettin' swamped with calls. And his contact info was spreading like wildfire throughout our Facebook family. Please Lord don't let him get shut down. And please Lord let me get in.

Then at a little after 9 I broke down and called Amelia to see what she'd heard. Nothin'. She hadn't made any contact, nor did she have a room #. So I call and got her room # and called her room a couple times to no answer. Maybe she was down for testing. Or maybe she'd taken a cab home. Any more aggravated than she was the night before she might even be walking home at this point.

I spent the rest of my morning drifting in and out of sleep and farming. Exhaustion, I tell ya. Rough stuff. Amelia calls and I relay the # hoping maybe she' d have better luck at getting thru. Just maybe tho, if they weren't releasing her - maybe she wasn't gonna talk to us. What a mess. If you're reading this Mom, we only take you to get help because we love you. Now shape up! Checked your sugar lately? How are your crops?

Jason comes home for lunch and reports he's talked to the South Bend Doc's secretary. Yay! Says she sounds intrigued about my being a 'nothing out of the ordinary' case. She promised Jason she would present my info to the doc later that day. Wow. The ball really is rolling on this one. Or should I say we've thrown a Hail Mary. And it's a beautiful spiral, almost floating in slow motion thru the South Bend sky. Will the good doc catch it in the end zone? Stay tuned to find out.

Later on Mom finally calls me to report she's comin' home. She further explains her family doc came in to see her and had no idea why she was even there. Huh? A follow-up appointment on Friday? Great! I look forward to being there to get to the bottom of things. Me and that Lee . . . surely by now he must hate to see me comin'. Pity, really, but I do feel our love/hate relationship gets more done. Or maybe that's all in my head sorta like my disease.

The rest of my Wednesday. More sleeping. Phone answering. Caught up with "Hell's Kitchen" on hulu. Annnnnnd, guess what else? More sleepin'. Then about 7 I wake to the boys' voices in astonishment about something or the other. And Jason scurrying from room to room on the main floor.

Then two boys enter with hugs kisses and hellos and one frazzled looking handsome young man with a sack full of Mexican take-out. But why frazzled? The first words out of his mouth were, "Did Gooch come see ya this afternoon?" Puzzled, I answer, "Well, no." He continued, "Well he's been loose all afternoon . . ." And from there I'll spare you the gory details of his adventures.

Unfortunately (did I type that out loud for all to see?) both cats are still alive and enjoying toying with the trash scraps the mongrel left behind. Not his fault. Poor pup had a lonely night last night and then more of the same today. I hadn't come down for our morning feeding ritual. He was prolly starvin'. Poor pit.

After I'd devoured my supper I spent some time messaging my sister online. We got alot talked about. Mom, of course. Movies. Kids. Horse shows. School. And most important of all . . . OUR PLANS POST LIBERATION. We're gonna play volleyball together on a league somewhere or another. We'll start our own if we gotta. We're gonna roller blade downtown. Show horses world-wide. Dance like dancing queens. Awww. This list could become a massive blog all on its own. #1 on the list is of course to become Super Mom!!!

Finally the masses begin joining me upstairs. Daddy must finally be deeming it late enuff for bedtime. Both arrive with their game systems of choice in hand and nearly glued to their faces. I truly don't know how they could see to walk. The little boogers didn't even stop to pee. They turned the corner to their room. "Night, Mom." "Night, Mom." Well Lah Tee Dah! It was as if they were in a trance.

Finally all settled in Jason and I commence to grown-up talking. Hate to disappoint - it was nothing kinky. What I mean to say is he talked about his day at work and I updated him as to my Mom's settling in at home. Stuff like that when he out of the blue asks, "Did I tell you I talked to Maribeth again?" Huh? No. Do tell.

I guess Gooch had thrown him off his game with his trash-a-thon 'cause you'd have thought news regarding advances towards LIBERATION would have come even before the presentation of the delicious Mexican feast from Tequilas. Yummmm. Anyways, the news was that the doc didn't care about my failed attempt. Send on my info and let's LIBERATE this girl! Well, yeeeehaaaaw! I'm ready!

Jason would send them all they needed first thing tomorrow and I was to further research the doc and try and contact more of his previous patients. Deal? Deal! NOTRE DAME FOOTBALL!!! Wonder if I can fit in a game? Or a tour? Maybe they'd be interested in giving the Spindler Lightening and Thunder combo a tour of their campus. I'm stoked. Can you tell? LDN in and down. And I'm starting a vitamin Thursday.

Trash Day. Thank's Gooch for showing it all to us. I wondered before descending the stairs if I'd even be able to get to the couch. Luckily Jason had already picked the majority of Gooch's bounty up and re-trashed it. Honey Nut Cheerios and a huge horse pill lookin' multi-vitamin later I was back to farmin'. Must be in the genes. And the jeans.

So today is Thursday. What'd I do? Blogged. Farmed. Netflixed. (That's a new word!) And cuddled with my pup. Apparently he needs a day to recover from his adventures too. Hopefully by tomorrow we'll both be on the mend and much closer to our lazy selves. If I survive the trip to go see Doc Lee, I desperately need to take the boys to get school supplies. We'll see. One things for certain --- I'm not making any plans!

To everyone still reading, I so appreciate y'all stickin' with me. We may be nearing the finish line. Will it be in South Bend, Indiana? I've soooo got the Fighting Irish theme song stuck in my head. That's what I need - luck 'o the Irish. Maybe it's been there all along. Lovs ya!

Day 5 LDN Update

2010-08-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

First, the good news: only made two trips to the potty last night. And so far today, though I haven't ventured any further than the couch, the bathroom, and the back door to let out the Gooch --- here it comes --- wait for it --- NO WALKER!

I'm still not back to my pre-exacerbation MS swagger, BUT I am improving!!!

Now for the bad news . . . there is no bad news. Can we say it together now? Ready? On three. 1 - 2 - 3. "WOOOOOO HOOOOOO!" Shew! Didn't that feel good? That's all I got for ya today people. I feel like a bit of a tease. Sorry.

Here's an idea - Why not turn off your computer and go do somethin' fun, heh? Hug a family member real tight. Tell someone you love 'em. I'm serious people. You can bet your butt if I could get off mine as easily as you can get off yours . . . I'd be doin' somethin worthy of writin' about. NOW GO!

Uhhh, yeh, that's an order. And another improvement . . . from tease to dominatrix. Ha! Who knew?

Friday, Saturday, Sunday

2010-08-01T13:34:00.000-07:00

So what'd y'all do this weekend? You won't believe what all I did. First up, Friday night festivities. I went out. Big time. Bowling. Putt-putt. Rollerblading. Dancing. Naaaah, not really, but I did go out. Actually out. Out of the house. Can I get a wooooo hooooo? Oh, yeh!

I'd planned on taking the wheel chair, but feeling squirrely I ventured out with just my walker. We went out with our good friends Ryan and Angel to celebrate Angel's new job and although we didn't know it at the time . . . the send off of Ryan's facial hair. A tragedy really - get a little bit of ice cream in it and off it goes. *sniff, sniff* Just a sec whilst I wipe my tears . . .

Sooo, Logan's for steak and then Cold Stone Creamery for I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Yummmmmmy. I had the absolute best ice cream I think I ever had. It was cake batter ice cream mixed with chocolate chip cookie dough, fudge and whipped cream in a delicious waffle bowl dipped in chocolate. So special, I tell ya, it even had it's own name. I think they call it "All Lovin' No Oven."

A. Next to a movie perhaps? B. Or rent one and head home? C. Maybe a quick stop for pool filters? Wrongo. The answer is D. none of the above. I'd already had quite a big night for my first real outing in eons. It was all I could do to make it upstairs to bed. Took my LDN and lights out. THE END.

The came Saturday morning at 5 am. Get ready for a wooooo hooooo. I slept DRY from about 11 to 5 in the morning. Yay! Yay! Yay! Now. Say it now. "Woooooo hooooo!" Jason and I had talked on the way home the night before about how excited we were to see what improvements lie ahead. We each talked of what we hoped to see and rejoiced at what we already had. Whether it be LDN or prayer or the combination of the two . . . somethin' was workin' on me. Somethin' powerful!

Should I wake him and happily report that I slept even longer uninterrupted by urgency? Should I wake him to tell him how miraculously rested and rejuvenated I felt? Nah. I decided to let the poor boy rest. He's a gorgeous one, my husband, even in his sleep. And before I knew it I'd fallen back asleep myself. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzzz goes the alarm clock. What was it set at 6:30 for on a Saturday?

Thankfully Jason grabs for it and shut 'er off. Or so I'd thought. Minutes (which seemed like seconds) later it buzzzzzed again. Smack! That was loud. Surely he took care of it this time around. Buzzzzz. Buzzzzzz. "Jason," I remember asking, "Any reason we need to be up this morning?" "Ummmm, no," he answers amidst the buzz buzz buzzing. And still the alarm sounds. "Baby," I say a little sterner, "can you turn OFF the alarm then?" And silence.

And sleep. Until 10 o'clock when Jason awakes with a hankering for a Dean's stromboli. Huh? That's not on his diet. Anyways I decide that'd prolly be too much of a walk for me and opt to stay in bed. Jason calls his parents to invite them and see if we can retrieve the kiddos from them there. And it's a date. And stromboli does sound awfully good. I'd just ventured out with friends. What kinda mom would I be if I didn't at least give goin' out with the kiddos a try? And off we went.

Parking just by the door we'd made it in and were seated with time to spare. And then came the kiddos looking as if they'd just gotten up. Apparently they too had partied hard the night before. All kissed and hugged and reacquainted we settled in to order. And after all that, none of us ordered stromboli. But I did have a huge delicious breakfast. All I needed now was another "All Lovin' No Oven." Next?

To shop for school supplies or not to shop for school supplies? That was the question. How 'bout "NO!" What up family? You think 3 nights of LDN has cured me? Geesh?! I may look better. At least that's what you're tellin' me. But I still need my walker. And I still can't stand too long. And going too far gets me outta breath and gives me a headache. Have I mentioned when my right leg begins to spasm that it's warning me to get off it? And not listening to it equals FALLING.

So whether or not I could have pushed thru and went shopping, I opted out. Let's give this LDN a few more days time before I add over doing it to my ever growing pessimist's list of reasons I'm not getting better faster. So the rest of the day I spent on the couch. Farmville, Facebook, spider solitaire, Netflix, etc. The most important part of the afternoon and evening being - REST!!!

P.S. I discovered about 1:00 or so I'd forgotten to take my Provigil. A wonderful little pill that if I fail to take I suffer the rest of the day for. And at times, sleep the rest of the day because of. Anyways, I'd forgotten again when I'd got home. Then at nearly three Jason catchin' me lookin' at the clock asks, "Did you take your Provigil?" Wellllll, nah. But it was kinda late now to take a pill that works to keep me up all day. I hadn't fallen asleep thus far so I opted out entirely secretly hoping for an early bed time.

And I made it. Awake alllll day w/out prescription assistance. And in bed by 9:30, so wish granted. Anytime before 10 around the Spindler house is considered early. LDN in and swallowed, but hold up a tic. I was cooooold. Brrrrrrrr. "Can I get another blanket, baby?" Ask and ye shall receive. I was awarded the blanket of all blankets. One made by Jason's grandma that is so incredibly warm it's even heavy to lift. I haven't even been able to fold it myself for years now due to it's massive weight. Awwww, thanks! This would warm me up for sure. Thank you, Baby! And thank you, Grandma!

But then at 1:30, I woke up having to PEEEEE. BAAAAAD. And I was HOT. And I couldn't hardly move. I nearly went into panic mode. Getting my arms free to lift my upper body I realized it was the blanket holding me hostage. I grabbed it with both hands and slung it off of me hard enuff I'd thought it should've smacked the far wall of the bedroom. Alas, it mad it just off my right leg. And once it was free the momentum of it plus my upper body thrust my left to freedom as well. Then wobbly as a toddler I made it to the potty.

Did I get a star on my toddler potty training chart? Nope. But I should've. Anyways, I toddled back to bed knowing some how or another I absolutely MUST remove the warmest of blankets in the entire world from my bed. But how was I to do it? I prayed for strength. And you know what I was given? Smarts. I look at Jason as I consider waking him to help and notice that he's slid down quite a bit more than usual from the head of the bed.

LIGHTBULB! Our bed is set on an incline. Gravity is welllll, gravity. And so if I sling the blanket towards the foot of the bed it may just make its way off easier than slinging it over Jason or pulling it to the floor on my side thus making for a future immovable road block. I gave the downward slippery slope theory a go and off, off, off she went. Had Grandma been there helping? Or maybe God Himself? Surely not as He has way more important prayers to tend to, but still I thank and praise Him. He saved me that night. I'm sure of it.

The rest of the night I spent coverless. And on one of my many bathroom trips I even stopped long enuff to put my hair up I was so hot. As I cooled down my urgency slacked and I found myself getting to stay in bed longer between trips. NOTE TO SELF (and Jason): Suffer thru the chills. No more blankets. Especially Grandma's. So two steps forward, one step back. Soooo my fault. I know not to get too hot. I know not to miss my Provigil. I know not to over do no matter how well ya feel or how long it's been since you've been able to do anything. My bad.

And buzzzz, buzzzzz, buzzzz. Please don't tell me it was going off at 6:30 again. It wasn't, but it was 8:30 and I sooo didn't wanna miss church again. We'd already missed 2 in a row. I wanted to go. I needed to go. I prayed for strength again and as I was praying, guess what? I fell back asleep. Then at quarter after 9, I wake to see Jason reading something or other off his phone. I say, "You promised you wouldn't let me miss this morning, Baby," as I get up and make my way yet again to the commode.

His reply was that we hadn't missed anything yet, but we prolly would. I hurry out of the bathroom to my closet and grab some clothes. All the while praying, please Lord let me make it. Then narrowly missing a crash on the floor, I flop on the edge of the bed to better reach my underwear drawer. And Jason asks, "You're not seriosly considering still going, are ya?"

At that I reply, "Well, I sure hoped to but I'm awfully damn close to giving up." Then we sat silent. I considered dropping my clothes at my feet and flopping back in bed but first prayed that it be God's will. And then Jason spoke. And as wretched of words as they may have been I believe they came from God as they were exactly what I'd needed to hear to get me on my way.

"There's no way we're gonna make it now," he said. Well, thank you Jason. And thank you, God! They both know all too well not to tell an Orth she can't do something. Grrrrrrrrr! With that I started dressing right there. Ordered the boys up and to hurry getting ready. We were having a hurry up and don't miss the bus to school drill. Whoops! Y'all missed brushin' your teeth. Get back up here and brush while Daddy showers.

Boys all ready and Daddy dryin' off I order the boys to the kitchen to pick out breakfast they can take in the truck. Then once Jason is dressed I order him to let the dog out, get my Provigil and find my shoes whilst I finish dressing and brush my pearly whites. So shoes, pill, and a coke in hand Jason follows the boys to the truck but waits to hold the door for 'ol crip. He's soooo a keeper. Hands off ladies or I'll beat you with my walker!

And we're off. And early. Yay! Better yet, how's about a wooooo hooooo? Great service. Great song selections. The first being about Jesus lifting me. And then victory in Jesus. And one of my dad's all time favorites, even played at his funeral - "In the Garden." Then just when I thought I'd miraculously made it thru tear free Andrew gets behind the piano.

This gorgeous, uber talented young man just happens to be a cousin of mine but I promise you dear readers I am in no way bias and/or partial. He sings an original him and a friend wrote a few years back. Beautiful!!! I almost come undone and then he dedicates it to his grandma Wanda who just so happens to be my grandma too. And just so happens to be sitting right next to me - also losing it.

Please let that be it Andrew. No such luck. He does another. And I'll be a monkey's uncle if every last word of that song hadn't been meant for me. It talked about thinking you were really somethin' but realizing that you couldn't even walk without holding His hand. I can't even type about it all these hours later without tearing up. I'll have to get the words for it and share 'em with ya later. Anyways, thank you Andrew. YOU ROCK!

He was a hard act to follow, but Uncle Scott held his own. He always does. He taught from Luke Chapter 19, I think it was. A bit about Zaccheus. Remember the song about him being a wee little man and climbing a sycamore tree? Anyways, the message was good and the alter call fruitful. Can I get an, Amen? But I feel like my message is getting a bit long so I gotta move on . . .

Nearly off Bonebank Road we get a call asking us to Dean's for lunch. Well sure. Why not? Maybe we'd have our strombolis today. And the parking near the door? Taken. On the street nearest the door? Taken. On the corner nearly a block from the door? It was ours for the taking. Yippee! So up the street we went. And the average person may not realize it but that particular street does have a gradual incline towards where it meets Main Street. I kid you not. It is there. And it is real.

We used the entrance near the bar that we hardly ever use and thankfully so as my right leg had been locked in a spasm since well before the entrance. Suffice it to say my warning was about to run out. So the first uninhabited table I grabbed a chair and flounced down in it. The family that had stayed behind with me offered to go get the family already settled in at our regular table. I said, "Nah, I've got only one thing on my mind right now, and it's the bathroom."

I didn't know which warning to heed. That of my leg or my bladder. Eventually the bladder won out and thankfully my leg, not wanting to get drenched, decided to cooperate. Dear right leg, Thank you! OXOXO, Me And to the table when asked what I wanted to order . . . all I could think of was bed rest. Too exhausted to lift a strom I ordered a burger. But how was I gonna make it outta there?

Good thing we're tight with the owners. Hehehehe. Thank you, Uncle Bud for movin' your truck. Easy out and home. And leg not shaking I proclaim, "I'm gonna try this without the walker." And before I could field any protests I was out the door. Truck, truck, truck, lighthouse, chair, table, chair, door, banister, wall, wall, wall, wall, table, shelf, sink and toilet. Can I get a woooooo hoooooo?

And then to the couch touching the wall only twice. Wow. And, say it with me now, "Wooooo hooooo!" So the rest of the afternoon I spent maxin' and relaxin'. And the evening? Much of the same. Now I'm off to bed. Sheet only. And I'm soooo excited to see what tomorrow will bring. Could it be a stronger bladder? Better walking? More energy? Total world domination?

Pray with me, for all those, won't you? I promise that everyone with MS will be LIBERATED should the world domination prayer be answered. But seriously, any of the others would be great too. So keep prayin' y'all. And I'll keep ya posted. Love ya. OXOXOXO

Too Soon To Tell

2010-07-30T07:03:00.000-07:00

May 14, 2010 - The day after my birthday I underwent my failed LIBERATION.
July 28, 2010 - The day after my sister's birthday I began taking LDN.
So Jason asks what I'm planning on doing the day after his birthday . . .
August 13, 2010 - The day after my hubby's birthday, wellll, it's too soon to tell.
I hope, using words of my Dad's, that by then, I'm "kickin' ass and takin' names!"

Enuff with the intros already. I got news. GOOD NEWS. First on the LDN front, I think it may be workin'. The first night I took it Jason and I were a bundle of nerves. Each of the 8 times I was up going to the bathroom Jason asked me if I was okay. Bless his soul, poor guy didn't rest worth a darn. Having grown used to my frequent potty trips the only difference this night was Jason's participation. Usually my comings and goings don't warrant anything besides the occasional sleepy grunt of recognition that perhaps I'd been too noisy.

I did have a bizarro dream but nothing scary. I dreamt I was at a huge CCSVI summit. Nothing weird about that as Dr. Sclafani's symposium was happily fresh in my mind. The weird part was I was there along with all the big names and everybody knew everybody except for me. All the Denises and Judys were there. And Jeanine, Yvonne, Carol, Tessa, Diana, Alice, Brenda, Irishbear, Paul, Tina, Kathleen, Marsha, Ken, Sheilah, Lee, Gina, Kevane, Lori, Patricia, Tim, Janet, Dawn, Anna, Chris and all of TEAM HUBBARD.

I don't mean to leave anybody out, 'cause EVERYBODY was there. Even the docs were there in droves. Zamboni, Sclafani, Bonn, and others. Big names. Little names. And even some with no names . . . hopefully representing those yet to join the fight. There sure was a crowd. If you're still reading, then you were there too!

There, of course, being a huge 'ol concrete walled, dirt floored, arena I used to show horses in in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Weirder still I spent the entire dream walking around feeling sorry for myself. Did you catch that? I said WALKING!!! That oddity aside everyone knew everyone but it was like I wasn't there. Like I was some sort of newbie. Then it dawned on me. I walked to the head of a long, long table of us all and screamed for all to hear, "You must not recognize me 'cause I'm not wearing my knee socks!" Then I woke up. I hope I wasn't really screaming.

So bizzare for sure but nothing out of the ordinary for me. Just last week I dreamt I was walking from volleyball practice in the main boys' basketball gym at my high school out to the parking lot. Once there I didn't know which of my many cars to look for. I reasoned it should be my 1987 Cavalier as that's what I drove in high school. But it wasn't there. Had I parked somewhere else? Nah. I always parked in that lot. Maybe my '94 Camaro I'd bought while in college. Nope.

As I continued to WALK the football field sized lot back and forth I searched for all the other cars I at one time or another owned. The Blazer, the Jeep? Nope. My current car then, of course. It had to be my inferno red 300M. Quite the head turner, I can't have overlooked that beauty. And then stereo blaring and top down (I don't even think they make a convertible version yet) comes my Mom and Dad in a brand new yellow Camaro with black stripes.

Hold on to your hats dear readers! Dad hops outta the car jigs over to the passenger side to get in behind Mom, shrugs his shoulders and says, "You lookin' for this?" Ahhhhh, yeh! I guess so. And DAMNIT, I WAKE UP. As much as I am a fan of Camaros and would've loved to drive it -- my Dad passed away in April '05 and I sooooo would've ran, YES RAN (it's my dream damnit), to give him a hug. I miss him still - everyday. And apparently a couple of old cars of mine and high school sports. But I digress. Point is, vivid, bizzaro dreams - nothing new.

Thursday, July 29, 2010. My first day after having taken LDN. Side effects - 0. Improvements - 0. Another fail? Not hardly. Perhaps I was gonna be one of those that it would take awhile to effect. Plus I prolly still had roids floatin' about my system somewhere or another. And I heard they may work against each other or cancel each other out.

Leg still dead to the world. Can't lift my drop foot at all. A better name for drop foot -- dead foot. Even resting with my feet up - can't get foot to straighten or lift back towards me. Anyways, I wasn't givin' up. I just hoped Jason would rest better on LDN night #2, let's call it. And he did. And guess who else did? Me me me me me! You sittin' down?

I pottied at 10:30. Same 'ol, same 'ol. Neurogenic bladder not wanting to empty. Blah, bla, bla. I sit awhile as always and try my best. Then I return to bed to work on my farm in Farmville, knowing that within 10 -20 minutes I'd need to return for my follow-up visit. Hehehe. To empty the ummm, 'residual' I think is what my urologist calls it. No biggie. Simply routine by this point. Time flies. Before I knew it I expanded and rearranged my entire farm, played scrabble and caught up on an entire days worth of posts. It was nearing midnight.

Huh? Jason sleepily asks, "You gonna turn your light out?" Well, yeh! No urges. No accidents. I go once more to try and force the residual. No dice. 11:45. Still in disbelief I switch out my lap top for my DS and begin playing solitaire. Still nothing. Oh well, I'll be up again soon enuff, I thought. WHAT'S THIS??? 5:00. WHAT'S THIS? I get the urge. I wake. I go pee. I pull up dry undies. And return to a dry bed. Wooooooooo hooooooo! This is huge for me. HUGE!

I had a little trouble gettin' back to sleep as I lay there smiling ear to ear. I must say my face is a little sore this morning, but I don't mind. I might have even cried a couple tears of joy. THANK YOU GOD! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Please, please, please don't let this be a fluke. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! Amen. I almost woke Jason up so he could celebrate with me, but another miracle occurred before I could. I fell back asleep. Yay, me!

And guess what else? Whilst sitting on the potty, astonished I'd slept uninterrupted for 5 hours, I also discovered I could ever so slightly lift and flex my drop foot. My dead foot. It's coming back to life people. A resurrection, if you will. A bonafide miracle . . . PRAISE THE LORD! Thank Him and praise Him. Amen. No where near 100%, but even the tiniest recovery at this point. Wow! A sign of life.

So it's 11 am this gorgeous Friday morning that the Lord has made. Still cripping along, BUT haven't had to go to the potty 'til now. Can I get another Woooooo hooooooo? C'mon now. Ya know ya wanna! Just sayin' it out loud you're guaranteed to crack a smile. Maybe even brighten your day and feel a bit better. Say it with me now. "Wooooooo hoooooo!" And again. "Woooooo hoooooo!"

And one more for Dr. Sclafani's symposium on treating CCSVI. Ready? "Woooooo hooooo!" Thanks for all you're doing Dr. S! Getting all those involved talking and working towards standardizing diagnostic testing and treatment and follow-up care. YAY! YOU TRULY ROCK!

As for my next attempt at LIBERATION . . . I am anxiously awaiting this super docs return. Superman returned and so shall Sclafani!!! In the meantime I'll continue with prayer and LDN. In that order. And of course, as many Woooooo hooooos as are needed. How's about a big'n for the road? "WOOOOOOO HOOOOOOO!"

Manic (Productive) Monday

2010-07-26T12:53:00.000-07:00

Loooooooong time - no blog. Sorry. I been a bit down. Still am, but soooo much has gone on today I've gotta tell somebody about it. Catch you up first? Where'd I leave ya? Face down on the floor, . . . right? Awww, yes, it's coming back to me now.

The pool. The fall. The crawl. And more falls. Yay, me! Why weren't the steroids workin' their magic? They were makin' me hungry. They were makin' me thirsty. They were makin' me agitated. And swell, swell, swell, but still not well. I got one word for ya - b A s T a R d S ! ! !

Eventually I find myself in good 'ol Doc Lee's infamous waiting room. "What on Earth for?" I can almost hear you shouting. And I'm glad you asked. I may have mentioned in earlier posts that my feet were turning purple and that I had altogether misplaced my left ankle - well, "Dr. Lee," I explain, "I'm here 'cause I have no feeling in this here huge purple lump formerly known as my left leg."

And just to paint you a more vivid picture of the situation, the purple I speak of is more of a morbid bluish toned violet than a stunning royal plum color my dearly beloved Prince sported on his motorcycle. Still today the swelling has gone down a bit but the eery color remains. It is quite unsettling to look down and see a leg you cannot feel. A leg you do not recognize. Bizarro!

Back to the story. I went to see Lee for Jason. He's been worried about there being a blood clot. After researching clots on the internet, yippeee! I too began to worry. I've got a slew of the pre-cursors. Add that to my Ma and my Pa. Then throw in my being damn near completely sedentary and what do you have? A recipe for disaster, I tell ya. For real.

So we're hospital bound to get a doppler of my leg. I joke with Jason that we should write in that I need one of the neck too. He chuckles. He raises an eyebrow. Yeh, maybe I hadn't been joking. So what? Of all days to wind up getting an ultrasound, this was supposed to be the day I was to get one done in Atlanta. A real legit "we trained in Italy with Zamboni" scan. I wish I was there. We'd talked about taking the boys and going to the aquarium and . . .

So MS happened. Then roids. Then rescheduling. Then roids fail. I give up. Depression reigns. What good would a positive ultrasound do me anyways? Whoopity Dooooo!? Back on the table at the old local hospital, aka back to reality. The girls that took care of me were nice enuff, BUT the scan of my entire left leg took less than 5 minutes. From the groin to just behind the knee. And the discoloration and loss of feeling doesn't start until just below the knee. I'm not claiming to know more than these girls, BUT REALLY?! C'mon, really??

"You're fine. You can go home," they said. Well I was far from fine, but home sounded delightful. "Thanks," I replied. "I think I will." And that's just what we did. I hope at least Jason slept better that night. As for me - not so much. And hardly at all the next few nights. Anticipating Jason leaving for work is never fun. Really scary being damn near immobile. I considered sending the boys to Granny and Papaw's and going down to my Momma's, but alas decided to ruff it out with only a pitbull for protection. Ha! Pun intended.

I had a heart to heart with my 9 year old who promised he'd take care of me. And he did. Quite the man, I tell ya. I was sooooo proud of him. Still am. Thank you, Goose! So Daddy gets back. Steroids are done. And all is again right with the world, . . . NOT! I'm still noooo better. BUT, what's this? Football sign-up deadline is announced. Quite the wake-up smack in the face. Huh?

How many weeks had it been now that I've drug myself from bed each morning only to park my sad ass on the end of the couch downstairs? Once, maybe twice a day I risk venturing to the bathroom with the walker. The rest of the time unmoved. Attention bouncing from the lap top to Netflix and back again. Physically unmoved 'til bedtime. Then crawl and hobble and bed again. What the hell kinda existence is this? One word? p A t H e T i C ! ! !

Most important of allllll in my pea brain . . . HOW THE SAM HELL WAS I GONNA SEE ASA KICK FOOTBALL ASS??? And sports aside, school was approaching. My boys would need school supplies. Clothes. And shoes. Shoes have always been ooober important to me. Ever since my red and white Nike high-top tennis shoes I got for grade school basketball. A side note: I was gonna play for Bobby Knight in them shoes. No joke!

I needed action. Friday I called the neuro myself. I was fully prepared to dump his ass. I reported I was done with the meds, but still no better. The receptionist reported the doc was gone but that she was sure the meds hadn't been in my system long enuff. WTF? How long is long enuff? Grrrrrr. Lucky for me I didn't tell her off right then and there. Nope. I swallowed hard and thanked her for her advice about waiting 'til Monday to give the roids more time.

Then I called Jason, and I can't really remember, but I'm sure he got an ear full. During our convo I made the executive decision that come Monday all HELL was gonna break loose for somebody. I needed something done! And if he wasn't gonna be the one to do it, I'd be right back at Doc Lee's door beatin' it down for a neuro willing to treat my MS. And you know what else? One with a receptionist who doesn't act as a firewall. Good one, heh? Jason came up with that jewel!

Screw this couch trip. I needed a chair. And not just one that Jason or the boys has to push. I need an all-terrain motorized jobby. Like Coach Browning's. "They won't give you one of those," says the husband. Wellllll. The hell you say. If that's what I gotta have to see football, then that's what I gotta have. My upper arm strength is too weak for me to be expected to wheel myself. And our house has plush carpet, linoleum, tile, etc. And I'm a heavy girl . . . just sayin' . . . b A s T a R d S !!! Some body is damn sure gonna do somethin'. If this shit is gonna be permanent, whatever, but I can't spend the rest of my life on this couch. PERIOD.

Saturday. A little calmer thanks to a decent night's sleep having come to realize I needed off the couch - we set out to find a rollator walker. Probably a lofty goal the plan was to purchase said assistive device in order to accompany the kiddos to Shoe Carnival for a back to school shopping extravaganza. Still it would take me forever with a rollator, BUT for the time being it would let me get so far and sit to rest. And so on and so forth over and over again. Plus Jason found one in pink. I was sooo stoked. Strike one, two, three. You're out!

Oh well. We don't know how to bill your insurance. Closed and closed. No walker. No shoes. At least we'll get lunch. Look out, Wendy's. Here we come. What's that noise? SHIT! Flat tire. And get this . . . neither of us had our cell phones on us. Yikes! That'll never happen again. I can tell you that much. So the boys and I stay in the truck and finish our lunch as Jason changes the tire alongside the busy highway, where no one, not one in nearly an hours time stopped to help us.

As Jason was finishing up his Mom and Dad pulled over behind us. They had been headed to Evansville and saw us with our flashers flashing. And the kicker, Jason had left his phone at their house and was supposed to go get it that morning. And homeward bound again. Poor guy. I felt soooo helpless. And had it happened to just me . . ., guess I'd still be sittin' roadside.

Sunday. Calmer still. We slept in exhausted from the previous days outing. Jason worked on the lawn. And I worked on a game plan. What was it exactly that I wanted from my neurologist? What must he do in order to stay my neurologist? First, I want to walk damnit! I may have had this for 10 years now, but especially with the latest findings on a fix -- I was not ready to throw in the proverbial towel.

What then? Steroids via IV like I frickin'asked for in the first place. When I ask, I mean it. Damn! And I wanted to try LDN (low dose naltrexone). Been researching quite a bit of stuff and it sounds waaaaay better than the expensive ass shots that aren't doing a damn thing but bruising me. Just sayin'. Why suppress my immune system when clearly the problem has been proven to be venous in nature.

Wake up world! It's no coincidence I've been better overall since starting my high blood pressure meds and sleeping with my bed inclined. WAKE UP, I SAID! Damn! So my demands are roids and LDN. And should those fail I plan to crawl up his ass 'til I get a power chair 'cause I WILL NOT MISS FOOTBALL!!! Wish me luck, won't you? Alas, thanks, but I'm good -- for now.

Jason sets out early to work on this saultry Monday morning and . . . by lunch he had news. Good news. He says the receptionists were very nice and I'm all set for IV steroids at the hospital tomorrow. Well, that was easy for it not being their policy and all. And . . . my LDN has been called in and will be ready on Wednesday. No sweat. WHAT? Huh? That simple, heh? Maybe we should've went ahead and asked for the chair too? While we was on a roll, ya know?

Prayer works people! No joke. Now I sit here on the couch listening to my three men splash about the pool. And I'm not tearing up. I'm not angry. Not disappointed. 'Cause right now . . . there's hope I might join them again before summer's end.

Thank God for football! And answered prayers. Amen.

simple enuff, right?

2010-07-26T07:46:00.001-07:00

From Dr. Sclafani himself . . . here's what I need first:

1. transverse doppler of the IJV in J1, J2 and J3 during inspiration in the supine and sitting positions. Measure color and waveform at each site in both positions. Look for reflux and looking for no flow.
2. Longitudinal doppler imaging of the vertebral veins during inspiration in supine and sitting positions looking for reflux by color and waveform
3. B-mode ultrasound to look for abnormal valves, septae, webs
4. Transcranial color doppler and waveforms to look at the deep cerebral veins for reflux
5. measure cross sectional area of jugular vein in the spot where it is largest in supine and measure same cross sectional area in the same location while sitting up. Subtract sitting csa from supine CSA.

DOPPLER DIAGNOSTIC OF CCSVI IF TWO OF FOLLOWING PRESENT
1. REFLUX IN IJV OR VERTEBRALS
2. NO FLOW IN JUGULAR
3. REFLUX IN DEEP CEREBRAL VEINS
4. CSA SUPINE MINUS CSA SITTING IS NEGATIVE NUMBER
5. BMODE SHOWS STENOSIS, WEBS, ABNORMAL VALVES ETC

WANTED

2010-07-17T14:58:00.001-07:00

Stunt double for hire!!! How's this for regular? Two blog posts in one day. Must be your lucky day. As it sure as shit ain't mine. So I just tucked the last post in via Facebook update and set off for a potty break. Nothin' too crazy. No boot scootin' or grapevining or whatever. Hell, I didn't even it go it on my own, which yes, for like a nano second actually crossed my mind. Buzzzzzzz! Wrongo! I cripped along via tiny baby steps. First the right. Stop. Then drag the lefty along the carpet 'til it can stand to hold a little weight. Just past the celebrated half way point. Whamo! Slamo! And she's down again, sports fans! Had she been a horse we'd have had her put down years before now. Poor dear!

What I'd hated most of all was scaring my kiddos. By now you'd think they'd have grown bored with it all. And in some ways they had, but, "With the walker, MOM?" Huh? As I struggled to remove my heep of me from atop the crumbling apparatus I wondered what about this fall had shook 'em up any more than th growing number of others. As I cursed the walker somehow trying to cuss it out from under me I realized this had been my first fall with a supposed assistive device in hand. So in conclusion, falling sux. Falling even with the assistance of an assistive device - sux worse. And further . . . you sittin' down for this one?

Falling atop the assistive device into the basement door thus causing it to slam shut and trapping your husband downstairs whilst you writhe in pain atop your walker desperately struggling to remove yourself from your current location in order to allow your nearly panicked hubby up to the main floor to offer you some real assistance **(BREATH)** That, my friends, really, really sux. And the phone starts ringing meanwhile back at the ranch. The boys cowering at my barking orders with my face in the carpet answer it just in time to hang it up per their emerging Dad's new order. Guess his position of standing out ranked my position of carpet colonel. Anyways, sorry we hung up on ya Amelia. Just bad timing. Had you been calling in about the position of stunt double?

It only pays room and board and is hardly worth it considering what bad bruisers I know we are. I hadn't realized how bad mine were blacked and blued until gettin all up close and personal with 'em beneath the glow of the hall light. Nasty! I'm so sick of this shit! Laugh with me, won't ya? It's all I can do. And way better than cryin'! So any takers on the stunt double? You got my number right? Don't give up if we hang up on ya. We're prolly busy fallin' . . .

regularity

2010-07-17T11:43:00.001-07:00

Scared? Well, you should be. Terrified even. Or not. I mean, it should be safe enuff as I didn't name it irregularity. So offending bodily fluids aside this should be among the lighter, more family friendly posts. Promise. Pinky swear even, OK?

Let's even call it "E" for Everyone like the games are categorized these days. Funny side story here: My hubby gets the boys some new games the other night. The check-out clerk (flirty I'm sure as they always are with him) says, "You realize these are rated MATURE?" and raises an eyebrow. Like that would stop him. So he gets all tickled telling me this story as if he'd been carded or something. He clears his manly voice and says he told the clerk, "These are for me." That's my gamer, hubby! I love you, baby!

So no "E" then I guess with all this manly voice stuff. How's about a Rated-G like Disney then? Bippety, Boppety, Boo! Nah! Even I can't slather on enuff sugar-coating to earn that rating. And let me tell you I can spread it thick dearies. THICK. Now back to the title. Regularity vs. irregularity. Who am I but an English major to get so hung up on words? I've never been one to go with the flow. I worked so hard to go against it - before different was cool.

Anyways, my mom called me today and asked me to write. She claimed she didn't have anything to read. Yeh, right! This I know to be a complete and utter falsity as I am constantly buying her Dean Koontz and Stephen King books. What an honor to be among such authors.

So I immediately try and think of what it was I last wrote about. I'm admittedly sick of the play by play, but even worse would be to re-hash the already pre-hashed hash. And though I do like my fried taters burnt and my hash browns blackened I much prefer fresh writing material to any overdone. Soooo, enuff of that tangent. I say to my Mom, "I'm not too regular, am I?"

And alas, my latest entry has a title. Now what to do for a subject . . . anyone? Ideas? Awww, hell. Where'd I leave ya? On steroids, right? Check. Still on the little boogers. Hate 'em! Did any of y'all catch my Incredible Hulk analogy? Imagine him hulking out and not being able to walk. Sux. Well that's kinda where I am. And yes, it sux.

Time passed as I begrudgingly took the oral version prescribed to me since "it's no longer our policy to admit for administering of IV steroids" says the prissy little one behind the counter. Remember that jewel? What do they do for MSers suffering an exacerbation. I'm not a roid fiend. I don't call and beg for them with every little symptom.

In fact I'm quite the opposite trying to avoid them at all costs and in any form. And furthermore when I request that I would like to be admitted to the hospital then NEWSFLASH: I'm prolly pretty bad off and scared to boot. The feet have gone eerily purple. Normal? Loss of feeling from the knees down. Normal? Frozen to the touch. Normal? Can't tell cold water from scalding hot water in the shower. Normal? Loss of feeling becomes loss of motion. Normal?

What's this? Drop foot gets worse? I didn't even think this was possible. But I keep on. I don't give up - not completely. Not yet. Sunday I struggle to church. The boys had been to Bible School all week and were to perform some songs they'd learned. And they did. As hard as it was to make it in, I'm so glad I did. Two days of high dose roids plus a sermon geared right at me about not giving up. What more could a girl need? Red Sonja, that's who! Let me explain . . .

To celebrate my niece's performance in front of the church she was gonna come by and swim with us a bit. Yay! I prolly, maybe shouldn't have participated but it's hard to sit and watch the water slosh around the pool all day only to not get in it. So when the sis and her kiddos showed up, guess who was already in the pool waiting on their arrival? Me, me, me, me!

I told Jason I would just try and see how things was going before they got there. Slowly I inched up the small rickedy ladder and jokingly proclaimed, "Screw it! I'm going in!" before flopping forward into the water. Screw the steps to the bottom. Screw 'em. Those, my friends, were my exact thoughts at that exact time. We'd figure out getting out when the time came. Yippee! I was goin' swimmin'! And if hangin out in the water counts - that's just what I did.

An hour passed. Maybe. Maybe not even that long. Heck, prolly not even that long. It was me and my kiddos. My sister and her kiddos. And Jason. I can only speak for myself, of course, but I had a blast however long we were in there. I enjoyed my boys getting along. I enjoyed her two getting braver. Amelia, I enjoyed catching up with. And Jason, I enjoyed Jason, well, just cause I usually always do. But y'all know that already.

On with the story. All swam out the youngest of the crowd are ready to get out. Of course their momma follows. And my youngest whose lips are beginning to turn blue. Brrrrrrr! So then Jason looks to me and says, "You ready?" So was I? Not so much, but boy am I glad I went ahead with a, "Sure thang, Baby!" Begin the end. Per my direction of how I forsaw the very near future going, Jason got out first. I figured if I should find myself teetering atop the ladder I'd rather him be on the outside to catch me vs. the concrete patio. A very wise choice indeed. Who knew?

So here's the lament of the ladder: a not so tall tale. Based on actual events, blah, blah, blah!Until just the previous week my right leg had been my bad one. Not so anymore. At least not right now. At least not until these blasted steroids start working their magic. Anyways, weak right foot first followed by a newly even weaker left foot. First step, done. Yay me! Three to go. Ya with me?

Second rung, same as the first. Repeat, right? Yes. Right first and then left. Barely, but done. Third? Third's a charm, right?! Right up first - very shaky. Beginning to spasm. Damn! Better hurry. What's this? Left ain't goin' no where. Jason to the rescue. From outside the pool Jason reaches in to grab my left leg and help lift/guide it to the next rung. Shew! Thankfully once there the spasming subsided in the ever weakening right leg.

If legs could talk I imagine my right one would have been screaming at this point, "Bitch, pleeeeeaaaaaase! You baby my gimp ass for years and now outta no where are expecting me to lug your 200lb. ass around town? What the hell with all these steps? Didn't we used to live in a 1-story? Daaaaammmmnnn! Know what? I'm quittin' too! This is a bunch of shit!"

And just as I managed to swing her over to straddle the ladder and pool ---- the mouthy bitch quit me! Jerking, thrusting, and kicking like she was having a massive seizure all her own she fell completely limp upon the ball of my right foot meeting with the top rung on the dry side of the ladder.

And where then did that leave my useless lefty? Flailing in the water that's where! I wouldn't even say flailing had it not been for my upper body's protest to the whole ordeal. My hubby grants me permission to sit on the pool wall, (Thanks, Jason!), whilst I take a rung in each hand and attempt to lift my lard ass just enuff to set my bitch right leg free of the perdicament she'd gotten herself in.

Some how or another in all the commotion my leg had become lodged between the outside rungs of the ladder and the outside wall of the pool. Quite a mystery how my sizely thigh (we'll politely call it) actually fit there. And perhaps an even larger mystery was how I was able to be resting on my ass whilst my calve and the underside of my thigh were completely mashed together.

A contortionist friends, I am not. Or at least I thought I wasn't. Didn't know I could cup my right ass cheek with the bottom of my right foot. Guess what? I could. If my hair had been any longer I might could have braided my hair with my toes. Seriously! Maybe even a french braid. Let me just add, "SHIT OUCH!!!"

Then my 6'2" husband, after threatening to call an ambulance, decides he's gonna jump in to get me out. I'm yelling, "No! No! No! No!" And he's carrying on a discussion with my sister perched a ways away from us in the bench swing. She'd just changed her youngest ones diapey and was by this time pretty well nice and dry.

I try to calmly reason all this out and explain why I'd had Asa remain in the pool with me. "Goose," I say, "Can you help push Mommy up enuff that Daddy can reach her better?" Poor guy! He looked damn near traumatized. To keep myself from tearing up at this I began to mock Jason and his high jumping skills. This was not maliciously done, but rather to get Asa and myself laughing.

This mockery, including asking him if he'd been any good at high jumping even 15 years ago, may have even soothed Amelia some. That or she became overly worried that the complete and utter lack of blood flow to my brain might be beginning to harm my senses. Well harm them worse than they'd already been harmed I suppose. Up and over she comes leaving her 1 yr. old and 4 yr. old to handle things themselves.

Bless her soul she does give instructions to watch out for them before she grabs a lawn chair and flops in muddy feet and all to the rescue. THANK YOU GOD FOR MY LITTLE SISTER! But who were these instructions for? Asa was trapped like a rat in the pool with no ladder. Jason was manning me manning the ladder. Awww, yes. That leaves 6 yr. old blue-lipped Abe. He could wrangle the kiddos. Surely. Maybe. Or not.

At this point I have sort of an out of body experience . . . I look up into the sky and ask God to please keep my niece and nephew safe. I even tell Jason in the chaos, "Watch Bubby!" Screw me, right? I'd be o.k, right? Or not? Seeing the look in Amelia's eyes now a little closer to mine than they had been pre-contortion, I may have started to worry a little. Just a little.

Nah. It's all good. But now that she's in, I thought, how are her and Asa ever gonna get out? Another mystery, I tell ya! All the raukas and I can hear Bubby saying, "Ma ma. Ma ma." But it's all good 'cause I can see him and he's all calm. He may have been the only one calm at this point. So whilst Jason and Amelia formulated a gameplan I focused on the baby. Has it been a week since this fiasco and I still haven't written about it? I really must be under the weather. Onward then . . .

So I suggest I get back in the water and rest up. Or not? Whether or not I actually spoke the words -- this is the plan of action that had my vote. But alas, this was no democracy. And who ever gave invalid's the right to vote? So I listened intently as to my sister's and husband's plans. Still my mind wondered. If Asa hadn't been trapped and Amelia had not returned to the pool, welllllll, they could have all loaded up and went out for supper. Or rode off into the sunset. Lived happily ever after, Disney fans! You get the picture, right? Nope! What's this? They'd come to a concensus. They were going to use brute force to heave my ass outta there. "Come Hell or high water," I remember thinking to myself. And silently praying niether would come!

I'm instructed I'm gonna have to help 'em. Yeh, right? Wasn't my just being there enuff? Amelia braces herself as if she is readying to squat thrust a barn. My mind rushes back to all our days of volleyball conditioning and weight training and I fight back the intense urge to strike up a conversation involving Coach Tucker. Ha! If only she'd have been there. She'd have known what to do. Hehehehe. I made myself laugh. In all seriousness, I was laughing at the situation though not the Coach. Two hands on my hip. She pushed. I pulled. And Jason made sure the ladder stayed on the ground. Seems a frivolous task now that I mention it, but with all the strength my sis was using to get me outta the pool she damn near could have sent me, ladder attached, thru the 8 ft. glass doors on the opposite side of the patio.

Now just an aside about my sis. Toe to toe I think she might could kick Red Sonja's ass. I'm not biased, really. Yes the same She-Ra that lifted and carried me down a blue million church steps after I'd fallen at our dear friends wedding. Sorry, Shelley! But did the matron of honor break a sweat in her lovely gown? Of course not! Did she steal the show in all the pics after the ceremony? Of course so! She's an Orth too, ya know! Tuff as nails . . . I'm so blessed to have her. LOVE YA!

OK, enuff's enuff. Back to the pool pest removal. Once high enuff Jason leaned over and attempted to scoop me up. Attempt failed. The ladder was refusing to relinquish it's embrace. Amelia to the rescue again, this time as the handy dandy ladder pryer offer. Ha! I should have t-shirts made. Finally I was no longer a damsel in distress but only a damsel resting in the arms of her prince. Resting, that is, if resting is shivering cold with one leg dead and the other beginning to jerk with throngs of sharp pain jolting about. Awww, yes. Resting.

Both my arms, though they'd grown weak and heavy with all the excitement were clutching Jason's neck. My rear rested atop his chest, with both legs dangling over his vey upper right arm - almost nearly shoulder blade. Awkward I'm sure as he turned to maneuvar the landscaping and attempt to delicately reunite me with the earth. At this delicate transition point I can't help but think the ladder perch had not been nearly as high off the ground as the man perch I had now found myself on. Picky, bitch, aren't I? Not so much really. More of a scared bitch than anything.

Once on solid level concrete patio he leans forward to place me down. More trouble. Can you believe it? My arms fail to unlock the death grip 'round his neck. Laughable, right? We're in love. Rent a room. Right? And my danglers? Won't straighten. Spaghetti, I tell ya. Worthless. Soon I find myself balancing on the jigglers and reaching out for . . . can you guess it? The blasted ladder to steady myself whilst Jason scurries for a chair. Enter chair. Enter ass. And scene. The end.

Well, at least the end of that fiasco. Then we get in. Dry off. Have some icecream. Celebrate the church program. Celebrate my freedom from the pool. And as our guests depart I qwander how the hell I'm ever gonna make it up to my precious bed. And fast forward thru the week. Worsening. Swelling. Throbbing to pain. Have I mentioned steroids suck? Why aren't they working? Please God. Help them to do their job! Amen.

Monday. Sore day of recovery. Tuesday we keep my friend Wendy's son for the day. I say we, but truly as I sat on the couch the three guys entertained themselves. Thank you 3 Amigos! And Wednesday, thank you, God! I may actually be comin' out of this funk. Too soon to brag though, right? And two steps forward - one step waaaaay back. Thursday morning. Trash day, yay! Jason let's me sleep in, just incase we get Wendy's little man back today. Great. The boys get up. I don't. The boys go downstairs. I don't. The boys return upstairs whining, "Mom. You haven't moved." And wellllll, I couldn't.

Enter my super mature, super caring, super sensitive, super kind 9 year old, might as well be thirty something, kiddo. Asa to the rescue! He calmly calls his daddy to report the news of the day and assure his dad he had it all under control 'til he could get home. Such the big man, my Goose! He then helps his little bro get dressed and ready for the day all whilst staying near me should I need anything. And for more on my Thursday . . . close your eyes and enjoy hours of complete silence.

The boys went off to Granny and Pawpaw's for the day and after a horrifically difficult trip to the potty I chugged a couple (or more) Advil and was out. 2:30 or 3 ish Jason returned to check on me. And again immovable 'til 6 or 7 ish when the entire fam returned with supper. And not of the store bought variety mind you. Granny lavished us with delicious roast, taters and carrots and homemade mac and cheese. Dang it was good. Got any more leftovers?

Thankfully I felt better Friday. And what's this? My ankle! I knew I'd left it somewhere. Up we go and down them stairs. Is this a comeback I'm making? One can only hope.

4 and counting . . .

2010-07-10T18:07:00.001-07:00

Fret not followers, tonite I shall spare you my rants. As a reward for your still following me I will give you a link for your viewing pleasure. Alas, it is not of what I'd hoped it to be but it will have to do for now. SNL's dynamic steroidal duo of Hanz and Franz, remember? Dana Carvey and Kevin Nealon? Sadly, welllll, they were no where to be found in their original pumped glory. I scavaged the net but turned up only parodies of parodies. All of them tragedies. Any who - keeping to my steroid theme, please enjoy the following:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=27MAcCIMVOo

I'm feelin' it. Grrrrrrrrr! You feelin' it? You wanna get in line to have your ass kicked?