LIBERATION Day or not

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.

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.

[To Be Continued . . .]

Baseline

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

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

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 . . .

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

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'

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.