I’m having so many issues dealing with the boy lately.  Well, we, as in the couple-y we, are having issues dealing with the boy.  He is whiny and disrespectful and totally ignores everything we say, repeat, scream-at-the-top-of-our-lungs.  He fights constantly over everything.  Eating, sleeping, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, getting in the car, getting out of the car, putting his coat on, putting his shoes on, drinking water, juice, milk, soda (yeah, I don’t give him soda but his dad does.  That’s where the fight comes from).  It NEVER. ENDS.  EVER. 

Yesterday I smacked him in the shower.  It was ridiculous.  I swear he was doing (or not doing) everything he possibly could to piss me off.  I swear he was doing it on purpose.  Ok, yes.  I realize he is 5 going on 6 and probably (definitely) doesn’t have thoughts that complex and vindictive.  But at 6 am, after days, weeks, months of fighting and yelling and threatening, it just really seems that way.  And at dinner last night, we took a trip to the bathroom to discuss what was and was not going to happen for the rest of the night.  It sort of worked.

I am battling within myself with all of this.  I am a daddy’s girl through and through, and I can’t help but draw from the parenting I received as a child.  My dad’s way of thinking goes something like this:  I am the parent and you are the child. Period.  You don’t argue with a child.  There is no option.  The parent talks and the child listens and obeys.  Failing that, the parent makes the child listen, even if it takes some additional “punctuation” to get the point across.  My visits to the bathroom with my dad were much less about talking and much more about punctuation, not-so-fondly referred to as “boot therapy.”  It’s just the way things were.  My dad gave it to me much kinder than he received from his father.  My grandfather was more of the closed-fist punch  now, oh, yeah, and no talking later.  I’ve heard that I was the first child he ever hugged…or smiled at…  He had 4 of his own.

I don’t want to spank my kids.  I’ve fought the urge with (mostly) success.  Mostly.  But some days, more often lately, it’s just, difficult.  How do you convince a 5 year old to listen?  It’s not as if you can use logic.  It’s not as if they will just trust that you know what’s best.  There is threatening, but even that comes up empty in the end.  What can I take, what can I do, how do I punish, or even better, how do we get past this to avoid any need for punishment in the first place? 

• Time outs: don’t work.  They sit, and then they get up and seem to forget those 4, 5, 6 minutes even happened. 
• Grounding: doesn’t work.  (see above).  Plus I hate it.  Ground one kid and the whole family loses from it.  No excursions.  No playing.  No fun. 
• Taking things that are precious:  doesn’t work.  (see above again)  Plus there is always something else to play with.  In a pinch, my kids can play with a sock and a pencil for hours.  They are just creative that way.

Obviously yelling and screaming doesn’t do anything.  It makes for tears and bad feelings, usually on the part of all parties involved.  And then it just happens again.  And spanking.  Just not an option.  When I’m in a pinch, I can usually use my words and logic to get the point across, to get someone to agree with me and do as I say.  Yeah, not so much with the kids.  So what is left? 

And the whole thing is draining.  I’m tired.  Mr. W is tired.  The boy is tired.  We are cranky.  We are stubborn.  We are not thinking clearly.  It all snowballs on itself, day after day after week after month.  We are being slowly crushed under the weight of the massive, growing snowball.  It just sucks.  It feels like we can’t even dig ourselves out at this point.  It feels like spring will never come to melt some of this weight.  It feels, bad.  All relationships are suffering.  Mr. W and I are fighting.  The boy wants to trade Mr. W in for a cat.  The boy thinks I don’t love him because he’s bad, no matter how many times I tell him I do, more than anything in the world I do.  Mr. W thinks the boy doesn’t like him, and the cat thing doesn’t help.  I’m trying to balance my relationship with the two men in my life while simultaneously balancing their relationship as a pseudo-go-between for them.  It’s all just so very draining. 

Help?

Trust is a strange animal.  Just when you think you have tamed the beast.  House trained it.  Gotten it to eat from your hand…it bites your hand right off.  Bucks you to the ground.  Mauls you in front of your friends.  Ok, so I had a moment.  Maybe I have many moments, but they most of them pass by without a second thought.  This moment, not so much.

Mr. W and I have an open door policy to all of our so-called private areas.  Head out of the gutters, folks.  Not those private areas (although we have that too) but the private areas like email accounts, facebook, my blog, bank accounts, phones (calls and texts).  Those private areas.  I know all his passwords and pins and what nots, and he knows mine.  We have no qualms about the other randomly checking in.  Honestly.  Honesty.  Full disclosure.  (it’s how we tame the beast.)  Most of the time, we don’t access what is openly accessible, because the animal is curled up on the rug in front of the fire snoring away in perfect tranquility.  Most of the time.  But something stirred for me yesterday…

We’ve been (he’s been) working with a lawyer to get “her” name off the deed to his/our house.  The paperwork came back yesterday, so I looked at it out of simple curiosity.  Yea!  Free and clear.  “She” is no longer attached in any way to our life.  As I scanned the page, I subconsciously, or maybe consciously…who knows, noted “her” phone number.  Minutes later, I realized that Mr. W had left his cell in my car charging.  Hmmm… So in the brief minutes of driving separately to IHOP for dinner* the animal woke completely and apparently wanted something to gnaw on…say, like my hand.  As I scrolled through recent calls, “her” number was there.  He called her.  Monday.  But why?  He hadn’t mentioned anything to me about it.  He always does.  Why? 

There are two things you should know here, which you may already know, or not. 

1.  She has a blog.  I read it.  It’s like a car crash.  I just can’t help myself!  She recently posted about wanting to break up with her current beau and an unnamed ex popping back up into her life in misery about his own current relationship.  He called her.  They drank together… Mr. W had drill two weekends ago in that neck of the woods………
2. The first time the animal attacked was the last time I took a walk through Mr. W’s cell phone.  It was over a year ago, and I found out about an earth-shattering heart-shattering small indiscretion on his part…involving “her” and a late night visit… I forgave him then, and I still forgive him. 

So those two thoughts in my head, combined with my own normal insecurity, combined with my new insecurities about all the stress I’ve brought into Mr. W’s life (kids, bad habits, health issues, etc, etc) gave the animal a dose of crack with a sugar chaser and it promptly bit my hand clean off.  Needless to say, in the name of honesty and openness, I waited a whole day and asked Mr. W about the found call this morning.  He explained.  It made 100% sense.  I’m nursing my (self-inflicted) wounds, and the animal is back sleeping cozily by the fire.  Or is it?

I think trust is one of those animals you can never quite be sure is tame.  Kind of like a wildebeest or a bobcat or a polar bear.  The slightest wrong move, wrong thought can send it off on a rampant killing spree, randomly mauling all the innocent (presumably) bystanders in its path.  A friend asked me if I have trust issues.  She asked if I trust Mr. W.  Without hesitation, my answer is yes.  But then why did I look in his phone?  I could say it’s because of that one incident, but then why did I look then?  Why do I read her blog?  Why do I think those thoughts?  Do I really not trust him?  But I do! 

I trust Mr. W with my life, my love, my children, my heart, my everything.  He is all of those things to me and so much  more.  Ok, so not my child, per se, but I have the same loving affection and caring for him as I do for my children so in a way, kind of.  When he gave me the explanation of the call, I believed him immediately.  Not an ounce of hesitation.  That’s trust, right?  When he told me about the first incident, I was hurt, crushed really, but I never questioned the end of the story.  (Well, maybe not out loud) He told me that’s what happened, and I believed him.  I believe him.  I trust him.  But then…why…?

Is it possible to trust completely?  Is it possible never, ever to doubt, to wonder, to question?  Can we as humans do it?  Can I?  Can you?

*The boy thought pancakes for dinner at IHOP was the greatest invention EVER!

So after totally inundating myself with information, and then cleaning up the mess after my brain exploded all over my desk, I finally called my mom.  My mom is, well, my mom,  but she is also an RN who has been nursing for over 35 years.  She’s had the formal training, but unfortunatly a giant majority of her nursing time has been spent in the psych ward, so while she gave me her opinio, she insisted that I talk to my step father about it.  So she called him and had him call me. 

Initially when I told him of my dilemma, he immediately went full Portacap (chest thingy).  He explained both procedures to me, and took into account my lifestyle in his recommendation.  The Portacap isn’t exposed (unlike my previous assumptions) so the risk of infection is crazy-reduced.  It’s actually inserted underthe skin and virtually undetectable, except for the little scar opening to put it in.  The needle that is used pierces the skin to access the cap.  The PICC line, on the other hand is “like two half-straws dangling from your bicep” all. the. time.  So there is the risk of infection, sepsis (that nasty thing you can DIE from), and of course there’s the aesthetics of it, even with a sleeve to cover.  So he was all about the chest port…until I mentioned that my needle would remain in me for a week at a time since the plan is for once or twice daily infusions.  Would that be an issue with my kids?  With my activity level?  Which, granted isn’t the highest on a 1-10 scale, but still…  At that point, he reluctantly changed his recommendation.  He was thinking on a dialysis point of view, where treatments are two or three times a week, so the needles are removed after each treatment.  He admitted the whole needle-sticking-out-of-my-chest thing was a little more risky than the PICC line, so yeah, go with the PICC.   And then he proceeded to tell me in VERY. DETAILED. INSTRUCTIONS. all the things I will do and need to do and should do and shouldn’t do, yada, yada, yada.  Don’t get me wrong.  I totally appreciate the information and advice.  Small doses are better for me at the moment though.  My memory is, well, non-existent at the moment. 

Seriously.  I have to write notes to  myself on my hands during the day.  Hopefully between washing my hands in the bathroom and getting back to my desk I can remember what it is I washed off so I can rewrite it.  And then I count on Mr. W seeing it when I get home so I will actually remember what it is I needed to remember.  Yeah.  It’s like that.  I can’t even remember how I started this post.  The fabulous Girl from the Ghetto left me some comments on a couple other posts from late last week (I think) and I had to go back and read my posts because I had no idea what she was talking about!  Yeah, that bad.  Losing your mind really sucks!

Ok, I re-read what I started this post with, and in case any of you are wondering, I’m aiming for the PICC line.  It makes more sense for me, and it’s technically the short-term option, and I’m holding on to the hope that this will be a short-term treatment…hope, hope, hope…  Of course, that may all change when I see the surgeon on Monday for my consultation, or my veins collapse during the procedure, or I throw up all over the nurse during the procedure…  In case any of you are totally twisted interested enough to want to see what is going to happen, search “PICC LINE” on Youtube.  There are oodles of videos of people actually getting it done.  Strangely, I couldn’t watch.  Normally that sort of thing doesn’t bother me, but something about knowing I was actually going to have it done made my stomach turn in a way I’ve never felt before.  Of course, stranger than that is that there are actually VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE OF THE PROCEDURE!  Freaky! 

Oh, one other symptom I don’t think I’ve mentioned before: Floaters.  In my eyes.  I’ve always had them, but now, they’ve gone all bunny-like on me and there’s like a million little floater babies and aunties and uncles and grandparents.  It’s a freakin floater family reunion in there!  Makes staring at a radar screen and discerning between an airplane return and something in my eye a little difficult.  Plus my vision has been cycling in and out of fuzzy for weeks, so, yeah…

And because I can’t remember if I’ve ever posted all my symptoms for all you lovelies who care (or don’t, but you’re still reading, so yeah), here is a rough list:

• stiffness and cracking in my neck and shoulders
• joint pain, started with the knee, now in every joint
• (see above) arthritis-like stiffness and pain in my fingers and toes (typing sucks. writing is worse)
• headaches
• insomnia
• floaters (in the eyes)
• fuzzy vision
• acid reflux
• migraines (not to be confused with headaches, two TOTALLY different animals here)
• short term memory loss
• long term memory “issues”
• “brain fog” ie. forgetting why I went to the fridge by the time I get there, forgetting names, can’t find words, using wrong words, spelling simple words wrong, lost thoughts, inability to concentrate, inability to take in information, etc, etc, etc
• “urinary issues” ie, I need to pee constantly, or can’t pee
• mood swings
• depression (esp. post-partum)
• anxiety
• body pain that feels like it’s in the bone (not an official symptom name, but I can’t remember what it actually is)
• heart palpitations
• indigestion
• “bowel issues” (yeah, not going there)
• nausea
• vomiting
• fatigue
• muscle weakness
• muscle spasms
• muscle pain
• can’t hear (or maybe I just can’t decipher, but either way, most of the time I have  no idea what’s going on)
• constant ringing in my ears

I’m sure there are more, but have I mentioned?  I can’t remember shit!  Seriously.  I had to go back to see if I had written insomnia 5 symptoms after I wrote insomnia!  Blah!

Update: There are things I left of the list that are just a little to personal to post.  And there was something I wanted to add, but went to the bathroom after publishing, and subsequently forgot by the time I got back to my computer.   Also, I forgot to title this post.  This. totally. sucks!

I’m sitting here feeling generally tired, achy and altogether crappy after an unnaturally long day that I don’t even want to go into at the moment.  I’m watching “Marley and Me” for the very first time with the boy, fully aware that 1) he won’t keep his mouth shut for more than 3.2 seconds regularly, which jumps to a shocking 1.5 seconds any time there is anything on tv that I actually want to watch, and 2) the movie is sad and I will probably end up crying by the end…or rather trying not to cry in front of the boy while totally wanting to cry because it’s just been that kind of day, week, month…

Anyway, completely frustrated, I’m sitting here and the boy sticks his finger in my face for like the millionth time, while yapping about something or another, for the trillionth time, and I pushed his hand away and scolded him before I realized what he was saying.  He then turned to me and said the following:

“I really like you, mommy.  You are the best mommy in the whole world.  That’s why I was singing “Best of You” to you just now.”

Yes, it’s confirmed.  I’m a total ass.  Total. Ass.

And then, to top it off, this:

Me: “You think so, huh?”

The boy: “I don’t think so, I know so.”

Yep.  Even more ass-like.  But my boy loves me, so hey, I can’t be that bad, right?

I have this horrible habit of over-studying.  Not so much with things I should be studying, like you know, school work and stuff.  But more the things that I know are going to make me totally crazy.  Like Lyme disease.  Since being diagnosed, I have inundated myself with facts, anecdotes, and stories of Lyme sufferers around the globe, looking for some sibilance of understanding about this thing I have inside me.  And now, since agreeing to go on IV antibiotics, I’ve been scouring the inter-web for stories, pictures, information about PICC lines and Groshong catheters and Portacaths, oh, my!  To the point that my head is spinning so fast that I literally feel a little dizzy from it all.  Why do I do this to myself?  Oh, yeah.  I’m a total freak! 

I was initially set on getting whatever put in my chest…more specifically in the upper part of my chest, a little below my clavicle.  Now, I just don’t know.  I’ve talked to a nurse.  A nurse manager actually at the place that will be providing my in-home infusion treatments/checking.  She gave me invaluable information about the whole thing, but I’m still confused.  There are pros and cons about both and I’m trying to think logically about the whole thing, but it’s so very foreign to me that I’m having a hard time being logical.  Besides that, I’m trying not to let vanity get the best of me, but in all honesty, it is.  There is the discomfort of tubes hanging out of my arm verses the idea of a permanent scar on my chest.  Even today, I’m wearing a top that would display that area for all the world to see…

I’m reaching out to everyone I know for help in deciding.  I don’t know if my indecision is just me, or if it has to do with the Lyme, or my unbalanced chi or what.  Two sessions ago, my acupuncturist actually posed the question to me of whether I was having trouble making decisions.  I couldn’t even decide how to answer her.  Hmmm…you think!  The trouble is I don’t really know anyone who can give me an opinion I would really trust.  That makes this all the more difficult.  I’m trying to reach my mom (an RN), well, honestly I’m trying to reach my stepfather, a medical nurse, for his opinion on it all.  He’s very well educated and quite frankly my mom isn’t the best for decision making either, especially when it comes to me.  It seems like all her medical training flies right out the window when she is dealing with someone she loves.  But I’m not sure if I totally trust my stepfather’s opinions either.  Some kind of residual I know better than my parents thing hanging on for dear life somewhere deep inside me.  So what to do? 

I know I don’t get many comments here, but really, I could use the help.  So if any of you stumbling across my blog have any experience with Lyme disease or even with PICC lines, Portacaths, groshong catheters, or any of the other random ports that they could conceivably put in my body in the next couple weeks, please, please, please leave me a comment, throw me some advice, even an anecdote of your experience.  It would be much appreciated!

I know it’s been awhile, but, yeah, life is sucking right now.  Well, not totally sucking, but stressful.  Totally stressful.  And a little bit of sucking.  Adding to the stress.  So overall…

First the good news:

The boy does not have Lyme Disease!!  Yea!!  But the bad news accompanying it: He does have an Iron deficiency.  Which would explain his extreme tiredness and general crankiness, all. the. time.  But that means he needs another blood test to see exactly what the deficiency is and how bad.  Yeah, suckiness.

Also on the good news front, we may be selling the house, like soon.  We got an official offer two days ago and are now hashing out the details of the deal.  Yea!  But the stress with it: we have to find a new house (to buy or rent) pack this house, and move by the end of November.  Yeah, suckiness.  The possible buyers are first-timers so they are hoping to get in on that $8000 tax thing that ends November 30th.  Yea!  Nothing like a rush to get your blood pumping!  Did I mention suckiness?

So, some good news, but a lot of stress.  Stress is great.  It’s wonderful.  It helps with sleep, and bodily healing, and relationships and everything! (I figure if I keep saying it maybe it will come true…)

And then there is the Lyme, which pretty much encompasses everything bad in my life.  Ever.  Seriously.

So, I’m not getting better.  This all started in July, and 3 months later I’m actually getting worse.  The pain, while not as severe (or maybe it is and my tolerance is just getting higher) is getting more widespread.  Like my entire body. The. Whole. Thing.  So there’s that.  But also, I’m getting new symptoms.  I think I mentioned my spinal tap, you know, when they removed my spinal fluid from my spine! Yeah, that was fun.  Anyway, it came back negative for MS, and also for brain damage.  Yea, right?  But wait, there’s more.  I’m having increased neurological symptoms. Memory lapses, poor short and long term memory.  Temper flares (severe).  Mood swings (also severe).  Difficulty (major) concentrating on anything. Speech problems.  Not actually speaking, but finding words..simple words.  Even typing this is difficult at the moment.  So no brain damage…yet.  Pain is part to blame for the mood swings and general brain fog too.  It’s very distracting to be in pain all. the. time.  I’ve heard that when you break something or experience some severe trauma that your brain shuts off the pain receptors to protect you.  That doesn’t seem to be the case for long term pain.  Long term, fluctuating, total body pain.  Yep, the pain receptors keep on functioning perfectly.  It’s hard.   On my body.  On my mind.  On my mood.  On my entire being.  But, yeah, that’s the rest of it.  Basically, the doc figures the little bastards that are causing the Lyme have found their way to my brain and while they haven’t damaged it yet, they may.  The spinal tap and MRI won’t show them since they are little bastards bacteria actually inside my brain, so without the damage there is no way of for sure knowing they are there.  But by symptom tracking (the best friend to any Lyme sufferer anywhere!) we are pretty sure they are in there.  So, agressive medicine time.

I’m getting an IV line put in.  I have basically two options here, both not appealing, both having a time frame of 1 to 3 months, or longer, depending on how I respond.

Option 1: a Picc line.

They put a line in my arm into my vein (or artery, whatever) and I self administer the antibiotics twice a day.

Option 2: a portcap.

They put a quarter sized cap thats about a half inch thick in my chest, either just below the clavicle, or possibly under my breast (for appearance sake only).  Then they stab the cap with a needle (the needle gets changed weekly) and leave it there for me to self-administer the antibiotics.

Both lines are run through my body to about the same area, going towards my heart.  The Picc line is cheaper, and won’t leave as big a scar, but it’s in my arm, which I tend to use more than my chest.  Also, I have these two 45lb people I routinely carry around with my arm, so yeah, there’s that.  The port is a more extensive “surgery” so I get to be put out (bonus) but of course that means more money for the anesthesiologist and all.  And besides, not a fan of those guys anyway.  There is a slightly greater chance of sepsis with the Picc line.  Sepsis is when an infection gets in your blood and you go on a nice date with Death, hopefully leading to nothing more than a good-night kiss, but with a good posibility of a love at first sight moment lasting for all eternity.  Yeah, that serious.  But the place the IV hooks to is much more secure, and smaller.

Besides the implant, I also will have a nurse.  Yep.  My very own home-visiting nurse.  She (or he) will come to the house to show me how to administer my antibiotics when I first get it.  Then she will visit once a week to change my dressing, check my lines and site, and if I get a port, change my needle.  This goes on,well, until it’s done.  Like I said, estimating 1 to 3 months for now, but who knows.  Yeah, complete and utter suckiness!

Mr. W isn’t doing well with all this.  He hasn’t for any of this really, but now it’s worse.  We are fighting, well, technically we aren’t even talking at the moment, but that’s from not wanting to fight.  I’m hurting and cranky and bitchy and hiding it all the best I can (apparently not the bitchy part) because I don’t feel like I can talk to him about it all.  It’s not just that he stresses, but I feel like somehow he’s making it about him.  And it’s not about him, dammit!  My mom does the same thing so I just learned not to tell her anything.  I don’t want it to be like that with him.  I’m so frustrated with it all.  I need a vent.  I need someone to spew to who will just listen and comfort me and not try to fix everything and not get visibly stressed everytime I bring it up.  I need to be held and babied a little.  I need someone to tell me everything is going to be alright, even if neither of us believe it.  I need to believe it, even if it’s just for that moment in time.  I’m scared.  I’m frustrated.  I’m depressed.  I’m in pain.  I’m not doing well at all and I have to fake the funk for work, for my kids, for my parents, well my mom at least, for the ex-men.  I’m tired.  Tired of the pain.  Tired of being sick.  Tired of being limited.  Tired of faking it.  Just tired of everything.  Yeah, not doing well at all.

So, that’s where I’m at today.  Tomorrow will be a new day.  Maybe better, maybe worse.  Maybe the same.  At least it’s one day closer to something else…although I don’t know what that something else is yet.  Just getting through today…

I have a twitter account…that said, I neglect it terribly.  I guess I’ve been biding my time, trying to figure out if I actually dig on the whole twitter thing or not.  Well, in a moment (hours) of unspeakable boredom at work, combined with my never-ending search to do anything but homework, after reading all my blogs, and then some, I turned to twitter…and was simply amazed. 

Ok, I have a couple followers.  I have a couple followees (is that a word?).  But browsing through the lists, I thought, hey, why not see who my folowees follow?  I mean, really, aren’t you the least bit curious about who the President follows?  755,536 people, that’s who Mr. Obama follows!  Ok, so I couldn’t go through all of them…but some of my other followees are a little modest with their followees numbering only in the teens.  So I snooped.  It’s amazing who tweets!  I can only assume that Ellen has the actual Matthew Perry on her list (of 26).  Ok, not so shocking, I suppose…but did you know that Elizabeth Taylor tweets?  Seriously.  And Martha Stewart?  Who totally sounds like herself in her tweets, by the way, and who follows her own show and magazine…strange, but whatever.  She is who she is.  Never really a fan…

Old faves from the 80′s (totally an 80′s kid) like Peewee, Punky, Weird Al, and Mr. Cosby (touting a whole 2 followees) are among other Twitterers?…Tweeters?…Twits?…uh…people who use Twitter?  The pope apparently tweets too, well, the Bloggess (the funniest shit ANYWHERE…well, not the last post, which was kind of serious, although relatable…but normally hilarious…) has a Twitter account for  the pope (is pope capitalized traditionally?), but it is undoubtedly the exact same things he would have said.  Undoubtedly…

Anyway, still not really getting the Twitter craze, but it is providing me countless hours (moments) of entertainment nonetheless! 

Friday, Mr. W and I were arguing about plans to go house hunting Saturday afternoon.  We are in agreement to sell our (his) house and rent a place.  We are in agreement about our time frame of next Spring.  We are in agreement on our hopeful location and home amenities.  We are in agreement about the things that should be done before we list the house for sale: replace carpets, paint, refinish kitchen cabinets, packing up extra stuff to put in storage, etc…all purely cosmetic work, but better to show with.  And that is where the agreement ended on Friday afternoon.

My thoughts were to go look at all these fabulous houses I found online as an inspiration, a kick in the ass if you will, to get our butts in motion to get our house sold.  His thoughts were that looking at the houses we can’t rent would be nothing more than disappointment and heartache over what we were missing months in advance.  Ok, so we agreed to disagree…and to not go house hunting on Saturday.  Instead, we stayed home and participated in the HOA sponsored neighborhood cleanup/beautification efforts. 

Mr. W has lived in our house for five years, and in that time, the annual clean-up has had a rather disappointing turnout.  Not the case this year.  There were about a dozen of our neighbors out with gardening tools and nothing but the best efforts available (some were on the older side while others hung out for moral support with newborns in tow) to them.  We met quite a few of them while working, and found out one gentleman works in the opposite agency from me, ie I talk to him/his co-workers on a daily basis. 

And then the kharmic twist.

While chatting with Mr. W, sharing house-buying stories of the neighborhood, Mr. W mentioned we were looking to move soon and would be putting the house on the market in the future.  As fate would have it, two of my neighbors’ close friends are not just in the market for a new home, but are in the market for a new home, in the area, exactly like ours, and are pre-approved for more than our asking price!  After a few phone calls, our neighbor looks to us and asks, “Can they come look at the house today?”  Uh…HELL YES!  I mean “sure, no problem.”  And I frantically run away from the neighborhood clean-up to tidy the house.

Long story short, the couple liked the house, and the price, and probably that we don’t have a realtor yet, and even more that it is down the street from their buddies (I heard a high-five and a “yea!” through the open kitchen window when they left), and that we are willing to close (if possible) and move by the end of November.  That’s less than two months!  Is that possible?  I don’t know.  But I truly hope so!  We may have to sacrifice our Thanksgiving trip to Michigan and our Christmas trip to LA (sorry Girly, and Dad) but hey, can’t pass on an opportunity that was dropped in our laps like this.  And besides, a new, bigger house will allow for many, many more house guests (hint, hint…).   

Please keep your fingers crossed for us that this works out! 

Yea!  In another unexpectped turn in my trip down Lyme disease lane, I got a spinal tap on Wednesday. 

I had my appointment (that I waited 2 months for) with my Neurologist.  He’s supposed to be super-smart, especially with the “weird stuff, ” with connections to Georgetown and a couple other big-time medical universities.  Of course, I couldn’t get over that he was a true doppelganger for Jeffery Tambor.  (this guy)

Or you might know him better as this guy:

(His other film credits include the cigar-smoking nemesis in Hellboy, and Anthony Hopkins’s son-in-law in Meet Joe Black, as well as a slew of cartoon voices.  He provided the voice for King Neptune in The Spongebob Squarepants Movie.  How cool is he?!)

So, yeah, Mayor Augustus Maywho (or King Neptune if you prefer) is my Neurologist.  A little unnerving, but in a way, not.  It’s all very strange! 

Anyway, the Mayor goes over my Lyme and medical history which brought me to him as well as my MRI (brain only).  He then gives me a “neurological test” which consists of me remembering “Big dog, Red ball, Clear sky,” in that order, touching my fingertips and nose, and a mild strength test.  I passed.  Whew!  He said my brain looked good (“like the brain of a 20 year old” were the exact words) BUT he needed a MRI of my upper spine (neck area) as well.  Well that sucks!  Sucks more money to be exact. 

Then the bomb:

Becausemy pain has been concentrated on one side, AND because it is consistentlyin BOTH my arm and my leg, there is a chance the little Lyme-disease-causing-asshole-bacteria are in my central nervous system, meaning that the doxy that I’m on is actually not helping.  I guess oral antibiotics can’t get to the central nervous system.  Anybody guess what can?  Intravenous Antibiotics.  Yep, IV treatments.  For two months. Or longer.  Fun, fun, freaking fun!  In case you are curious, IV antibiotics basically means that you have a stint put somewhere in your body, usually the chest area, and you go into the doctors office how ever often to get your treatments.  The stint stays in until the treatments are complete.  Of course, there is risk of infection (or in my case with my insane ever curious children, injury) at the site of the stint.  And it just sucks.  Look at me, all sexy like with my stint in my chest.  Yeah, sorry ahead of time just in case, Mr. W. 

But back to Mayor Maywho.  Basically, I could get the treatments on the hunch, BUT “good medicine” dictates that we prove that this is the case.  What does that mean?  Spinal Tap! Dun, dun, dun.  The Mayor assured me it was just like an epidural.  Great.  I HATED THE EPIDURAL!! The only reason I lived, or, more to the point, the anesthesiologist lived that day was because I was 5 cm dilated and on a double dose of pitocin and 9 months pregnant with loose joints and couldn’t run that fast!  Hated it!  The Mayor went through the procedure: 20 minutes, in office, easy-peasy.  He also suggested that we could check for anything else that may be lurking in there, like MS, just to be sure.  So I said ok.  And he said “how about Wednesday afternoon?”  Seriously?  Two days to prepare for this?  *Sigh*  Ok, fine, Wednesday. 

So Wednesday comes, and Mr. W and I play hookey from work (he was going with me anyway).  But really, what the hell good would I be to anyone with my mind on the giant needle that would be entering my spinal column in mere hours? 

And a spinal tap goes like this:

First, the doc (Mayor Maywho) goes over the procedure, again, adding possible side-effects and dangers (Ok, glad you didn’t tell me that before) which include headaches, pain at the site, and the ever possible infection.  Plus there is the slight chance that the spinal fluid won’t stop leaking out of the little hole.  Nice!  The cure for which is an anesthesiologist going back in there (yea.) and putting some of your own blood over the puncture to create a clot/homemade band-aid.  Ok, no questions?  Here we go!  First I had to curl up in a ball on my left side, facing the wall, pulling my knees so far up on to my chest that I’ve been spitting out kneecap ever since.  Then, he (the Mayor) adjusted me to align my spine, making it all the more uncomfortable.  He tucked in some drapes (unnerving) and began to swab with iodine.  And then the fun starts.  First is a shot of local anesthetic: bee sting then burning, searing, flesh melting pain.  Done.  A minute later, another local anesthetic, only deeper into my back: more burning, searing, flesh melting pain.  Done.  Then about a million (actually probably 2) minutes later, he starts poking around.  Why?  I HAVE NO IDEA.  But he’s poking, poking, telling Mr. W some anecdote, poking and then he announces, “ok let’s start” in way to cheerful a voice and all I’m thinking is I totally felt all that poking. No, wait, can’t we wait for the anesthetic to kick in, like for a week or so?  NO WAIT!  I’M NOT– and there’s the tap.  It’s not painful per se, more like a completely foreign and totally unnerving pressure inside your body that you just know you shouldn’t be feeling in a place you shouldn’t be feeling it.  It just felt, wrong.  Anyway, it’s in.  I’m breathing.  My eyes are scrunched as tight as possible.  I’m trying to block out where I am and what I’m doing.  Trying to go to a place filled with flowers and butterflies and no freaking Whoville Mayors!  And Mr. W announces, “Hey, that’s cool!  It’s clear!”  Ok, thanks for that, babe.  Trying not to think about my spinal fluid seeping out of my body, you know, where it’s not supposed to me, by way of long tube, in my spine that isn’t supposed to be there.  But thanks for the update, now SHUT THE HELL UP!  Oh, and I love you. 

I guess Mayor Maywho checked my pressure? with some giant tube thing and then let my spinal fluid drip into 4 waiting test-tubes for about 15 minutes.  And then he pulled it out and we were done.  I was allowed/told to roll over on my back, stretch out and lay there for an hour “to allow your body to replenish the spinal fluid that was collected.”  You know why this is important?  It relates to the headache side-effect.  BECAUSE YOUR BRAIN FLOATS IN THIS SAME FLUID!  And without the right amount, it just kind of bumps into things causing brain-bumping headaches.  Yeah.  Sounds fun, right?  So after the hour, I get up all slow and gingerly, waiting for the pain….but there’s none.  whew!  But then I spent the rest of the day waiting for the pain which coincidentally gave me a stress headache, so, yeah. 

*on a cool note, I got to walk around from Mayor Maywho’s office, to Labcorps** to the local hospital, to the local emergency room carrying my spinal fluid.  I kept showing Mr. W and any passers by my little baggie of my spinal fluid receiving beaming appreciation for my utlra-coolness…or possibly “you are a total freak” looks.  Either way.  I felt cool.

**Labcorps totally sucks, by the way.  I got to the local office and the girl behind the counter greets me by saying she can’t draw the ordered blood to accompany my spinal fluid because it says in her special, all-knowing Labcorps Bible manual that the spinal fluid and the blood shall be taken simultaneously.  This woman actually looked me in the face and told me, mere minutes (an hour) after my spinal tap, clutching proudly to my spinal fluid, that I was going to have to do the whole thing again, AND have blood drawn at the same time!  I don’t think that’s even possible!  So Labcorps people totally go on my list of people whose lives were saved by extenuating circumstances in my life, right under anesthesiologists.