The Disabled Trainwreck Rides Again.
2007-01-05 1:12 a.m.

I went and saw Dr. Rheumatologist today. We kind of agreed that I was a trainwrack and going blind and the plaques on my nose were related to the sarcoidosis along with the crippling joint pain. I'm almost glad that I have disfiguring nose dots and am going blind. It helps reassure me that I'm not crazy. Pain, malaise and fatigue are all so weird and subjective. I sometimes feel nuts when I try to explain how I feel. At least there's something objective to back up my complaints.

We did another round of needle torture (Clumsiegirl you may want to stop reading and go here). This time he had me sit with my arms on the exam table, palms up and marked the center of my wrists with a pen then iodined me, alcoholed me and sprayed my wrist with cold stuff and the second he took it away. Bam! In went the needle. I couldn't watch. I get clammy and jumpy when I see what's going on, so I just let my hair cover my face and stared at my shoes. He did a good job, it didn't really hurt, I hardly felt anything more than coldness and pressure. I think the key is to really freak myself out so it's such a relief that I'm not in excruciating pain.

Next I went to the pharmacy to pick up my drugs but there was a huge wait. I was uber sneaky and took a number then went downstairs to the lab to have my blood drawn. After getting yet another another hole bored into my body, I went back upstairs in time to hear them call my number. Heh heh. I begged for smaller guage needles this time and they found me some adorable little 27 guage needles. whoo hoo. Hopefully Friday's won't be known as cold and clammy pass out Fridays. Although, it does go really well with cold and clammy throw up Sundays. I'm totally living the life of Nicole Ritchie only without the money, sex and clubbing part. Oh, or the emaciated pixie body part.

I really want a brave boyfriend or perhaps a masochistic sadistic one, that would be willing to poke me in the ass. Wow, did that sentence ever come out wrong. I really want a boyfriend who would be willing to give my gluteus maximus an injection once a week (doesn't really sound much better, does it?) because I'm not flexible enough to give my own ass a shot and have to usually resort to stabbing my tummy fat or thigh.

I'm glad we didn't go with the Remicade. I really don't want cancer. The chances of me having that particular side effect is quite low, but we decided that the Methotrexate was actually quite efficacious for me in everything except joint pain so we'll keep treating that with analgesics.

Oh! I just got an e-mail from the lab and my bloodwork came back okey dokey. My white count was at the lowest end of normal but still in the normal range which is good. My red cells are up a little more so I'm not even borderline anemic.

And to top it all off, it was decided I should be off work for a few weeks to rest and heal. Plus I'm half blind, can't hold a pen and am exhausted and brain dead.

Instead of crying on the way home (which I did for awhile) I brainstormed a series of pictures I'd like to do around sickness, pills, needles and whatnot. Sort of beautifying the process of being ill. It sounds crazier than it looks in my mind's eye.

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How Not to Put Together a Cat Gym.
2007-01-04 1:23 p.m.

Fed-Ex showed up yesterday with the kitty's christmas present. "Oh goody!" We cried as we opened it. I thought it was one of those cool cat gyms that was pressure folded and it just popped up and into place. Boy was I wrong!

I opened the box and inside was a smaller, narrower box. I opened it up and dumpted it out and discovered that the cat gym arrived in pieces that you had to put together. 64 little pieces to be exact. Did the makers of this contraption know that cats do not have aposable thumbs and that their owners would have to put it together? The cats tried to help. Their version of helping was to delicately pick up a small piece and take it through the house and dump it in the bathroom under the towel rack. It was kind of like tinker toys.

There was one large piece that was wrapped in an elastic band and was prssure packed so when you took the band off, it exploded into a big two level cube tube. I nearly knocked myself unconscious when I opened it. As I lay on the ground saying "Where the hell am I?" a piece of paper floated down on top of me admonishing me not to open the pressure loaded cube around children's faces. Hell, what about my face? And why would you put the note inside the cube? It took me a half an hour, but I'm spacially challenged and had a head injury, until I had it all put together, and by God, my cats where going to play with it.

I thought I'd have to forcefully push them down the tube but my cats are fearless. I placed them on the platforms and they joyfully dove headfirst down the tube and jumped back up so they could do it again. So far the cat gym gets two paws up from the cats and a bird from the concussed owner.

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See ya Itsy, Bitsy and Fred.
2007-01-02 9:05 p.m.

I'll be the first one to admit that sometimes I miss the obvious. When my mother saw me during Thanksgiving she said "What the hell's wrong with your face?" which is exactly what a girl wants to hear from her mother. Not "Hello, nice to see you." but "What the hell's wrong with your face?" I thought my zits weren't healing due to being on Prednisone. I also had bruises all over my shins from walking into furniture, so I thought it was all par for the course. After the Pred my immune system snapped back on and I could no longer hold a pen but my bruises and scabs started healing. My cheeks and chin cleared up but I still had three spots on my nose.

They got so big, I named them Itsy, Bitsy and Fred. Fred was the big one in the middle of the tip of my nose. They were like big flat indented scabs. It took some serious make up work to camoflouge the gang. I just assumed they'd heal and go away.

Then Christmas came and my mother said "Your new lipstick matches your nose." not "Hi, Merry Christmas. Have some presents." Instead she stared pointedly at Fred and the gang and made a snarky remark. I'm fairly certain Fred was staring back, but I didn't want to go cross-eyed to see because I already looked weird enough, what with my luscious lips and three gigantic sarcoid plaques on my face. Because that's what they were. I just thought that I had a zits for eight weeks because I'm stupid. Or perhaps I had become emotionally attatched to my plaques by naming them and talking to them every morning while I put my make up on.

I tried everything: exfoliating, hydrogen peroxide, alcohol, mud masques, hydrating masques, soap and water, Proactive, Differin gel (always worked in the past), doing nothing and voodoo. This morning I was digging through my drawer of prescriptions and found the Lidex I was prescribed for my legs when I was first diagnosed. I remember the dermatologist told me in no uncertain terms not to use it on my face. So I decided to put some on my face. Actually, I just dabbed it on Itsy, Bitsy and Fred. By this afternoon the trio had faded.

Part of me is excited. I finally get to look cute again! I can be normal! Another part of me feels like a moron because I have this stupid disease and I missed a major syptom that I've read about. Duh. I also wondered if I just let the plaques go nuts, if they would hone my nose down to a cute little Paris Hilton sniffer. Rhinoplasty by sarcoidosis! Think of the money I could make! I'll have all the starlets racing to Portland to give me eskimo kisses so they can have cute little button noses too. Sarcoidosis isn't contagious, but I'm not going to tell anyone. At least not until I get to make out with Lindsey Lohan.

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Hep Cat Spoetry
2007-01-02 2:22 p.m.

I got one of those computer generated text in a spam e-mail, but I thought it was so beautiful I decided to compose a poem out of it. I only took out a few words, otherwise it's intact. The title was the subject line of the e-mail which was why I was amused enough to open it in the first place. Okay, imagine if you will, me on stage in tight black pants, black turtleneck, beret, my glasses and a set of bongo drums (not that set, the kind you beat on, oh Lord, you perverts, you know what I mean). *snap* *snap* *snap*

I Weatherproof the Vampire
By Kungfukitten and American Casinos

Opinion of one's own,
It is only the decent and genteel.
His manner dictating of a morose,
and sermonizing father.
I am sure they will not be,
characteristic of folly.
The girl sits at home;
the object of their laughter and ridicule.
I see all of their ceremonies;
ask the meaning of them, and discover,
He is a machine.

*snap* *snap* *snap* Thank you, thank you. Feel free to post your own poetry spam in the comments daddy-o.

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Aiming for mediocrity.
2006-12-31 6:36 p.m.

Here are my New Year's Resolutions in no particular order. Or perhaps they are...

1) Have really good sex. The kind of sex where you can't walk very well afterwards and the love bites and scratches take at least a week to heal.
2) Not to die. That's pretty self-explanatory.
3) Not get fired from work. Duh.
4) Rewrite this year's NaNo novel, send out either Burn for Me or Blood For Persephone to agents/publishers.
4)Also put those puppies online for people to read as a few of you darlings have asked for more of my crap writing to read.

Not very exciting is it? This year I'm happy to aim for mediocrity.

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