Wednesday, October 19, 2011

From "fine" to "so painful there were tears" in less than an hour

Hey, you know what? Shawn is visiting again. How awesome is that? And if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you apparently don't stalk me on Facebook enough. I mentioned him in my previous post where I bitched and moaned.

Today was a lazy day. We watched movies and didn't do much of anything. Around 330 PM, I was so tired and achy, that I decided to go lay down with my feet up (lay down? Lie down? Who cares? I was flat on my back, on my bed). I thought laying (lying?) under my fleece blanket with my feet elevated would help.

I dozed off for about fifteen minutes, which is fine... but I got up and I was barely able to move. No worries, I thought (I do that, I think and speak in Australianisms sometimes)- but yeah, "No worries," I thought, "It'll work itself out a bit when I get to moving."

Except that it didn't. It got worse. I went from "mildly achy" to "absolutely in agony" in less than an hour. I had tears... and of course, the Disabled Guy didn't notice. So, I pointed it out to him. Still didn't know why- he said, "What? Are you sweating?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'm sweating from my eyeballs."

The whole thing freaked Shawn out, just a bit, because he has never witnessed a flareup in person. And of course, it had to be such a tasty morsel to witness- me going from slightly whiny to fighting tears in such a short period of time. I took my Vicodin almost an hour early because I couldn't take it.

I said to Shawn- who was doing whatever he could to help me: "At least I'm just in pain and not itching."

Stupid me.

Less than an hour after that, I was itching too. Great. Way to go, Brainiac.

It is now after 9 PM here. I'm fully Viked and fully Cyclobenzaprine'd. And I fucking itch. And I have the goddamn munchies from my pain meds. They don't always give me the munchies, but it happens. My pain level was at maybe a three on that Ridiculous Pain Scale. By the time I'd gotten up from my impromptu nap and sat down on the sofa in the living room, it had shot up to eight. In that hour's time, I was in tears. It was the fastest onset of a flareup I've ever had (that I can remember, anyway).

So, I'm a little tired. A lot uncomfortable. And a bit irritated at it all. Kat came home for the night (she's got something to do in town tomorrow). She did her usual thing- demanding food, as one does upon entering their parents' house; she ate food, complained about our lack of snack foods, and talked about random stuff. No biggie, typical shit. And she asked me where the place was where she was going tomorrow. So I told her which streets to take to get there and she made her teen-ager-annoyed-face at me (she's 22 years old) because she wasn't following along with me. I said, "Fuck it, never mind..." and in the middle of me trying to get up, she got all defensive at me.

I tried to explain: "I'm in the middle of a fucking flareup. I feel like shit. I went from 'fine' to 'fucking shit' in less than an hour. I'm loaded up on pain meds that are barely working."

She replied, "So you have to take it out on me?"

I said, "I'm NOT taking it out on you. I'm irritated. I'm in pain. I'm fucking itching. It has nothing to do with YOU. It has nothing to do with ANYONE except me."

I have no idea if she cared or was even listening by then.

Shawn keeps asking me how I am though. And at least he means it.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Let's hope that little blip on my birthday isn't an indication of the rest of my year

I'm sure it won't, but you know how you superstitious types get.

Let's get everything up to speed right now. Saturday and Sunday, Ceej and I went to the Stronghold Olde English Faire. We weren't sure we were going to go, but on the last day at Bristol, as we were saying our goodbyes and hugging our friends who don't mind being hugged by sweaty people in period clothing, they kept saying, "We'll see you at Stronghold!"

So we went.

And I'm so glad we did. It was fantastic to see our friends again and as it turns out, a lot more of the cast people knew who we were than I thought did. Everyone should know how much I love Jane the Phoole. Because I do. She always remembered me (even if she couldn't place my extremely common name- she used to try and moniker me up with something more elegant only to find that nope, Just Patty) although for many years we only saw each other at the Janesville Faire for two days a year).

Well, at this year's Janesville Faire, I met a Captain Sir Martin Frobisher. He told tales of his travels and he was awesome and hilarious and grand fun. We saw him again, many times at Bristol. But in the time between Janesville and Bristol (about two months), he- that is, his non-character alter ego- sent me some messages about the photos I took of him at Janesville. So, when we saw him at Bristol, I knew he would remember me once I told him who I was. But I didn't even have to- he knew who I was. And that always makes me happy. And whenever we'd see each other in passing, he'd greet me with a cheerful "Good day, m'lady!" (he also, more than once, referred to me and the kid as "The Ladies [our-last-name]").

But back at the task at hand- Captain Frobisher and Jane are my two favorite Bristol characters. There are many, many more that I love (Robin Hood, for instance, and Little John. Those men make me laugh so hard that my sides ache for days). And I was happy to see Frobisher and many other of Bristol's cast at Stronghold. There was no joust at Stronghold, just a small, two-day faire. But Frobisher and a band of other men in finery (some were sea captains, some were part of the Queen's court/guard) played a game that we modern folk know as Jenga. Except this game was much larger and they played it with swords. Frobisher asked for my assistance three times- once it was not needed as the player before him toppled the tower, the second time, it was my honor to place the final block on the tower so they could start the game, and third, I dropped his sword when he asked me to hold it for one of his flourishes.

I've gotten off track a bit... But you know me, I do love to talk about the faire.

Two days of mostly walking and standing. Friday I had to drive three hours round trip to pick up Ceej from her college and Sunday evening, I had to do the same to return her. Since last week, I've been taking half the muscle relaxers that I normally do because I started to run low and I didn't want to run out before my next appointment (next week). On Sunday night and then on Tuesday night, I didn't take any muscle relaxers. I was driving and up too late to take them. Shawn arrived Tuesday, with just a two hour delay. That's an improvement on the 36 hour delay from his last visit.

We didn't go to see the girls on Wednesday. Jet lag got to Shawn and he opted to catch up on his sleep. But we're going to Milwaukee this weekend to do some museums and other such touristy things.

So, this hiccup I mentioned in the title.

Monday was my birthday. I have one plan for my birthday- to do as little as possible. And after two days of walking (and laughing so hard my sides are still sore, even on Thursday) and not taking enough pain medicine, I definitely didn't want to go anywhere or do anything. But the disabled guy wanted to go to Sam's Club. I hate that place. He always ends up buying stuff we don't need, which is bad enough. But he has to walk down every single aisle. No idea why. I even asked him why. My body was sore, I was tired, my feet were in agony, and I was swollen. I kept telling him I needed to sit down and that once we had the few things we needed, we should just go.

He either didn't care or he thought I was exaggerating. Or he just wasn't listening. By the time we were through the store (where I did a lot of standing at the ends of aisles), I was exhausted and frustrated. I just wanted to sit down and take off my shoes. But I wouldn't even be able to do that because my parents wanted to take us to dinner (part of my routine is to order pizza for dinner). We walked up to a checkout line- the disabled guy blathering on about how we didn't get "that much stuff" and then he waffled over which line to go through. I finally blurted that I didn't goddamn care and just wanted to leave. The guy in line ahead of us looked at me, a little shocked. I mean, how often do you see a fat chick at Sam's bitch out her husband? (don't answer that!). I looked at him and said, "Its my birthday and I'm here."

He said, "Oh. Happy Birthday."

I said, "Thanks." Then I looked away. All the frustration from that day just bubbled up and I felt like I was about to lose it. I asked the disabled guy: "Do you need me here for this? Can I go sit in the car?"

He told me to go and I put on my sunglasses and beat feet to the truck. I didn't make it all the way out there when the tears came. I got into the truck, turned the AC on full blast (it was hot) and turned up the music. I sat there crying for about five minutes. The guy who had been in line ahead of us was parked about two spaces down. He had enough sense not to come over and bother me, though for a moment it looked to me like he was going to stop and ask me if I was okay.

When the disabled guy walked out (finally), I'd settled down enough to be able to function. I didn't say a word to him- beyond "Don't break my frame"- and we drove in silence for about two minutes. Then he asked: "Why are you so mad?"

Mad? This isn't "mad" unless we're talking of the British usage of "mad" (which is "insane"). I started to explain, rather heatedly (that is to say, I went off on him, rather loudly), about what was wrong. I stopped halfway through. He wasn't really listening.

But, my son got me my required-by-law Dairy Queen ice cream cake. And Shawn arrived the next day. And aside from being exhausted, I'm okay. I got my muscle relaxer refill yesterday so I was able to take a full dose and crashed hard last night.

Tomorrow, we go to Milwaukee for a couple days. We're going to stop in and see the girls along the way back.

And, for fun, here is a video of Captain Frobisher playing Sword Point Tower at Stronghold. And then some photos.

All Stronghold 2011 photos are here... Well, most of them. I still have some from "A Knight to Remember" to go through.

The good captain had such flair!

This is Bristol's "Robin Hood". He wasn't portraying Robin at Stronghold, though.

This man makes me laugh so hard...

Jane the Phoole-

The second attempt was better (by me, that is to say, my timing in snapping the shot)