"Life's funny sometimes"... but Life is also a jerk sometimes

So, 'sup? Been over a month now. Any news?

*waits*

*waits more*

Oh, wait, that's right. This is my stupid blog and I'm supposed to be sharing news.

I wanted to write some stuff a week or two ago, but I was putting it off because I had a problem. My problem was this- my human knee started to hurt. At first, I couldn't tell if it was a "fibro hurt" or if something more was going on. So, I did what I do best- I tried not to think about it. Guess what? If you guessed "nothing happened", you're right. The pain in my knee varied in intensity. Some days were just a mild ache. Some days were so blindingly painful that I cried from it. Driving became a horrible chore. Pressing down on the gas pedal wasn't so bad, but holding down the brake pedal because so painful I'd white-knuckle grip the steering wheel and contort my face into some pretty epic expressions in an effort to not scream: "OW!MOTHERFUCKINGSONOFABITCHCOCKSUCKER!" (because swearing helps ease pain).

Last week, my daughter asked me to come to her college (a 90 minute drive, made mostly with cruise control and a few cooperative stoplights) to take production photos of the play she's stage managing. So I did. And it was fun (and the play was cool). But, I was up and down and standing and walking for several hours. I didn't really feel the full impact of all that till the next day. The next day when every single moment was agony and I cried and I was in so much pain I couldn't even sit here to process the RAW files. And if you know me, you know that I never let a photo sit without processing. It ended up taking me almost four days to do what should have taken two days. Because of this goddamn human knee. It was that day that I called and made an appointment with my knee doctor. I didn't bother to go through the VA first. If I had, I'd still be waiting for that appointment.

I hate using a cane. It pisses me off. I used a cane for three years and a huge chunk of that time was spent with two canes (I named them "George and Gracie"). So, because I was doing this more often than I wanted, I made that appointment.

My worst fear was that I'd have to get another knee replacement. I had my left knee replaced in 2009 and while it was the best thing that ever happened to me (because it opened up my life and I got to go "out" and do "stuff" and have "fun" like "all the normal people do"), I don't ever want to go through that again. I've given birth to three babies. Without drugs. Two of them in Army hospitals (the middle one was at a civilian hospital because the Army is a dick to families). Three babies, no drugs, and one of them was 11 pounds even and 22 1/2 inches tall. And the knee replacement pain was worse. Much worse.

How much worse? Well, allegedly, women "forget" the pain of labor to go through it again. My kids have 2 1/2 years and 1 1/2 years between them, so I guess in my case, that's true. I had my knee replaced SIX YEARS ago and I STILL remember how much it sucked in the three weeks that followed. Pain and agony and so much work to just get normal enough to get out of the hospital. I stayed for two weeks for in-hospital physical therapy and then I spent two weeks at my parents' fully-handicap-accessible house before coming to my own house. Well, I don't have that luxury anymore (since my parents passed away).

So, I did not want another goddamn knee replacement. I've gone through scenarios in my head on scheduling it after faire season because I'd have six months between Teslacon and Janesville Faire. I only needed five months the last time (I had my knee replacement five months before my first trip to Bristol). But... instead, this is what has happened.

I took two photos of my X-rays. One from pre-replacement in 2009 and one from today.

You'll notice that they're leaning (I did them backwards, they're leaning in, not out). That's partly because I'm so overweight that my thighs are pushing them and partly because I hyper-extend my knees, well, all my joints. Christine hates it when I hyper-extend my fingers, it grosses her out. Jason likes it because he can do it to his elbows and he used to do MMA (mixed-martial arts fighting) and his opponents couldn't make him tap-out with an arm bar. I'm not sure how my oldest- Kat- feels about hyper-extended joints.

So, let's zoom in on these bad boys and I'll show you some things.

Here's the right knee. The yellow arrows are pointing to two bone spurs that have started to grow. The blue arrows are pointing to the bright white line, which indicates that the bones are rubbing and starting to wear down. The purple arrows show the gap between the bones, which means I still have a little bit of cartilage in there.

This is my left knee, from 2009, about a month before my knee replacement. The difference here is that the gap is much smaller. The blue arrows are pointing to the white line (which was all around the entire bone, not just those bits on the edges). The yellow arrows are pointing to the bone spurs that were growing, including a third one on the edge (I could feel that one. I remember that quite vividly).  Those bone spurs were worn down, and one of them may have been broken off. The green arrow is pointing to a folding-over-like edge. Like an ice cream cone is just melting a little, the edge of the ice cream is just holding on. That was all around the bone as well. I have a plastic model of my knee joint around here somewhere and it has all the flat spots and overhang of bone. I didn't point out the gap. As you can see, there's a lot less gap there.

So, it is obvious to me (and the doctor, because he explained it to me) that my right knee is in no way as bad of shape as the left one was. Probably because I saw him within a month of the pain starting. When it happened to the last one, I had to wait for almost two years before I was given the consultation letter to see the surgeon away from the VA. (I can see this doctor now, because my knee replacement was done by him, so everything that happens to my knees now falls under his umbrella of care- that umbrella thing is my own analogy, not the insurance's).

Instead of terrifying me with another total knee replacement, we're doing the cortisone shots. I have "significant arthritis", but not enough for a total knee replacement. He said if it works out, I'll be fine for up to six months. So, what's happen next is a photo of a two-inch long needle. And the one after it is a photo of him pressing the syringe into my knee. I didn't feel it at all. He just jammed it in and there was no pain, no anything. I felt a little tingle when he hit the plunger bit down, but other than that, nothing. And, I know if I end up not feeling any relief in the next week or so, to come in again and we'll do something else (I assume the next step up would be "rooster injections", which are so named because they're made out of rooster waddles. Yes, your "what the fuck?" reaction is entirely appropriate).

So, here's the warning, if you don't like needles or what it looks like when a needle is inserted into the knee to the point you can't see the needle anymore, don't scroll down.

This is the end of the blog for you, as far as your needle hate is concerned.

I'm not going to add any photography stuff to this post because it's already laden with photos. So if you stop now, you won't miss anything but needle stuff.

...

Last warning. 

....

One more warning. 

....

FINAL WARNING!! 

....

Okay, you were warned. Here are the two photos-

And this one- I might use this as my 365 for the day.

I see what you did there, Fibro...

I've been doing that thing I do where I plan on updating the blog, but then I don't because I forget or I procrastinate till...  I forget.

I had a bit of a flare up on a perfectly wonderful, sunny, gorgeous day. It was 65° Fahrenheit and just lovely. But it was a weak-ass flareup. It was mostly fatigue with a bit of pain. The morning dose of Vicodin took the edge off the pain. The fatigue stuck around and got worse as the day wore on, like a normal bout of flareup fatigue.

And I didn't really know why, so I checked the weather forecast. Well, let me show you a photographic representation. I've been doing the 365 self-portrait project since 2010. I've recently started my sixth year. I'm in a group on Flickr that calls itself: "We're Here". We pick a theme for a day and then we "invade" a group with our photos of that theme. The theme for that day- Sunday, March 22nd, was "Lazy Photography" and the description was: "The great photographers venture out into the world, fearless and tireless. They search for opportunities, and even create opportunities. god bless 'em. But this group is for when you'd rather park yourself on the couch or on the porch and wait for an opportunity to come to you. and if it doesn't come...just take a picture of your foot." 

I'm a literal smartass, so that is exactly what I did- I took a photo of my foot on the swing on my back porch (which is a massive wooden deck, actually).



And, this photo is less than 24 hours later-



Is it any wonder I was having a flareup?!

Yesterday, I was having one of those low-grade flareup feelings. I felt like crap, but I could at least sit down and stand up when I needed to... And I had to go to the store. I managed to live through it, the fatigue kept trying to pull me down to the floor, but I managed to get home.

A few hours later, my son came home from whatever it is he does when he's not home and not at work. He had two of his friends with him and the girl he's dating- I'm not sure if we're calling her his girlfriend yet or not, but you know... Anyway- the kids- and by "kids", I mean "adults in their early 20s" wanted me to take some photos for them. My son rides a sport bike. You and I probably know them better as "crotch rockets", but they don't like it when you call them that. So, of course I said I'd do it and we left the house to do some photos on a newly constructed dead-end street in an industrial area (no traffic). The girl didn't want to be in any of the photos so she and I sort of hung out while the guys did their drive-bys so I could do panning shots and so on. During the course of our conversations, I told her this about my fibro- "I could either sit at home and feel like shit, or I can come out here, take some cool photos of you guys and still feel like shit. So, I'm here." (and I said that's how I survive the faire on flareup days. I can sit at home and feel bad or I can at least be somewhere fun with great people). I spent a couple hours on my feet, walking around this dead end street (it was a weird dead end, the long street gave way to a 90° turn and that part ended about a half mile up. But there were no buildings around it, just an open field on one side, a highway at the end, and a pheasant farm on the other side).

Then there's today. Today, at 4 AM, my body decided to wake me up. Wake me up out of a dead sleep. Because why the fuck not? I stayed in bed till 430, trying to trick myself into falling back to sleep, but it didn't work. Fibrofuckingmyalgia will not listen to reason. And when I tried to move, my body was quite sure that was a bad idea. It took me ten minutes to get out of bed and get downstairs. After I did my morning stuff (breakfast, reading news, catching up on Facebook, trash day, dogs out), I went back to bed to try and take a nap. It was a crappy, less-restful 90 minutes of semi-consciousness. And today is the first of the month, so I had bill-paying errands to do. I struggled for everything today. Showering, getting dressed, going outside, trying to get into the vehicle (mid-size pickup truck), standing at the bank, walking. Breathing. Blergh.

I took my usual morning dose of Vicodin. I did all those things and at 2 PM, I took two more Vicodin. And about 45 minutes later, I felt the edge slide off the pain. I was still in pain, but at least I didn't have to struggle to get up out of my chair. And here's why-

Tomorrow's got rain (a 90-goddamn-percent chance of rain), then we just drop all the warmth and go back to cold temps. For a freakin' day. The earlier weather (that I didn't screen cap) was predicting snow on Friday, so I suppose I should be glad that we're just getting rain tomorrow and cold on Friday.

So, the Generic Cymbalta isn't an all-out miracle, but damn, there are a lot more good days than bad now. I'm going to accept that. Because a little flareup that goes away after a couple of hours is doable. And today's shitty flareup? Well, it sucks, but it also has a clear reason (the weather) and I feel like there's an end to it. Compared to last Spring when I had a "flareup" that lasted for months- I'll take it. But I see what you did there, Fibrofuckingmyalgia... April 1st- haha, sucks to be you, human! BOOM. Flareup on April Fool's Day.

And because I know you're wondering, here are a few shots from yesterday with the guys.




This one is called "Girls on Instagram be like..."











This is yesterday's 365. I had Andrew (kid in red) hold the camera because he was the tallest. My son is in the black helmet behind me with the girl he's been seeing, and Reese is behind them. And I am woefully underdressed for this party.

The Return of the Flipper Foot

I have a triple threat when it comes to my left foot. My left foot is on the leg that I had my knee replaced (strike one). My left foot is on the body that has fibrofuckingmyalgia (strike two). My left foot has absolutely no talent and will never be an inspirational story that will win an Oscar when it gets adapted to the big screen (strike three).

Seriously though, I've had edema issues since late 2004. It has been blamed on everything from early menopause to a shrug followed by a mumbled "I dunno". What is the most likely thing is the fibro. Sure, the fluctuating hormones that are par for the course in early menopause probably don't help, but hey, fibro is the big thing.

With the new fibro medicine (the generic Cymbalta), my swelling has gone almost completely away. My feet and lower legs will sometimes get puffy, but they get puffy in that way that says: "the human we're attached to is morbidly obese, so I get a little puffy" way. Well, last night, the flipper foot returned. Actually, it made some weak attempts to return, but last night the flipper foot reappeared. I'm going to share the photo as a link, just in case swollen flipper feet gross you out. You see, I'm wearing a too-big pair of Nike slip-on sandals as slippers. My son gave them to me. I wear a size 8 in men's sizes and my son's feet are size 13. He got these for free or something, I dunno. All I know is that they're thick-soled and have memory foam on them. So, this photo will show the flipper foot with a dent in it, where the sandals press into it. It was funny to me but a little gross for someone who isn't attached to the flipper itself.
~~link to the dented flipper foot~~ SEE WHAT I MEAN!?

Anyway, I have no idea what caused ol' Flipperty to come back last night. I just checked- Flipperty is back tonight too, but not as intense as he was last night.

I had a flareup on Saturday that lasted less than a day. And by a "day", I mean I woke up feeling like hell and by lunchtime, I felt okay again. So, let's just keep that up and I'll deal with Flipperty.

Now to take it down a notch. Or sideways. I'm not sure where I'm going with this because I'm not sure where this whole thing is right now... but whatever...

When I talk about how good I feel with the new fibro drug, there's still pain. There will always be pain. But the pain is more tolerable. I can function like a normal person instead of just pretending everything is fine. And it pisses me off a little bit that no matter what I do, there will always be SOME kind of pain. I mean, fucking hell, I'm sitting here right now, 1016 PM as I type this sentence. I'm three hours past my drugs for the night. I shouldn't be feeling anything, much less be able to type without looking at my hands and hit the control+i keys to make my text go italics. And I've still got pain. I'd say the pain is at about a two or three on that stupid pain scale.

Anyway, I am going to end this with a few photos of sparrows that I took the other day. Because Pahz Lives with this Bullshit, Talks about that Bullshit, and Never Shuts up about this Other Thing that Isn't Bullshit and don't you ever call it that! (whew, I don't know where THAT came from- but dammit, don't call the faire "bullshit" because I love that place).






All birds are majestic eagles on the inside.



Also, I have asthma (a very mild form of it, and yet, it can still kill me), so when it gets cold in the single or negative digits, I have to cover my mouth and nose when I go outside so it doesn't trigger an asthma attack. And I say it looks like I'm going to rob a stagecoach.

This is Day 11 of my 6th year doing the 365 Self-Portrait Project on Flickr- (yes, those are tiny snowflakes in my hair and yes, that is my real eye color). I called this: "The Great Northern Stagecoach Robber" because I think I'm clever. So, one bonus of the weather changing is that I don't need to cover my face to take the dogs out.

What a refreshing change of pace!

Wisconsin weather was doing the usual thing it does this time of year and it triggered a bit of a flareup. What's the thing it does this time of year? That would be shooting up 30° (Fahrenheit) in a 36 hour period, erratic humidity, and then dropping to below-freezing at night. But, the flareup was more of the "drag me to the floor" exhaustion than pain. There was pain, but not as much as a "normal" (haha!) flareup.

"But wait," you say, "You said something was refreshing... well, what was it? WHAT WAS SO GOL'DURNED REFRESHING?!"

Calm down, Shouty Pants. The refreshing bit was arthritis. Yeah. My right hand was sore and a bit achy. ACHY. I had arthritis pain in my hand! Just your normal, run-of-the-mill arthritis pain in my knuckles! My fingers were a bit stiff too. STIFFNESS and PAIN NOT ASSOCIATED with fibro! I was so happy, I almost cried. But instead, I had ice cream.

I'm always amazed when something feels normal. I spend a lot of days weighing my energy levels against the pain/lack-of-pain and how much I need to do. But this last little flareup, I sat down in the living room, on the sofa, covered in Chis (say that out loud!) and found myself rubbing the knuckles on my right hand and my brain didn't automatically go "FUCKIN' FIBRO!" My brain said: "What the hell, man? Arthritis? Why the hell- OH MY GOD! THIS IS ARTHRITIS!"

I tell ya, man, it's the little things.

So, the new medicine seems to be working (as long as I don't fuck with things!) and aside from the mind-numbing exhaustion, the flareups haven't been terrible. I'm also still having pain in my foot from the plantar fasciitis, but it comes and goes. I also still have neuropathy (painful numbness) in that foot, too... but dammit, let's stop with the negativity.

I've got 67 days till the Janesville Renaissance Faire.

I've got 123 days till the start of the Bristol Renaissance Faire.

There are 207 days till the Stronghold Olde English Faire (and my birthday!).

And 214 days till A Gathering of Rogues & Ruffians! (date subject to change)

AND about 255 days till Teslacon!

Whew... those are my standing events. I don't know what else I have going on, but those are the important things.

And yes, I DO happen to have some photos to share. That's the name of the blog- "Pahz Lives with Fibro and Talks about Photography". (although, technically, I should call it "Pahz Lives with Fibro, Talks about Photography, and Never Shuts the Hell Up about Renaissance Faires.". However, the joke's on you! Teslacon is a steampunk event!!)

So, on to some unrelated photos-

Gypsy-



Luna-



Jasper-



Bruno-



And a few shots of the sparrows who live around the house. And in various small openings in the house.

And then I had to go and try to change things...

So, I found that wonderful sweet spot in the medicine cocktail I take for my fibro. I had a long stretch of feelin' good and doing stuff and baking things and photographing people and being a human and all that neat stuff you guys do all the time like you're Superman or something.

And I thought to myself: "Self, the whole point to you finding a fibro treatment that works is so you can stop taking so much pain medicine."

And like I dumbass, I replied: "You know, Self, you're right! Let's fuck some shit up like the dumbass we are, because I hate feeling good enough to live life like a goddamn human!!"

So, I decided that since I was feeling so good, I could cut back on the amount of muscle relaxers I was taking.

Just a reminder, here is what I have been taking for the fibro- the "sweet spot" I referred to in the first sentence- One 10 mg muscle relaxer between 530 and 6 AM, two 5/325 Hydrocodone tablets between 10 and 11 AM, three 5/325 Hydrocodone tablets between 6 and 630 PM, and two more muscle relaxers and the generic Cymbalta between 7 and 730 PM.

This is just the pain meds. This doesn't include all the "stay-alive" pills
I take in the morning after my first muscle relaxer.

My first step was to take only ONE muscle relaxer at night. I still fell asleep that night, I still slept, and I still woke up. Except I didn't sleep good. I woke up at least twice. But hey, it was one night and this is winter (our weather is unpredictable). So, I took only one muscle relaxer a second night. (this is along with everything else- I just cut back a single 10 mg tablet of muscle relaxer).

I woke up the next day with my arms, shoulders, neck, and hands so sore and so stiff that I could barely move. I said "Fuck this shit" and took two muscle relaxers at night and damned if I didn't feel better the next morning. Not 100% better, but significantly better.

So, what I can garner from my absolutely unscientific shot in the dark experiment is- Don't fuck with a good thing. If it ain't broke, stop fucking with the ain't-broke thing, you stupid, stupid human. It took me another two days before I felt better. And I still don't feel as good as I felt before I tried to fuck with things. My hands are still a bit sore and yesterday, my right elbow and wrist were so sore that I couldn't fully straighten or bend my arm. I walked around with one arm crooked slightly, like the worst C3P0 cosplay in the history of terrible cosplays. When I woke up this morning, my elbow didn't hurt at all.

I'm not going to mess with any doses of my fibro cocktail until it stops working for me. And then I'll talk to my doctor first. Because I'm a stupid, stupid human.

And to end on a much prettier and less-stupid note, I took a bunch of macro photos the other day. My son gave me a batch of tulips for Valentine's Day (and also some chocolate, because I have a good son). So, I took them over to the window, spritzed them with a water bottle, and snapped a few shots. The purple flowers are from a hyacinth I picked up at the grocery store a week or so before Valentine's Day.  Click on any photo to go to the Flickr album...

Some good news and maybe some weird shi- news...

First of all, the new medicine still seems to be working out. My bad days are becoming random and not predictable (as in- "not every day"). Any recent flareups have been related to the completely random weather we've been having (warm, then cold, then warm and snowy, then cold and clear, then and then and then...) So, we can call generic Cymbalta some kind of success.

Now for the weird shit...

For a long time now- and I'm not even sure how long because I haven't been keeping track- the palm of my right hand has been itching. Like severely itching. Not the skin- it isn't on the surface. It feels like something furry and angry and maybe a little bored is trying to wriggle out from under the skin. It's almost dead center in my palm. And nothing helps. Scratching just creates an irritation on my skin. Ice makes it settle a little, but mostly it just makes my hand cold (and then causes the Raynaud's to pop up). I've tried Old Wive's tails (rubbing it against wood- not that kind of wood, though I suspect if I did that, it'd distract me enough from the itching) and I've tried rubbing it against money (the Disabled Guy's family is overflowing with ridiculous superstitions).

So, I finally did a Google search to see if it was maybe related to the medicine. It is not. But the funniest thing to me was on the list of possibilities that apply to me- the two choices: Cirrhosis or a nerve issue related to carpal tunnel and/or fibro. I laughed for far too long about that Grand Canyon-esque leap of extremes.

Now, I'm not a doctor and I don't play one on TV, but I'm going to say right now that I'm not dying of liver failure and the itching is related to the nerve issue. (which makes sense, because it is almost always in my right palm and very rarely in my left- or even both at the same time. And my right hand has more carpal tunnel issues than my left because I'm right-handed). And, it's also one of those casual "mention it to your doctor at your next visit" things, unless it accompanies other shit that I don't have.

AND this... the generic Cymbalta for fibro... it turns out, that it may cause a drop in the body's sodium levels. I noticed that I wasn't swelling up as much as I have been (remember the flipper foot?). My cheekbones returned a bit and my clothes were fitting better. I didn't think anything of all that, other than I was feeling better, so my edema wasn't as bothersome. A couple weeks ago, I started to get dizzy and just sort of gross-feeling. Not sick, just not right. I decided to look up the side effects of the new medicine, to make sure I was just having normal shit going on, because I've been on it a few months. And, it turns out that it can cause Hyponatremia. If you don't feel like clicking the link, basically, that's abnormally low sodium in the body. Because we need some sodium to live.

I've been on a sodium-watchful diet since I was in my mid-20s. (technically, since I was 16, because my dad had his first heart attack then and my mom switched the entire household to a heart-healthy diet). When I was 26, my doctor told me I had high blood pressure and to go on a low sodium diet to help it. I tried and it did help- but in my late 20s, I couldn't fake them out anymore. So, along came the BP medication and the sodium-watchful diet. I call it "sodium watchful" because we eat pizza and such occasionally and people who are on an actual low sodium diet wouldn't do that. But, I do watch my sodium intake. Plus, I take water pills for the edema (Hydrochlorothyazadide). That would explain why I feel better for four or five hours after lunch during my day. My cereal for breakfast has almost no sodium in it. But, my lunch does.

I went on a bit of a sodium binge late last week into the weekend. I giddily ate potato chips and beef jerky because SODIUM! I simultaneously felt better and crappy at the same time. Anyway, now I know what a shark feels like when it swims too far into a river and loses the salt balances in its body. At least in my case, I can have a snack bag of barbecue potato chips and feel better. A shark has to eat a few people and then get hunted down by humans.

AND FINALLY... On Saturday last (as in, last Saturday, January 31st), I went to my first-ever Military History Fest. This guy has been nagging me to go (okay, so he asked me twice over the course of two years). I was going to go last year, but it snowed through the night and I didn't think it was safe to drive that far into unfamiliar territory. Well, this year, it started snowing at the end of the day, as I turned onto my street on my way home. As for "unfamiliar territory", the drive was literally an hour of I-90 and maybe a half hour of a couple small towns to the west of I-90. What I'm saying is, I've gone a lot farther down I-90 into Chicago and back again in worse weather... so I probably could have gone last year.

The big deal about that is that the VA has started regulating my Hydrocodone refills and now I get just enough to get me through a month. I didn't have any extra to take during the day over the weekend. I did all day at Military History Fest without pain meds. And the only problem I had the entire time was the pain in my foot. (my left foot, which will not win me an Oscar). And, I had a blast seeing the folks from GSM-Bristol and the Guilde of St George because everyone was so relaxed and not totally in character like they have to be at Bristol. I was in boring, normal clothes, but next year, I'll wear my (historically-inaccurate) garb so I fit in a slight bit more. I mean, I rocked my blue jeans, Wonder Woman T-shirt, and my metallic Docs, but I'd have felt less obvious in my garb.
(here's my 365 from that day). I sat through two panels, one about brewing beer and beerlike products and another about sewing. I learned a few things, but most notably, modern beer is for wusses because old-time-y beer (or, "olde-time-y") had way, way more alcohol content.

So, things are looking good. And I'm very optimistic about this year's faire season. We have approximately 99 days till the Janesville Faire. We've got about 155 days till Bristol. Bring it on. BRING IT ON!!

Instead of flooding this post with photos- like I'd normally do- I will just share the link to the album because you sort of have to see ALL the photos.  (this is just the photos of GSM, I haven't uploaded all the photos to Flickr yet).

~~GSM-Bristol in Shenanigans Through Time~~

And, I did a short video... I think you'll enjoy it. (I even tried to close-caption it). This video shows just how awesome the folks from GSM-Bristol really are. And the other group in the video is called 20th Century Marines (that's the link to their Facebook page).

I put the PRO in PROCRASTINATION and PROGRESS!

Yup. We're up in the middle of the night again. And when I say "we", I mean me. And maybe you. I don't know your life, those hidden cameras stopped working ages ago. But mostly me, because I'm the one here right now. So let's get on with this.

Why have I procrastinated? Well, I was going to update the new medicine progress a couple of weeks after last month's post. But then I thought: "Hey, dumbass, wait till after your followup appointment on January 15th. That'd make more sense than writing something now. Duh. You're so stupid." (my self isn't very nice to my self in these conversations. Don't worry though, my self talks about my self too, so that's just the relationship they seem to have with each other.)

So, I waited. Then I had my appointment. And then I waited another five days because WHY NOT!?

Well, a couple weeks before my appointment, I seemed to find the sweet spot of the medication. I take the generic Cymbalta at night, with one 10 mg tablet of Cyclobenzaprine (muscle relaxer), and my nightly Hydrocodone (two to three tablets). In the morning, usually shortly before lunch (so, between 10 and 11 AM), I take two Hydrocodone. And then, for five to six straight hours, I feel good. (not including this utterly stupid condition in my foot).

You see, normally, I'll cook dinner. That takes anywhere from a half hour to an hour, depending on what we're having. It also uses my hands (because I don't use instant potatoes, because gross) and I'm on my feet the whole time. So, by the time I sit down to eat, I'm exhausted and sore. Then the Disabled Guy cleans up the kitchen after dinner.

I see the hilarious irony to ME not being able to clean up the kitchen, but the person I refer to as The Disabled Guy does. Yes, he's disabled, but his disability doesn't cause him physical pain. But back to the story...

I noticed something good was happening when I cooked dinner and cleaned up after myself as I went along. And when it was over, I sat down to eat, slightly tired, but not kicked-in-the-face exhausted. And I did the dishes after dinner.

A few days later, I baked cookies.

A few days after that, I baked the Disabled Guy's birthday cake and he didn't even realize it when he walked into the kitchen while it was in the oven, because I'd cleaned everything up and put it all away.

Then, I went to a photography workshop in Chicago. (spoiler alert- it was awesome). You want the link to those photos? I know you do. Here's the link to ~Cupcakes and Instaprints~

Then I baked cookies again. I went to the store. I did things. And as long as I kept up that cycle of medicine, I was able to do things in large blocks of time in the middle of the day. I seem to have found the exact balance of pain medicine for now. At my followup appointment, the doctor decided to keep everything the same (medication-wise) and when I feel confident enough to handle the task, I can try walking for exercise again (there's ice out there right now. As good as I feel, I don't want to slip on the ice and completely fuck up my cyborg knee).

The only thing that is still pissing me off is that goddamn left foot. There's not much we can do about it because I'm taking the vitamins associated with helping neuropathy and I've gained a little sensation back in the numbness. But I'm double-cursed with that stupid thing because not only do I have fibro, I've had my knee replaced on that side. And that can cause an issue with neuropathy.

Sure, I still have bad days- I mean, look at me, I'm here... middle of the night- but the good days are coming in longer stretches and lasting for longer stretches. I don't dread going to the store as much as I did before. Now it's more of the "Great, there are people in there" and less of the "Great, I have to walk in there" than it was before.

I can tell you exactly why I'm awake tonight. It snowed. After several days of our temps in the low 40s (that's in Fahrenheit) and with humidity well over the 50% mark, it started to snow this evening. And I was in bed with my hands throbbing from the pain and my legs were on fire. They still are. Not literally, of course. Just in that itchy-one-million-hairy-legged-spiders-trying-to-escape kind of way. On the plus side of this ridiculous insomnia, I'm washing one of my super-soft blankets. One of the cats decided it had been clean long enough and hoarked a hairball on it- which I saw BEFORE climbing into bed earlier- so it needed to be washed. And the lack of that blanket contributed to the itchy-on-fire leg thing. One blanket did nothing to ease any fibroinations (just made that up, right now. You're welcome!).

So, good things. Yay! Fewer bad things. Yay, again! Photography. Yay! Oh, and I get to see a bunch of my faire family in a week and a half. I'm going to an event called Military History Fest where a bunch of them are re-enacting military historical stuff. I mean, c'mon, it's right there in the name. So, Faire Family! YAY! MORE PHOTOS! YAY!!

And, now I leave you with some photos from my Instagram... because you deserve to DIE from the cuteness...

Gypsy. (She doesn't have a "full name", but we call her "Gypsy-doodle" & she answers to "Doodle", "Poodle", "Dood", "Poopy-Puppy", "Poopy" & the kids call her "Doodle-head" sometimes). But she's a dignified wittle poopy-puppy. #GSD #germanshepherd #dog #pet

A photo posted by Pahz (@pahz_on_instagram) on Jan 20, 2015 at 9:25am PST

"I'm not looking at your, therefore, you cannot see me." ~Luna #chihuahua #dog #pet #sassy #somuchsass

A photo posted by Pahz (@pahz_on_instagram) on Dec 30, 2014 at 10:01am PST

Bruno and Jasper. All the dogs were in this shot before Instagram cropped it. #chihuahuas #dogs #pets

A photo posted by Pahz (@pahz_on_instagram) on Dec 29, 2014 at 9:04am PST

Gregg the Girl Dog with the Boy Name. (We just call her Gregg). No big story, just adorableness. #chihuahua #dog #pet #sunshine

A photo posted by Pahz (@pahz_on_instagram) on Dec 30, 2014 at 9:52am PST

Houdini (aka: Beefy). She could have been living with a jouster and his family, living a fun life and traveling the country with horses and other dogs, but she wouldn't bond with anyone but him. She was scared of him in his armor, even if he was just wearing the greaves. So, after 2 months of trying to acclimate her, he sadly had to give her back. Now she lives the boring life with me and the Disabled Guy (and the rest of the dogs. #chihuahua #dog #pet #sunshine

A photo posted by Pahz (@pahz_on_instagram) on Dec 30, 2014 at 9:48am PST