I sure turned into a whiny little bitch over on Facebook lately. "Owww, my fibro huuuuurts..." or "Wahh, I miss my mom..." and there was probably some indecipherable whining sounds. Okay, I exaggerate for fun, but seriously, the last few days I have been a great big Captain Bringdown. And that's a superhero you don't want to rescue you.
"Well, mortal human, I have rescued you from the ravaging creature-beast," says Captain Bringdown, "But, from the injuries you sustained before I arrived, you will probably die in a few days."
I broke my own rule of only whining over here and not on Facebook. Luckily, my Twitter feed didn't get all whiny because I only ever use that to post links to my Etsy store.
Today's whiny blog is about the "side effects" I have to put up with. They're not actual side effects, but its a little of what I deal with when my fibro flares up on me. Sometimes, the fibro is so painful that it is all I can feel. Or everything hurts at the same level and everything in my body just hurts all the time. There are times when I can feel a flareup is on its way and I'll try to ease up on what I'm doing to cut it off at the pass. Nip it in the bud. Stop it in its tracks.
Or something.
So, I think I've stopped the flareup. Good, because that shit is annoying. But, I didn't really. Because sometimes, after a flareup- or even during one- I'll get another pain. I have arthritis. It runs in my family. Even if I grew up in a soft bouncy castle wrapped in soft fleece-lined bubble wrap, I'd still end up with arthritis. My Gramma Viola was riddled with it. Wheelchair bound in her late 40s. Her hands were misshapen by the arthritis in her hands. So, I'd hurt no matter what- somewhere (but not my knees. My knees are goddamn fantastic. Everyone should go cyborg. You know what they say- once you go 'borg, you don't go back. That's mostly because they throw away the human joint they've replaced with the cyborg joint- duh. Try and keep up!).
I started to feel terrible again yesterday. I did something I don't normally do. I got up from my desk and I sat down in the living room (where I was promptly smothered by Chihuahuas). And that seemed to help a little. I was able to chill out and relax a bit, so my muscles didn't hurt as much as they would have. That was also when I remembered that stress sucks and also causes flareups.
Today, I felt another bad day coming on- first thing in the morning. I took a single Vicodin at 6 AM- chased with a single muscle relaxer. And I went upstairs to lay down. I figured I'd watch a little TV, twitch from the impending pain, and then whine in a blog later. What I actually did was doze off for about 40 minutes and I woke up feeling better.
Till I moved.
I have tendinitis in my shoulder. Carpal tunnel in my wrists. Arthritis in my hands (not to the point of my Gramma Vi, though). And my tendinitis was starting to flareup. That traveled down the fibro-aching muscles in my arm and caused the carpal tunnel and arthritis to start screeching. My entire right arm is in varying degrees of pain. (don't worry, it isn't a heart attack. My dad is a heart patient and I am hyper-aware of the heart attack signs).
It feels like I described. That it travels down those fibro-aching muscles.
Now, I have no clue if that is actually what happens. My fibro causes my arthritis to hurt more or not. But it damn sure feels like it.
But, I do have good news...
I have two more ren faires this season. Next weekend, I have Stronghold- which I always have. (2010 and 2011 photos) The week after, I'm attending The Gathering of Rogues and Ruffians in New Glarus. So that's one more weekend of fun and photography. And we all know how much I love taking photos at the ren faire.
And because its what I do, here's a link to some cool macro shots I took of a bumble bee and dragonfly the other day. A Few Moments with a Bee and Dragonfly
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Last night, a realization...
I've had a rough couple of weeks with the weather being moodier than a 14 year old girl. Hey, I'm a parent of two formerly-14-year-old-girls and was once one myself, I know they're moody! Each day, the pain gets worse instead of better. The Vicodin doesn't touch it when it gets that bad. The muscle relaxers barely put me to sleep (and actually failed completely twice).
I wondered if I should bother calling the doctor about it- even if I did, I wouldn't get an appointment for six to eight weeks anyway- or should I just ride it out because of the weather changes. I really hate to complain (except for here on this blog, that I started specifically to bitch about fibro), so I don't want to be all whiny to the doctor now, only to have everything settle down in the six to eight weeks between the call and my appointment.
But the realization...
I first hurt my right knee when I was 18 years old. I have a photo, seriously. The Disabled Guy- back when he was just Jerry- was in basic training. We'd been married almost a year by this time. My mom thought it'd be funny to send him a photo of me, all glassy-eyed from the pain meds. I don't even remember what they gave me, I think it was Codeine. But my mom took this photo (and I literally just scanned it for you).
Yup, that's me in October of 1987. I have a coat over my legs because I wanted to cover my legs and my mom wouldn't give me a blanket. (something about "show him a little leg!" and I recall it being hilarious). By the time he was done with basic training, I was pretty well recovered, I wore a skirt to his basic/AIT graduation in Oklahoma (I was in Alaska when I hurt my knee- during a snowball fight. I blew it out like a football player, while running).
And eventually, I'd go on to injure it in a minor way till the late '90s. I ended up slipping on the ice at work (I was a security guard) on the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, 1998. I had arthroscopic surgery to fix it up and everything was fine.
Till March 3, 2006.
That's the day I slipped on the ice on my back deck and ripped apart my knee much like I had in 1987. It was 7 AM. I had an appointment at 8 AM at the middle school for parent/teacher conferences. I iced my knee for 45 minutes, took the two middle-school kids to their conferences. The teachers, upon hearing of my injury, came down to the first floor to talk to me instead of making me go upstairs. Then I drove the kids home, told them to tell the Disabled Guy I was going to the ER and I'd be home eventually.
Cue the three year saga that led to my left knee being replaced in March 2009. I have a photo of that too. I actually have a lot of photos of that, but I'm going to show you this one... me, drugged off my ass on Oxycontin and Oxycodone. I had only just come to from the anesthesia when I told my oldest daughter (she was 19 years old. I was thirty-nine) to take this photo. You get it all... (the thing on my head was because I was having hot flashes- yay perimenopause!).
So, if you're still with me, let me tell you what I realized last night.
I was dragging myself up the stairs at 10 PM because I was exhausted. Pain is tiring. And I said to the Disabled Guy: "Everything fucking hurts. Everything. Except my knees. My knees are fabulous." and I told him (again) what my knee surgeon had said- that if everything went as planned, the pain would go away in my other knee. And he was right. My oft-injured right knee rarely hurts anymore. And of course, the cyborg knee doesn't hurt at all.
So, I'm dragging myself up the stairs and I pause to tell him that tidbit and it hit me... I spent all those years dealing with arthritis pain and foot pain and it kept me from doing certain things and it made me gain weight and all that... and now that my knees are fine, I'm still dealing with pain. Its like there's no way to let me live and be pain-free. It has been so long since I went without pain that I honestly do not remember what it is like. After years of dealing with the knee pain and the fallout from all that, I should be running around like a maniac. I should be yoga-ing all over the floor and dashing in and out of stores and running errands.
But I'm not.
Instead, I spend days wishing I could cast some spell to take away the pain. I spend days in pain that would dissolve most people to tears. I'm at the mercy of humidity and barometric pressure. I watch my diet, because I don't know if I have trigger foods or not. And stress. I spent over ten years dealing with stress on a near-daily basis with grace and stubbornness. And now- I still deal with it, but it kicks my ass when its over. That stress hormone is an ugly bitch and nobody should take her to the prom. Her name is Cortisol. You probably saw her name on the bathroom wall with the words: "Ugly bitch" scrawled underneath.
Today was cool and breezy, but I was still in pain. I took a muscle relaxer in the morning just to see if it would help. It didn't, but I got a mild buzz out of it, so I suppose that's a plus?
I'm going to end this now, on a high note. The Stronghold Olde English Faire is in a couple weeks. I'll get to see my local ren faire family there. There isn't any jousting at Stronghold, the venue isn't big enough (its just a small, two-day faire), but there will be Sword Point Towers.
Towers and seeing all the local faire folks? That's enough for me!
I wondered if I should bother calling the doctor about it- even if I did, I wouldn't get an appointment for six to eight weeks anyway- or should I just ride it out because of the weather changes. I really hate to complain (except for here on this blog, that I started specifically to bitch about fibro), so I don't want to be all whiny to the doctor now, only to have everything settle down in the six to eight weeks between the call and my appointment.
But the realization...
I first hurt my right knee when I was 18 years old. I have a photo, seriously. The Disabled Guy- back when he was just Jerry- was in basic training. We'd been married almost a year by this time. My mom thought it'd be funny to send him a photo of me, all glassy-eyed from the pain meds. I don't even remember what they gave me, I think it was Codeine. But my mom took this photo (and I literally just scanned it for you).
Yup, that's me in October of 1987. I have a coat over my legs because I wanted to cover my legs and my mom wouldn't give me a blanket. (something about "show him a little leg!" and I recall it being hilarious). By the time he was done with basic training, I was pretty well recovered, I wore a skirt to his basic/AIT graduation in Oklahoma (I was in Alaska when I hurt my knee- during a snowball fight. I blew it out like a football player, while running).
And eventually, I'd go on to injure it in a minor way till the late '90s. I ended up slipping on the ice at work (I was a security guard) on the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, 1998. I had arthroscopic surgery to fix it up and everything was fine.
Till March 3, 2006.
That's the day I slipped on the ice on my back deck and ripped apart my knee much like I had in 1987. It was 7 AM. I had an appointment at 8 AM at the middle school for parent/teacher conferences. I iced my knee for 45 minutes, took the two middle-school kids to their conferences. The teachers, upon hearing of my injury, came down to the first floor to talk to me instead of making me go upstairs. Then I drove the kids home, told them to tell the Disabled Guy I was going to the ER and I'd be home eventually.
Cue the three year saga that led to my left knee being replaced in March 2009. I have a photo of that too. I actually have a lot of photos of that, but I'm going to show you this one... me, drugged off my ass on Oxycontin and Oxycodone. I had only just come to from the anesthesia when I told my oldest daughter (she was 19 years old. I was thirty-nine) to take this photo. You get it all... (the thing on my head was because I was having hot flashes- yay perimenopause!).
So, if you're still with me, let me tell you what I realized last night.
I was dragging myself up the stairs at 10 PM because I was exhausted. Pain is tiring. And I said to the Disabled Guy: "Everything fucking hurts. Everything. Except my knees. My knees are fabulous." and I told him (again) what my knee surgeon had said- that if everything went as planned, the pain would go away in my other knee. And he was right. My oft-injured right knee rarely hurts anymore. And of course, the cyborg knee doesn't hurt at all.
So, I'm dragging myself up the stairs and I pause to tell him that tidbit and it hit me... I spent all those years dealing with arthritis pain and foot pain and it kept me from doing certain things and it made me gain weight and all that... and now that my knees are fine, I'm still dealing with pain. Its like there's no way to let me live and be pain-free. It has been so long since I went without pain that I honestly do not remember what it is like. After years of dealing with the knee pain and the fallout from all that, I should be running around like a maniac. I should be yoga-ing all over the floor and dashing in and out of stores and running errands.
But I'm not.
Instead, I spend days wishing I could cast some spell to take away the pain. I spend days in pain that would dissolve most people to tears. I'm at the mercy of humidity and barometric pressure. I watch my diet, because I don't know if I have trigger foods or not. And stress. I spent over ten years dealing with stress on a near-daily basis with grace and stubbornness. And now- I still deal with it, but it kicks my ass when its over. That stress hormone is an ugly bitch and nobody should take her to the prom. Her name is Cortisol. You probably saw her name on the bathroom wall with the words: "Ugly bitch" scrawled underneath.
Today was cool and breezy, but I was still in pain. I took a muscle relaxer in the morning just to see if it would help. It didn't, but I got a mild buzz out of it, so I suppose that's a plus?
I'm going to end this now, on a high note. The Stronghold Olde English Faire is in a couple weeks. I'll get to see my local ren faire family there. There isn't any jousting at Stronghold, the venue isn't big enough (its just a small, two-day faire), but there will be Sword Point Towers.
Towers and seeing all the local faire folks? That's enough for me!
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Sparkles and glitter! Rainbows and sunshine! Kitties and fluffy bunnies!
There, now that the title has lured you into a false sense of glittery excitement, welcome to another whiny-ass blog from me!
I try to stay positive. I try to stay upbeat. I usually use humor to defuse tense situations or to deal with pain or stress. Because if I don't, I'll end up as an angry, depressed puddle of goo that nobody wants to be around. And if nobody wants to be around me, how will I have anyone to talk to? I'm like a shark- it needs to swim so it can breathe. I need to communicate with people so I can live!
In reality, sharks don't need to swim to live... but I still need people!
And look at that, I've gone off on a slight tangent and went off topic. Sort of.
Okay, here's the dealio. That's right, I said "dealio", dealio with it. The deal....io is that I have gone through another flareup related to the weather. I've been keeping an eye on the Weather Channel's website for barometric pressure changes and predictions of rain and/or temp changes.
Sidenote- I always equated watching the Weather Channel with being an old person. We joked with my parents that the first sign of aging was multiple bird feeders in the yard and Weather-Channel-watching. But it doesn't count in my case because I'm not watching the Weather Channel... I'm checking the website so I'm still cool and hip and with-it.
The kids still say that, right? "Cool"? "Hip"? "With-it"? Good, because I'd hate to be seen as some crazy old lady with too many pets and a tendency toward hoarding.
So when this flareup hit, I knew why. It doesn't change the sheer suckitude of this flareup- or "flaredown" as I once called it in a post. But it was nice to know why instead of sitting in a slumped blob in my chair and whining about the whole thing.
And this is typical- I'm in pain. I'm in more pain when I move than when I stay still. My left hip is in screaming agony and as long as I stay still, it doesn't do much more than mildly ache. Taking a deep breath in has started to ache, but not in that "Holy shit, I have bronchitis" way, more like in that "Ow, my muscles ache, why did I lift that Volvo off that baby yesterday? It wasn't even my baby. What the hell was a baby doing under a Volvo anyway?" way.
On top of the usual "widespread pain" (bloody hell, I hate those TV ads), I've got my itchy skin. That deliciously irritating itchy skin. The thousands of hairy-legged spiders all trying to burrow out of my skin through my pores. This whole "widespread pain" mixed with the itchy skin also creates that burning effect. I feel like my skin is on fire. And, to top off the fluffy frosting of fiery pain, my muscles are so sore that it feels like they're trying to escape through my skin. Actually, its more like my bones are trying to escape. Its hard to describe- I feel twitchy from it. I simultaneously feel sore and achy, like my muscles are trying to curl up into a ball and it feels like my muscles are being stretched to the point of tearing, where that "bones trying to escape" feeling comes from.
Last week, I was having a conversation with one of my faire family about various things and of course, the whiny-ass topic of my flareup came up. His reply was so nonchalant and normal... he simply said: "Pressure's changing..." and went right back into what we were originally talking about. Like this stupid disease was all normal and no big deal. I didn't ask him for help or advice or anything, he just said it so casually. Why can't every person in my life do that? Turns out the Disabled Guy thinks I'm exaggerating again. I don't know how to explain the varying degrees of pain and my varying degrees of tolerance for it. (please, don't bother suggesting things. He had a stroke almost 18 years ago, he doesn't retain information or express emotions the way normal people do). But I liked how that happened. My friend doesn't doubt my pain levels or how I deal with my pain. He just acknowledged it and moved on. It was refreshing.
I'm stuck with this stupid disease for the rest of my life. It won't kill me, but it makes me miserable and sometimes, its hard to stay positive. I ended up back in bed today, laying naked under those fleece blankets and I had a few instances where tears broke through. It would be nice to get a little sympathy from the people who live in this house. A sincere "I'm sorry you're hurting" now and then. I'm not asking for much, am I? What I usually get- if I get anything at all- is a terse: "What do you want me to do about it?" I don't expect anyone to do anything about it. Just don't treat me like I'm making it up. That's not so much, is it?
Now, to end on a high note- because I like to end with something good.
I got myself an early birthday present. The surprising thing isn't what I got, but the fact that it took a mere three days to get to me after I ordered it. I got myself a "Courtier's corset" from Damsel in this Dress. (it isn't really a "courtier's corset" in as such they wouldn't wear one like that). I love it and it looks great. I can't wait to wear it to the ren faire. (which is in about three weeks from the time I'm typing this). And since you asked (what? You didn't think I could hear you?), here's a photo of me wearing my new corset.
I try to stay positive. I try to stay upbeat. I usually use humor to defuse tense situations or to deal with pain or stress. Because if I don't, I'll end up as an angry, depressed puddle of goo that nobody wants to be around. And if nobody wants to be around me, how will I have anyone to talk to? I'm like a shark- it needs to swim so it can breathe. I need to communicate with people so I can live!
In reality, sharks don't need to swim to live... but I still need people!
And look at that, I've gone off on a slight tangent and went off topic. Sort of.
Okay, here's the dealio. That's right, I said "dealio", dealio with it. The deal....io is that I have gone through another flareup related to the weather. I've been keeping an eye on the Weather Channel's website for barometric pressure changes and predictions of rain and/or temp changes.
Sidenote- I always equated watching the Weather Channel with being an old person. We joked with my parents that the first sign of aging was multiple bird feeders in the yard and Weather-Channel-watching. But it doesn't count in my case because I'm not watching the Weather Channel... I'm checking the website so I'm still cool and hip and with-it.
The kids still say that, right? "Cool"? "Hip"? "With-it"? Good, because I'd hate to be seen as some crazy old lady with too many pets and a tendency toward hoarding.
So when this flareup hit, I knew why. It doesn't change the sheer suckitude of this flareup- or "flaredown" as I once called it in a post. But it was nice to know why instead of sitting in a slumped blob in my chair and whining about the whole thing.
And this is typical- I'm in pain. I'm in more pain when I move than when I stay still. My left hip is in screaming agony and as long as I stay still, it doesn't do much more than mildly ache. Taking a deep breath in has started to ache, but not in that "Holy shit, I have bronchitis" way, more like in that "Ow, my muscles ache, why did I lift that Volvo off that baby yesterday? It wasn't even my baby. What the hell was a baby doing under a Volvo anyway?" way.
On top of the usual "widespread pain" (bloody hell, I hate those TV ads), I've got my itchy skin. That deliciously irritating itchy skin. The thousands of hairy-legged spiders all trying to burrow out of my skin through my pores. This whole "widespread pain" mixed with the itchy skin also creates that burning effect. I feel like my skin is on fire. And, to top off the fluffy frosting of fiery pain, my muscles are so sore that it feels like they're trying to escape through my skin. Actually, its more like my bones are trying to escape. Its hard to describe- I feel twitchy from it. I simultaneously feel sore and achy, like my muscles are trying to curl up into a ball and it feels like my muscles are being stretched to the point of tearing, where that "bones trying to escape" feeling comes from.
Last week, I was having a conversation with one of my faire family about various things and of course, the whiny-ass topic of my flareup came up. His reply was so nonchalant and normal... he simply said: "Pressure's changing..." and went right back into what we were originally talking about. Like this stupid disease was all normal and no big deal. I didn't ask him for help or advice or anything, he just said it so casually. Why can't every person in my life do that? Turns out the Disabled Guy thinks I'm exaggerating again. I don't know how to explain the varying degrees of pain and my varying degrees of tolerance for it. (please, don't bother suggesting things. He had a stroke almost 18 years ago, he doesn't retain information or express emotions the way normal people do). But I liked how that happened. My friend doesn't doubt my pain levels or how I deal with my pain. He just acknowledged it and moved on. It was refreshing.
I'm stuck with this stupid disease for the rest of my life. It won't kill me, but it makes me miserable and sometimes, its hard to stay positive. I ended up back in bed today, laying naked under those fleece blankets and I had a few instances where tears broke through. It would be nice to get a little sympathy from the people who live in this house. A sincere "I'm sorry you're hurting" now and then. I'm not asking for much, am I? What I usually get- if I get anything at all- is a terse: "What do you want me to do about it?" I don't expect anyone to do anything about it. Just don't treat me like I'm making it up. That's not so much, is it?
Now, to end on a high note- because I like to end with something good.
I got myself an early birthday present. The surprising thing isn't what I got, but the fact that it took a mere three days to get to me after I ordered it. I got myself a "Courtier's corset" from Damsel in this Dress. (it isn't really a "courtier's corset" in as such they wouldn't wear one like that). I love it and it looks great. I can't wait to wear it to the ren faire. (which is in about three weeks from the time I'm typing this). And since you asked (what? You didn't think I could hear you?), here's a photo of me wearing my new corset.
Monday, September 10, 2012
I'm not sure what I should call this one...
She sighs, seemingly content. The fabric feels wonderful. So soft against her skin. It almost feels like relief. She closes her eyes to draw herself into the warm softness. "This must be what a cloud feels like," she thinks to herself.
Of course she's thinking to herself. She's thinking. There aren't any psychics in the room with her.
"Why can't all my clothes feel this good?" she wonders.
Because, clothes suck.
Her warm feeling of paradise doesn't last. Soon the fiery anger of pain seeps back in. Why? What is she doing? What has she done to deserve THIS?
Because this is fibrofuckingmyalgia, bitch. And this shit is for real.
You see, I do get some relief when I go upstairs and get naked under my soft, fleece blankets. But it doesn't last. It never lasts because I can't stay completely and utterly still for very long. The pain doesn't go away when I'm warm and cozy under those blankets. In fact, it seems to be gathering strength. And the second I move a body part, there it is, stabbing me. When I lay still and go to move, the pain is a searing, white-hot tearing feeling. (that's "tearing" as in, "tearing a sheet of paper", not "tearing" as in "tears on my cheeks"). I feel like my muscles are being pulled tight. So tight that it almost feels like they're being ripped from my bones.
The longer I lay there, the harsher it becomes. And when I finally do decide to actually move my body (as opposed to just moving an appendage), it feels like gravity has increased ten-fold. I can barely raise myself up on my arms. Granted, it gets a little easier once I get moving, but the larger muscles continue to burn and hurt.
So, we've established that right now, I'm a whiny ball of pain that hurts more when I move. But I also have a sharp, burning pins and needles feeling on my skin. Where my clothes are is the worst. And I can't just sit around naked. I know you're saying: "You're at home, you can do what you want." That's true to an extent. But I don't live alone and nobody needs to see that. "That" being me sitting naked at the computer while I type intently. Fun fact- my computer desk is in the dining room because that's the largest room in the house. (this used to be a farmhouse, its been remodeled, but it still has farmhouse-ness to it). So, I'm in plain view of every-damn-one who is in my house, near my house, walking up to my house, or anyone who is thinking about coming over to my house.
So, no naked computer-sitting.
I hope that with Autumn coming that my body will settle down. As it turns out, going to the ren faire didn't exacerbate my pain issue as much as I thought. Nope. I'm here, right now, having not been to the faire in over a week (oh geez, that hurts to type) and I still feel just as shitty as I would had I walked around for 11 1/2 hours at the faire. So at least there's that. (for the record, I didn't go to faire because its over for the year. C'mon, you know me better than that! Like I'd miss faire over a fibro flareup. Hell no. I'd go to the faire drugged up and enjoy it!).
Oddly enough, I haven't taken any photos since closing day (September 3rd). It took me nearly all week to get through the last of my ren faire photos. I took a few photos of silos and barns on Tuesday, because my dad asked me to make a silo and barn calendar. But I didn't get to those photos till after I got done with the faire photos on Friday night.
But I digress.
I know I'll be fine. I know that this pain will eventually pass. So far, I haven't taken any pain meds in the daytime (not since last Tuesday). So, that's a start. I know that my Nikon is sitting there, waiting for me. (I've kept up my 365days of self-portraits, because I haven't missed a day in three years, but that hardly counts as "photography"). The good news is that its getting darker sooner (yay!) and I'll be able to go out and do some fabulous sunset photos in a few weeks.
I'm going to wrap this up without a clever ending because the skin on my hands is starting to itch again. That and I have ice cream and I want to stuff my face. Let's all scream for ice cream.
Funnily enough, you all know that I actually did just scream for ice cream.
Of course she's thinking to herself. She's thinking. There aren't any psychics in the room with her.
"Why can't all my clothes feel this good?" she wonders.
Because, clothes suck.
Her warm feeling of paradise doesn't last. Soon the fiery anger of pain seeps back in. Why? What is she doing? What has she done to deserve THIS?
Because this is fibrofuckingmyalgia, bitch. And this shit is for real.
You see, I do get some relief when I go upstairs and get naked under my soft, fleece blankets. But it doesn't last. It never lasts because I can't stay completely and utterly still for very long. The pain doesn't go away when I'm warm and cozy under those blankets. In fact, it seems to be gathering strength. And the second I move a body part, there it is, stabbing me. When I lay still and go to move, the pain is a searing, white-hot tearing feeling. (that's "tearing" as in, "tearing a sheet of paper", not "tearing" as in "tears on my cheeks"). I feel like my muscles are being pulled tight. So tight that it almost feels like they're being ripped from my bones.
The longer I lay there, the harsher it becomes. And when I finally do decide to actually move my body (as opposed to just moving an appendage), it feels like gravity has increased ten-fold. I can barely raise myself up on my arms. Granted, it gets a little easier once I get moving, but the larger muscles continue to burn and hurt.
So, we've established that right now, I'm a whiny ball of pain that hurts more when I move. But I also have a sharp, burning pins and needles feeling on my skin. Where my clothes are is the worst. And I can't just sit around naked. I know you're saying: "You're at home, you can do what you want." That's true to an extent. But I don't live alone and nobody needs to see that. "That" being me sitting naked at the computer while I type intently. Fun fact- my computer desk is in the dining room because that's the largest room in the house. (this used to be a farmhouse, its been remodeled, but it still has farmhouse-ness to it). So, I'm in plain view of every-damn-one who is in my house, near my house, walking up to my house, or anyone who is thinking about coming over to my house.
So, no naked computer-sitting.
I hope that with Autumn coming that my body will settle down. As it turns out, going to the ren faire didn't exacerbate my pain issue as much as I thought. Nope. I'm here, right now, having not been to the faire in over a week (oh geez, that hurts to type) and I still feel just as shitty as I would had I walked around for 11 1/2 hours at the faire. So at least there's that. (for the record, I didn't go to faire because its over for the year. C'mon, you know me better than that! Like I'd miss faire over a fibro flareup. Hell no. I'd go to the faire drugged up and enjoy it!).
Oddly enough, I haven't taken any photos since closing day (September 3rd). It took me nearly all week to get through the last of my ren faire photos. I took a few photos of silos and barns on Tuesday, because my dad asked me to make a silo and barn calendar. But I didn't get to those photos till after I got done with the faire photos on Friday night.
But I digress.
I know I'll be fine. I know that this pain will eventually pass. So far, I haven't taken any pain meds in the daytime (not since last Tuesday). So, that's a start. I know that my Nikon is sitting there, waiting for me. (I've kept up my 365days of self-portraits, because I haven't missed a day in three years, but that hardly counts as "photography"). The good news is that its getting darker sooner (yay!) and I'll be able to go out and do some fabulous sunset photos in a few weeks.
I'm going to wrap this up without a clever ending because the skin on my hands is starting to itch again. That and I have ice cream and I want to stuff my face. Let's all scream for ice cream.
Funnily enough, you all know that I actually did just scream for ice cream.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Rambling and some more rambling...
Way back in the olden days, I fancied myself a writer. I wrote- longhand, in spiral notebooks- stories, fiction and nonfiction. I have three or four completed novels that are just absolute shit. Just terrible. Seriously. In my defense, two of them were written while I was in high school. 9th and 10th grade, specifically. Not surprisingly, I failed not just 9th grade General Science, but also Biology I in the 10th grade. I would write those stories while I was supposed to be taking notes. I still remember my teacher (same teacher for both classes- Mrs. Johnson) saying to me: "I don't understand why you're not retaining any information, I see you taking notes all the time!"
Sorry about that, Mrs. Johnson. But my English, Creative Writing, and literature teachers loved me. I still remember being in Ms. Goll's class and telling the group at my table (we used to have to sit in groups to do class things) that every class I had with the Disabled Guy (who was called Jerry back then, because that's his name), I always scored a whole grade higher than he did, sometimes two grades higher than his. Without missing a beat, Ms. Goll said: "You will in this class too." (don't feel bad. He kicked ass in math class and wood shop and auto shop).
I made up my failed grades in the 11th grade. Let me tell you- being a junior in a freshman class was very odd. They didn't act like I was the stupidest person on the planet, they all just thought I was incredibly cool. And why wouldn't they? Especially with fashion sense like this...
Yes, I had a popped collar. It was 1986, what do you expect? But I digress...
Back to the purpose of today's blog post... I'm in day three of a flareup. I have no idea why other than it was sunny today and now its cloudy (yeah, thanks for that- I can't even go take photos of the moon- which, according to Facebook, is a big deal tonight). The first day of the flareup was a typical one, with the pain and tiredness. So much tiredness. I can live with the pain, but this bone-crushing, mind-melting exhaustion is really hard to deal with. I drink more caffeine to deal with it, and caffeine can exacerbate the pain issues.
The second day had the pain and the tiredness, but also the insanity-causing itching skin. Scratching doesn't help because the itch is coming from under the skin. Rubbing it, as if it were a tattoo or a sunburn, doesn't help because again, under the surface. Plus, my skin is usually really sore during this kind of thing. So even the mildest touch causes me to wince. Those are the days when I end up stripping down to nothing and laying under my two soft fleece blankets. One blanket isn't enough and it just makes me itch more. Two is just enough weight to soothe the problem.
Today, we're back to mostly the pain and some of the tiredness. And that's what I want to describe. The pain. (I am also having some itching, but it isn't as bad as yesterday). Also- all of this is on top of the fact that yesterday, I had to go to the VA hospital for an appointment and then the grocery store. And today is actual payday, so I had to run errands and stand in line at the post office. I did end up half-stripped under my fleece blankets in my room for about an hour. I didn't nap though, because I'd had two full-lead Mountain Dews that morning (as opposed to diet Mountain Dew, which is what I usually drink) and I was texting with a friend about everything from closing weekend at the faire to cute guys we know. (those two subjects aren't mutually exclusive as there are a lot of handsome people at the faire).
Side note- closing weekend *SAD FACE*
AND we're back... Pain, the pain, oh, the pain.
Today, at this very moment- 815 PM Central US time, I'm sitting at my desk. I'm typing with both hands, because I was taught how to type in the 8th grade (I had awesome hair back then too. The feathering! So much feathering!) and I don't even look at my hands. So, my pain level- with just my hands moving and my body sitting upright (because I have good posture when I type)- is about a four. I'm also two hours into my Hydrocodone for the night (three 5/325 tablets) and an hour into my Cyclobenzaprine (two 10 mg tablets). My shoulders ache like I've been lifting heavy things. My back is okay, because I'm not moving. My feet are sore, but they're always sore. My hands- the wrists and fingers, actually, are sore and the skin is itchy. The pain in my hands and wrists is a dull, constant ache. Sometimes, I clench my hands together, thinking it will help ease the ache, but it never does. Three times today, I dropped things I was holding onto because the pain caused me to lose my grip.
When I move, the pain shoots up. In my arms, the biceps and shoulders, it just feels like I worked out too hard. You know that feeling. It almost feels good when you move and you feel that ache and think, "yeah, I lifted heavy things for an hour, I AM A GOD!" except that you didn't lift anything heavy and if you tried, you'd just drop it and people would look at you and who wants that, right?
My lower back aches when I move too. As do the muscles in my butt. And my hip muscles. That's where the pain will shoot up to a ten. It brings tears to my eyes. If you see me at the faire and I've been sitting for any length of time, I'll go to stand up and wince. That's the pain in my hip muscle (or muscles, as the case may be). If you see me limping, it could be the hip muscle or it could be the feet. (I have so much -itis in my feet, plantar fasci-, burs-, tendon-, and arthr-, and some extra bone-spur issues).
The skin on my arms and hands (the forearms, wrists, and hands) feels hot. It feels like its burning. Luckily, this seems to just be localized to my hands/arms. Yesterday, it was all over. My skin was on fire.
When I'm sitting still, everything hurts at a low-level ache. When I move, it hurts at a high level stabbing/throbbing pain. When someone touches me or hugs me like this, every part of my body that their body touches feels like I'm being jabbed with something sharp. And I hate that. I'm a hugger. I would hug everyone if I could. Well, I would if it didn't hurt like I was being stabbed with a sword every time.
Wait a minute... I like to hug people, I go to the faire where I end up hugging people, and some of them carry swords or daggers. Hmmmm... I wonder if they've been trying to tell me something with the stabbing- no, no, that's ridiculous. All weapons are peace-tied and if they're not, they get zip-tied by security. Surely if someone were actually stabbing me at the faire, I'd notice, right?
Where was I? The pain, that's right. What the hell else would I be bitching about on my fibro blog?
Heating pads don't work. Ice doesn't work. Hydrocodone and Cyclobenzaprine do very little, but they take the edge off. I don't have much choice there, the long-term medicine caused me to swell up like a blowfish and even with my awesome hair, that's not a good look for me. Or anyone.
So, it looks like I'll be facing closing weekend with a steady level of opiates and muscle relaxers in my blood. And, on top of the three days of faire, (and the around 1500 photos I'll end up taking), we have to move Christine to her dorm on Tuesday. She's a sophomore this year. Ha, I say "we" like I'm actually going to be doing the moving. I doubt I'll be doing much. Sometimes, guilt and embarrassment of looking lazy takes over and I end up doing too much. But then, when we moved her out of the dorms, I didn't spend three days prior to that at the faire.
I predict that next Wednesday will be a terrible day for pain. Luckily, I'll be buried in three days of photos.
So, I'll see you at the faire. You'll know its me because I'll be dressed in garb with a DSLR perma-attached to my face.
Sorry about that, Mrs. Johnson. But my English, Creative Writing, and literature teachers loved me. I still remember being in Ms. Goll's class and telling the group at my table (we used to have to sit in groups to do class things) that every class I had with the Disabled Guy (who was called Jerry back then, because that's his name), I always scored a whole grade higher than he did, sometimes two grades higher than his. Without missing a beat, Ms. Goll said: "You will in this class too." (don't feel bad. He kicked ass in math class and wood shop and auto shop).
I made up my failed grades in the 11th grade. Let me tell you- being a junior in a freshman class was very odd. They didn't act like I was the stupidest person on the planet, they all just thought I was incredibly cool. And why wouldn't they? Especially with fashion sense like this...
Yes, I had a popped collar. It was 1986, what do you expect? But I digress...
Back to the purpose of today's blog post... I'm in day three of a flareup. I have no idea why other than it was sunny today and now its cloudy (yeah, thanks for that- I can't even go take photos of the moon- which, according to Facebook, is a big deal tonight). The first day of the flareup was a typical one, with the pain and tiredness. So much tiredness. I can live with the pain, but this bone-crushing, mind-melting exhaustion is really hard to deal with. I drink more caffeine to deal with it, and caffeine can exacerbate the pain issues.
The second day had the pain and the tiredness, but also the insanity-causing itching skin. Scratching doesn't help because the itch is coming from under the skin. Rubbing it, as if it were a tattoo or a sunburn, doesn't help because again, under the surface. Plus, my skin is usually really sore during this kind of thing. So even the mildest touch causes me to wince. Those are the days when I end up stripping down to nothing and laying under my two soft fleece blankets. One blanket isn't enough and it just makes me itch more. Two is just enough weight to soothe the problem.
Today, we're back to mostly the pain and some of the tiredness. And that's what I want to describe. The pain. (I am also having some itching, but it isn't as bad as yesterday). Also- all of this is on top of the fact that yesterday, I had to go to the VA hospital for an appointment and then the grocery store. And today is actual payday, so I had to run errands and stand in line at the post office. I did end up half-stripped under my fleece blankets in my room for about an hour. I didn't nap though, because I'd had two full-lead Mountain Dews that morning (as opposed to diet Mountain Dew, which is what I usually drink) and I was texting with a friend about everything from closing weekend at the faire to cute guys we know. (those two subjects aren't mutually exclusive as there are a lot of handsome people at the faire).
Side note- closing weekend *SAD FACE*
AND we're back... Pain, the pain, oh, the pain.
Today, at this very moment- 815 PM Central US time, I'm sitting at my desk. I'm typing with both hands, because I was taught how to type in the 8th grade (I had awesome hair back then too. The feathering! So much feathering!) and I don't even look at my hands. So, my pain level- with just my hands moving and my body sitting upright (because I have good posture when I type)- is about a four. I'm also two hours into my Hydrocodone for the night (three 5/325 tablets) and an hour into my Cyclobenzaprine (two 10 mg tablets). My shoulders ache like I've been lifting heavy things. My back is okay, because I'm not moving. My feet are sore, but they're always sore. My hands- the wrists and fingers, actually, are sore and the skin is itchy. The pain in my hands and wrists is a dull, constant ache. Sometimes, I clench my hands together, thinking it will help ease the ache, but it never does. Three times today, I dropped things I was holding onto because the pain caused me to lose my grip.
When I move, the pain shoots up. In my arms, the biceps and shoulders, it just feels like I worked out too hard. You know that feeling. It almost feels good when you move and you feel that ache and think, "yeah, I lifted heavy things for an hour, I AM A GOD!" except that you didn't lift anything heavy and if you tried, you'd just drop it and people would look at you and who wants that, right?
My lower back aches when I move too. As do the muscles in my butt. And my hip muscles. That's where the pain will shoot up to a ten. It brings tears to my eyes. If you see me at the faire and I've been sitting for any length of time, I'll go to stand up and wince. That's the pain in my hip muscle (or muscles, as the case may be). If you see me limping, it could be the hip muscle or it could be the feet. (I have so much -itis in my feet, plantar fasci-, burs-, tendon-, and arthr-, and some extra bone-spur issues).
The skin on my arms and hands (the forearms, wrists, and hands) feels hot. It feels like its burning. Luckily, this seems to just be localized to my hands/arms. Yesterday, it was all over. My skin was on fire.
When I'm sitting still, everything hurts at a low-level ache. When I move, it hurts at a high level stabbing/throbbing pain. When someone touches me or hugs me like this, every part of my body that their body touches feels like I'm being jabbed with something sharp. And I hate that. I'm a hugger. I would hug everyone if I could. Well, I would if it didn't hurt like I was being stabbed with a sword every time.
Wait a minute... I like to hug people, I go to the faire where I end up hugging people, and some of them carry swords or daggers. Hmmmm... I wonder if they've been trying to tell me something with the stabbing- no, no, that's ridiculous. All weapons are peace-tied and if they're not, they get zip-tied by security. Surely if someone were actually stabbing me at the faire, I'd notice, right?
Where was I? The pain, that's right. What the hell else would I be bitching about on my fibro blog?
Heating pads don't work. Ice doesn't work. Hydrocodone and Cyclobenzaprine do very little, but they take the edge off. I don't have much choice there, the long-term medicine caused me to swell up like a blowfish and even with my awesome hair, that's not a good look for me. Or anyone.
So, it looks like I'll be facing closing weekend with a steady level of opiates and muscle relaxers in my blood. And, on top of the three days of faire, (and the around 1500 photos I'll end up taking), we have to move Christine to her dorm on Tuesday. She's a sophomore this year. Ha, I say "we" like I'm actually going to be doing the moving. I doubt I'll be doing much. Sometimes, guilt and embarrassment of looking lazy takes over and I end up doing too much. But then, when we moved her out of the dorms, I didn't spend three days prior to that at the faire.
I predict that next Wednesday will be a terrible day for pain. Luckily, I'll be buried in three days of photos.
So, I'll see you at the faire. You'll know its me because I'll be dressed in garb with a DSLR perma-attached to my face.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
A little bit of good in an otherwise typical flareup day
I had to go to the VA hospital for my yearly asthma/allergy clinic torture. It isn't really torture, but I have to wear a clamp on my nose and blow my lung tissue out as hard as possible into a something-ometer to check whatever it is we check for when someone has asthma. You can tell how I pay attention to these appointments. My asthma is apparently a "very mild form" of asthma. I've known that from the start.
For those who haven't been taking notes for my life history test that will be at the end of class today- I ended up with asthma in my early 30s after having a lung infection for over five months. I have three kids and I thought I was just re-catching the same cold that was being passed around. Turned out that what I had was a bronchial infection that damaged my bronchial tubes (or, you know, whatever doctors call them). My asthma isn't aggravated by smoke or perfume, but heat and humidity just kick the shit out of me. I take Symbicort right now. Before that it was whatever the VA gave me and before that, it was Advair (which I fucking loved and they just TOOK it from me!). Also- I was skinny back then. Way skinny. Like normal skinny, actually. I wore a size 12 in jeans back then. I also got diagnosed with the genetic high blood pressure back then too. So you can just stop typing right now if you were about to tell me my asthma would go away if I lost weight. No, it wouldn't. I'd just be skinnier and wheezing.
But I digress.
At the VA hospital (I lost another eight pounds, so whoo-hoo!), they asked me what my pain level was. Without hesitation, I said, "Right now, sitting here- about a three."
The nurse asked, "What about walking around?"
I replied, "About a six. But I'm okay. I took the stairs today." (three floors, why wait for an elevator when I have this cyborg knee?).
She said, somewhat skeptical, "Your pain is at a six and you took the stairs?"
I told her I had fibro. And if I let it win, I never would have been able to get out of bed, much less do everything else I'd done up to that point. It isn't "playing through the pain". This isn't a pain you can play through. You wince, you groan, you cry if you have to, but you still go forward. Because if I let this goddamn pain drag me down to its level, I'd never leave the house. I'd barely be able to leave the bed.
She sighed and said, "My sister has that. But she's not nearly as cheerful as you are."
My asthma is just fine, by the way. Totally routine appointment. And I took the stairs down (which is a lot easier than going up the stairs, because I can reach both railings and I go down the stairs at the VA).
Today's flareup has taken the form of the itchy skin and pain (duh, of course). I feel like the best thing to do for my itchy skin is to fall into a patch of cactus plants and roll around. Seriously, every goddamn thing itches. My arms, legs, torso. Its like I have the measles or chickenpox or the "thousands of hairy-legged spiders" trying to get out. There's nothing on my skin, there's nothing under my skin. But this is driving me nuts. It happens no matter what I'm doing, so it isn't like the pain. When I stop moving, the pain eases. But the itching... the itching is fucking killing me. Along with the uniform all-over itch, I get random painful bursts of itching. So not only am I itchy, I'm twitchy too. I'm like a drug addict without their fix. And sweaty- but that's because I told the fibro to fuck off and went outside to take photos. (and, yes, I have taken all my pain meds for the evening. Thanks for asking, that was polite of you).
The pain... well, that shit has got to stop. When I'm sitting still and not twitching for my next fix or whatever the hell this is, the pain isn't so bad. Two, maybe three on that ridiculous pain scale. But, if I sit still (or stand still, whatever) for any length of time- even just a few minutes- my muscles tighten up so hard and fast that I can barely move. I wince. I groan. I contort my face into some very Jim Carrey-esque faces. It fucking hurts. I feel like a giant, itchy bruise. Oh, and that's another thing, my skin itches and it aches. I'm a twitchy, itchy, achy, sweaty mess today.
I've also, in the last month or so, discovered another fibro hot spot. My other hip. My right hip is my "usual" fibro warning system. But now my left hip has gotten in on the action.
So, here we have an entire page of bitching and moaning... what's this "little bit of good"?
My cyborg knee. I love this damn thing. And while taking the stairs today, while standing with all my weight on that leg as I leaned and contorted my body around an awkward situation, I laughed about it. No pain in my knees. And I wanna go hug my orthopedic surgeon.
Except to do that, I'd have to go back to his office and when I saw him in February, after I slipped on the ice on my deck, I told him that I never wanted to see him again. Let's hope I can keep it that way.
Now pardon me, I'm going to go roll around on some gravel or something. This goddamn itching is driving me mad.
Oh, and then there's this... I told the fibro to fuck off and took some photos today. I got about seventeen shots total (the sun was setting fast and I was running out of light behind my house, where 90% of my flowers are planted).
Here are a few of them.
For those who haven't been taking notes for my life history test that will be at the end of class today- I ended up with asthma in my early 30s after having a lung infection for over five months. I have three kids and I thought I was just re-catching the same cold that was being passed around. Turned out that what I had was a bronchial infection that damaged my bronchial tubes (or, you know, whatever doctors call them). My asthma isn't aggravated by smoke or perfume, but heat and humidity just kick the shit out of me. I take Symbicort right now. Before that it was whatever the VA gave me and before that, it was Advair (which I fucking loved and they just TOOK it from me!). Also- I was skinny back then. Way skinny. Like normal skinny, actually. I wore a size 12 in jeans back then. I also got diagnosed with the genetic high blood pressure back then too. So you can just stop typing right now if you were about to tell me my asthma would go away if I lost weight. No, it wouldn't. I'd just be skinnier and wheezing.
But I digress.
At the VA hospital (I lost another eight pounds, so whoo-hoo!), they asked me what my pain level was. Without hesitation, I said, "Right now, sitting here- about a three."
The nurse asked, "What about walking around?"
I replied, "About a six. But I'm okay. I took the stairs today." (three floors, why wait for an elevator when I have this cyborg knee?).
She said, somewhat skeptical, "Your pain is at a six and you took the stairs?"
I told her I had fibro. And if I let it win, I never would have been able to get out of bed, much less do everything else I'd done up to that point. It isn't "playing through the pain". This isn't a pain you can play through. You wince, you groan, you cry if you have to, but you still go forward. Because if I let this goddamn pain drag me down to its level, I'd never leave the house. I'd barely be able to leave the bed.
She sighed and said, "My sister has that. But she's not nearly as cheerful as you are."
My asthma is just fine, by the way. Totally routine appointment. And I took the stairs down (which is a lot easier than going up the stairs, because I can reach both railings and I go down the stairs at the VA).
Today's flareup has taken the form of the itchy skin and pain (duh, of course). I feel like the best thing to do for my itchy skin is to fall into a patch of cactus plants and roll around. Seriously, every goddamn thing itches. My arms, legs, torso. Its like I have the measles or chickenpox or the "thousands of hairy-legged spiders" trying to get out. There's nothing on my skin, there's nothing under my skin. But this is driving me nuts. It happens no matter what I'm doing, so it isn't like the pain. When I stop moving, the pain eases. But the itching... the itching is fucking killing me. Along with the uniform all-over itch, I get random painful bursts of itching. So not only am I itchy, I'm twitchy too. I'm like a drug addict without their fix. And sweaty- but that's because I told the fibro to fuck off and went outside to take photos. (and, yes, I have taken all my pain meds for the evening. Thanks for asking, that was polite of you).
The pain... well, that shit has got to stop. When I'm sitting still and not twitching for my next fix or whatever the hell this is, the pain isn't so bad. Two, maybe three on that ridiculous pain scale. But, if I sit still (or stand still, whatever) for any length of time- even just a few minutes- my muscles tighten up so hard and fast that I can barely move. I wince. I groan. I contort my face into some very Jim Carrey-esque faces. It fucking hurts. I feel like a giant, itchy bruise. Oh, and that's another thing, my skin itches and it aches. I'm a twitchy, itchy, achy, sweaty mess today.
I've also, in the last month or so, discovered another fibro hot spot. My other hip. My right hip is my "usual" fibro warning system. But now my left hip has gotten in on the action.
So, here we have an entire page of bitching and moaning... what's this "little bit of good"?
My cyborg knee. I love this damn thing. And while taking the stairs today, while standing with all my weight on that leg as I leaned and contorted my body around an awkward situation, I laughed about it. No pain in my knees. And I wanna go hug my orthopedic surgeon.
Except to do that, I'd have to go back to his office and when I saw him in February, after I slipped on the ice on my deck, I told him that I never wanted to see him again. Let's hope I can keep it that way.
Now pardon me, I'm going to go roll around on some gravel or something. This goddamn itching is driving me mad.
Oh, and then there's this... I told the fibro to fuck off and took some photos today. I got about seventeen shots total (the sun was setting fast and I was running out of light behind my house, where 90% of my flowers are planted).
Here are a few of them.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
I had a total meltdown in public.
I'm not even sure I can frame this with humor... but let's just keep going and see what happens, okay?
Firstly, I had a great weekend at Bristol. Even a bad day at faire is still better than a good day Not at Faire. Saturday was a typical day in that I showed up, I walked a lot, I took photos, I talked with awesome people- you know, same old stuff for a day at faire. Saturday night was the RESCU Rally. The RESCU Foundation is an organization that helps ren faire vendors/performers with medical bills and having been someone without health insurance for a few short years (the longest "short years" ever), I know how scary the prospect of going to the doctor for any reason can be...
The rally is an after-hours event and I wasn't allowed to take photos. We had to change into regular clothes (meaning not our garb, so we brought jeans and such with us to change into). And the rally was fantastic. I donated two photos for their auction. The jouster in the photo even signed it, and this one. They had a silent auction (I didn't see my photos out there, so someone said that it meant they were probably doing them in the live auction) and there was entertainment and food. But the best part for me was talking to my faire family out of character. They have to be "on" all the time out on the streets of Bristol, so to see them in normal clothes and relaxed (or even drunk, in a couple cases) was pretty damn cool. And we talked about everything from the day at faire to ridiculous stuff. We left around 10:30 (after the silent auction ended, because Ceej bid on something and wanted to wait and see if she got it- she didn't- and then we had to drive the hour and a half home).
So, Sunday dawned after a mere four hours of sleep and more than fourteen hours on my feet the day before- you can imagine how my body was rejecting activity. I took the hottest shower I could tolerate to loosen some of my sore muscles. My feet were a lost cause. I knew they were going to be killing me all day. My plan of getting up to a show I hadn't seen yet wasn't going to happen. I finally got to have a real conversation with the woman who plays the queen, as herself and not the queen. She's as delightful as she is lovely. As the day wore on, I was having a good time despite all this pain. I'd taken my pain meds around 1130 AM, I was doing fine. I shot video of the Towers game, took my usual oodles of photos and was even privy to an event (which is in video form, but both Facebook and YouTube were being uploading jerks yesterday).
There's a joust at 3 PM- the Royal Joust. I was asked two weeks ago to get photos of the nobility who sit in the dais. At the end of that joust (spoiler alert or whatever), there's a fight and they react to said fight. So, I stood in front of the dais (safely, because- duh- I shoot every joust, I know where I'm allowed to stand) and snapped photos of both the joust and the people. It was great. Then I shot on over to the Nobles Glade for the first part of the event- Captain Hawkyns being accused of piracy and arrested. (in between, I caught most of a presentation about Elizabethan clothing, which was interesting and informative- I suggest you go: "Courtly Fashion" at 330 PM).
After the incident with Hawkyns, he found himself with some free time- some very brief free time. But he accompanied me over to the tilt yard to watch the 300 Battle (which is good fun to spectate and I assume its fun for the kids involved). Along the way, we were stopped to have our photo taken and talked to a woman who was there for the first time (she sews, so it looks like she may be joining in on the fun). Then came the Joust to the Death... Which went well, as usual. Then I had to scoot back over to the Glade for the trial of Hawkyns. No problem... I kept a watch on the time. Leading up to the joust and after, I kept telling myself: "Just a few more minutes" because I needed to get some water so I could take my pain meds. I normally take my Vicodin at 6 PM when I'm home. But at faire, I take it any time after 5 PM because I'm usually busy after 530... but no. "Just a few more minutes" kept turning into longer and longer till it was well over an hour after I should have taken it.
I went to the Glade, I sat in the back to wait for the trial part to start. I took my Vicodin and then found a place to stash my basket where it'd be safe. (I don't like to set it down and walk away, especially when I have an extra lens inside). One of the cast was standing near me and he said: "Looks like you have your own little area all staked out." I don't remember what I said, probably something clever like "yeah" and he asked me: "Are you okay?"
When the tears sprang to my eyes, my first thought was: "Holy shit, what do I look like that he noticed something was wrong?"
I, of course, told him that I was fine. Wiped the tears and tried to calm down. Luckily for me, he had to go do whatever it was he does during that show, so I was able to crank it back down to 5 and not totally lose it. Video shot, everything's fine... I put my camera back into my basket and start back up the hill for the Friends Garden where I planned on ice water, sitting down, and unlacing my bodice (which isn't all that tight to begin with as this was the bodice I had made-to-order). I started to make my way past the Guild of St. Michael- which was in the middle of a demonstration. I had to pause while they blew up a cabbage with a pistol and then started to walk again. From my right (the tilt yard), the woman who runs the whole faire was walking in my direction (she was going to the front gates, the same direction I was going). She saw me and asked if I was okay.
And I burst into tears. Right there at the faire, in the middle of the street. I kept saying I was fine. I was fine and I just needed to get up to the garden. She offered to walk with me and I said I was fine. It was my own stupid fault for not taking my pain meds on time, it was my own fault for not staying ahead of the pain, it was my own goddamn fault. And there I was, crying at the ren faire, for reasons brought on by myself. That's what was so bad about it. I knew I was going to have an issue and I knew when I should have taken my pain meds. And I didn't. It was my own fault and the tears were more out of frustration at myself than the pain.
The worst part of that whole display was the ego-crushing embarrassment I felt. Maybe if she'd been a stranger or at least not someone I knew very well. (not that I know her very well, but we know her enough that she got Ceej her intern gig). I felt the same way with that cast member. I've known him for a few years now- in the sense that we recognize each other. I don't think he knew my name till Facebook, but whatever.
It was embarrassing that I let it go that far.
I made it to the garden without any further ego-bruising and sat down, unlaced, drank ice water. And I talked. (and talked and talked) because I knew if I kept talking, I was okay. If there's one thing I do well, its not shutting the fuck up. I sent Ceej a text message, telling her that if her boss told her I was having issues that I was fine and I would explain later. And I talked. And talked. When I had to leave the garden (to go wait on Ceej), two of the henches hugged me (which made me get teary again). Then when I re-told the whole thing to Ceej, I started crying again, but that time was out of sheer humiliation.
I'm still feeling the aftereffects of the whole thing too. My skin is still on fire, my muscles are sore and when I sit still for a long time and then move- I feel like I did before I was being treated with muscle relaxers. And so very tired. I hope I'll snap back by Saturday. When those gates open, I'll definitely feel better. Take in a game of Towers... boom- better.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does, its loud, messy, and cringe-worthy to watch. I suppose I will take comfort in that my first public meltdown was at the faire and I was among friends. That's a lot better than having the same kind of meltdown at the post office where nobody would have cared enough to ask if I was okay and would have stepped around me in line, which would have made me wait longer, increasing the pain and making more tears.
So yeah... good thing it happened at Faire.
Oh, and all that pain I was in? I still managed to get photos like these at the Joust to the Death.
Firstly, I had a great weekend at Bristol. Even a bad day at faire is still better than a good day Not at Faire. Saturday was a typical day in that I showed up, I walked a lot, I took photos, I talked with awesome people- you know, same old stuff for a day at faire. Saturday night was the RESCU Rally. The RESCU Foundation is an organization that helps ren faire vendors/performers with medical bills and having been someone without health insurance for a few short years (the longest "short years" ever), I know how scary the prospect of going to the doctor for any reason can be...
The rally is an after-hours event and I wasn't allowed to take photos. We had to change into regular clothes (meaning not our garb, so we brought jeans and such with us to change into). And the rally was fantastic. I donated two photos for their auction. The jouster in the photo even signed it, and this one. They had a silent auction (I didn't see my photos out there, so someone said that it meant they were probably doing them in the live auction) and there was entertainment and food. But the best part for me was talking to my faire family out of character. They have to be "on" all the time out on the streets of Bristol, so to see them in normal clothes and relaxed (or even drunk, in a couple cases) was pretty damn cool. And we talked about everything from the day at faire to ridiculous stuff. We left around 10:30 (after the silent auction ended, because Ceej bid on something and wanted to wait and see if she got it- she didn't- and then we had to drive the hour and a half home).
So, Sunday dawned after a mere four hours of sleep and more than fourteen hours on my feet the day before- you can imagine how my body was rejecting activity. I took the hottest shower I could tolerate to loosen some of my sore muscles. My feet were a lost cause. I knew they were going to be killing me all day. My plan of getting up to a show I hadn't seen yet wasn't going to happen. I finally got to have a real conversation with the woman who plays the queen, as herself and not the queen. She's as delightful as she is lovely. As the day wore on, I was having a good time despite all this pain. I'd taken my pain meds around 1130 AM, I was doing fine. I shot video of the Towers game, took my usual oodles of photos and was even privy to an event (which is in video form, but both Facebook and YouTube were being uploading jerks yesterday).
There's a joust at 3 PM- the Royal Joust. I was asked two weeks ago to get photos of the nobility who sit in the dais. At the end of that joust (spoiler alert or whatever), there's a fight and they react to said fight. So, I stood in front of the dais (safely, because- duh- I shoot every joust, I know where I'm allowed to stand) and snapped photos of both the joust and the people. It was great. Then I shot on over to the Nobles Glade for the first part of the event- Captain Hawkyns being accused of piracy and arrested. (in between, I caught most of a presentation about Elizabethan clothing, which was interesting and informative- I suggest you go: "Courtly Fashion" at 330 PM).
After the incident with Hawkyns, he found himself with some free time- some very brief free time. But he accompanied me over to the tilt yard to watch the 300 Battle (which is good fun to spectate and I assume its fun for the kids involved). Along the way, we were stopped to have our photo taken and talked to a woman who was there for the first time (she sews, so it looks like she may be joining in on the fun). Then came the Joust to the Death... Which went well, as usual. Then I had to scoot back over to the Glade for the trial of Hawkyns. No problem... I kept a watch on the time. Leading up to the joust and after, I kept telling myself: "Just a few more minutes" because I needed to get some water so I could take my pain meds. I normally take my Vicodin at 6 PM when I'm home. But at faire, I take it any time after 5 PM because I'm usually busy after 530... but no. "Just a few more minutes" kept turning into longer and longer till it was well over an hour after I should have taken it.
I went to the Glade, I sat in the back to wait for the trial part to start. I took my Vicodin and then found a place to stash my basket where it'd be safe. (I don't like to set it down and walk away, especially when I have an extra lens inside). One of the cast was standing near me and he said: "Looks like you have your own little area all staked out." I don't remember what I said, probably something clever like "yeah" and he asked me: "Are you okay?"
When the tears sprang to my eyes, my first thought was: "Holy shit, what do I look like that he noticed something was wrong?"
I, of course, told him that I was fine. Wiped the tears and tried to calm down. Luckily for me, he had to go do whatever it was he does during that show, so I was able to crank it back down to 5 and not totally lose it. Video shot, everything's fine... I put my camera back into my basket and start back up the hill for the Friends Garden where I planned on ice water, sitting down, and unlacing my bodice (which isn't all that tight to begin with as this was the bodice I had made-to-order). I started to make my way past the Guild of St. Michael- which was in the middle of a demonstration. I had to pause while they blew up a cabbage with a pistol and then started to walk again. From my right (the tilt yard), the woman who runs the whole faire was walking in my direction (she was going to the front gates, the same direction I was going). She saw me and asked if I was okay.
And I burst into tears. Right there at the faire, in the middle of the street. I kept saying I was fine. I was fine and I just needed to get up to the garden. She offered to walk with me and I said I was fine. It was my own stupid fault for not taking my pain meds on time, it was my own fault for not staying ahead of the pain, it was my own goddamn fault. And there I was, crying at the ren faire, for reasons brought on by myself. That's what was so bad about it. I knew I was going to have an issue and I knew when I should have taken my pain meds. And I didn't. It was my own fault and the tears were more out of frustration at myself than the pain.
The worst part of that whole display was the ego-crushing embarrassment I felt. Maybe if she'd been a stranger or at least not someone I knew very well. (not that I know her very well, but we know her enough that she got Ceej her intern gig). I felt the same way with that cast member. I've known him for a few years now- in the sense that we recognize each other. I don't think he knew my name till Facebook, but whatever.
It was embarrassing that I let it go that far.
I made it to the garden without any further ego-bruising and sat down, unlaced, drank ice water. And I talked. (and talked and talked) because I knew if I kept talking, I was okay. If there's one thing I do well, its not shutting the fuck up. I sent Ceej a text message, telling her that if her boss told her I was having issues that I was fine and I would explain later. And I talked. And talked. When I had to leave the garden (to go wait on Ceej), two of the henches hugged me (which made me get teary again). Then when I re-told the whole thing to Ceej, I started crying again, but that time was out of sheer humiliation.
I'm still feeling the aftereffects of the whole thing too. My skin is still on fire, my muscles are sore and when I sit still for a long time and then move- I feel like I did before I was being treated with muscle relaxers. And so very tired. I hope I'll snap back by Saturday. When those gates open, I'll definitely feel better. Take in a game of Towers... boom- better.
It doesn't happen often, but when it does, its loud, messy, and cringe-worthy to watch. I suppose I will take comfort in that my first public meltdown was at the faire and I was among friends. That's a lot better than having the same kind of meltdown at the post office where nobody would have cared enough to ask if I was okay and would have stepped around me in line, which would have made me wait longer, increasing the pain and making more tears.
So yeah... good thing it happened at Faire.
Oh, and all that pain I was in? I still managed to get photos like these at the Joust to the Death.
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