When I got out of bed this morning I almost fell over, my foot hurt so bad. After an hour or so, I become more agile, and able to walk with only a slight limp. But there will be no powerwalking, no elliptical trainer, no weight lifting (can’t hold the weights with my witch-claw), no aerobics, pilates, or yoga, becuase as it turns out, pretty much anything fitness related does require use of the pinky toe either for traction or balance.
I’m a little dejected about the Not Knowing.
My hand and foot are paralyzed again. There is some noise about a type of Bells Palsy that causes pain and limited movement in the hands and feet. My dad still thinks I have an Inflammation problem so I’m going to read Inflammation Nation again, since trying that option is free, and finding out whether I have neurological damage is definitely on the far end of the scale from free.
Whatever the cause, I’m sick of being sick. And I wish I were stupid at least 3 x a week. I mean, I could just be taking painkillers and drinking red wine every night. We could be happily eating whatever is on sale at the grocery store and going to all the movies we want.
Except I can’t stop myself from turning that package over and reading the damn label. And I can’t stop myself from looking for the reason for the pain.
Posted in ailments
Tagged arthritis, inflammation, pain, rheumatoid arthritis, wtf
I’m not sure how this happened. I’m serious. Last weekend some friends mentioned they’d rescued a squirrel, about teen-aged, that had been almost-eaten by their dog.
“OOH! Bring him over!”, I gushed, and picked up the phone to ask my dad to deliver his squirrel cage. Yes, people. We live in the country. You’d damn well better have a squirrel cage, living out here in the wilderness.
Did I mention the Home Depot opens in October?
Anyway. This isn’t actually the same squirrel. They didn’t want to move theirs, because the mother kept coming to see it, and besides, it died. So here sits the squirrel house (house sounds better than cage, right?) on the back porch, pitifully empty.
Lo and Behold! It’s like a Gift From Above! On a local messaeg board, someone posted that they rescued a baby squirrel from their garage and they acan’t take care of it!
So what do I do? Let me first tell you what I DIDN’T do.
I did not call my husband to run by the feeding a baby squirrel every three hours scenario with him.
I did not line up a squirrel sitter for next week, when we’ll be in Asheville for 5 days.
I did not spend any time working out the logistics of having a dog, a cat, and three kittens inside.
Here’s what I did do:
“hey! We’d LOVE TO TAKE HIM! We’re very experienced squirrel-raisers! We even have a custom made squirrel mansion for him to live in, complete with pipe for burrowing and branches for climbing!”
Hello, I’d like you to meet my husband. It would be fair to say that my husband a.) does not like decisions made that affect him, without being consulted and b.) does not take well to a huge disruption in routine and c.) HATES SQUIRRELS.
Even so, after a fair amount of cajoling and apologizing on my part, we welcomed Rocky into our lives. Rocky, stay strong. Remember, cats can’t cut through wire with those claws. I promise.
So last night I found a loaded handgun on the nightstand next to my cousin’s bed, in his unlocked, open room. Beside a book that belongs to my daughter. The shit is about to hit the fan in Yulee.
Had planned to post some new BabyA pics, but I’m just getting back online after a few days without internet. It’ll take me a little while to catch up.
