Showing posts with label california. Show all posts
Showing posts with label california. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Wordless Wednesday
(Remember Pip's cheap date? Well, here's a picture of Pip hugging that old sock, as he enjoys bonding time with his new family...)
ZEN
Sunday, January 23, 2011
To bask in the glory of a sunny afternoon
(Right now? I do not miss Cambridge. CL insists, though, that Denver has moments like these, in between the blizzards...)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Forgiven?
Do you forgive me?
Please?
Pretty please, with ears on top?
PSYCH!
You messed with the wrong Formosan Mountain Dog when you left me for 3 days!
Wait~ what's that?
What are you doing?
Don't you dare put my bodacious booty on the internet, don't you dare~
Damn wench.
Wait~ what's that?
What are you doing?
Don't you dare put my bodacious booty on the internet, don't you dare~
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Occupational Therapy
(Per Wikipedia, "Occupational therapy promotes health by enabling people to perform meaningful and purposeful occupations." IMHO, the best way to fine-tune motor skills in the hands? Perform meaningful activities? Give some purpose to your life? Massage me, baby! Work those hands! Mmmmmmm...lovely...)
Sunday, May 2, 2010
The first 3 days
The beginning
My first thought after 7+ hours of surgery? "I'm alive. Take that, hah!"
My second thought? "Fuck, I can't move my body, son-of-a-bitch, what the hell, someone help me NOW."
Yeah, the inability to move my legs and arms had managed to put me in a total freak-out. The doctor came over, ran some tests, and mumbled something about "swelling." She left, and another doctor came to my bedside. She looked about 12 years old, and her head barely reached the top of the recovery bed. "Remember me?" she asked. "I was the neurologist who watched your nerves during surgery."
My intelligent, productive, helpful response?
"Really? Last I checked, I was ASLEEP during surgery. I don't remember a damn thing."
(Have I mentioned the "sarcastic bitch when scared and in pain" personality trait? I blame genetics, of course. Just look at my sisters.)
This sweet, young, adorable pixie actually GIGGLED, when I spoke to her. I was not being funny. I would have lifted my arms and moved my fingers around her throat, if I had any motor function left in my body. She is one lucky pixie.
"Everything is fine" (giggle) "Your nerves checked out fine during surgery" (giggle, giggle) "I'm sure this is just swelling or spinal cord shock" (giggle) "Feeling will return soon, within a couple of days" (giggle, wave, run for her frackin life)
24 hours later, the pixie was vindicated. Somewhat. I could move my arms and legs. Still weak, can't walk, can't feel a damn thing-- and no way can I eat solid food. Choke, choke, choke, But I can move. The nurse keeps staring at me and laughing. Do you think she finds my flailing leg pushing the food cart funny? Probably. I find it funny, too.
Wish I were a better person. Wish I was happy to be alive, to have some motor functions (damn left hand still won't move, and my toes suck because they won't listen to my brain). I'm scribbling on paper towels, only 5-6 words at a time, using my right hand, the only one that works, the one I never used to use. I need to start my story, even though this situation SUCKS. (Editor's note: "sucks" was underlined five times, with many exclamation marks-- I admit, a bit overly dramatic...)
This was found on the margins of a Vogue magazine, written later that night:
fuck, pain. pain, pain, pain. the numbness has left my shoulders, and my entire body is on fire. electrical jolts in my fingers, and muscle spasms are in my neck, arms, hands, butt, abdomen and chest. there are "creepy crawly" bugs running under my skin. (Editor's note: I knew there were no bugs crawling on my skin. I just called the feeling "creepy crawly bugs" because it felt like something was climbing across my shoulders, arms, legs and neck. It's a weird type of nerve pain.) i almost wish the dead and numb feet, legs and hands would spread to the rest of my body. i miss the pre-surgery days of numbness. this pain sucks. the seizures won't stop. make it all go away.
Day 2
OMG, OMG, OMG. The most gorgeous human being has walked into my room. Brown skin, glorious smile, butterscotch eyes. Yum. Yep, my hormones are fully functional, too bad I feel like a floppy porpoise and can't get laid. Orgasms are on the no-no list, and why bother with sex if...? (Editor's note: orgasms can cause autonomic dysreflexia) Damn, he's hot. Damn, he's a doctor. Oh, double-damn-- he's head of the fucking department, married with many kids. No harm in lusting after someone though, right? Oh wait. He thinks I'm a good candidate for rehab in Vallejo. Awesome news. Best program in the state, maybe the country. They'll teach me to use my legs, arms, live life. They'll find a way to control the autonomic dysreflexia. How cool is that? Damn though, the hormones have turned me into a giggling 14-year-old that will agree to anything, right now. I am even writing like a hormonally-crazed adolescent from the 80s. OMG? Cool? Fur shur? Where do those words come from? My mouth? YECH. I suspect I am channeling that silly pixie neurologist.
Day 3
son of a bitch. i made it to vallejo rehab, but i have no idea what's going on. the paramedics put me on my new bed and left. my family is here. the doctor won't talk to me. he talks, but it's to confirm info in my chart. he doesn't listen. i try to tell him that i have other diseases, serious things wrong that will impact my recovery. the nurses said my seizures are worse, daily. muscle spasms are horrific. i'm starting a small fever, which could become something bad. very bad, very fast. he refuses to hear me. i get so frustrated that i tell him to call and consult with my pcp in san francisco, with my autoimmune doc, with my neurologist. he refuses. "i treat spinal cord injuries, that's all i need to know" he strips me naked in front of my sister and parents, and i ask them to leave. they don't need to see me poked and prodded. they already had to hear too much about my life, my health, the things i did to hide my illness from them before surgery. this doctor won't listen. he doesn't know why i asked my family to leave. he is holding a safety pin and sticking it into my body parts, causing spots of blood on the sheets. poking my anus. i feel nothing. i am freaking out. why don't i feel something, anything???
my family doesn't need to hear me scream.
(later, scribbled on the inside of a bag, hard to decipher some words)
it is 3 am and i can't stop crying. the doc told me i should be able to deal with more pain, that i should not ask for meds until i was an 8 out of 10. that's barely able to move due to pain. i ask for meds when i am at a 5 or 6, because i know it will get worse. i tell him that my autoimmune disease causes muscle and chest pain, but he doesn't believe me, he doesn't understand, he goes ahead and lowers the amount of pain meds prescribed by my PCP and surgeon, and HE DOESN'T TELL ME. i have to hear it from the nite nurse. she makes me feel weak, mocks my pain, says i am too sensitive to pain. i have to beg for an extra pain pill. i am begging like a fuckin addict, but i can't move my shoulders and arms because the muscle spasms won't stop. i'm scared. the nurses walk away. no one will talk to me, tell me what's happening, what to expect in the hospital. not knowing, not having a schedule? my worst nightmare. is a little compassion, comfort too much to ask for? they agree that the doctor is challenging, and tell me to talk to him. they refuse to ask the doctor on call to change my pain meds back to my ORIGINAL DOSAGE. at least they should let me know if someone will help me get to class, dress me, feed me breakfast in the morning. they've already forgotten to feed me lunch and dinner today, and they made fun of me when i tried to open the apple sauce, to take my ever-changing meds. i can't use my fingers, no strength, barely hold this pen, even with breaks. tried using my teeth. ouch. okay, it was kinda funny, and i had to laugh at the silliness. they finally helped me when they saw i couldn't do it. still, i can't stop crying tonight. damn. this is not what i expected, wanted, dreamed about...so sad...so hurt...this sucks.
ZEN
My first thought after 7+ hours of surgery? "I'm alive. Take that, hah!"
My second thought? "Fuck, I can't move my body, son-of-a-bitch, what the hell, someone help me NOW."
Yeah, the inability to move my legs and arms had managed to put me in a total freak-out. The doctor came over, ran some tests, and mumbled something about "swelling." She left, and another doctor came to my bedside. She looked about 12 years old, and her head barely reached the top of the recovery bed. "Remember me?" she asked. "I was the neurologist who watched your nerves during surgery."
My intelligent, productive, helpful response?
"Really? Last I checked, I was ASLEEP during surgery. I don't remember a damn thing."
(Have I mentioned the "sarcastic bitch when scared and in pain" personality trait? I blame genetics, of course. Just look at my sisters.)
This sweet, young, adorable pixie actually GIGGLED, when I spoke to her. I was not being funny. I would have lifted my arms and moved my fingers around her throat, if I had any motor function left in my body. She is one lucky pixie.
"Everything is fine" (giggle) "Your nerves checked out fine during surgery" (giggle, giggle) "I'm sure this is just swelling or spinal cord shock" (giggle) "Feeling will return soon, within a couple of days" (giggle, wave, run for her frackin life)
24 hours later, the pixie was vindicated. Somewhat. I could move my arms and legs. Still weak, can't walk, can't feel a damn thing-- and no way can I eat solid food. Choke, choke, choke, But I can move. The nurse keeps staring at me and laughing. Do you think she finds my flailing leg pushing the food cart funny? Probably. I find it funny, too.
Wish I were a better person. Wish I was happy to be alive, to have some motor functions (damn left hand still won't move, and my toes suck because they won't listen to my brain). I'm scribbling on paper towels, only 5-6 words at a time, using my right hand, the only one that works, the one I never used to use. I need to start my story, even though this situation SUCKS. (Editor's note: "sucks" was underlined five times, with many exclamation marks-- I admit, a bit overly dramatic...)
This was found on the margins of a Vogue magazine, written later that night:
fuck, pain. pain, pain, pain. the numbness has left my shoulders, and my entire body is on fire. electrical jolts in my fingers, and muscle spasms are in my neck, arms, hands, butt, abdomen and chest. there are "creepy crawly" bugs running under my skin. (Editor's note: I knew there were no bugs crawling on my skin. I just called the feeling "creepy crawly bugs" because it felt like something was climbing across my shoulders, arms, legs and neck. It's a weird type of nerve pain.) i almost wish the dead and numb feet, legs and hands would spread to the rest of my body. i miss the pre-surgery days of numbness. this pain sucks. the seizures won't stop. make it all go away.
Day 2
OMG, OMG, OMG. The most gorgeous human being has walked into my room. Brown skin, glorious smile, butterscotch eyes. Yum. Yep, my hormones are fully functional, too bad I feel like a floppy porpoise and can't get laid. Orgasms are on the no-no list, and why bother with sex if...? (Editor's note: orgasms can cause autonomic dysreflexia) Damn, he's hot. Damn, he's a doctor. Oh, double-damn-- he's head of the fucking department, married with many kids. No harm in lusting after someone though, right? Oh wait. He thinks I'm a good candidate for rehab in Vallejo. Awesome news. Best program in the state, maybe the country. They'll teach me to use my legs, arms, live life. They'll find a way to control the autonomic dysreflexia. How cool is that? Damn though, the hormones have turned me into a giggling 14-year-old that will agree to anything, right now. I am even writing like a hormonally-crazed adolescent from the 80s. OMG? Cool? Fur shur? Where do those words come from? My mouth? YECH. I suspect I am channeling that silly pixie neurologist.
Day 3
son of a bitch. i made it to vallejo rehab, but i have no idea what's going on. the paramedics put me on my new bed and left. my family is here. the doctor won't talk to me. he talks, but it's to confirm info in my chart. he doesn't listen. i try to tell him that i have other diseases, serious things wrong that will impact my recovery. the nurses said my seizures are worse, daily. muscle spasms are horrific. i'm starting a small fever, which could become something bad. very bad, very fast. he refuses to hear me. i get so frustrated that i tell him to call and consult with my pcp in san francisco, with my autoimmune doc, with my neurologist. he refuses. "i treat spinal cord injuries, that's all i need to know" he strips me naked in front of my sister and parents, and i ask them to leave. they don't need to see me poked and prodded. they already had to hear too much about my life, my health, the things i did to hide my illness from them before surgery. this doctor won't listen. he doesn't know why i asked my family to leave. he is holding a safety pin and sticking it into my body parts, causing spots of blood on the sheets. poking my anus. i feel nothing. i am freaking out. why don't i feel something, anything???
my family doesn't need to hear me scream.
(later, scribbled on the inside of a bag, hard to decipher some words)
it is 3 am and i can't stop crying. the doc told me i should be able to deal with more pain, that i should not ask for meds until i was an 8 out of 10. that's barely able to move due to pain. i ask for meds when i am at a 5 or 6, because i know it will get worse. i tell him that my autoimmune disease causes muscle and chest pain, but he doesn't believe me, he doesn't understand, he goes ahead and lowers the amount of pain meds prescribed by my PCP and surgeon, and HE DOESN'T TELL ME. i have to hear it from the nite nurse. she makes me feel weak, mocks my pain, says i am too sensitive to pain. i have to beg for an extra pain pill. i am begging like a fuckin addict, but i can't move my shoulders and arms because the muscle spasms won't stop. i'm scared. the nurses walk away. no one will talk to me, tell me what's happening, what to expect in the hospital. not knowing, not having a schedule? my worst nightmare. is a little compassion, comfort too much to ask for? they agree that the doctor is challenging, and tell me to talk to him. they refuse to ask the doctor on call to change my pain meds back to my ORIGINAL DOSAGE. at least they should let me know if someone will help me get to class, dress me, feed me breakfast in the morning. they've already forgotten to feed me lunch and dinner today, and they made fun of me when i tried to open the apple sauce, to take my ever-changing meds. i can't use my fingers, no strength, barely hold this pen, even with breaks. tried using my teeth. ouch. okay, it was kinda funny, and i had to laugh at the silliness. they finally helped me when they saw i couldn't do it. still, i can't stop crying tonight. damn. this is not what i expected, wanted, dreamed about...so sad...so hurt...this sucks.
ZEN
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Bliss and burn
Bad week for CL-- seizures, falls, uncontrolled pain, horrific autonomic dysreflexia reaction. Not good. It means a slight delay in posting her journal-- but, it gives me a chance to show you my mad working girl skills...
LOL. Just kidding. Like the new ramp for her wheels? Bob the Builder (an amazing neighbor) built it for her earlier this week...
Pretty cool, huh? Happy Friday, everyone!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
I Worship the Sun Gods
67 degrees, Noontime, lazy Sunday in Northern California...
Take that, snow demons!
Sun Gods 1, Snow Demons 0.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Are we home, yet, Dorothy?
Tornadoes in California? Maybe in the central valley, but not very often (if ever) in the Bay Area. Yesterday was an exception. I was minding my own business, doing my early afternoon yoga:
When I heard a rumble in the sky:
What did I see?
Yep, hunky clouds heading our way. Crazy lady said she hasn't seen clouds like these since her days in Colorado. Me? I just stared and scorned at her worried expression:
I mean, there are at least 15 miles worth of trailer parks between her house and the tornado warnings. And, she knows what it's like to be trapped in a trailer park during a tornado storm. It wasn't fun hiding under the Chevy station wagon with her parents, brother and sisters. She did not appreciate the belching contests beneath a leaky oil pan. Anyhow, what are the odds of being hit in California?
Okay, don't answer. I don't want to know.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Yotaro
THIS is why Japan is the #1 buyer of Crazy Lady's books:
Seriously. They provide oodles of material for her horror books, and they support the creepiness inherent in her work. She constantly threatens me with, "one of these days, we are packing up and moving to Kyoto!"
More information about Yotaro can be found here. Roughly translated:
" YOTARO (Yotarou). Robot baby with a soft body temperature. Have a soft cheek, in body temperature, or sneezing, or runny nose, and I'll grin and cradles and legs Jitabata or reproduction program the robot hand movement and emotion and such a baby is that this is YOTARO."
Seriously. They provide oodles of material for her horror books, and they support the creepiness inherent in her work. She constantly threatens me with, "one of these days, we are packing up and moving to Kyoto!"
More information about Yotaro can be found here. Roughly translated:
" YOTARO (Yotarou). Robot baby with a soft body temperature. Have a soft cheek, in body temperature, or sneezing, or runny nose, and I'll grin and cradles and legs Jitabata or reproduction program the robot hand movement and emotion and such a baby is that this is YOTARO."
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Beggin' for Lovvin
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Baby, it's cold outside
You want me to to what? When? Right now?
It's cold outside. Here's what you can do with your suggestion:
Stick it.
Now, leave me alone, and let me sleep.
Btw, do you really think people will understand the obscure musical reference in the title? Silly human. Not everyone shares your obsession with musicals.
It's cold outside. Here's what you can do with your suggestion:
Stick it. Now, leave me alone, and let me sleep.
Btw, do you really think people will understand the obscure musical reference in the title? Silly human. Not everyone shares your obsession with musicals.Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Original Gal
Crazy lady is an original gal-- original music, original movies, original books. She's not one to say "I prefer the newer version of the song." Covers? Nope, she usually can not stand "mocking songs that deplete the value of the original." (Does that sentence even make sense? Geez.) There are exceptions, however. She adores Jill Scott's Hate On Me:
The song has always been her "go to" anthem for vengeance. Protagonist seeks revenge for rape and torture? Crazy Lady listens to Hate On Me for hours. Protagonist seeks revenge for her lover's lies? Hate On Me is looped on the iPod, over and over again. I know, I know, Crazy Lady and her ANGER ISSUES. Lately, though, she prefers Amber Riley's cover (cast member of Glee):
For once, I agree with Crazy Lady-- Amber Riley NAILS the song. She listens to both versions these days, especially when a character must pay for spying on a 9 year old genetic mutant, as she prepares to eat her brother. (Fiction, people, fiction...)
The song has always been her "go to" anthem for vengeance. Protagonist seeks revenge for rape and torture? Crazy Lady listens to Hate On Me for hours. Protagonist seeks revenge for her lover's lies? Hate On Me is looped on the iPod, over and over again. I know, I know, Crazy Lady and her ANGER ISSUES. Lately, though, she prefers Amber Riley's cover (cast member of Glee):
For once, I agree with Crazy Lady-- Amber Riley NAILS the song. She listens to both versions these days, especially when a character must pay for spying on a 9 year old genetic mutant, as she prepares to eat her brother. (Fiction, people, fiction...)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Working Girl
As you know, I am a registered service and medic alert dog. One of my duties is to travel with Crazy Lady to her doctor's appointments and treatments, to help carry stuff (mostly drugs, drugs and more drugs!). Here I am, patiently waiting for her to load my backpack with goodies:
She had a full day of appointments, starting with acupuncture this morning. The needles and heat lamps actually improve her feet, which is a good thing. The treatments don't do much for her arms and hands, but I keep telling her "Walking is good! Be positive!" Yeah, you can imagine her response-- she scowls a lot, when I'm perky. I just ignore her and calmly stand in the lobby, waiting for our names to be called:
Aren't I gorgeous? They actually say, "Karen and Sugar" when it's appointment time! How cool is that? During treatment, I sit next to her bed:
Do you notice how she was trying to take a picture, but the needles and hospital gown kept getting in the way?
I told her to concentrate on the treatment, but she wanted to take a picture of my beautiful self.
I can't blame her for trying. Geez, though-- I wish she caught my prettier side. Humans. At least she let me take a break and hang out at Judy's house, to play with the Pack. Pretty big smile, huh?
Definitely bigger than Reese's crazy grin!
She had a full day of appointments, starting with acupuncture this morning. The needles and heat lamps actually improve her feet, which is a good thing. The treatments don't do much for her arms and hands, but I keep telling her "Walking is good! Be positive!" Yeah, you can imagine her response-- she scowls a lot, when I'm perky. I just ignore her and calmly stand in the lobby, waiting for our names to be called:
Aren't I gorgeous? They actually say, "Karen and Sugar" when it's appointment time! How cool is that? During treatment, I sit next to her bed:
Do you notice how she was trying to take a picture, but the needles and hospital gown kept getting in the way?
I told her to concentrate on the treatment, but she wanted to take a picture of my beautiful self.I can't blame her for trying. Geez, though-- I wish she caught my prettier side. Humans. At least she let me take a break and hang out at Judy's house, to play with the Pack. Pretty big smile, huh?
Definitely bigger than Reese's crazy grin!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Out of Office
...and off to Thanksgiving in Texas! I won't be traveling with the pack because crazy lady's sister has a house full of Evil Ones. She mumbled something about "snack time" and how her sister would find some way to blame her for my "tasty treats." Oh well... 
Instead of the usual "goodbye" picture, we decided to leave you with this:
Miko is a shy dog staying with my foster mum Judy for a while. You can read her story here and here. You'll notice that she's fearful AND shy-- but adorable, with a delicate, sneaky spark in her eyes. I suspect we are kindred spirits.
And on that note-- enjoy your Turkey Day!
Instead of the usual "goodbye" picture, we decided to leave you with this:Miko is a shy dog staying with my foster mum Judy for a while. You can read her story here and here. You'll notice that she's fearful AND shy-- but adorable, with a delicate, sneaky spark in her eyes. I suspect we are kindred spirits.
And on that note-- enjoy your Turkey Day!
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