I searched for what I wanted that had an alarm, but I could not find it. I had two seven-day pill holders, but not everything fit in them. I also had two things in bottles and two pills in other smaller, non-pill containers. I would lose track of whether or not I took the stuff outside the pill holders and often forgot the pills in the second seven-day pill holder all together. So, I liked the fact that I could take just one day out with me or have them all together in a bank. While I did not think of this, having a container next to me with the day of the week written has actually helped keep me orientated. I oft forget which day it is. When I awake in the morning, I take my first dosage and then keep the pill container next to me for the rest of the day. Thursday. Thursday. Thursday. Thursday. [Just for the record, since this photo was taken, I actually moved two pills from the third dosage to the fourth to better balance what I am taking.]
As I said, each compartment is larger than I thought it would be. So, tucking the day's container into my purse will be not quite as easy as I thought, but it also means that I have lots of room for growth for more medication or vitamin. Actually, I can even tuck a cherry sour in three of the four compartments without having to take out any medication!
One of the reasons I take two 24-hour doses of Theophylline is so that I will have a more even absorption level than a falling off each day. Since Levoxyl and theophylline do not like each other, Levoxyl and Loestrin do not get along, and Theophylline and Loestrin also are not friends, having everything better paced is of a great benefit to me. Point of fact, despite all that was going on from Monday evening to Tuesday evening, I still managed to take and to keep down every dosage.
So, despite not having a timer, I believe I made a good choice. Probably, this will be the best $7.95 that I will have spent since September 13, 1994. Truly, it is the best purchase I made since August 6, 2010. The former was D-day for multiple sclerosis. The latter for dysautonomia.
Four new ice packs arrived today. Sadly, my beloved Wal-green's ice packs have all been breaking, just a few months after owning them. While they stay frozen significantly longer, awaking with bright blue goop in my hair and smeared across my pillow case is not something I appreciate. Given their price, I am sorely disappointed. I believe I should be able to go back to Wal-green's for a refund, but that would most likely mean arguing with a manager. The very thought exhausts me.
Six have now broken of the twelve I own. I bought a total of eight new ones, four of the 3M ice packs and four of this new-to-Myrtle brand I found: Meuller. The Meuller ones melt the quickest, but they cover much more of the back of my head. Since the sides of my head now bother me as much as that original spot on the back, leaving basically my forehead pain free when pressed, I have taken to sleeping with three ice packs at a time, instead of one. I also have to use them when lying down or even just against a pillow during the day. I believe---though surely more data is needed for a proper conclusion--that the additional ice packs are helping me to sleep longer. Plus, I have hypothesized that the three of them keep each other colder longer.
That's the focus of my life: the rate at which ice packs melt.
To be honest, I have actually contemplated taking a razor blade and dragging it across the back of my head to see if I could just kill the nerves. Only, well, I am not one for stitches. Plus, I am fairly sure that would be considered to be a drastic measure by anyone else who is not Myrtle. And there is the problem that I do not know exactly where to cut to effect the greatest nerve damage. SIGH.
I found something strange tonight. I sat on a stool while talking with the seminary grad student. When our paths cross in the kitchen and I start in on Lutheran doctrine since an expert is so handily nearby, I have always sat on the chair next to the refrigerator. But tonight I took the stool. I was very surprised to note that my legs, perched on the bottom rung of the stool, started quivering just a few minutes into the conversation. Apparently, sitting on a stool is much, much more work than a chair. Sometimes the ex-researcher in me finds rather fascinating what actions tire me more quickly than others.
I did spend some time recently reading a whole lot about the cardio side of dysautonomia and discovered the why behind becoming fatigued from showering and drilling. Raising my arms makes my heart work harder! As I was reading, I became a tad chastened over how lax I have been about wearing compression stockings. Only, theoretically, I believe the use of them would be not be helpful for the Raynaud's. I am thinking that wearing stockings to keep more blood above my knees to help with the orthostatic hypotension would not help my purple toes already lacking good circulation. I mean, when they go numb (and shockingly colored), I have to work very hard to get enough blood flowing again.
Apparently, there is no research on this matter, just anecdotal testimony. While sometimes there is value in the anecdotal (such as my newest best friend activated charcoal), I believe that I am on fairly solid ground that, for example, existing solely on oyster stew to deal with the digestive nightmares of dysautonomia is not a healthy treatment option.
As far as plans go, I have not, actually, progressed. Today, I had an appointment, a trip to UPS, a nurse's call, a pharmacy call. I also made changes to the Finnish HTML version of THE PLAN, but it is now stuck in limbo. Somehow, I managed to break Mad Mimi. With this eBlast, at least, it will not go to any hotmail accounts. Since tech support has no way to test Finnish domains, I will not know if other domains are affected. For the past three hours, tech support has been trying to determine what happened between last night when I sent a draft to myself and this evening when no draft will come my way.
I took my frustration out on this silver dish. The free bottle of Hagarty's silver polish broke, so I had ordered some plain polish with a Christmas gift card, after trying three other nozzles with no progress. This dish was on my grandfather's desk when I was little, filled with pencils and pens, but certainly no nail files. When I did the last round of polishing, I forgot about it. Actually, I have not polished it since before I moved here (two years ago now). Black is not the proper color for silver. Did I not do a fine job of polishing? If you look carefully, you can also note that I also polished the silver letter opener that is resting on the left side of the dish. My grandfather served as a civil engineer for the government, working on the Guatemala on the canal. My father, at one point, was quite fluent in Spanish. From the years my grandparents, father, and uncle lived in Central America, I have a few mementoes. This hand-crafted dish is one of them. I wondered why a dish with flowers on it sat on his desk, but it was clearly filled with his things.
Since I no longer have an office (just another spare bedroom in case I can ever convince people to visit, I use the bookshelf at the end of the couch as my office of sorts. You can see that the second shelf holds Lutheran study materials, as does the following two. The bottom shelf is filled with some resources on writing and a few children's books in case someone with cherubs wishes to Skype so that I can read to them. The top shelf, as you can see, is basically the decorations of my "desk."
The giant blue piece of coral is from my maternal grandmother. The baby shoes were father's. The letter opener was my paternal grandmother's, which is resting of the dish that sat on her husband's desk. The Common Book of Prayer, in the center, was my paternal great aunt's. The hand crafted mug is from a craft shop staffed by disabled adult. And the collection of lady bug items are from friends. The shot glass has lip balm (for Bettina) and ginger candy for me. Behind the silver dish is a bottle of lotion that is also for Bettina. Even though her visits will now be few and far between, given that moved half-way across the country from her), I keep the bottle there. It reminds me to pray for her. It reminds me of the blessing of my Good Shepherd to given to me through her for these now 17 (or is it 18??) years.
The mug is filled with the important "technology" cords and the red rectangle in the back left is the back-up of my world (my Western Digital terabyte external hard drive). The blue and white stripped (why could I not find a GREEN one??) book weight is what I use to hold open the Christian Book of Concord to post all those snippets.
Though not on the top shelf, are you wondering what is in the frame resting on the shelf below? That is my baptismal napkin. It is wrinkled, so ... theoretically ... it was once wet. Oh, how I wish I could remember that day so as to know for certain myself. SIGH.
The top of the bookshelf is filled with antique books, a cross-section of the interests of my life. On the right corner is an antique glass cover from an electricity pole. My father used to hunt for them along the ground when we would visit the less-traveled bits of Colorado.
So, I suppose you could say that what I keep close to me are bits and pieces of my life. Even if I can no longer remember the moments, I can look at the mementoes. The bits and pieces of my life and the pure doctrine. After all, since it is the Gospel that does the clinging, I also like to keep bits and pieces of it nearby.
The latter is the only plan I have actually executed since my trial by fire. One of my four copies of my beloved NASB 1977 translations of the Bible has a now permanent place beside my bed. To ensure that it never leaves my bedside, I chose the rather ugly shade of pink one gifted to me a couple of years ago. It has sat on a shelf ever since. I supposed it has been waiting for a time when I no longer remember to cart my battered blue copy (stained with Dr Pepper from college and salt-water from beach in Liberia) up and down the stairs each day.
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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