Can't win for losing...

I thought it was nice that the second call I received from the pharmacist was to let me know that the asthma medication I stopped taking because of the cost—I figured that I could live without it—to say that the 100 mg dose had been added to Target's $4/$10 generic medication cash cost formulary.  You know, The List that all the major drug stores have now.  I take 200 mg, but she could dispense it in the 100 mg capsules.  In short, what was over $600 for a 90-day supply is now $42.  I high-tailed it over to Target on Friday and have not coughed the last two nights.  This is a genuine relief for me.

I have cough variant asthma.  So, once I start coughing, I can rather easily fall off the asthma cliff.  I can no longer take the emergency asthma medications because of my heart rate and blood pressure response, so the Benzonatate is also my emergency plan.  In other words, I can take extra of the pills during times I start coughing during the day.  I take them each night to help because nighttime asthma attacks were one of my biggest struggles.

I never had asthma before moving to Northern Virginia.  Come to find out ... Northern Virgina is an epicenter of adult-onset asthma.  I have not been in the ER for asthma in over two years, so mostly I am hoping moving away from there has helped.  However, having access to the Tesselon Perles again, even in generic, is a true blessing.  Not that I am thrilled about adding even such a modest amount to my monthly budget.

I spent some time crunching numbers, trying to calculate the pre-, during-, and post-donut hole cost of all my medications once CVS no longer is able to track down any more bottles ... or November 2014 when the supply of erythromycin solution hits its expiration date ... whichever comes first.  I might be able to make it all the way until next month before having to start funding the pill version of erythromycin.

During the worst of times, the straight donut hole time, I shall have just $396 left over from the disability check, after paying for the medications, for every other expense in my life.  Yes.  That's not even possible.  If I am the most penurious miser I can possibly be, during the pre-donut hole months (January-April, I believe), I just might be able to squeak by.  A lot depends on just how tough I can be on myself when it comes to groceries.  For example, just yesterday I thought about how very, very, very long it has been since I have had European butter.  SIGH.

And, of course, a total, utter dearth of un-budgeted expenses, like those tires I had to buy late last year because I forgot about the fact that I need to maintain my car.

On the forgetting front, the whole magnet-flower-erythromycin-dose-documentation plan is working well.  Since setting that up on my GREEN dry erase board, I have not missed a dose, nor have I had to try and figure out whether or not I had just taken a dose.

But on the innards front ... SIGH.
Waves and waves and waves of nausea.
From mid-afternoon to around midnight or so.

I believe that the probiotics are actually helping the distressing lack of motility in my lower intestines that had cropped up.  It is bad enough dealing with gastroparesis and Small Bowel Bacterial Overgrowth (SBBO). I was rather distressed at having rather long bouts of constipation.  But ... whilst things are moving better on the lower end, things are lingering longer on the upper end.  Not so much in the middle part (the small intestine), but after I eat (which is also after I take the probiotics) the nausea starts.  I am ever so full for ever so long and eating something in the evening to avoid the whole blood sugar crashing thing is hard.

It's been 14 days of probiotics.
It's been 10 days of the daily nausea.
I've only had one day of constipation out of the last seven, when I had been enduring five-six days of no movements at a time.

I hate nausea.
I hate my innards.
I hate my body.

My abdomen is also more painful, more often.  Not too much swelling, but the little I have hurts all the time ... and some of the time so badly that I cannot think the next moment is survivable.

I hate nausea.
I hate my innards.
I hate my body.

Today, with two days of mostly huddling in the GREEN chair, other than cooking with Marie (letting her cook) and fetching medications, I wanted to accomplish something.  Mostly, I wanted to avoid thinking about or ruminating (pun intended) on the nausea.  So, I dusted the entire first floor, including the baseboards and window sills.  I then vacuumed and Swiffered the wood floors.  Next I cleaned the main staircase, including my first-ever go at the individual pieces of the railing.  I also wiped down all the artwork and the woodwork of the main staircase/deacon's bench.  After all that, I had to rest for a long while.

Late this evening, as the sun was setting, I tackled the thyme beneath the Rose of Sharon bushes again because those blasted weed thingies came back and re-filled the thyme mounds.  When I finished, I stop and admired the back porch for the 100th time since Thursday.

Firewood Man moved the grill back to the porch and re-set the metal threshold for me on Saturday.  I had wanted to move it a bit, to better cover the most worn parts, but I knew I would not be able to apply enough pressure to drill/screw into the old hardwood.  I also was trying to figure out which way the threshold went into the doorway.  Before dropping off the sleep Friday night, I had a most brilliant idea.  And it worked!

Whilst Tim was finishing the lawn, I put toothpicks in the original screw holes and tried the threshold in both directions to see which way the holes aligned with the toothpicks.  As I had hoped, they made it clear which direction the threshold had originally been set.  Tim re-set it, but moved it to the inside edge of the door frame, which better covered the worn spots and yet still made for a good fit.

Tim and the helper he brought with him spend a cockle-warming amount of time admiring the end result of my labors.  In fact, Tim was actually impressed.  Wood bliss.

Tim's helper was the one who helped him with the raised bed.  He had much commentary on the herbs growing there.

Whilst I would like to think that the rather vigorous growth is due to my careful mix of compost manure, peat, potting soil, and earthworms, it is probably du to the quality of the plants.  You can see that I have far more basil and sage than a single person needs.  Somehow, I need to remember next summer that I only need to buy two basil plants, not four.  The sage should survive the winter, so I might need to find a home for two of the four.  Even the sprigs of oregano I got from my realtor's yard have grown.  I do wish the rosemary were nursery quality instead of grocery store.  It is growing some, but just not enough that I think I could harvest.  If you look at the third and fifth plant from the end, the two basil plants.  The first is the one from which I have harvested.  It is still large, but the other three are humongous!  The thyme, too!!

This was the bed just a month ago.  One month.  Do you think the basil will be over the top of the fence by the end of the summer???  Is it odd that the movie The Towering Inferno pops into my mind each time I pass by the bed and those basil plants catch my eye?????

I think I need some basil recipes.
Or lessons on drying herbs.
Or maybe lessons on making basil paste.
Or folk who would like to cook with fresh herbs.

Hah!  Hermits don't have folk in their lives.  SIGH.

The other day, Friday I think (??) I was nauseous and then a headache started and then my heart started racing. I just felt awful and was wishing the evening would pass more quickly.  Then, I started feeling a bit foggy.  Just in time, I thought to check my blood sugar.  It was 32!!!  Just. In. Time.  A new low for me.

Even eating tasty stuff is so very difficult when you are feeling so utterly puky.

I can't win for losing.  I gain some ground, but fall back further.  In so very many areas, but especially within this body of mine.  This body with an autonomic nervous system gone haywire.

Friday, Marie wanted lemon chicken gyros, so that was our cooking endeavor.  Such culinary bliss.  So generous is she, that Marie let us eat one and a half each, instead of just one, even though she had brought all the ingredients (and a bottle of Moscato) for the meal.

We ... we had communication difficulties there for a while.  I did not remember that she had never made the gyro dough and so was not expecting her questions.  When I am not expecting something, when I have not rehearsed it so to speak, I become rather flustered.  Marie thought I was getting frustrated with her, with her asking questions.  But I was only frustrated with how poorly I was handling the unexpected course of the morning.

Seriously, I wonder why anyone would remain my friend.

I thought about making Marie a Myrtle Guide. You know, what to do when ... complete with an index.  SIGH.

What I needed was for her to say:  Myrtle, I haven't made these before and am nervous about doing a flatbread and need some of your guidance.  She did.  She did by asking questions.  But I need the words.  When I tried to say that I needed her to let me know that she needed help with making the gyro bread, Marie was confused because she had.  She had by asking questions.  SIGH.

I make no sense.
My life makes no sense.
Nothing makes sense.

The part I left out about Thursday's dinner was that my neighbor asked me to pray for her while she was here.  I find that kind of odd. I mean, it is more what I would expect from an ex-evangelical, but she is an ex-Lutheran.  She left the church ... and all things faith some years ago. I know why she did, but I wonder if what happened was more of a tipping point than a catalyst for a sudden departure.

Over the years, as an evangelical, I encountered this before.  The non-believer who knows you believe and thus have this special access line to God.  When things are hard, the request for prayer.  Since you're religious, would you pray?  I find the requests odd because why want prayer but not want faith?

Of course I have not confided in my oft-reclusive neighbor about my own spiritual crisis, about my doubts or fears.  And I did not want to do so then.  I felt trapped.  I did not want to pray for her because I thought doing so would be a lie ... a lie to her and a lie to God.  Or maybe a ruse for her behalf that would insult God, would be sacrilegious.

I caved.  I prayed.  And even though I found it odd that she left immediately following dessert, I was glad.  I was glad because I was so scared of what I had done.  So scared that I did not eat any Double Chocolate Dr Pepper cake with her.  So scared that I cowered the rest of the evening ... the rest of the evening that I was also battling nausea since dinner was my first meal of that day.

The part I left out about my conversation with Becky the other day was our exchange about lightening striking me.  She pointed out that there are actually no God-striking-folk-with-lightening-as-punishment verses.  I pointed out that there were those two who died suddenly in the New Testament and those pillar of salt people in the Old Testament and lots of talk about God smiting folk in the Old Testament.

Smite.
Smiting?
Smitten??

I am not sure of the proper grammatical conjugation of the word smite.

What I told Becky, in all seriousness, that I worry with whatever the harm is that can be received in the Lord's Supper, I have already heaped upon myself enough spiritual harm and worry about bringing more.  If you don't know what the words of faith mean. If you don't know about your own faith.  Should you be reading the Word of God?  Should you be praying?  What would prayer be at that point?

What was it for my neighbor?
Some sort of solace?
Some sort of hope?
Some sort of just-in-case?

What was it for me?