Flickering light...

I am weary of being weary and weary of this blasted cold.  This merest bit of cold is felling me as if I had a ginormous case of the flu.  Amos, too, is weary of playing nursemaid.

Of course, the whole nursemaiding thing has gone both ways.

As much as I've talked about my sheepgoatcatratbastard puppy dog, my dear friend forgot about the goat part.  And I was too weak to deny Amos his new babies once he caught sight of them.  They are very inventive things, with squeakers in the head, crinkly paper in the middle, and rubber feet.  It's the latter that is a problem.  Amos knows no limits as to what can be consumed.

I saw the rubber feet and thought of donating the babies right away.  But Amos was already whimpering for his new beloveds.  I caved and have been cleaning up his vomit ever since.

Yesterday, I held a mass surgery of what was left of the eight limbs on his two new babies.  I am not sure who disliked the amputations more, Amos or I.  Hopefully, now, the stubs left will be enough to keep the stuffing inside but not enough to be chewed off, swallowed, and vomited up later.

SIGH.

I received this votive holder as a gift.  Who would have known what an utter blessing it would be!  Now, the few votives I had on hand are much smaller than the candle that came with it, but perhaps I will find some properly sized candles in the store when I fetch prescriptions tomorrow.

[I'm seriously considering wearing a mask and gloves to do so.  I'd also almost be willing to sign over the house if someone would go out into the germ-infested world for me to get those prescriptions and more cold medicine.]

The cut of the glass of the votive holder makes it so that, in the dark, the flickering light is very similar—albeit on a much smaller scale—of that of a fire.  With the warmer weather of late, I have enjoyed the soothing flickering on the table next to my chair in lieu of a fire.  I did, however, run through all three of my old votive candles.

So, tonight, I built a fire.  It is colder, after all.

I still have a sore throat that is only truly unbearable when I sneeze.  The latter makes my ears hurt, but only then.  I cough if I try to talk to others, so I've been holed up in solitude and silence.  I am still running a fever and am really, really, really weak.

The only good news is that, after months and months and months of trying to determine why it was that the lab where I've gotten my blood work done is now suddenly out of network, having failed both appeal processes, I received a call that the problem was discovered:  the lab's new billing company was using the wrong NIP code.  In the world of insurance, having a correct NIP code is worth your weight in gold.

Sadly, this news came literally minutes after I broke down and paid the three blood work bills, since the "final" notice from a collections agency came today.  Once my insurance has solved the lab's billing company's errant practices, I should be refunded my payment.  Should.  What are the odds that refund will happen in 2015? 2016??  SIGH.  I suppose it is a good thing that I have yet to spend any of my small amount of Christmas money, save for to have Becky send off a few spice packets for me as belated gifts.  The pressure to gift is overwhelming.

Still, the even better news is knowing that I can continue going to the lab that is about a minute down the road from my GP for any services I need.  Future billings should be done correctly.  

Oh, wait, I lied above. I did use some of the money to get a second heating pad for downstairs.  Bending over to plug and unplug the one I keep upstairs in my bed makes for fainting and near fainting.  Sunday was such a terrible innards writhing day that I broke down and ordered a second king-sized heating pad.  The heat helps with the pain and to also relax the abdominal muscles that tense up against the pain making the pain worse.  It's a vicious cycle.

I was screaming at one point, drowning in the throes of the worse spate of pain thus far.  Given that I have been battling nausea rather often of late, I was rather despairing there for a while.  What writhing has come since has been more bearable.  Perhaps even the thought of a heating pad in both my languishing locations has helped it be so.  The heating pad will be delivered tomorrow.  I shall have to endeavor not to fall weeping about the neck of Mr. UPS Man when he comes.

I no longer care that the autonomic malfunctioning that can make my skin (and body temperature) too cold means the use of a heating pad makes my skin look like a snake's body far more easily that the average person.  I'd rather a less painful grotesque looking abdomen than a normal looking one be my lot in life.  In case you are interested, the technical term for the problem is erythema ab igne and can lead to less-than-pleasant problems.  I've already received a few GP lectures over the matter, but since heat is the only thing that helps with the pain, I'm not giving it up.

Heated car seats can lead to the same problem.  Guess it is a good thing that I have an old car.  See, there are lots of ways to be creatively thankful in the midst of unthankful things.  SIGH.

If you pray, would you please pray for Michelle, the author of my most favorite and full of comfort dysautonomia blog?  She's gone silent.  That's never a good thing.