Midnight comfort...

There are so very many days where all I accomplish is getting up, feeding Amos, walking on the treadmill, feeding myself, and napping.  It still boggles my mind that great chunks of time can pass without my streaming or reading.  More and more, I find myself just ... resting ... from whatever arduous task I have done, such as get out of bed.  SIGH.

One of the side effects of the third nerve pain medication is excessive sweating from the head and face.  It is ... gross ... to me.  But it has also be a bit of an encouragement in this strange sort of way.  You see, I sweat when something is difficult for me to do, such as walking on the treadmill.  But the treadmill is not the only arduous task I face in a day.  It tickles me, in a way, that I find myself drenched after getting out of bed and dressing myself.  I have to wrap a towel around my shoulders to keep my clothing from becoming sopping wet and have to wait on any powder or mascara (about the only make-up I wear anymore) until I can wash my face after I finally stop sweating.  Why does it tickle me?  Well, I now have objective proof that getting up and getting ready is difficult for me!

The same is true for standing.  The longer I stand still, the harder it is for me to remain upright.  It is one of the chief reasons why cooking is so very difficult for me.  Yes, I get confused following the recipes.  Yes, I miss-measure quite a bit.  Yes, I even forget that I am cooking and end up burning things.  However, I also start sweating up a storm from the strain of standing.  I would do that even before I started this medication, which is why I was so very blessed when my sister bought me a fan for the kitchen.  However, now, I could fill up a kiddy pool with the sweat pouring off of me whilst I cook.  Sweating and cooking do not go well together, which is the main reason I haven't done much of that of late.  That and the whole IDON'TCARE side effect.  SIGH.

I am very, very,  very nervous about my GP appointment on the morrow, even though I am continually amazed at what a wonderful doctor she is to and for me.  I believe I have a very strong case to cease the duloxetine and it was my idea to try it in the first place.  However, I do trust her and if she wants me to continue taking it, even after I present my case, I would be hard pressed not to acquiesce to her request.

I am rather nervous about getting off of the medication, for like three other medications I am on, I have to be weaned off of it.  I have been battling wretched headache since going back to 60 mg after having been on 90 mg for 10 days or so, but the change was not as bad as I worried it might be.  I am most worried about going back down to 30 and then off if it from there.  The medication are capsules with little beads in them and some folk, when going off the medication, count out the beads to gradually decrease the medication because withdrawal can be so very brutal.  I am hoping it is not that way for me since I have only been on it for a little over two months.

Anyway, today i did a bit more:  I tortured myself on the treadmill, did my hand weights exercises and squats, reconciled two months of my bank register, paid bills, filed paperwork, took out the trash and the recycling and put the bins out in the alley, cleaned the stove, gave Amos his monthly heart worm pill, watered the plants in the solarium, scrubbed the tub, shaved the callouses on my feet, showered, and lit a fire. Oh, yes, I also fervently hoped the glop will soon start working. Day 17 of stalled innards.  SIGH.

I tended my feet because tomorrow my GP will be examining them.  To me, not having cracked heals and callouses is like not wearing dirty underwear to the doctor.  I have an ancient pedegg and this weird sort of emery board for feet.  I shave with the pedegg and then smooth with the emery board.  I used to then also use a peppermint foot scrub and finish off with peppermint lotion, but I just washed my feet in the shower as I would normally.  And I put on plain lotion, though I would have preferred the peppermint.

It is weird tending to my feet now because I get wigged out over them.  You see, if not in wool socks, they turn blue.  Even in the shower, my feet get cold.  I keep thinking about putting the plug in the tub when I shower so the warm water builds up, but I never remember when I am actually in there. Anyhow, it is just plain disconcerting to be working on your feet and watching them turn blue and feeling your fingers and hands grow cold from the icy skin of your feet.  Essentially, the Reynaud's is much worse.

Sometimes, on the treadmill, my feet turn into blocks of ice and it makes it difficult for me to walk.  My wool socks are too thick to wear in my shoes.  You would think that half killing myself on the treadmill would keep my feet warm, but it doesn't.  If I were still working and had disposable income, I would regularly buy those foot warmer pad thingamajigs that hunters and folk going to football games in winter use.  The struggle to keep my feet warm is yet another one of the daily battles I must face and which wearies me.  SIGH.

The glop hasn't worked yet, so I am in need of a bit of midnight comfort.  Tonight, I decided that would be a Dr Pepper.  Surely Dr Pepper will help things start moving along, eh?  Dr Pepper and a section of Panera French bread.  I received a gift card to there at Christmas.  Ever since I figured out how to keep French bread fresh in the freezer—I divide it into six portions, wrap each up in plastic wrap, and then put all the portions in a gallon ziploc bag—I added French bread to my meal rotation. Sixteen seconds in the microwave will thaw the bread, but not cook it, so you can still tear into it with great satisfaction.  I like eating it with a slab of extra sharp cheddar cheese.  Doesn't midnight Dr Pepper, French bread, and cheddar cheese sound like just the trick to finally turn the tide on seemingly never-ending constipation?

Seriously, I am beginning to resent Amos' ability to leave deposits out in the back yard three times a day.  At this rate, I would settle for three times a week.  Living with croci illness stinks.  SIGH.