While most everyone here is thankful for the rain that began falling yesterday evening because we are in an official drought, I am not. I am thankful for the rain, but I am most thankful for it because it kept my car from being towed.

Some time between when I arrived home on Friday and when I left this morning, someone put out emergency no parking signs prohibiting parking for the entire work week...weather permitting.

When I came home this evening, I had to park two blocks away. I was frustrated, walking through the rain to get to my house. However, I kept in mind that at least I had not spent the morning tracking down my car and paying some sure-to-be-enormous fine.

I have no clue as to the work and wonder if the rain yesterday and today means that I will have to park eons away all next week as well since the rain is supposed to hang around until some time Wednesday morning.

I am tired. Big surprise. However, it is because I am not sleeping.

Instead of sleeping, I am fretting about work and dreaming the wildest, weirdest dreams of my entire life. They are a mixture of my worries about finances and the concerns I have about my job. I am somehow battling all night long and end up even more exhausted than I thought possible.

And yet...and yet...I am considering trying to take a second job, or at least some regular consulting work if I can do so on nights and weekends. Does that even make sense? Will trying to mitigate the mountain of debt I have with a second job actually help me sleep?

I wonder.

However, the major concern I have with my new job is that the person who was there for four years before me did not document a single thing. Nothing. No files. No calendar of events. No contacts. No planning. How can I do this job while trying to also reinvent their foster care parent recruiting wheel. After all, there is no real money, so I also have to fund raise. That is, I have to fund raise after I finish designing all the new collateral they need and convincing someone to print it.

I am getting tired just thinking about it.

Will running myself ragged on a second job that could help provide for those medical bills and mortgage payments sitting on my credit cards help or hurt?

I wonder.

I'm sure you've seen those articles, those TV stories, about how dog owners and their pets start to look alike, right? Well, while I cannot say that Kashi and I have this issue, I am loathe to admit that Kashi has become rather identical to me in one particular way...getting him up in the morning is becoming as difficult as awaking myself!

When I get ready in the morning, he lazily lifts his head and watches for a bit before tucking his nose back between his paws and sleeps some more. He has to go outside before I leave in the morning, but getting him to do so is surprisingly difficult. I have to coax and cajole him into getting off his bed and then through his morning stretching just to get him to allow me to pick him up to carry him downstairs (he has been frightened of falling on the stairs for over a year now).

Sometimes I find myself growing quite frustrated at him because sometimes I just don't have the time it takes for him to be ready to go outside. Of course, at those times I do not have the time because I have hit my alarm snooze button one too many times and am late myself.

Sometimes, I cannot help but laugh at him. He has a point. I would much rather join him back in bed for a few hours than go off to work.

He is too much like me.

Can you believe that now, in the year 2007, in this century, there are still people using nooses to threaten, intimidate, and oppress African-Americans? What is even worse is that they were high school students doing so!

My heart is heavy. I am praying for the people of Jena, Louisiana. And I am wondering about the future of our country if we have high school students engaging in such hateful behavior as was done there and in Newark where a high school student allegedly took part in the execution style murder of three graduates headed off to college.

Children are attacking each other, sexually assaulting each other, murdering each other...all across America...all without impunity... and oh, so terribly easily...

I was oh, so right about Tiger!

~~~~
You know those mysteries of life? I have been missing a pink sock for quite a while. I just don't see how washers or dryers eat them up. Really, how do those socks vanish in thin air? Well, a pink mystery has arisen again.

There is this toy storage closet at work, where they keep the items donated to the foster kinds. Oh, was it a mess. You could barely walk down the tiny aisle between cabinets crammed with stuff and boxes with stuff spilling over.

Yes, you know where I am going. The chaos was just too much for me to bear. Longing from a break from the pressures of my desk (that will come later if I can find the words), I decided to pop into the closet and work my magic.

Three hours later, organization reigned! I had all the toys separated by categories and all the shelves labeled (it was my first experience with a P-Touch label machine and I am long for one new even though nothing at my home is labeled or really needs them...I am sure I can think of a use for one). I also was able to throw away a half a dozen large boxes and clear a pathway that is now twice as wide as was previous.

Of course, I worked up a sweat with all that organizing, especially since there were no air-conditioning vents in the storage closet. Since I was in there alone, I removed my jacket and worked in my tank top. However, when I did so, I found this pink stain spreading across the back of my collar and just below it.

Where did it come from? Was my sweat pink? My hair was hanging down over the collar and back of the jacket when I first started working, so I could not have rubbed up against anything. Other than the plastic toys, there was no pink ribbons or liquids or any such item that could have stained my jacket.

Alas, it was a mystery.

It is a white cotton jacket with small brown flowers embroidered all over it. Those flowers perfectly match the brown of some Chico's slacks and tank top I have, so I very much was concerned about those pink stains.

I thought about calling B since she is the most skilled stain remover I have ever known, but I decided that I would first try my trusty, stand-by Spray N' Wash. Three applications and three washings later, the pink stains were gone!

I only hope they never return...

~~~~
I won Scrabble today. Of course, when B plays, she concentrates more on playing great words than protecting those triple word spots from my greedy hands.

Still, I won!

Tiger had a bit of a rough start today. The front nine was much, much kinder to him than the back nine, falling victim to fickle, swirling winds.

Speaking of fickle, those same folks who sang his praise last night practically have him circling the drain in this tournament...and it is only the first day. I bet a million golfers out there would be grateful to hold his position in the tournament five off the lead.

Bah humbug! They will be proven wrong. Such a sweet swing as evidenced last week has not gone anywhere. Tiger will prevail!

Kashi has not been eating much for a week and a half now. He normally gobbles up the soft food I had to switch to in order to get him to take his medicine (the powdered form is all I have been able to get down him). He normally gobbles it up, wipes the plate clean enough to be placed back in the cupboard, and looks pitifully up at me in an attempt to get more.

I have put the same plate out three nights in a row; it is taking him at least two days to eat only one-third a can of his food, when he normally consumes half a can.

I am worried...

When I arrived home for work, I spent nearly two hours reading through my blog. I imagine that you are tired of reading that I am tired...

Reading through the entries was a bit disturbing for me. I realize, given my diminished cognitive capacity, this blog will serve as a great archive of my life, a place where I can read what I have so easily forgotten. However, I did not enjoy reading through the grief and hurt I allowed those folks at my previous job to inflict upon me. It was a job. It was professional, not personal. I feel weak in that I essentially put myself in that position and am ashamed at how long it took me to set aside that hurt.

Reading through the entries, I find myself to be rather boring, most often reflecting upon how ill I felt. I did not like the reminder of how rarely I actually feel good. I found myself dismayed at how often I reflect on the fact that I just don't fit in well with the human race. I was disappointed because I find little uplifting in my words.

I set about reading through those entries because I am trying to remember something.

I've written before how I would find myself sleeping with the laundry because I had yet to fold loads that had been washed sometimes weeks before. Lately I have been better about that, putting clothing away the same day it is washed.

Most often it is books that share my bed. I sleep with two or three tucked beneath my pillows. These are in addition to the books piled on the nightstand next to the bed and stacked on the floor beside it. My bible is there, the book I reach for most when I have bad dreams, when I am restless, when I want to savor the wonder of God's word. I also usually have one non-fiction book and a book of poetry beneath the pillows. The book I read before I fall asleep is sometimes placed back on the nightstand and sometimes held in my hand as the dark claims me.

Sometimes I wonder if I managed to land a husband where he would fit in the bed besides the eight pillows, the three or four books, and the one puppy dog (I have not yet figured out how the birds could sleep with me).

Anyhow, I was digging socks (I wear them to bed, but kick them off during the night) and books and eye blinders out of the bed when I found this bookmark. It is a lovely, delicate silver bookmark that has a turquoise feather hanging from the end that curves over the spine of the book. Some time in the past it must have fallen out of a book. and I forgot that it had been there.

The forgetting part is par for the course. You should know that by now. However, this bookmark was a lovely, thoughtful gift from someone. Someone who knows how much I love to read. Someone who knows how much I value the Native Americans left in this country and would welcome a product of their hands. Someone who cares about me sent this bookmark and I have not a clue who that was.

So, I set to reading through my blog to see if I could find out who gave it to me. Such a gift surely would have been recorded, if only to honor the giving and savor the receiving. However, I was too distracted by what I was reading to stick with my plan. As much as I would like to know the answer to my question, there is too much of my recent past I have no desire to revisit just now.

I suppose it will have to remain a mystery for now. I just wish there were less mysteries in my life...less mysteries and more memories.

I have always liked children. In fact, the greatest sorrow in my life is that I do not have any. From the time I was a young child, I looked forward to having children of my own. While I am loathe to admit it, that dream has most likely passed.

However, I do not like the children who live next to me and a few doors down.

They leave trash in my yard. They turn over my recylcing bin. And they knock over the bricks that edge my yard.

Most days, it is one or two or three bricks. Today it was all of them, from one end of my property to the other.

I've seen them do it. I am not a target of malice. I am just a recipient of their absolute disregard for anyone else but themselves.

I am not the only one who finds trash. I am not the only one who chases their bottles and cans all over the street. However, unfortunately, I am the only one with bricks edging their yard.

I have tried to talk with them. I have asked them kindly to desist. I have tried to talk to their parents. Neither cares. No rules. No boundaries. No consequences.

Even knowing this, I cannot help but feel utterly disheartened at the sight of the mess in front of my house. Two hours later, I had collected them all and re-set them in the ground. Right now, this moment, I am refusing to consider just how short-lived this repair may very well be.

It has been a two Dr. Pepper evening...

It still hurts to wash my hair, brush my hair, or lay on my left side. I guess my whack job was a good one.

I napped for four hours today, even after sleeping 13 hours last night. I wish I were not so tired.

Tiger Woods won by an impressive margin on a terrifically challenging course today. I hope he rolls right on through next weekend and trounces everyone else at the PGA championship. I sure do enjoy watching him.

My laundry is done, as are the dishes. The floor is vacuumed. Kashi and the birds both know they are loved and are taking naps since I tired them out with all my play. I am ignoring the call of the lawn.

My handicapped placard arrived in the mail today. I have been staring at it for hours. I wish I could put into words how it makes me feel...

W and I watched a Sugarland concert on TV tonight, singing along together, connected by the grace in my life that is Sprint. Jamming with W was such fun! Alas, it only lasted an hour.

Afterwards, I worked on filing. Last Friday, when I had mistakenly thought the concert was on and had her race home to watch with me, I ended up talking with my friend as I did my filing and cleaned up my office. Since we had some time before each of us needed to get to bed, I talked the paperwork that had piled up in the ensuing week.

What I like about W is that I can ask her stupid questions, and she will answer as if they were not. Should I throw this away? I don't need to keep this, right? Things I should know, but just didn't want to ferret out for myself. It is easier for her to do so. It is easier, and I am spared the frustration of knowing I should be able to get to the answer when I struggle to do so.

My two-drawer filing cabinet was quite full, making it rather difficult to stuff new paperwork into the files. Now, thanks to W, there is much more space in both drawers. As always, organizing is so soothing to me and seeing such a great result is so satisfying. SIGH

I did fail to find the one piece of paperwork for which I was looking. I need to place a call to B, finder of all things, to see if she can help!

I whacked myself in the side of my head with the metal part of a bungee strap this morning. I had thought it was secured when I bent over to tilt the cart so that I could begin wheeling it inside. I was wrong.

After sitting on the ground for about 15 minutes, quite dazed and quite worried, I managed to get up and reattach the strap. Getting inside was a bit of an endurance walk because of the pain radiating in my left temple. Of course, my co-workers were all for calling an ambulance. I was not.

I sat there, queasy and dizzy, coldly calculating the cost of the trip for treatment and running through my symptoms. I knew that if I had a serious head wound, like an internal bleed or a bad concussion, my vision would blur and I would grow more ill. So I waited.

Around 3:00, the dizziness had faded enough for me to drive home. I tumbled into bed and just arose. I think that after getting something to eat, going back to sleep is a good idea. I am more tired than I usually am and there is a substantial bruise on the side of my head.

Darn that strap...

Sitting in the weekly staff meeting today, I was struck anew at how much collaboration takes place in my new job. It is both reassuring and a marvel to watch.

However, I also heard something that greatly disturbs me.

I do not know how to speak up, how to voice my concern. In some ways, I feel as if I have been welcomed with open arms. In others, I feel as if I am some great interloper. I suspect, however, that in reality my place there is quite tenuous.

So, I am waiting...and wondering...and trying not to worry about what I heard...

I mowed today.

I fainted.

How is it that I can help move a tree, digging for hours on end, and be bushwhacked by a shoving a lawnmower across my yard? This couple stopped their car long enough to help me inside. I wanted most fervently to blanch myself in a steaming hot shower, but chose the tepid water instead.

Why, with all that I battle, does a hot bath have to be one of my greatest enemies? I truly think a good soak, should I survive it, would be just what the doctor ordered...

I am going to bed. Soon. It has been a long day, a long week. However, today did have a bright spot: a new disaster movie.

It was nearly 3 hours long and starred Randy Quaid, Diane Weist, Nancy McKeon, Thomas Gibson, Brian Dennehy, and a slew of other actors you would recognize at once but could not recall their names. It was nearly 3 hours of really, really cheesy drama leading up a category 6 storm created by a collision between a category 5 hurricane and a category 5 tornado storm. After about two hours, Dad and I were betting each other on the next person to die or the next vehicle that would crash. At one point in the movie, the good-guy-turned-bad-guy-turned-remorseful-trying-to-help-guy was electrocuted by four lightening arcs at once. Of course, in the midst of the greatest danger the pregnant lady started labor.

We have one more to watch. It is about an ice storm in Miami. I would guess that it is a take-off on the rather splendid The Day After Tomorrow. I'm figuring the cheese factor on this one will be off the charts.

Anyone want to join me?

It has been a WILD, WILD week since I last posted.

W....Work...For one, on Monday I began my new job. Everyone there has been ever so kind, but that couldn't off set the fact that the health insurance plan is no where near what I thought, with co-pays that will more than double my monthly out-of-pocket medical expenses. I will no longer be able to see any of my doctors or even be able to keep my wonderful pharmacist at Target. I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. I am not sure, yet, if I have managed to catch my breath. The bottom line is that barring some miracle, I just cannot afford to stay at this job. I will not be able to make even the minimum payment on my colossal credit card debt.

I....Identity...I have been struggling with these questions of who I really am chasing themselves around my mind. I am in a new job where for the first time I am responsible for growing a program. I am surrounded by people in the know, kind people, but people nonetheless who look at me sideways, with their thoughts painted clearly for all to say. She is naive. It won't work. It will be too tough. You'll understand when you are older. Older? I am 40. When will others stop seeing me as a young girl? I am a bit disheartened, knowing first that I cannot afford to stay here and second that I really believe in the need for foster care and would like to help them. I keep thinking about all the plans I had. All the dreams I dared have. My life, right now, resembles none of them. I am smart, work hard, and add value to my employers, yet I have never been paid near what I am worth. I have pictured myself with children my entire life, yet that door has almost surely closed. I write, yet I am not the writer I long to be. I am weak much of the time, tired all of the time, and feel as if I am such a poor witness for the One who has given me so much. Strange thoughts to be having when I have finally found peace with who I am, eh? I guess I am just wondering who that is.

L...Love...I have written about the ways T and B say "I Love You" to me. I had another with W. She bakes me strawberry bread; she collects the "d" quarters for my collection; she sends me MS information; and she overwhelms me with her generosity. Being loved is not something I take for granted, a marvelous reality I oft struggle to accept as true. God has blessed me profoundly by the Christian women in my life. T casts her unflinching glaze at me and speaks the blunt truth. B chastises me in her walk with Christ and the passion with which she lives every aspect of her life for Him. W shares wisdom and insight with unceasing patience for the questions I have.

D....Doctor....I saw my doctor of many years for the last time this morning (unless I want to pay out of pocket to see her). We had a most uncomfortable discussion about my arthritis. It is getting worse. Frankly, I am not sure if moving a tree, which involved digging holes for hours on end, was the straw that broke the camels back, but I am now having trouble rising from a sitting position. The stiffness in my hips is oh so familiar, and it takes quite a few steps before the pain resides to a manageable level. This is rather inconvenient as I sit and rise many times a day. She has, for more than two years now, asking me to consider getting a handicapped placard for my card. Between the asthma and arthritis, I either find myself getting short of breath or walking like an old lady sometimes. At those times, schlepping from the far end of a parking lot is hard. But I have eshewed most talk of blue plastic markers hanging from my window. Acquiescing to her advise would take me one step further from independence in my mind. Of course, fanning the eighteen prescriptions that she wrote me so that I could transfer them to the new "approved" pharmacy, I wondered if she might be right. When I climbed down from the examining table, I would have fallen had she not caught me. I accepted the form.

There is nothing more comforting than holding a baby, nothing greater at putting at least that moment in perspective for you.


I am, I confess, quite unsettled about starting this new job. It is really not enough money. It is not really a place where you can climb up the career ladder. It is really not something I have even done before (the communications yes, the recruitment no). My new boss has gone around telling everyone how wonderful I am. I am hesitant to show up in 3 days, hesitant because I might fail again, hesitant because I might not be able to rise to her expectations, hesitant because I wonder just who she saw during our three meetings. I am sure it wasn't me.


There is nothing more comforting than holding a baby, nothing greater at putting at least that moment in perspective for you.

I painted for T today. It was a bit of a pain for her to find all the stuff for me to use with her children clamoring for her attention and an ill husband home from work. Still, she managed to gather the materials before hustling the boys off to a player center to give her husband a quiet household in which to rest.

In short order, I popped the door off the hinges and taped off all the trim. There were two fixtures and a light I could not remove, so I used a child's paint brush I found to cut around the curved surfaces. Surprisingly, this worked rather well. Then it was a couple of hours of plying the roller to the walls and the brush to the corners. I think the room turned out fairly well, one of my better paint jobs.

I was glad I was able to help her. T is not one who accepts assistance very easily, although she is a loving and generous helper herself. In addition to painting, I organized her kitchen cabinets. Hopefully, they will work better for her now.

Have a list of home improvement projects? Give me a call, and I'll come for a visit. Have hammer will travel.

I am a Poker Queen! Well, perhaps not queen, but at least lesser nobility!

I went with T to a Texas Hole 'Em Poker tournament. Believe it or not...I made the final table. I had wanted to do well because T is a regular player and quite good at what she does. T is thoughtful and strategic in her play, not given to emotional or rash plays. Tonight, I thought about all those hours of Celebrity Poker I watched and all the advice Phil gave and played as he would have advised. I went out in 10th place, on a play that really was my best option given that I was short stacked. In the whole tournament, I only made two stupid plays: the first against T's sister S who always has my number and the second where I tried to take out a short stack person with okay-but-not-great cards. Still, I was quite pleased with how I played.

At the first table (we were shuffled around as players dropped out to keep the tables even), fours were coming up right and left. So, when I got a pocket pair of fours, I decided to go for broke. Another woman called me, and I sweated through the flop, turn, and river cards. Another four came up and my trips held! I took out a relatively strong player with a hand I probably should not have played, Queen/Five. He had pocket kings, but as the common cards were revealed, I ended up with trip queens. All in all, I rather enjoyed myself during that tournament.

Because S and I had made the final table and were still there close to the time the second tournament would begin, we decided to stay for it. I started well again, especially smart play with pocket aces, but I really felt weird. It is hard to describe exactly how I was feeling except to say that I was a bit shaky and dizzy and distant. I foolishly played every round thereafter and quickly lost all my chips. However, I was a bit relieved to be done.

T was all for giving up and leaving once S and I were out of the tournament, because she was more concerned about me being up late and around smoke than her own chance to earn points in the tournament by making it to at least the 20th player still left. I encouraged her to remain and sure enough she made the final table.

So, there I was...playing poker in a seedy, underbelly bar...having the time of my life!

You know, I've written many times how I just don't feel as if I belong to the human race because most of the time I cannot seem to fit in...I always seem to be just a step behind. Unless I have a role to play, such as a teacher or song leader, I just plain stink at being in public. However, I realized tonight that if I would like to have more social encounters (when I am not feeling so fatigued and ill--whenever that might be), I should find more game outings. I enjoyed having a common activity that was the focus of the evening and yet allowed for light banter. None of the awkwardness that usually haunts my every step, my ever word, while with others was present.

I am not sure how I am going pack my car to go home.

Once of the kindest things my friend T does for me when I visit her is to haul her children around in the car with me going from store to store. Definitely there is a price difference on goods between the big city in which I live and the rural area where she resides. I was able to get a stellar price on paper products and a few other sundry items. Given the already full car in which I arrived, I am not sure how I will transport them all home.

Going from place to place with two small boys is always a challenge. However, T is always willing to make that sacrifice for me.

Sleeping late. Resting more. Playing games. Good food. Great fellowship. Movies to come.

My legs were so very today that I struggled to walk up and down stairs. I kept wondering why in the world this was so. After all, it is not like I have run a marathon or anything like that lately. It hit me, suddenly, that it was because of my fall. I must have really contracted my thigh muscles as I tried to catch myself!

Leaving the temp job was a bit easy for me because I have been so frustrated of late at the work I have been doing. I think the source of this is that I have been doing significant tasks for the foundation, but the staff person who had to sign off on what I was doing kept putting me off. The work needed to be done; in fact, several of the tasks were late because of him. Here I was doing far, far more than I was being paid for and he didn't even honor what I was doing for him.

I got a few more comments about two weeks notice, but I ignored them.

At five o'clock, when my time was up, I packed up and started hustling out the door. The chief of staff actually had the gall to ask me to stay a bit and take care of a couple more things! He didn't even seem to care that my time sheet was turned in, and I would even be paid for it. I just shook my head and said I had to go.

Go I did. All the way to Pennsylvania. I wanted to see my friends since I will not have vacation for a long time after starting this new job. The drive was hard, but I made it in one piece.

Kashi is thrilled we are here because they have carpet! No falling for him and plenty of places to frolic about and run back and forth. Someone is caring for the birds. I actually miss them...

Today, I fell down an escalator while coming home from work. I managed to take down three other people before this rather burly man, most likely an ex-football player, heard the tumbling comotion and braced both arms against the side rails and stopped us all.

I felt rather badly about the harm I could have caused, but it seemed that I was the only one who came up limping.

My left leg just gave way while I was walking down the steps. That happens with MS, but it has happened rather frequently of late. In fact, I stumbled and fell this morning for the exact same reason.

I cannot begin to express how thankful I am that I have only two more times of commuting in this sweltering heat. I think the cumulative toll it is taking on me is a bit too much to bear.

Things did not go well today when I told the people at the place where I am temping that Friday will be my last day. For the most part, they were dismayed that I would no longer be there to do all that has been put upon my plate. One senior guy even made a snide comment about needing two weeks notice! Really? This from the people who have been saying that I would have a raise for six weeks now! I am doing the work of managers and directors for a mere pittance, accomplishing more in the four months I have been there than has been done in two years for the most part. I am doing this and they have the gall to complain? Go jump in a lake, thank you very much.

However, much uncomfortableness aside, I have only two more days of schlepping to this job in the STINKING HOT AND NOW SWELTERING HEAT.

This afternoon, on the way home, the metro car had neither lights nor air-conditioning. Crowded with a multitude of passengers who were clearly as hot as I made the voyage a bit smelly. Going through the tunnels in the dark was a bit spooky as well.

Have I mentioned lately how much I enjoy the bubbling fountain?

My beloved B took photographs of moss while on her vacation last week! What a show of love! I think they are pretty good, the tree one being rather spectacular! While she might not understand why I enjoy moss so (I have ten moss gardens on my deck), she knew I would most appreciate the viewing!

~~~~
I have accepted a position at a non-profit family service organization. I will be doing communications, marketing, recruitment, and resource development for their foster care program. While the salary is not near enough to whittle down my colossal debt (I dread how many years this will take), the benefits are rather good, the folks are quite welcoming, and I will have some permanency in my life after 13 months of uncertainty.

What I find interesting is that I just made a new friend where I am temping. She is engaging and funny and likes to read the same sorts of books as do I. She lives near me, too. Truly, she is the benefit of working at a place that has continued to take advantage of my abilities while not paying me anywhere near in a manner respectful of the work I am doing. My goodness, today I was asked to write a report for the national board of directors meeting! At least I know that not a day has passed where I did not honor God in my commitment to the work at hand and the level of excellence I strove to achieve in thankfulness for the small income.

I also know that I am leaving the place much better off than when I arrived. I have plowed through some exhaustive knowledge management tasks on their server, organizing all the foundation files in the process. The new executive director will have a much easier time of it whenever he/she arrives in building an organization that had heretofore been run by board members and volunteer time from the parent organization staff. I also created an orientation booklet (43 pages) for new foundation board members so that they can get up to speed rather quickly and the progress of its growth will not be hampered by changeovers in membership. During this process, I took the EPS version of its logo and created JPEG and GIFF files that can be used in starting to brand documents. For the parent organization, I also began the task of organizing some key contract information, standardizing the text and format so that the yearly agreements will be easier to craft in the future. I also created an operational guideline for the next administrative person so that he/she will have an easier learning curve than did I (much less re-inventing the wheel). The paper files are organized as well, and many operations have been streamlined, standardized, and documented. I also did a bit of technology teaching along the way. So...I acquitted myself well and honored the abilities God has given me in the temporary job He provided during this difficult time.

The best part of this decision? Only three more days of schlepping to the metro in this STINKING HOT weather. Only six more times of drowning in sweat and battling fatigue. I will be ever so glad to have this particular commute over!

While I would like to complain about HOW STINKING HOT it is here, I know that those out West have had temperatures even higher that here. I could offer that the high humidity factor here makes us even with those folks in the STINKING HOT WEATHER FACTOR, but I will keep my opinions to myself. Although, should you desire, you can read about how heat affects folks with MS here.

~~~~
While I will not go into the details of exactly how I punctured my eye with a needle, I will report that apparently the cornea closes rapidly and antibiotics and drops should put me to rights soon. Two ER visits over three days is too much. At least they were not both for Asthma.

~~~~
On a more positive note, I Googled long and hard to self diagnose that weird noise/pressure/vibration in my right ear. Having decided it could be one of three problems (two of which required a doctor's visit), I choose the easiest remedy. I plugged my nose, closed my mouth, and breathed out hard, as if I were trying to clear my ears on an airplane flight. The first three times did nothing to ease the symptoms, but the fourth was the charm. I am reluctant to admit that my ear is back to normal lest I be tempting medical fate. However, working today was much, much easier without that constant distraction.

~~~~
Have you seen the new Onstar commercial with Lucy Lu where she is talking on the phone and declines an invitation to spend the evening with Jack? Well, Jack is her dog! I can relate...

A visit to Target found me the owner of a green can opener. I inaugurated it by opening a can of black-eyed peas. I thought the combination of my favorite color on the opener and the luck of the peas might find me a job soon...

I also found the concrete top of a broken bird bath on sale for $3. While it looks a bit strange, I was able to use it to replace the dish that broke on my fountain (the original dish being just over $100.00). This winter, the water inside froze, splitting the dish in two. I resigned myself to not being able to replace it for a long while after I got a job, my mounting debt being a greater priority. However, when I saw that top on a discard pile, I grew hopeful that my fountain could be restored. I was right. While the rock and the basin do not actually match, I was able to fill the latter up enough to work the pump.

I cannot really explain why that fountain means so much to me. I do like the moss that grows over it. I enjoy watching the birds bathing in and drinking the water. I find the sound soothing. And just looking at it out the kitchen window is a true pleasure.

Frankly, despite my current situation, I believe that it was $3 well spent.

On this supposed day of luck (07-07-07), my can opener of 22 years has finally given up the ghost, kicked the bucket, passed on to the great beyond. It tried valiantly to open just one last can of dog food for Kashi, but had not the energy to cut another lid.

I admit, the faithfulness of my opener's service has dropped off in recent months. I would have to hold it at an angle and cajole it to finish the job. The amount of encouragement it needed per can grew exponentially over the past month, until this day. It punctured the lid and creaked about a third of the way around before it petered out. No words came to mind that were sufficient enough to finish the job. Its time had come.

This can opener has been with me through three college degrees, a mission trip to Africa, and moving around six states. I cannot even imagine how many cans it has opened in that time. I suppose I should accept the inevitability of it all and make a trip to Target. I just cannot help but wish it had managed to hang on long enough until I got a job...

The stars aligned and not only did I manage to make the second train that arrives the same time as the first and thus I always miss, but I also ended up in a car that actually had a working air conditioner. I was thankful for not having to wait another six minutes for the next train and most grateful for the cold air blowing down upon my rather hot body. It was bliss...so much so that I fell asleep rather quickly.

Unfortunately, I stayed asleep even when the train arrived at my stop. I did not awake until the train was four stops back in the wrong direction. The doors closed on my backpack, but I managed to get off the train. I did not get on the train going back home that was also at the station, because it was already leaving. That meant I had another 11 minutes for the next one, since "rush" hour had ended on my way home.

So, between the eight extra stops I had to ride and the wait for another train, I arrived home a half-hour later than I would have had I missed the second train and had to wait for another one when I made the switch back in the city.

So, as for much of my life has been lately, it was a day of one step forward and two backwards.

Something weird is going on with my right ear. I thought about leaving early and begging to see the doctor, but what would I tell her?

"It feels as if things are moving around in there."

"It feels as if it is stuffed with cotton. No, it feels like when you have water in your ear and you have to shake it out."

"Well, actually, if you press your palm flat against your ear and then pull it away, you feel this sucking sensation, and it feels like that."

"Or, you could say it feels like something is vibrating inside, like a string on a guitar."

Does it hurt? No...well, it is a bit uncomfortable. Really, it is more bothersome than actually painful, rather distracting you might say."

After all that, she'd put me in a straight jacket. I do not know if something is wrong or just weird. I do know it has been driving me batty all day. And...of course...I think about those horror stories you hear about someone complaining about their ear and the doctor finding a roach inside.

Any suggestions?

My poor puppy-dog has been terrified two nights in a row.

Some families in my neighborhood took the fireworks out for a test run late last night. I guess they were rehearsing for the much longer display held in a few backyards tonight. I thought fireworks in the city were illegal.

I know Kashi wishes they were. He was so terrified, trembling violently at each crack, pop, and flash. Much to my dismay, he finds no comfort in my companionship when he is frightened. Instead, he becomes trapped in his fear.

I hate seeing him this way.

I got a job offer today. It is $13K less than I earned on my last job; not enough to pay my mortgage and bills. I was heartily disappointed. It was not that I felt I was being insulted at the low pay, but rather realizing that the organization is much poorer than I thought. Well, I guess that is the wrong way to put it, but how do you describe an organization where all salaries are much lower in scale?

I had to decline, stating that I wasn't in a position to work at that pay scale. They came back to me $7k more, but that was still $3K less than what I really need to get by with only a modest monthly payment toward the colossal debt I have accumulated. I am waiting to hear their response. Without that $3K, I would be stretching each and every month...at least until my first raise.

The plus is that I would be advocating for a children and family service organization, a worth job, eh? The job itself would be a tremendous challenge in that I would add recruiting to my communications and marketing work. Will I be able to do so? Sometimes I believe so, sometimes doubt fills my mind as I envision being fired in just a few months with no new foster parents on board.

The people are great. At least, I have heartily enjoyed each conversation I have had with the woman who would be my direct supervisor. The other two players on the team were warm and welcoming as well. I suspect the entire place has a quite convivial environment. I will also admit I like the fact that they have 15 sick days a year. That is so much more reasonable than the 5 I have had since I moved here. One bad cold and you could nearly wipe out your annual allotment.

So...I wait...

I have been eating snowpeas from a deli in the same building where I work for awhile now, sometimes still marveling that I actually like them. Well, much to my dismay, the snowpeas have been replaced by sugar snap peas. They are a poor substitution.

I have been eating those less-than-tasty peas because I figured in my fatigued state green vegetables are a good thing to consume. I try not to look at the price increase ($0.75 to about $1.25) because of the weight difference. I steel my mind to think about those vitamins.

Still, I miss the snowpeas.

I should be in bed. I am tired enough to sleep all the way through tomorrow and on unto Monday morning. I should be in bed, but I am not.

I awoke quite shaky and wished that I could ignore the expired, failed inspection sticker posted conspicuously on the center of my windshield. However, I could not afford a ticket just now, so I got ready to take care of the matter. My limbs were trembling so much while I was doing so that I had to sit down several times. The bed was calling my name ever so loudly...

I had planned to just go ahead and charge the $16 I would have to pay to have the car re-inspected today instead of driving down to Woodbridge, but that plan changed when I opened the mail. In it, I found a forth notice from Toyota regarding a recall repair. Now, when I had driven to Woodbridge two and a half weeks ago, that service was supposed to be preformed. However, when I checked the paperwork, I discovered they had not done so. A bit perturbed, I called Toyota and asked if there was a time slot open for the re-inspection and the repair.

When I arrived, quite bothered because the trip took twice as long due to holiday traffic, I learned that the inspector had never even arrived this morning. I was so frustrated and so very angry and so very overwhelmed at the thought of driving all the way home, only to have to search for an inspection place and hunker down for the usually long wait that exist on Saturdays.

I finally arrived home several hours later. Exhausted.

My dearest friend B played a game of Scrabble with me, beating me mercilessly as she has lately and chatted on the phone while doing so. Still, her "virtual" visit was not enough to assuage my consternation and frustration over my day. I decided to turn to my most effective cure: organization.

One closet, the living area bookshelves, and the refrigerator later, I was beginning to feel better. I cleaned, cleared out, threw out, and organized my way to a more peaceful mindset, all the while laying down my frustration over and over again.

Sometimes, I despair at how difficult it is to lay down my burdens at the cross. I find myself clinging to them when all I want to do is be free. I couldn't be thankful that I actually accomplished my goal of returning my vehicle to a legal standing. I couldn't be thankful that I was able to make it through all the driving and all the waiting. I couldn't be thankful that I actually found an inspection center with an adequately air-conditioned waiting room. I just fixated on how difficult it was to take care of this, on how I didn't have anyone I could ask to do it for me, on how I stumbled and fell four different times because I am so weak today, on how frustrated I am that I awoke that way...need I go on? In short, equanimity is definitely NOT my middle name...oh, that it were!

At least my outlet for my frustrations is productive, eh?

Over the past few years, I have read several articles questioning whether or not there is a future for books, whether or not they are even needed with our current technology and the possibilities that lie before us.

One thing I have noted while riding the metro is the prevalence of books. Men, women, and children read on the metro. They read seated and standing in the aisle. Soldiers, executives, mothers, students, secretaries, consultants, police...you name the occupation and you will find at least one of those people reading a book.

The books themselves are as diverse as the people reading them. I have noted biographies, romances, research studies, poetry, novels, etc. In addition to books, you will also see people reading newspapers, magazines, and even letters.

I shall take a stand, here and now. I shall take a stand and say that there will always be a need for the printed word. Technologies has its uses, nay...its wonders. Yet, there is no dying that the written words provides an escape, a great way of passing the time while trapped on a crowded, hot metro train. And on a plane, in a car, on a bus, in bed, on the couch, before a fire, in the tub, and a thousand and one more places!

I, for one, am so very thankful that publishing houses have not yet surrendered to technology and still print those secondary worlds that educate us, challenge us, entertain us, and altogether make our lives more fulfilled.

I need to move to Denmark. Immediately.

In Denmark there is a movement that fits me to a T: the B-Society. I have discovered that there are actually masses of people like me, an entire subset of our society who work best later, who eschew the morning.

I am not a morning person. Frankly, I am not really awake until some time after 10:00, even if I happen to be at work. Oh, I can be productive before then, but I am not really awake. I don't want to talk in the morning; I would rather pretend that I am not awake.

The later in the day, the more I come alive. I work better. I work smarter. I am more creative. I am awake.

The majority of my writing has taken place after 10:00 in the evening. Nearing midnight just gets the juices flowing.

No matter when I go to sleep, I do not actually fall deeply asleep until some time around 4:00 in the morning. My deepest sleep, the time that passes without notice, begins around 5:00 and I awake most refreshed when I can sleep until at least noon.

I need to move to Denmark. There I could find work with an employer who understand this part of my nature, who accepts it, who allows me to fit my job to my life rather than vice versa.

I am a B person. Gee...it is great to finally realize who you are!

I left for work early because the humidity factor was supposed to feel like 101 degrees today. Therefore, after working nine hours straight, I left at 5:00. Now, normally I leave around 4:30 or 6:00, depending on if I have last minute requests (working with 7 people is a bit difficult to juggle). So, I did not realize that half the city leaves at just that time.

It took five trains, being just three steps from a door, before I was able to get on the first train. I actually only passed through the doors because someone shoved me quite hard from behind. I missed the second train connection by a step or two and had to wait for two green ones before another yellow one arrived. There we yellow riders were, all poised on the platform to rush on board, not daring to look each other in the eye lest we grow weak in our determination to put ourselves first in the rush to complete our hot, sweaty, sardine-like commute.

I made it on board, snagged the last seat, and tried to avoid looking at my fellow commuters who were crammed in the aisles and pressed against the glass partitions. Two stops later was the largest station on my journey home, and while I would not have imagined that it could have been possible, I watched even more people shove their way on board. I almost felt guilty for having a relatively roomy seat.

Standing on that first platform, waiting in the crush of humanity to slip on the train, it reminded me of when B and I were in Rome and riding the metro train there. Italians had no qualms about forcing their way on board. It didn't matter if you were lifted off your feet in the wave of riders intent on getting to their destination. It was up to you to survive, to actually shove back. I loved the rides and feared them, clutching B's backpack rather tightly so that I might not be separated from her. The time we shared on that trip, though filled with some ups and downs, is still so precious to me. I guess I was smiling, because this woman who had missed a few trains with me and was quite frustrated me asked me what so funny about our situation. I explained about Italy and that in comparison, the gentle pushing was not all that bad.

Of course, my guilt over my fellow passengers didn't last past the moment my head fell against the window as I drifted off to sleep. I still tired so easily and think of little else but sleep once I arrive home. I know that I am getting stronger, even if I am fainting still. I know that my asthma is much better after the trip to the Richmond ER, even if I am still coughing up junk from the pneumonia. I know that things will eventually change even though I am bleeding once more.

I am trying, really trying to be still before God. I am trying, because even I understand that there is nothing more that I can do. There is some reason, some purpose for all of this. I have learned more of myself and more of my faith. I have learned who my friends really are. I have been humbled by my doubts and my worries and how God has slipped in those dark moments with clear reminders that He is walking beside me, reminders of grace in gifts from others, reminders of truth in the balm of His word. And...I have found a peace in who I am that I have never known before.

Despite the mounting, staggering debt. Despite two months of struggling with my health. Despite it all, given what I have learned, what I have received, how could I regret this past year? I did not choose this. Given a choice, I would run hard and fast from this path. Yet, God choose it for me and in doing so bestowed the strength and mercy of His son upon me to help me navigate this journey.

Selah.

I had the strangest second interview. Strange in that we were talking and laughing and kicking around ideas about the task before whoever took the job. It is the third second interview I have had in four days. All of them were good in that I was calm and peaceful, completely free from worry about what I said or what they thought of me. Still, I wonder, if interviews seem to go well, why does it not follow that I am offered a job? Hmm....

If the two strongest interviews were both offered to me, I would have an extremely difficult choice: One job is a long commute, with a lower salary and a weak title, but at a place where I would be thrilled to work--a children and family services organization. The other place is just 10 minutes down the road, with a great title and good pay, but is writing about tough, technical water research. One I would relish and the other would help me get through paying off the crazy amount of debt I have wracked up over the past year. While I want...NEED...a job, I truly do not wish to choose.

Now...all I can do is wait...

One of my favorite Sugarland songs is "Stand Back Up." Funny how lyrics can speak to clearly, so intimately to you. I've been falling a lot lately, literally and figuratively. How great is God that He helps me stand back up...

Go ahead and take your best shot,

Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,

I'm laid out on the floor, but I've been here before,

I may stumble, yeah I might fall,

Only human aren't we all?

I might lose my way, but hear me when I say,

I will stand back up,

You'll know just the moment when I've had enough,

Sometimes I'm afraid, and I don't feel that tough,

But I'll stand back up,

I've been beaten up and bruised,

I've been kicked right off my shoes,

Been down on my knees more times than you'd believe,

When the darkness tries to get me,

There's a light that just won't let me,

It might take my pride, and my tears may fill my eyes,

But I'll stand back up,

I've weathered all these storms,

But I just turn them into wind, so I can fly,

What don't kill you makes you stronger,

When I take my last breath,

That's when I'll just give up,

So, go ahead and take your best shot,

Let 'er rip, give it all you've got,

You might win this round but you can't keep me down,

'Cause I'll stand back up,

And you'll know just the moment when I've had enough,

Sometimes I'm afraid and I don't feel that tough,

But I'll stand back up,

You'll know just the moment when I've had enough,

Sometimes I'm afraid and I don't feel that tough,

But I'll stand back up.

lots of sleeping...
grateful the coughing is better...
savoring the memories of great music...
time for another nap...

The concert was everything I wanted it to be...even if I ended up in an ER in Richmond. It was thrilling and restful at the same time to stand in the middle of a crowd of people all singing along to the music filling the air around them. If only there weren't so many smokers there.

I coughed for the first two hours of the ride down there (traffic made the trip twice as long as need be). I finally calmed down after four rounds of both inhalers and a special cough suppressant pill I have. However, as it has been since Monday, it seems like I am only well if I am inhaling medicine.

I had to start using my inhaler again and it wasn't really helping. Despite coughing my way through the concert, I still enjoyed the moment. As soon as it was over, I sought out the medics to see if they had a nebulizer. I knew there was no way I could drive back home without some help first.

However, the Albuterol didn't touch the attack and I grew worse and worse. Shortly there after, I was riding in an ambulance to a hospital wondering if I was going to still be breathing by the time I got there because it felt as if my throat was swelling.

The Richmond hospital was great, was an absolute blessing to me. The staff were kind and supportive and listened intently to me as they tried to stop the attack. Given the fact that my blood pressure was bottoming out and I kept choking from time to time as the cough spasms wracked my body, they administered Epinephrine and IV Benedryl. Within five minutes of the Epinephrine, I was breathing ever so much easier. For the first time since Monday, I felt as if the asthma attack was finally over. The ER doc wondered if I was developing an allergy to the Albuterol, limiting the relief that I could get from it. In any case, those meds along with Solu-Medrol (a standard emergency med--Prednisone) turned the tide for me.

I am quite weak and very, very shaky still. My heart rate is still between 100 and 110 even while lying on the couch. I slept until just after 2:00 p.m. today and feel as if I could sleep at least a week more. Yet I am breathing much, much easier. My coughing now is minimal, just enough to start moving the congestion that has been building up during the past five days. My chest and throat are sore still, but each hour I spend not coughing out of control is a hour I spend feeling better. The fatigue should pass as I rest more. The shaking should subside as the meds leave my system.

I am going to try to get into see the pulmonologist as soon as possible to see if I might finally have the key to what I need when an attack cannot be under control and to see if I really might be developing an allergy to Albuterol or if I just had too much in such a short time.

So, while going to that concert might have seemed as a crazy thing to do, ultimately it may have been just what I needed...on several fronts.

~~~~
Hmm... if I could just stop being so darned cold at the oddest times. You know, I actually used the heater on the drive home. Now, that's just plain crazy!

I had an interview today that was quite confusing. I had applied for a communications position in January and got a call yesterday for an interview. Once there, one of the two staff conducting the interview started describing a position that was not communications work. It turns out they never were forwarded my resume for the communications position, but someone had done so for this one. It is basically development work (raising human resources and capital) for their foster care program. I am most interested in family services work and what they do. I find it intriguing that they have a housing component as well. However, the job itself is not something I have ever done. I mean, where would I go to raise more foster parents? Once the shock of the mix-up wore off, they were still interested in me, so much that I have a second interview next Tuesday. I just don't know what to think. We didn't talk salary and that really is the bottom line for me. The commute stinks, but it has free parking. Using the metro is hard on me. Monday's interview is a place just down the road to me...no commute. However, it would be writing about water research and reclamation, very technical and difficult work.

I have much to think about...

Just now, I am nebulizing, taking a risk by inhaling more Albuterol. I am doing so because I am going to a Sugarland concert that is just over 100 miles away. My asthma is still bad, but I have wanted to see them in concert for two years. I have been looking forward to this concert for two months, focusing on making it through my health battles and financial worries to get to a moment of joy in music. I don't know if this is the most insane decision I have made; I am going to get in the car and see if I can get there.

I want this...I need this.

I think I could lose it if only I had the energy.

While I was coughing quite violently during the appointment, all my doctor said was that I need to go back to the ER, that I should find another pulmonologist if she couldn't see me while I was in distress, and that she herself just couldn't help with the asthma more than the basic drugs.

She couldn't believe that the ER doc sent me home, and she told me to go back and insist on treatment or go to a third hospital.

Why do I need to insist? Why does this have to be so hard? Why does she see so clearly that my asthma is out of control and yet hospital staff treat me like I am just making myself sick on purpose? Cough Variant Asthma has been identified since 1979. I have more than a dozen articles that I have found in which I have learned more about my disease in the past two months than I have over the past six years. I feel like insisting that the staff who treat me stop and read some of them first!

I didn't go back to the ER. I am not sure what to do. I used the nebulizer, but am worried about the strain on my heart. I am exhausted and confused and scared.

~~~~
I did have an interview today. I had had a phone interview with the executive director of this association last Friday. It was a rather convivial conversation that left me quite hopeful. He cracked a few jokes and was genuinely interested in my ideas. However, today he had the deputy executive director sit in on the meeting. The other man had not read my cover letter, resume, or on-line portfolio. He didn't see me as anything other than a writer. The whole experience was disappointing. But every interview is a good one if only for the experience, eh?

I am not better. I am, in my opinion, worse.

My heart rate climbed to the 190's, so I stopped using the nebulizer. The ER doc said to do it every three hours. I thought that was too much, but the coughing is exhausting, so I followed his advice.

My chest and face look like I have spent days in the sun, red as a tomato. My heart is pounding so hard you can see my pulse in my neck, stomach, wrists, and the top of my feet. I am scared, but trying to hang on until I see my own doctor tomorrow. I called and left a message to see if I could come in sooner, but her office is horrible about passing on messages.

I spent the night last night in the ER with an asthma attack. For two weeks now, I have been feeling tight, feeling as if I was heading in this direction. I tried to tell both my doctor and the pulmonologist, but I guess I didn't really convince them that something was happening. Perhaps if I had just started using my nebulizer I might have avoided this, but I am not convinced that would be the case.

The frustrating part is that I left the ER quite week and still coughing. I just don't think they got the attack stopped even with the three rounds of medicines that are quite an assault on my body on top of the stress and strain of the attack. I tried to tell the ER doctor that I still didn't feel right, but he said I was good to go if I continued to use my nebulizer. He said that I had pneumonia on my right lung and needed to let the antibiotics work. Of course, he saw me after the third round of meds before they were wearing off again. What could I do but leave?

With three strong narcotics on board, I should be sleeping just now, especially having been up all night, but I am not. My heart rate is ranging between 140 and 160 from the Albuterol and I cannot do any but huddle on the couch trembling like a leaf.

Asthma stinks!

My car failed inspection today...for tires that still had significant tread and had only been driven 34,000 miles. I could have just screamed. I was told that I had 14 days to get new tires and get it re-inspected.

I have my oil changed and the car inspected back at the dealer because it is free. However, I really, truly feel as if this was just a specious claim to get money. After all, new tires and labor would be $1,000 at the dealership. I declined their offer and drove to the Good Year dealership I have used before. The building was no longer there.

I drove around until I found an NTB and went inside to see what my options were. But by that time, I was so frustrated and so worried about money that the salesperson's words filled the air around me and weighted me down. In desperation, I called B and asked to speak with her husband. When G got on the phone, I begged him to listen to the options and make a decision for me. In a moment of pure grace poured down upon me from our Father above, G calmly listened to me, applied his thoughtful analysis, and told me what to do. He will probably never know how much that meant to me.

The hospital bill, though not my fault in its rejection, weighs heavily on my mind. I've had more medical expenses in co-pays and medicines than money I have earned this year. I have thousands and thousands of dollars in debt. And I can now add $621 in tires to that mound of financial strain.

I just need a break, just a moment when I can take a breath and not be confronted by yet another health struggle, another bill, another question with no answers.

God is sovereign even in this day. This I know to be true. While at Toyota, I was so cold in the waiting room, I could hardly stand it. Just when I thought I couldn't take it a moment more, this man who had seen me shivering while waiting for his own car to be repaired came back from his car and handed me a thick flannel shirt that was warmed by the day's heat. When I couldn't make a decision, when I could think through what I should do, God provided me someone who could. I know He is walking beside me. I know He is.

This I know. This I cherish. And yet I still long for a break...

The place where I temp has these big glass doors that only open one way. I have lost track of how many times I have bonked into them trying to open them the wrong way. After much thought, I came up with a litany to help the situation. It is either push or pull. You come before you leave. "L" comes before "s," so pull to come and push to leave.

I wrote the litany down and carried it with me for over a month. Now that I have it memorized, I start reciting it as I approach the doors, hoping against hope that I might successfully open them.

Even with my litany, I would say that I find that success only about two-thirds of the time.

I cannot help but think that it shouldn't be this way. I shouldn't battle opening doors. I shouldn't approach them with fear and trepidation when others are around to witness my utter cognitive ineptitude. I should be able to breeze through them as does everyone else in the office.

Sometimes...sometimes I almost hate those doors. I hate them for how clearly they expose how much I have lost, how much I struggle to navigate what should be simple, and how very different I am because of the disease that plays itself out in my life in so many cruel ways.

I rewarded myself today, after taking a nap when I got home from my temp job, by organizing a binder with all my medical records, articles, receipts, and correspondence. Something about creating order from chaos is oh so soothing to me.

I meet with a lawyer on the 12th. I am not sure how I feel about doing so or what might result, however I do want some kind of response to what happened while I was in the hospital, and there is no way I am paying a bill that was denied because the hospital did not follow protocol with the insurance company.

In the small hours of the night, in the quiet of the afternoon, in the silence of the morning...I remember the absolute fear I felt having the asthma attack and having hospital staff stand around debating whether or not I even had asthma while I begged them to help me. I remember when I stopped breathing. I remember how I felt when a nurse announced to the emergency response team that "she claimed she has cough variant asthma," in such a belittling, disbelieving voice. I remember getting weaker and weaker while the staff treated me like I was crazy.

Reading through the records, I discovered that I was right. Because I had trouble waking up from the anesthesia and shaking off the effects of two narcotics, I was diagnosed as mentally unstable with three different psychiatric conditions...this just hours after the surgery! Despite being drugged, despite having clear weakness and neurological symptoms, despite having two asthma attacks, everything was dismissed as being psychogenic. I was making it all up they thought!

The recordation is filled with words like patient "claims" and has snide comments from time to time. I am noted as being hysterical, agitated, and severely anxious. Like sheep, one person after another marked everything as being due to psychosis rather than even considering the organic. I mean, really, how can anyone decide someone is mentally unstable with three strong depressive drugs coursing through a person's system? Yes, tests were done, but not ones that make sense. For example, they checked for a pulmonary embolism, but did not check my blood gasses or do any spirometery following the asthma attacks.

I've lost over 20 pounds. I am so tired that I cannot make it through most days without a long nap. My limbs tremble. I have difficulty walking. I have fainted six times. And...I am still bleeding.

I stopped breathing. Something went horribly wrong, and I was treated so egregiously. I...stopped...breathing. Something went wrong.

When I first read through those records, I was so angry and hurt and confused that I could hardly stand it. Days passed, and each time I looked at them, those feelings washed over me anew. Tonight I took their power away.

They are mine now. They are organized, notated, and lined up for ammunition. So there!

My dear friend B came to help me celebrate my 40th birthday. She had traveled last weekend, but made the sacrifice of packing herself up once more and hitting the road...a bit longer on the way down because of traffic.

Because I am so tired, we hung out in my house for the whole three days of her visit. But we played games and watched movies and ate pizza. She brought her baby, so we also traded off whispering sweet nothings in his ear so we could watch his infectious smile. B even pumped before she came so that I could give him a bottle. I also fed him some cereal, but my delivery was a bit rough because I tremble even more with small movements. J didn't seem to mind the fact that much of the cereal ended up on his face before making it into his mouth.

B is amazing. She is so encouraging and loving. I truly am a better person when I am around her. On my birthday morning, she wrote and then delivered the most wonderful of letters, words that soaked into my heart and became a balm to me. Before she left, she placed Post-it notes all over the house with reasons why she loves me. I have found 15 thus far. I transferred them to the mirror in the living area so that I can read them whenever I want.

I did try to make part of the visit about her. So very much of my life has been about how poorly I feel, about the problem with the hospital, about being unemployed for a year now, about my dire financial status. I wanted this weekend of my 40th birthday to be about someone else. I washed her feet and gave her a pedicure, I gave her a lotion hand massage, and I ironed her husband's shirts. I cooked breakfast for her and didn't let her do any dishes. I cut her hair (I think it was my best job thus far) and gave her backrubs. I changed most of the diapers as well. I wish I could have done more. She deserves it. For me, it was a sweet relief to think on something other than the mess I have been floundering in lately.

This morning, saying goodbye, was the first time in a long time that I didn't cry as I watched her drive away. There was such peace in my heart from her visit. Such rest I had in her presence. To be with someone who loves you, likes you, and sees the best in you is the greatest gift one can receive.

Of course...I took a four hour nap this afternoon. While she was hear, I was most reluctant to waste nary a moment of her visit in sleeping. Though I am quite tired despite my nap, I don't regret a single minute of her visit (even when she was clobbering me at games).

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Kashi loves B as much as he does me. When she comes, his greeting is truly something to behold. For a while now, I have wanted to get one if his greetings on video tape. However, I keep forgetting in my excitement of her arrival. This time, when she called to tell me she was close, I set out the camera in preparation.

Oh, boy, he out did himself in expressing his joy at the sight of her! What was most adorable was the fact that after Kashi gave her some kisses, he moved over to the car seat and swiped J's cheeks a few times.

When she leaves, he always mopes about the house for a long while. He will trot down to the basement to look for her, coming back up with slumped shoulders and a pitiful expression in his eyes.

B loves my dog. She cares for him and accepts his quirky behavior. I think he knows this very well and appreciates the gift she gives him in her care as much as do I.

It warms the cockles of my heart that she does...

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Quirky Dog Behavior: Being frighted by the sound of a dust buster, brooms, Quicken starting, people clipping their nails, storms, flashing lights, and the chime of the camera. Barking unceasingly until someone fetches whatever toy he feels is too difficult for him to retrieve. Distributing his toys all over the house. Shall I go on?

Mowed today. I didn't faint, but I did vomit three times trying to finish. I thought about calling someone to help me, but really, who is there to do so?

I had the surgery because I was having excessively long and horrible cycles. Last Tuesday, I started bleeding again, even though I was told I would not have a cycle as long as I took this shot every three months. The surgeon wanted my reproductive system to rest. By Friday morning, the cramps, nausea, and diarrhea started as well. Thursday, she gave me pain pills, which I started taking Saturday after I finished an interview for an article I am writing. So, I spent Saturday and Sunday pain free, but in a hazy fog.

I have lost seven pounds since Thursday. Really, I feel like I am right back where I was a few weeks ago with regard to dehydration and nausea and in the same boat as I was before the surgery. My frustration has reached new heights.

Kashi, my wonderful puppydog, has stayed close by my side the last few days. I think he knows something is wrong. Have I mentioned lately what a great companion he is?

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Kashi!
Happy Birthday to you!

My puppydog is twelve today! Such a great companion he is...even if he is stubborn, intractable, and half-neurotic. He greets me with such enthusiasm and adoration each and every day. He curls up at my side each evening when I crawl into bed. And he is most willing to give me baths whenever necessary.

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I still have the heat on today. I really cannot seem to get warm. The crazy thing is, though, that I started having night sweats. There I am in bed, lying awake because I am too cold to sleep, yet I am sweating all over my sheets. I am plumb flummoxed.

I also fainted again today. I was lying on the couch resting when Kashi asked to go out. I got up to go open the back door when everything turned black. I ended up whacking my head on the coffee table. This time, I wasn't doing anything strenuous. Double ARGH!

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I did purchase some reading glasses. It truly is amazing how much better I can read with them! While perusing the selection, I decided that if I was going to be an old biddy who has to wear reading glasses, then I would just have to look like one. I found this pair that is a modern interpretation of the horn-rimmed glasses of the 50's. I think I look quite strange in them, but I added them to the cart. Now all I need is one of those chains to hang around my neck.

The other item I purchased was a new cane. Something that I have discovered is that the one I have (and use most reluctantly) looks okay, but is not that safe or very functional. I found one that has a better handle and is more of an aid for me. I almost left it behind, but the time I spent in the hospital and the difficulty I have had walking ever since, especially when the fatigue washes over me, has showed me that having a functional cane is probably a good thing. Of course, the best one would be one of those canes with a four-point bottom. However, those are just plain ugly and reek of infirmity.

So, I can see better and walk better...if only I would truly feel better...

I am freezing! I actually have the heat running right now to try and take the chill from my bones. Here it is, more than half-way through the month of May and I needed to turn on the heat. Of course, yesterday the A/C was running to stave off the heat. Personally, I think that my internal regulator mechanism has gone plumb broke.

Yesterday, I spent four hours at the opthamologist. The bad news was that she welcomed me to old age; I need bifocals. The worse news was that the blurred vision that I have been experiencing is neurological in nature, i.e., the MS is rearing its ugly head. She wrote a referral for a neurologist who specializes in this area, but he is not on my plan. I have been trying to decide if I should throw caution to the wind and see him, trusting that the money will come from somewhere eventually. The thing about neurologists and MS is that many of them just don't get the disease.

For example, optic neuritis is a harbinger of the disease. I have been complaining for a few years how painful it is to move my eyeballs up and down or to either side. When I mentioned this to the opthamologist, she looked askance at me and said," I thought that you told me you had not yet experienced optic neuritis." She then had me do this color test on which I did quite poorly. Hence, the passing of the torch to the special neurologist.

I will admit that I bawled my way through about an hour of the exam. I just couldn't accept that the change in my contact lens was so marginal (the glasses are a bigger change, but they will not be economical so perhaps they must wait awhile). I mean, she's telling me that according to the machines, I am almost as close as can be. However, when I look across a room, down a hall, or at street signs, things are most decidedly NOT the best they could be. I just do not understand how my eyes could be working and my brain be the part that is messing up the rather clear picture that I am apparently seeing. I was not ready for that bit of news. Not at all.

I do feel as if I need to figure out a way to apologize for the waterworks, for she was a rather kind doctor. She even made me laugh with all her old lady jokes. Because of how the MS affects my eyes, I cannot get bifocal contacts, so I will still need reading glasses with them. She told me I'd best go out and buy one of those silver chains to hang around my neck so I don't lose 'em!

ARGH! I DO NOT WANT TO TURN 40!

I took a nap when I got home, then folded some laundry. After another bit of rest, I fetched the snippers and trimmed the crepe myrtle that is by the front door. It tends to obscure the pathway to the mailbox. In truth, it obscures the pathway to the front door. I am reluctant to trim it, because I don't like it being lopsided. However, it has grown high enough that what I had to trim could be balanced on the other side (I usually just duck beneath the branches while using the sidewalk, but visitors have complained about that as well.). I think I did a fair job, huffing and puffing my way through it. I really dislike how weak I still am. Truly, I do...

Fancy is finally doing better. I had a feeling she was wanting to lay some eggs. I put up a "house" for her (a tent made of old television guides), and she promptly moved in. For a week, she pretended that she was setting on eggs, but now she has several of them. I am fearful these will actually be viable, because she has most diligent about keeping them warm. Fancy is even turning them--something she's never done before. In fact, she's lost 10 grams (11%) of her weight in a week so dedicated is she. Madison has been serenading her much of the time. I wonder if he thinks that doing so is helpful to either her or the development of his children.

Of course, the plus side is that she has stopped plucking Madison's feathers. You see, I discovered that Fancy had been plucking feathers from beneath her wings. I saw that she was naked there and rushed her to the vet. Of course, I collapsed while there and had to call for help to get home. Fancy was quite peaked, so the vet gave her some antibiotics and vitamins to bolster her up a bit (she wanted to give me some; this was a few days before the second trip to the hospital for dehydration). I could tell that she was better, but she just looked like she was hankering for something. She then started plucking feathers from Madison. He has a bald spot on the back of his head and one near his right ear. She definitely wears the pants in this marriage.

Back to the eggs. If you remember (those of you who read often), she was laying eggs every cycle last year. This is dangerous since the calcium needed to form the eggs comes from her body. So, I took away the tents they loved so much and the egg laying stopped. However, she looked like that was what she wanted, hence the tent currently in the cage.

The vet swears that it is hormones that drives the cycle, not having a house. I countered that neither bird acts normal. After all, it took them a year to figure out how to have birdy sex (their skill is still lacking a bit). Consider the facts: I removed the house; no eggs. I replace the house; eggs. You be the judge!

It is rather cruel to just take them away. Normally, it is not a problem because she does not stay on them enough for them to remain viable. Now, her diligence has me worried. I do NOT want baby birds. I mean, they would be adorable...but if they couldn't figure out how to care for them, I would be the one stuck with feeding them formula every two hours. So, I have to figure out how long to leave them so that she does not become depressed, but not long enough to let them hatch. [Read here for an education on cockatiel breeding.]

So, Fancy is happy. Madison is singing. And Kashi is glad that I am home.

Me? I am ready for another nap...

Mowed. Fainted. Frustrated.

I just cannot take a single breath without another blow. I came home to discover the hospital never called the insurance company to let them know that I was staying in the hospital past the out-patient surgery. Because of that the claim is denied. And even though the hospital was the one who made the mistake I am somehow responsible due to how my former employer's insurance plan was written (in-network coverage that is denied automatically rolls over to out-of-network care). The bill is $13,343.37 and does not include the individual bills from the surgeon and the four specialists who came to my room. They will come later.

This is unbelievable...

I can say, however, that God's grace has been overwhelming this evening. I bawled for two hours after my futile conversation with the insurance company before I could even start to pray. I have a small PR job that I have been battling to keep during the midst of my ill health. My first deliverable was a week late because of the hospitalizations. Tonight, I had two press releases and a media advisory to draft before a conference call at 10:00.

This evening, more so than in a long time, I have known the peace of Christ. I am not foolish to think the tears and frustrations are gone completely, but I do know that He is the only One who could have gotten me through this work tonight.

Praise Him!

Today, I got the boxes into the attic. I packed two of them with some things I wanted to keep, but really don't use all that much. This gave me a bit more space in the kitchen. I also took the opportunity to go through some of the stuff in the utility closet where the boxes were and came up with four more plastic store bags of things I could donate. Of course, I had to take another nap after that endeavor.

I find a measure of peace in having the house back to normal after the month of dirt and being in chaos from the basement floor replacement project.

I really am not a person who cares to live in disorder...

So much has happened that I genuinely do not know what to write, how to explain how I feel about it all.

A part of me wants to document each and every moment, while the rest of me wants to forget forever what has happened. I went into the hospital for day surgery and embarked on a journey of ill health that just doesn't seem to want to end. I was in a horrible hospital twice. The first time I was there, I had three different asthma attacks where I had to use my own inhalers. The third was the worst, and I ended up in pulmonary arrest. I stopped breathing. Just before, I was struggling for air while three hospital staff stood around and debated whether or not I had asthma since it was not in my chart...even though I had told both the pre-admission nurse and the admitting nurse that I did. If I had not brought my own medicines to the hospital, I would have most likely died.

For three days, I had no sleep. For 11 days, I was not able to eat. I lost 20 lbs, but have gained back 5 of them. I was so weak, which combined with an MS flare-up, made it difficult to walk. I have missed so much of my temporary job, lost out on a second interview for a permanent job, and lost a tutoring job that was quite lucrative.

I was in a hospital that was clearly battling transfer-of-care issues and was clearly not safe. I made a decision to leave on my own because of the egregious care, but the criticism I have received from those in my life for doing so has hurt far more than being treated so poorly by those who were supposed to be looking out for my well-being.

I am still tired, still weak, and still ill. The last visit to the pulomonologist ended up with her suspecting I have pulmonary hypertension. Of course, the main tests to confirm that tentative diagnosis use iodine, and I am allergic to shellfish. I wanted to talk about my asthma, about what happened in the hospital, but she is more concerned with the sinkable episode I had there (that is what they call fainting these days) and the shortness of breath I experience whenever I exert myself, such as with inclines, stairs, or carrying heavy things. I desatted in her office (my oxygen saturation dropped while I was there), and she practically acted as if I were going to keel over right before her. I can understand her concern, but I just don't care anymore. Fainting does not bother me. Neither does huffing and puffing.

Instead, I want better control of my asthma, because I am tired of waking up coughing or launching into an attack at the merest wisp of smoke wafting my way, I want something that will note that I am asthmatic so that medical personal will not dispute that again, and I want to know what four drugs I was given the day of the surgery so that I can never have that combination again.

Enough of that, though, because the tears start falling again when I think of how scared I was and how horrible I felt with phone call after phone call of questions that criticized my actions and doubted my condition.

I did managed to clean the house today for the first time in a month. When B was here to help out and then later W, I cringed at how dirty it was. The broken vacuum cleaner didn't help. But worse was the inches thick layer of dust, the dirty laundry, the filthy floors, the less-than-clean bathrooms, and the general grossness of my home.

Of course, I had to stop twice for naps in order to get the job done. I vacuumed alone for over two hours and sucked up six canisters worth of dirt, dog hair, and other undesirable stuff from the floors (Despite the rather dire financial situation I now find myself within, I broke down and got a vacuum). The dust is gone. The floors are clean. The bathrooms are clean. The laundry is done. The kitchen is clean. The dishes are done. The basement beds have been remade. The only task I have left is to move the boxes I had been collecting to the attic since I won't be moving any time soon. However, I did not attempt this yet because I am not sure I have the strength to hoist myself up through the opening while standing on the ladder.

Yesterday, I slowly moved all the books and the bookcase that was still in my living area back to the basement. I figure that it will be next to forever before I get my shoemolding (quarter round) put down, and having the living area so crowded drove me crazy. While I did manage to get everything down there, I had to spend the rest of the evening on the couch recovering. This morning, I put the books into the case. I also put out the photos and dresser items back out for the same reason. At least the basement looks almost back to normal.

Although the grass is doing a mighty job of growing, I am currently spared from mowing the lawn because my blasted lawnmower broke at the beginning of this week when I tried to attack the eight-inch high prairie that was my yard. I finished with the weed-whacker, but since I used up the rest of my line, I won't be doing that again anytime soon. I couldn't find another electric mower locally, so I ordered it from Amazon. I fear the grass will be quite high before it arrives in a week or so...