Making Mole Hills Out Of Mountains...

Yeah, I KNOW I've got that saying backwards in the title, but this is what I've been trying to practice these days. I'm already a PRO at making MOUNTAINS OUT OF MOLE HILLS, so I thought I'd give the reverse a try for a while.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of inviting two acquaintances-turning-into-friends over to my home for supper. Without disclosing too much personal data about my guests, I WILL say one of these folks is diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and just recently lost her job...which also means, she just lost her HEALTH INSURANCE. She did not have a high-paying job to begin with, but it DID pay her rent and groceries...it also provided her with access to medical care to treat her MS. We spent much of the evening discussing the ins and outs of applying for DSHS (state aid), disability, unemployment, and so on (I even suggested she go to the ModestNeeds.org website just in case she has a financial emergency arise in the next several weeks).

As I sat and listened to my new friend talk calmly about her latest predicament, I realized just how close to the line of financial disaster she walked. I also realized just how close to a potential catastrophic medical crisis she might be heading toward...without ability to purchase her Betaseron, she risked falling into yet another MS relapse. I felt pulled by her situation, yet knew I did not have the means to resolve it for her...even if I wanted to. The most I could offer for the time being was a grilled steak meal (because my mother taught me eating well could relieve any stress! LOL), a quiet home to talk, and companionship. At the end of the evening, I bid them both farewell and hoped things might turn around for my new friend.

I've never been one to count my own blessings because I suck so badly at math. I see several bloggers writing *gratitude lists* and even THIS process feels somehow difficult or false for me (I'm not saying that applies to anyone ELSE who finds the practice helpful!). After all, my personal belief for myself is, if I am truly "grateful" for something, I will live my life in a manner that demonstrates my gratitude. In other words, I must try to BEHAVE in a way that radiates my gratefulness.

You may be asking yourself, "So how does someone "BEHAVE" gratefully?" Well, that can be a tricky question. I try to live my gratitude through action, word, and deed. Grateful behavior requires a mind set of abundance for me...I must believe and have faith that I have everything I need and I am fulfilled. It is a matter of *faith* that all is well, which requires a certain perspective.

When I am wallowing in fear, it is very difficult for me to radiate gratitude...my emotional walls close in around me in a feeble attempt to make a smaller basket in hopes of giving me a false perception that what I have will FILL that smaller basket. What usually ends up happening however, is the basket becomes so small as I try to conserve everything, that I begin to feel constricted and small...not fulfilled and with abundance.

Behaving in gratitude doesn't mean I shouldn't PLAN for unexpected events in my life (specifically financial ones), but it does mean I must have *faith* that there will ALWAYS be enough of whatever I need...be it finances, love, friendship, food, or shelter. And I have found when I am able to practice behaving in gratitude, I am much more able to participate in giving away my abundance because I will never be "short changed" in life. I am much HAPPIER in life.

Another friend of mine recently dealt with a disturbing burglary to her office. She was upset (among other reasons) that a particular rose quartz rock I had given her had been stolen and she was worried I, too, would be very upset by this theft...that someone had stolen something dear to both of us. I thought about the issue only briefly then said, "It was just a rock...now someone else has it."

So many times in my life, I WISH I could maintain the "it was just a rock" attitude. So many times, I wish I could always have the faith to behave in gratitude, but I am far from mastering this experience. I'm still working on my height perception and being able to distinguish my mole hills from mountains...

Welcome To The Fold...

ATTENTION PLEASE...NEW MS BLOGGER ALERT:

MESSY STUFF: A LIFE WITH MS AND OTHER RAMBLINGS

THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF-DESTRUCT WHEN A CURE IS FOUND FOR MULTIPLE SCLEROSIS...so, like probably not in my lifetime or yours!

Danger And Rescue On The High Seas...

OK, so my day REALLY consisted of a lake, a dinghy, a near spill in the drink, and an almost removed fingernail...but it DID include a rescue!

As you may have been able to figure out by my plethora o' posts on CHEESE this week, I've had a bit of free time on my hands. I'm currently on my 6 day furlough from my job, so I've had a few moments to catch my breath, catch up on my blog reading, and catch up on spending time with dear friends. Today's activity included the latter.

My friend and now retired work side kick, Merrinuts, invited me for a boating outing that was just my style...a dinghy ride up the Sammamish Slough for a picnic on a bright, Seattle day. You may recall, I've been on the Merrinuts sailing craft before in my prior post, Adventures Aboard The Caranda . And you may recall, my only sailing experience has been aboard a Washington State Ferry and sailing small craft in my bathtub at a young age...neither, of which, qualifies me to knowledgeably respond to a call for "all hands on deck". So the thought of a small, inflatable boat with a motor in somewhat shallow waters in the slough between Lake Washington and Lake Sammamish seemed ideal.

I met Ms. Merrinuts at the marina and boarded the Caranda only long enough to step off the back of the sailboat and into the dinghy that awaited at the stern (or is that the bow? No, I think the back of the boat is the stern...sigh). We quickly motored away from the marina and into the open waters of Lake Washington, crossing the area of the lake where float planes come and go (I only know THIS because Ms. Merrinuts "used" to be a pilot...her life degenerated somewhere along the way...LOL). It was a beautiful, albeit somewhat cool day initially on the water. We traveled eventually up the slough, taking note of the many "duck butts" in the water (aka, ducks diving with only their butt's sticking up out of the water...hence the term "duck butts") and searching for turtles. It was a gorgeous day.

After a short time on the water, a park appeared where we could push ashore and tie up the dinghy. I carefully stepped my way out of the flotation device (dinghy) so as not to fall face first in the slough muck while I got my land legs back (and my MS body uncurled)...something I'm sure Ms. Merrinuts would have wet her pants to see. We then climbed up to a bench in the sun and proceeded to eat wonderful Subway sandwiches and chips and catch up on the happenings of our lives (the sandwiches were "wonderful" because neither one of us had to MAKE them!). It was a great day.

On the way back from the park to the marina, I was promoted to "captain" and got to learn the fine points of the outboard motor and steering...I did OK with my new role, even if I must say so myself. I didn't ONCE run us aground, hit any bridge pylons, or run over any "duck butts". Captain Stubing (of the "Love Boat"?!? DUH!) would have been proud (as would the captain of the Minnow from Gilligan's Island...hehe).

When we reached the open waters of Lake Washington, we noticed an Asian family stalled in a motor boat and attempting to row their way (with only one oar) out of the float plane landing area. Ms. Merrinuts (being the kind humanitarian she is) decided to check out the situation and see if we could offer a hand. It appeared the larger motor boat had stalled in the water, most likely due to sea weed, and the engine had overheated. The family was stuck on the lake (or up a creek without a paddle) and didn't seem to have a clue of knowledge about what they should or could do to remedy their precarious situation.

Ms. Merrinuts surveyed the situation and decided the dinghy outboard had enough horse power to try to tow the motor boat...the only problem? There was no way to tie up to the motor boat and the only line the boat appeared to have off the bow was about the size of a shoe string...the eldest male on the boat made comment that they had not had the boat "in the water for quite a while" (which led us to believe the Driving While Asian distinction should also apply to watercraft).

After several attempts to tie up to the side of the motor boat and only swinging in circles, I got the bright idea to try and HOLD the tow line while pulling the motor boat behind the dinghy...sounds pretty simple, right? OH SO NOT!!!!

We finally got a larger tow line attached to the front of the motor boat which I gripped in my bare hands and attempted to slowly tow the larger craft away from the shore where we had been dangerously drifting toward. This was a very sloooooow process. Ms. Merrinuts (unbeknownst to me) decided in her captain wisdom we needed more horses pulling the craft so we could exit the treacherous waters of the float plane landing area quickly. It was a good decision as we DID need more pull...I only wish I had been FOREWARNED of the decision first!

With a rev of the outboard, the dinghy flew into motion and began its surge across the open waters as I began my "surge" toward the stern of the dinghy while trying desperately to brace myself in the boat and avoid flying into the drink! And, as I scrambled to hold my footing, the pull of the tow line tightened around my right hand and wrists, creating a lovely tourniquet, while squeezing the 5h!+ out of my hand!!! My ring fingernail of my right hand cried, "Foul!", and decided to loosen itself in a feeble attempt to relieve the pressure upon it.

I would have cursed or screamed bloody murder, except I was just so relieved to NOT be drinking "duck butt" lake water, I thought it best not to take the name of the Lord in vain...there was still a far distance to tow the motor boat and I didn't want to tempt fate.

We eventually we able to unload our "dead in the water" friends on a much larger motor boat, who agreed to complete the tow back to the boat launch area, and we returned to the marina. I continued to play it cool (while my finger throbbed and I cursed a Mermaid's grave) and wipe the blood off my hand without drawing attention to my near amputation (OK, it really wasn't THAT bad...just felt like it...and for the record, typing sucks right now, too!).

We returned to the marina and the much larger Caranda, disembarked (I love that word and I can so rarely use it), and walked to my car to say our good-byes. We laughed about our experience and Ms. Merrinuts jokingly said, "Well, we'll probably read about this rescue on the front page of the Seattle Times tomorrow."

I told her I doubted it would make that kind of news...but it would DEFINITELY make a certain person's blog... :-)

We Get By With A Little Help From Our (Anonymous) Friends...

Sometimes I stumble randomly upon things that bring both chills and tears to my eyes...here's my recent find: ModestNeeds . It is a website that was started by a guy in 2002 (I think...my memory is sooo bad and I just READ this information!). He set up a "grant" site on line where people could put in applications for assistance with things like medications, rent money, etc., and the site would review the applications, accept donations, and "grant" small amounts of money to those in need. Since he first began the website, it has grown into a several hundred thousand dollar "grant" giving machine!

Of course, I was at first skeptical. It's my nature. :-) I read about the program online in some twiddly AOL News post. Thoughts like, "fraud", and "online theft", rolled around in my brain. So, I went to the site to check it out.

After reading for over an hour about the program and doing a bit more online research regarding the financial nonprofit status of the organization, I decided to check out some of the applications for "grant" money. The first one I clicked on had a Seattle address (all identifying information is kept anonymous for privacy purposes) and I scrolled down to see what some poor soul in Seattle might be needing a few hundred bucks for. After all, the applications are carefully screened for authenticity, so I doubted the request would be from some silly Microsoft bloke who just lost his job and couldn't afford to continue his HUMMER payments (there are financial qualifiers for the applicants, who must submit several forms of proof of identity, income, status, and need). I was immediately hooked...the application read as follows:

Co-Pay For Electric Cost to fully fund this application: 750.00 Modest Needs Points

I have MS and have been using a manual wheelchair to get around for the past 2 years, after I became unable to walk.However, at this point I can no longer use a manual wheelchair due to extreme weakness brought on by this debilitating disease.I applied for an electric wheelchair through Medicare over a year ago and am finally getting this important equipment.Unfortunately, Medicaire is only paying a portion of the cost, leaving me with the remaining balance.At this point I no longer have savings and my monthly income will not cover this expense.I hope that you can help me with the remainder of the cost for this very necessary piece of medical equipment.Thank you.

I highlighted that first line for a reason..."I have MS".

After sitting for a few minutes to collect my thoughts and dry my tears, I immediately signed up to be a donor, electronically transferring a small stipend to this anonymous person. I now believe Divine Intervention brought me to this website and I was SUPPOSED to find this MSer's application. And now, I'm telling YOU about it.

Please understand I am NOT highlighting this experience as a means of receiving some sort of "kudos" or slap on the back for being a giving person...as a matter of fact, if you choose to comment on this post, I would request you leave OUT any references of that nature. We ALL do what we do when we need to do it.

Instead, I'm telling you about this site because I personally think it's a WONDERFUL grass roots means of giving. I'm also telling you about this site because it appears to be a WONDERFUL grass roots means of receiving. I know there are several who read CHEESE and have MS who are barely making ends meet...either because of medical costs, unemployment, Medicare falling short, or sudden illness/disability. And when we are IN desperate financial times, we sometimes forget it is OK to ask for help and to receive. If this description fits you, I encourage you to check out http://www.modestneeds.org/ and see if you might qualify for a "grant" to meet an immediate need.

There are also those of us with MS out here that remain gainfully employed and basically doing fine financially...and some of us are looking for more places to send our giving dollars to BESIDES the National MS Society. If this description fits YOU, give the site a looksee and decide if it is something you feel fits your giving needs.

Oh, and one last thing (for the perpetual skeptic and paranoid, such as myself)...I do not KNOW anyone from ModestNeeds.org...I have received no financial GAIN from writing this post...and I have no INVESTMENT in what you personally do with your time and money (or lack thereof)!

Sometimes it's just the *right* thing to do...

**HIGHLIGHT**
I just checked back on the ModestNeeds.org site less than 12 hours from my first discovery of it and the above mentioned "grant" for the person with MS needing the power chair HAS ALREADY BEEN GRANTED!!!! YEAH!!!!! What a great world we live in...
*****************************

**SECOND HIGHLIGHT**

Friday 8/8/08 PM

Once again, I just peeked in on the ModestNeeds.org site and found this "testimonial": August 08, 2008

Dear wonderful people who care,

I have waited 15 months to get the motorized wheelchair. I am touched by your donation and cannot thank you enough for your kindness and generosity. I have many difficult hours in a day but there are times like this when I feel blessed because of people out there willing to help when life gets tough.

With warm regards,

**Name deleted for privacy**

Now THAT is giving AND receiving in action!!!

**************************

The Bird House...

"Get down out of that tree before you fall and break your neck", she bellowed, having spotted me high among the branches of the old elm tree.

"Drat!" I thought. I hated when I could be tracked from the ground in my secluded treetops. These branches were my personal lookout tower...my refuge from the silly life of *humans* down below.

I begrudgingly began a very slow decent from my perch, deliberately pausing to notice any bug or bird that flew by. I knew better than to drop to the ground too slowly, however. Once mother beckoned, it was best to do as she instructed to avoid confrontation.

"I'm coming", I hollered out with just enough volume to seem convincing, as I gingerly scrambled down branches that recognized my frequent footpath. Completely downtrodden that I had been discovered, my special perch would have to be abandoned for now. As would the robin's nest and the baby birds I had been watching for the past few weeks. I knew if mother caught me up there that high again, I might be forbidden from climbing ANY trees...something I did almost every day. For now, I would not attract attention to my secret world of birds and bugs. The baby robins would just have to get along without me for the time being.

***

I grew up my youngest years in rural Nebraska on farm land, where glaciers had deposited rich, black soil ripe for tilling and cultivating. It is said that most of the trees in this area of the United States were brought in by early settlers, trying to make a life for themselves in otherwise flat open spaces...where winters raged and summers burned, finding shelter under a tree was a blessing.

My sisters, who were older than I, often referred to me as "the monkey", and NOT as a term of endearment. Because I was wiry, thin, and fast, they decided I had the shape of a monkey...and because I regularly climbed trees, the image was only perpetuated.

In the summer months, I was called to climb the cherry tree so that all of the precious, sour cherries could be harvested and pitted for pies. This was an accepted duty of mine and something I did not mind at all...I was the only one in my family agile and thin enough to scramble to the tops of the cherry trees and I prided myself in harvesting every last berry I could reach.

But in the spring...ah, the spring was MY season for bird watching and nest observation! I quickly grew to recognize the differences between a sparrow, a robin, and a turtle dove's nest...the typical nest-building birds in my area. I could identify the differences in their nests, their eggs, their fledglings, and their calls at a very young age. I often tried to mimic their behaviors by attempting to jump off tall structures to fly...to this day, I STILL believe I could fly if I could only get the flapping of my arms right!

Once, my oldest sister came into her bedroom and found me squatting on the metal frame of her bed...a bar that was approximately two inches in diameter and 3 feet off the ground. I had removed my shoes and socks and sat gripping the bar with my monkey toes, trying desperately to balance myself without falling. She asked me what I was doing and, at the time, I thought her question was quite silly. I explained to her I was practicing "perching"...this is still something I am teased about by my middle sister to this day. Sigh...

At some point in my childhood, I think my mother must have discovered my fascination with birds...I was so secretive as a child, or at least I THOUGHT I was...I had no idea she had caught on to the mysteries of my private world high above the ground. My mother could best be described as a quiet, but stern disciplinarian. She was usually too busy taking care of three daughters and working to find much time for spontaneous notions. But one day, she surprised me.

***

It was on a warm, spring day my mother called me from the yard to the front porch. I thought for certain I must be in trouble for something or there was a chore needing to be completed. Instead, she looked at me with somewhat of a grin and said, "How 'bout we build a bird house today?"

I stood on the cool cement in my bare feet stepping back and forth on my toes with the heel of the other foot. I had no idea what she was talking about because even I knew a bird house would require wood and probably nails and a saw...things that I knew were off limits to my touch in my father's garage.

What are we going to MAKE it out of?" I said, in somewhat disbelief, yet intrigued by the notion.

"Well, WOOD, silly", she replied in her own form of disbelief.

"Yeah, but we don't HAVE any", I argued in my nearly 10 year old voice.

"Of course we do", was all she said as she headed for the side of the house where the garage door stood safely hiding away the mystery belongings of my father's workshop. Now she had captured my full attention.

No one was allowed to use my father's things...not the neighbors, not his girls, and I had always assumed not even his wife. His tools were treated like prized possessions and he kept them under lock and key, fortressed away like gold at Fort Knox. She took the sacred garage key out of her pocket, turned the lock with it, and we entered the tabernacle of my father's workshop.

"Run back into the house and get my 'Ladies Home Journal' magazine off the kitchen countertop. We'll need it for the instructions," was all she said as she gazed around the poorly lit work area, which was filled with paint cans and ladders and woodworking tools.

I quickly hightailed it back into the house and grabbed the magazine from the kitchen with utter excitement. The "Ladies Home Journal" was my mother's bible...there MUST be something in it that had driven her to unlock that garage and risk the wrath of my father! Surely God must have spoken to her in the fine print.

I raced around the corner of the house clutching the magazine, exhilarated by my mother's new found freedom and daring...I could NOT, after all, be in trouble for entering my father's private temple if I was with HER. Yes, she'd be shouldering the blame for this one if there was punishment to be handed down. I presented the magazine to her as if it were sacred text and smiled up at her face. This was proving to be a delightful day after all.

My mother thumbed through the magazine until she found the section she was searching for and laid it out on a work bench, holding the pages down with two, quart cans of paint. She studied the page for a few minutes while I danced in place, waiting for my next instruction. And then she spoke again.

"OK, grab that piece of plywood over there and bring me your dad's hand saw from that shelf". She was suddenly very business-like and focused. I did as I was told, wondering for a fleeting moment if my father could possibly dust the saw for prints and somehow sentence me to hard labor for touching his tools...the thought passed quickly and, without hesitation, I became my mother's apprentice.

For several hours that day, we drew outlines and cut small pieces of plywood based on the diagrams in the "Ladies Home Journal". Once the pieces were evenly cut to match the drawings, we hammered and nailed each piece into what began to take the shape of a bird house. And then, to my complete amazement, my mother studies the many paint cans lining the garage shelf (my father was an interior/exterior painter by trade) and chose a bright, yellow paint, which we proceeded to brush onto our tiny, little building. The paint dried quickly in the afternoon sun and the bird house was ready to mount on the clothes line.

We eventually got our bird house securely fastened to the post of the clothes line and stood back to admire our work. It was now somewhere in the mid afternoon...we had become so engrossed in our project together, neither one of us had thought to pause to have lunch!

My mother stood beside me, looking up at the bird house, with smears of yellow paint across her fingers. She did not in the least bit seemed worried what my father might say when he discovered we had entered his workshop without invitation and used his tools with utter abandon. Instead she was smiling with what could only be interpreted as a look of accomplishment.

Without breaking her gaze at our beautiful, yellow bird house, she spoke. "There. Now you don't need to climb so high in the trees to watch the birds".

***

I miss climbing the trees...almost as much as I miss those rare, but wonderful times with my mother...

**NOTE**POSTED ORIGINALLY IN YELLOW PRINT, WHICH "BLINDERS OFF" WAS KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME KNOW COULD NOT BE READ! THANK YOU.

Here's A New One...

For the past couple of days, I've been experiencing a strange skin sensation...as if I have loose hairs or spider webs on my face and forearms/hands. At first, I thought it must just be some kind of dry skin issue, but lotion doesn't relieve it at all AND my skin is not dry. Then, I decided perhaps I have finally fallen off the deep end of the pool and I am experiencing tactile hallucinations. But the REST of my world seems status quo, so I don't "think" I've finally lost my last screw. There is nothing there...absolutely nothing to wipe off my arms/hands or my face (because I thought maybe I was just walking into spider webs routinely...I mean I DO try to keep my house clean, but...LOL) and it is the strangest sensation.

Anybody else experience this phenomenon? Come on...you can tell me. I won't think you're nuts (well, maybe a little)...

Open Season For Big PhRMA...

Occasionally I have the BoobTube on at my home, mindlessly playing in the background (OK...admittedly, I DO watch one or two programs of high-quality TV, like Judge Judy and Oprah...hehe). And today, I was actually WATCHING the noon news broadcast WITH the sound on (I prefer to make up my own headlines with the pictures, thus the sound OFF), when I noticed the barrage of commercials for research studies for depression, bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, etc. There must have been at LEAST FIVE different commercials for varying disorders attempting to entice me to call a number (that is, IF I am a healthy individual between the ages of 18 - 55, OR if I am between the ages of 18 - 55 and SUFFER from one of these disorders) and donate my body to an "investigational study", aka DRUG RESEARCH PROGRAM. I took notice.

Now, before those of you currently IN MS drug study programs (or any other research program for that matter) start girding your loins for what I am about to type, remember THIS: I, too, participated in a MS DRUG research program back in 2005. That's right...I was given two infusions of a drug that rhymes with "BITE-UXIN". I have YET to receive any follow up from the pharmaceutical company or research facility that sponsored this study...I've also YET to receive any acknowledgement or confirmation that the "BITE-UXIN" medication I may or may not have received caused me to develop severe hypertension AND my MS actually WORSENED during this study...which led to being exited from the study, a change in neurologists, and being started on a new MS medication. Hmmm...I imagine my participation data just didn't make it into the final figures as it was FAR from positive. But, anyway...

I was enticed into the above study/research program by my neurologist at the time due to failed responses from two other MS medications. It seemed like a good idea...it even felt slightly altruistic. I could donate my "body and my health" to MS study AND maybe receive a personal benefit of slowed disease progression from the drug to boot! Who wouldn't go along with THAT idea?!? Of note: I also remained gainfully employed, had more insurance coverage than God (which I still do), and had little to lose other than time and possible progression of my disease...which the LATTER could occur anyway, with or without drugs or studies. I'd like to think of myself as the PERFECT candidate for drug research, if I do say so myself. And, the study PAID ME NOTHING for my participation, except free MRI's and labwork and "maybe" "BITE-UXIN" or "maybe" not...good times, good times.

Now, back to the TV ads. What bothers me greatly about these new TV ads is my concern the pharmaceutical companies are now PAYING a bit of cash out to participants. That's right..."if" you qualify, "you could receive up to $1500for your time and travel expenses, and the cost of the medication is free".

OK...again...before anyone stoops so low as to think at this juncture I am DEFENDING Big PhRMA, PULEEZE! There's just something about the noticable increase in these drug study ads and the PAYMENTS now attached that smells stronger than Puget Sound floating with dead fish. I mean, why so many drug studies right NOW? Why not, say a year or two ago...BEFORE THE UNITED STATES ECONOMY WAS SINKING FASTER THAN THE TITANIC? Before people's houses were being foreclosed upon at a rate faster than in the past 20 years? Before there were so many citizens having to choose between buying a gallon of over-priced gasoline OR pay their rent? Before the unemployment rate reached the highest level than we've seen in years? BEFORE PEOPLE WEREN'T SO DESPERATE TO MAKE $1500 DOLLARS BY SELLING THEIR BODY TO A PHARMACEUTICAL COMPANY FOR RESEARCH JUST TO MAKE ENDS MEET???

I dunno...I know I suffer from a lack of faith (and a paranoid personality), but something just smells awfully fishy about the sudden influx of all of these study ads and their financial enticements. And I'm afraid Big PhRMA has recognized, for just a few bucks, it can be open season hunting for study participants anxious to pay their bills in our current economy.

Personally, I think the pharmaceutical companies SHOULD pay their participants in some way. So how about FREE HEALTH CARE paid for by the sponsoring pharmaceutical company for the rest of my life just for taking the risk the study drugs might potentially eff me up????

Yeah, that sounds like a fair trade...

Sometimes, I Cry...

I rarely talk about my job in this blog. That's because federal laws prohibit me from disclosing details of my interactions with the patients I see and it is in extremely poor taste to publicly discuss another person's pain when they are in a most vulnerable place. I also rarely ever discuss the impact my job has on ME, unless it is to bemoan my long hours or some silly condition/problem such as the enormous paperwork load attached to my employment.

Most everyone who has read CHEESE for any length of time, knows what I do for a living: I work within the title of a "Commitment Specialist", regularly doing psychological evaluations with individuals and making legal decisions whether or not they meet my state's criteria for psychiatric commitment. I am a government employee or *civil servant* and I am paid via my state's tax dollars. I work in a unique brand of emergency services, unlike any other in the remaining 49 states. My job involves "crisis services" to the mentally ill in my county and I am called to respond to a vast variety of tense and stressful situations involving mental health crises...sometimes even potentially violent situations, armed only with common sense, my voice, and a cell phone to call for help. I often work nearly 10 hour days, 4 days a week, in an unusual patterning of hours, which can include ANY set of hours in a 24 hour period. I am called to respond to hospitals, homes, shelters, the streets, the airport, police stations, the jail, and any other physical location there is a mental health crisis within the boundaries of my county.

My job requires me to *investigate*, much like a police officer investigates a crime, to uncover what (if any) symptoms of a mental disorder a patient may be experiencing and how (if any) those symptoms are creating an imminent risk to either the patient, others, or someone else's property. I am not allowed by the court to "predict" a patient's behavior, but rather I am called to establish "probable cause" for risk. I must make my decisions whether or not to revoke a patient's civil rights and take them into custody based on evidence and my years of experience working with the mentally ill...I am asked to establish for the court a pattern of symptoms and behaviors that establishes probable cause that a patient is at risk of harm.

So, why am I telling you this? I suppose it is a means of explaining to you what I am exposed to on a daily basis and why I sometimes cry.

My job is *technically* quite easy...give or take about ten legal forms that must be filled out whenever I take a person into custody and place them in a locked psychiatric facility for evaluation and treatment...and the numerous other pieces of documentation that must accompany my court forms. Revoking someone's civil rights...the ACT of doing so...is as simple as a "yes" or "no" decision. The decision itself is not why I sometimes cry. The stress of my job...going from crisis to crisis...is not why I sometimes cry. The hours of my job and the physical demands of my job are not why I sometimes cry.

I sometimes cry because everyday in my job I stare down the face of human suffering. I sit or stand next to someone who may be teetering on the emotional edge of life or death...who's pain is so intense or so great, they see no other options than suicide. I quietly observe the lives stolen by raging mental illness...souls lost in a world of fear and hallucinations and delusional thinking and unrest. I stand beside those society sometimes deems as "throw aways"...covered in street grime or their own urine or with hair matted to their foreheads or covered in self-inflicted physical scars. I hold a place for those that call me horrible names or spit at me or threaten to harm me because the voices in their minds tell them I am not safe and neither is the world they live in. I have smelled every foul, human smell that exists and I have stood in every bodily fluid we humans excrete...smells and fluids left in the wake of emotional disturbance. I have watched lives lost to unknown worlds within the human mind and I have been witness to lives taken by human hands. It is my *job* to bear witness to this human suffering. And it is this very human suffering that is often the catalyst behind my sometimes tears.

People familiar with my work often ask me, "Why do you do what you do? Wouldn't your life...your WORK...be so much easier behind a computer screen or at a desk?"

What is difficult for me to explain to these people is the fact that I love my work...and I wouldn't want to trade it for the simplicity...the monotony of a desk in an office somewhere. Because it is through my work I truly believe I am given the closest proximity I will ever find to reach out and touch the human spirit...something few people are ever given the opportunity to touch. Something many are too frightened to place their hands in...to be honed by the fire of the human spirit. I am both honored and humbled to bear witness to another's vulnerability...and I hold this vulnerability in sacred space.

Sometimes I cry because I feel overwhelmed with sadness and grief as I recognize so acutely what has been lost in a person...and what can never be. And I see their pain as they struggle to accept or acknowledge that this IS their life...perhaps with a means of making changes via medications or therapy or other behavior modifications. But sometimes, these usually viable solutions are not possible. And having to be the bearer of this sad reality to family or friends or concerned love ones feels as if I am the Grim Reaper...I am providing a death sentence to someone who must now live the rest of their life with it.

Sometimes I cry because I become overwhelmed by the vastness of this human experience...because the depth is both breathtaking and dizzying at the same time. And because sometimes, the depth of human suffering has no noticeable bottom. It is as if I am staring into a great abyss...as if God, herself, has granted me the opportunity to be a part of something far greater than myself that I can neither understand nor explain. And it is through this extreme place of fragility and vulnerability a small grain of strength is uncovered in another human being...a grain of truth that, when discovered, grows and produces lasting strength that they will hopefully carry for their lifetime.


Sometimes I cry because my OWN body and spirit require an emotional cleansing...a washing away of the many things I see in my job and a cleaning of my mental slate. It is through my tears my OWN spirit is nourished and its thirst is quenched. I am reminded through my tears that, but for the grace of God go I...that I am no different than the patients I serve...that I, too, am both vulnerable and strong...susceptible to disease and suffering and hardship. I am reminded through my tears that I must rise each day and go to my job, as if it may be the last day I am granted such a privilege, and I must take full advantage of ALL that life has to offer me in this day. It is through my tears I often find my own strength and peace.

Sometimes I cry...and each time, I thank my Maker that I still CAN shed tears...

They're Finally Gone...

Four days of earth-shaking, sonic booming, noise of the Blue Angels flying and dive bombing over my house is just about all I can take. Thank goodness SeaFair has ended today...I think the constant roar of the fighter jet engines zipping just above tree line at my home has taken a life or two from my poor, little feline's 9 count.It's official...I've turned into my mother. I'm no longer fascinated by noise and speed and daredevil stunts. Unless, of course, I'm driving...

We're All Going To Die Of Something...

It's a fact of LIFE...DEATH, not unlike BIRTH, is part of this lovely hamster wheel we all run upon until our feet no longer can spin the metal frame in our cage. Just like Elton John sings in the Disney Movie, "The Lion King", it's the *circle of life*...yet somehow, in cute, little animated characters, we think this "circle" only celebrates the first two stations of the wheel: Birth and Life. Rarely do we celebrate or look toward the third station...DEATH. It's a phenomenon I just don't get in our culture.

So, "why?", you ask am I blogging today about DEATH? Good question and my reasoning is two-fold. First of all, a dear friend of mine just experienced the death of her brother-in-law while ON the phone with her sister...he literally died while she was discussing the "what to do" as medical professionals were requesting guidance...to cease CPR or continue. What a horrible phone call to have to take. But I know my friend has a deep spiritual center and she will celebrate the "circle of life" once the shock of the phone call/event has lessened.

My second (and far more personal to me) reason DEATH has been on my mind these past few days has stemmed from reading the myriad of reports swirling around the Ethernet regarding the most recent cases of PML associated with TYSABRI use in Multiple Sclerosis...the MS drug I am currently taking, as are about 32,000 other MSers world-wide. If you'd like a FACTUAL account of the two recently reported cases, I suggest you go to Sunshine And Moonlight Blog and read Kim's post...it's straight from the press release.

In case you have not been keeping up with your medical journal and research reading (because that's all any of us with MS have time to do...read crap!), just this past week, two MS patients in Europe have received definitive diagnoses of PML...Progressive Multifocal Leukoencephalopathy (that's a Wikipedia link...because I love them so), which is thought to be related to their use of TYSABRI. They are both males, were both on TYSABRI for over a year, and are BOTH very much alive at this point. It seems plasma exchange may be the new sheriff in town where the PML bandit lives, and PML "may" now have a reasonable treatment...eliminating what was once thought to be a death sentence among AIDS patients and other immunosuppressed individuals...those folks that developed PML from their compromised immune systems LONG before PML was ever connected to TYSABRI.

Oops...there's that word again...DEATH. I sometimes lurk on various MS message boards (and I DO peruse a LOT of MS blogs, but not always leaving comments because I get sick of hearing what I have to say, so I KNOW other bloggers must too) and the SWIRL of activity regarding MS, Tysabri, and PML is generating enough energy to power a third world country. It seems there are two very distinct sides in the conversations: those who are adamantly AGAINST Tysabri use and those who are adamantly FOR Tysabri use in Multiple Sclerosis treatment. Personally, I believe anytime someone is "ADAMANT" about anything, they are probably missing a large portion of a bigger picture...like the OTHER SIDE OF THE CONVERSATION! And I am *adamant* about this...LOL

My thoughts/feelings about TYSABRI use are specific only to ME...which my life is all about...ME. And what I have to weigh out when deciding what drug (if any) I am willing to take is the "cost" of the treatment...and I'm not specifically talking about monetary issues here, although that can be a factor. I'm talking about weighing the benefits versus the risks...because, let's face it, folks...unless you are wearing blinders on your eyes and soul, ABSOLUTELY ALL WESTERN MEDICATIONS COME WITH RISK FACTORS. Even Aspirin can kill people.

Every day I am bombarded with new studies or "facts" (I use that term loosely because, more often than not, "facts" change throughout the course of time) about how this food or that drug or this activity or lack of activity can increase or decrease my risk of premature or even mature death. I've never understood THAT concept either..."premature death"...since we're all on the big chalkboard of life to be crossed out at some point, how do we KNOW our death is "premature"?!? What if it just WAS our time to go because we chose to live a certain way with the set of circumstances we were born with? I don't know...this "fact" confuses me. But I digress...

And every day...I mean EVERY DAY...I make conscious and unconscious decisions on how to live my life from the moment my fat, little eyelids open after my 4-5 hour nap, which most people refer to as "a night's sleep". I base these decisions on what information is available to me at the time, my inner *wisdom*, and of course, my MAGIC EIGHT BALL...sometimes substituting the ball for a pair of dice. Every day my eyelids are open, I understand this day...I mean THIS DAY...could be my last one in which I spin my hamster wheel. Prematurely or not...THIS DAY, death could come a knockin' and slap me right out of my wheel...thus completing my personal circle of life. So be it. This is life, folks...risks and benefits.

Biogen Idec/Elan Corporation publishes a 1:1,000 ratio of developing PML with TYSABRI use NOT with concurrent use of other immunosuppressants...they believe the risk may be higher if other immunosuppressants are given during the use of TYSABRI. To the Federal Drug Administration, this is a reasonable ratio...there is always a risk ANYTHING can kill or maim us...including aspirin...and there are MANY, MANY other pharmaceuticals on the market besides TYSABRI that have a much higher ratio/risk of death or development of other diseases that can cause death. These are the "facts" (which WILL change over time...trust me...I play a doctor on the Internet...LOL) of which I base my TYSABRI use decisions upon.

But those "facts" are just a small portion of the information I take in regarding MY use of the drug (and again, before those of you ADAMANTLY against TYSABRI use fire off your hate mail telling me I must somehow be the anti-Christ of MS, remember this is MY circle of life...not yours!). Those are the *risk facts*...flipping to that other side of the coin are the *benefit facts*.

Now, here lies the big unknown for me...the BENEFITS...and this is a much more murky pool I swim in. My TYSABRI use came about by a process of elimination (no, I'm not talking about toilet habits here). You see, I have TRIED all of the other MS disease-modifying agents available and, for one reason or another, the meds didn't work, didn't fit my lifestyle, or had side effects that were worse than my own brand of Multiple Sclerosis. TYSABRI simply became the next new kid on the block for me after the use of Novantrone for a year FAILED to curb my MS enthusiasm in my brain...got the pictures to prove it, so I suppose that makes it a "fact"...hehe.

Do I have any FACTS that TYSABRI is of benefit to me at this point in my use, having just received my 4th series dose (but 8th lifetime dose)? Nope, not a damn one. But, then again, I don't have any FACTS that it is HARMING me either. That's the beauty/curse of MS...the disease rarely shows its hand and only through symptoms and MRI can ANY of us gauge where our MS is taking us. SOOOO, since I have no FACTS that the drug is harming me at this juncture and my MS symptoms appear to be stabilizing externally, I continue to consent to take TYSABRI...even in the wake of the latest PML reports in Europe.

Am I willing to *risk* that 1:1,000 possibility of developing PML myself? You betcha! Just like I'm willing to risk getting in my car every day and driving in a United States population estimated to be somewhere around 304,771,000 with a 2005 vehicle fatality rate nationwide of 43,200. You do the math here...that's an approximate (I never was good at math and I am rounding figures...bite me!) 1 in 7,088 risk. AND that population figure is NOT actual vehicles and eligible drivers in the USA! The *risk* I might die in a vehicle fatality rises GINORMOUSLY when one subtracts out from the census all the folks in the United States who do not drive...which, of course, I do not have figures for (must be classified information by our government as we would not want terrorists to know how many of us drive in the USA!). So, since I live in Seattle on the West Coast where it appears drivers obtained their driver's education from NASCAR, I'm guesstimating my chances of dying in a motor vehicle accident HERE are about 1:1,000. I imagine the difference between death from a motor vehicle accident or death from developing PML is simply the *fact* one will hopefully KILL me faster than the other.

And here I come full circle once again on my personal hamster wheel. I'm gonna die of SOMETHING...that's a *fact*. Details of this event are yet to follow...or at least the details of my death as I type are currently unknown to me (unless YOU know something you're not TELLING ME?!?). It is frankly not important to me at all how I "go" or how DEATH comes and slaps me off my metal wheel and leaves me motionless in the cedar chips at the bottom of my cage.

What IS important to me is how much I LEARN and how much I LOVE as I put one foot in front of the other and spin my wheel...all the while the Circle of Life spins around me. Because when I finally meet my Maker, I truly believe I will be asked, "How much did you learn and how much did you love in your lifetime?"...I just don't think I'm going to be chastised or made fun of because I chose to accept the *risk* of 1:1,000 and take TYSABRI for my MS OR for driving my car...

Calculating With The MS DUMB Factor...

I wasn't born an idiot...but I seem to be developing INTO one quite nicely these days. No, as a matter of fact I *USED* to have an IQ in the triple digits...hovered somewhere slightly above average...I managed to lie, cheat, and steal my way into becoming valedictorian of both my graduating high school and nursing school classes. From a bird's eye view early on, it appeared I had been given enough brain matter to last me well into old age, give or take a decade or two from hard living and alcohol saturation!

Then, along came Multiple Sclerosis. And with the disease, I slowly began losing several million brain cells with each popping lesion that appeared in my head. But even WITH MS, we all know each of us possess several BILLION brain cells...what's a few million gone over a life time when the ratio is THAT high?

Well, I'm here to tell you...yes, I'm quite certain I STILL possess that gazillion ratio of firing brain cells up in my noggin (MRI proves it...I DO still have a brain), but it seems those several million cells that have vaporized into MS lesions may have accumulated in some important areas of my brain. Like speech, and word-finding, and calculating critical or complex problems.

For all practical purposes, my MS seems to have stopped boiling my brain of late and is instead running at a very low *simmer*. Whether it has been the effect of the Tysabri, a change in my routine, or simple planetary alignments, my personal brand of MS appears to have stabilized for the time being. **Insert big WOO HOO here** I am happy to report a stabilizing of physical symptoms currently in my life...this is a "good" thing, by anyone's standards and I am certainly NOT complaining. Far be it for me to annoy the MS gods with balloon-squeaking, fingernails-on-chalk-board whining. LOL

What has NOT stabilized and appears to be worsening over time, are my speech patterns...my ability to THINK in words and construct meaningful sentences. My friends poo-poo my notion that it is my MS causing me to bumble/mumble like the town idiot...they sight OLD AGE, hormones, and stress as primary factors, telling me they, too, have a similar experience. I personally think *they* have lost much of their long-term memory and can only recall I have recently celebrated a birthday...it's what's on *their* minds right now and *their* only point of reference. But I also know I have friends who are 10-15 years OLDER than me, and THEY do not appear to be experiencing the degree of aphagia I have developed.

For those of you not in the know or just too lazy to Google *aphasia*, the word loosely refers to having difficulty producing or comprehending language. It comes from the Greek word, "aphatos", which translated means "speechless". Aphasia can be a primary symptom in certain types of traumatic brain injuries (strokes, TIA's, physical trauma, etc.), where the ability to speak meaningful sentences is interrupted. More often than not, an aphasic person can KNOW what they want to say, but cannot WORD FIND or pull up the word(s) that represents the concept they are trying to form. This, of course, is NOT true for all types of aphasia and *aphasia* is just too large a topic to cover here...seriously, Google it (can I use that as a verb?!?) if you want to know more! G-O-O-G-L-E.

Our primary speech centers are located (usually) more in the left hemisphere in the frontal cortex (Broca's Area) or in the posterior temporal lobe (Wernicke's Area)...both of these speech-producing and comprehension areas are not that far from the corpus callosum (relatively speaking...pun intended). And anyone with half a brain and Multiple Sclerosis knows what the CORPUS CALLOSUM is famous for, right??? MS LESIONS!

OK...before everyone with MS who reads this starts panicking and signing up for American Sign Language courses (in the event you can't speak, right? Sorry folks...if you develop expressive aphasia, you STILL won't be able to formulate sentences even with your hands!), let me say this: The human brain may be small in size (about 3 pounds normally...you won't notice drastic weight loss from losing brain cells), but millimeters between areas in the brain are like MILES on a road map...THOUSANDS of miles. And our brains are always working to form new pathways around anything that sets up a road block in the communication process between parts of the brain (see NEUROPLASTICITY for an entire WORLD of information about this subject...that's right...GOOGLE it!). So just because you might develop a MS lesion in a particular area of the brain, does NOT mean you will necessarily lose functioning of that area...but you might...and like me, you "might" blame a particular problem/symptom you are having on MS. Whew...I think I've come full circle to the topic again...I think.

The ability to speak and comprehend speech is so very important to me...it is, after all, a necessity in my job. I have to be able to speak to patients and comprehend what they are saying back to me...no matter how off the wall or crazy they may sound! And even then, I have to RECOGNIZE that what they are saying isn't making much sense. Confused yet?!?

I have noticed my word-finding abilities tend to worsen when I am tired or more stressed than usual...this is typical of almost ALL MS symptoms. Because our nerves/axons slow down their firing processes as WE slow down or become distracted. And yes, (for all you naysayer-it's-just-old-age friends that might be reading this) this simple fact IS true for everyone, not just MSers. But piggy back onto NORMAL aging processes/tiredness the idea of MS FATIGUE or MS SYMPTOMOLOGY, and you've got a higher than average probability word-finding is going to be a *betch* (used that spelling for YOU, KoKo!). And I find I am *betching* more and more about my inability to formulate meaningful sentences these days.

Typing for me has been a godsend of late...I can use a thesaurus or GOOGLE (there's THAT notion again) concepts to find the appropriate words I am looking for...then, plug them into sentences that have blanks in them. This unfortunately does NOT work for public speaking! The thesaurus in my brain often appears to have white, unused pages blowing in the wind that whirls around in my noggin. I struggle to find a SIMILAR word to the word I CAN'T find in my head. And sometimes, I will find a word that SOUNDS LIKE the word I originally wanted to use, but it is soooo far off, I end up sounding/looking like a complete dunce. Like "feline" and "feminine" or "extrapolate" and "extricate"...or much worse, "masturbate" and "masticate". Those last two words are certainly NOT words ANYONE would feel comfortable misusing!

Fortunately, in many situations, these same naysayer-it's-just-old-age friends will finish my sentences or fill in the blank(s) FOR me...my life becomes a game of "sounds like" charades. Everyone readily participates in coming up with whatever word they THINK I mean or I'm wanting to use. This is helpful...to a point...but much of the time, the only *point* I readily feel is the one at the end of my cap...

Too Lazy To Change It...

Yeah, whatever...that entire vertical side bar over there is one big, fat lie and I'm just too lazy to change it! That's right...I'm now 44, not 43. And I'm going in for my 4th TYSABRI infusion tomorrow, which is a far cry away from my first. The brain pictures are still of my crappy MS noggin, but I'm sure even THAT has changed, too, since I first posted them up there.

What hasn't changed this week is my summer cold, which still seems stoopid to use both of those words in a single description: summer cold. I continue to blow what appears to be infected sinus crud from my aching head, but refuse to consult the medical profession for a remedy. I DID email Dr. She Who Will Not Be Named with a "hypothetical" question about Tysabri infusions and colds...just to be on the safe side...because I didn't want to get there tomorrow and once again be turned away because I wasn't the *perfect* infusion specimen. It seems no one really cares even if my head were on fire before my infusion...just as long as the flames don't cause any kind of neurological symptoms! Works for me.

I finally have cleared the gazillion GoogleReader feeds from all y'alls prolific posts this past week-ish or so. I DID try to leave what I deemed "witty" comments on your blogs, but I'm afraid I may have blown out some brain cells from my nostrils this week, leaving me with humorous comments that are only funny to me!

Even my cat has grown sick of me hacking up lung and leaving microbe-infested snot rags laying around...she's taken to jumping vertically up in the air every time I clear my bronchioles and batting my Kleenex box just out of my reach like a hockey puck. I'd blow my nose on HER, but I'm afraid her hair might stick to my snot and form a Hitler-esque mustache on my upper lip...so NOT a cool summer look...but I imagine it would one up the look I've already got going: Kleenex jammed into my nostril and flapping freely in the breeze to permanently "wick" my mucous away. Hmmm...too much information??? LOL

I'm so tired right now, I'm even too lazy to change my mind about posting this absurd blog post... :-)

Oxymoron: Summer Cold...

A summer cold has caught me...I certainly wasn't hunting it! The cold seems to have sneaked up on me when I wasn't looking. Either that or, those nasty toilet seats in my work place really ARE a butt-sized petri dish of microbes...since the only place I have been lurking all week has BEEN at work. Oh, and for the record: No, I have NOT been licking the toilet seats. :-)

I do however, frequent many building-sized petri dishes on a daily basis when at work...they are called H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L-S. And my theory is, if you weren't sick BEFORE you entered a hospital, you will be when by the time you are LEAVING. Makes sense though...these are places SICK PEOPLE go!

So, don't mind me...as soon as I can sqee-gie the snot from my face, I'm sure I'll be good as new. I'm just needing to take a little time out to rest in between my work hours. I can't afford to be sick and miss work...I need the insurance!

Best Friends Forever...Or Until The String Rots...

One of my favorite delights about my sister's visit a few weeks ago, was being able to spend time with my niece and nephew...kids grow up SO fast and it has unfortunately been a few years since I last saw them. I was so pleased to send their parents off (sis and brother-in-law) when I could and just get to know these two genetically-related individuals on my OWN terms...1 on 1...with both of them.

One of the many somewhat "unusual" things I keep around my house are various arts and crafts...not because I anticipate visits from a gaggle of teens, but because I have either previously been interested in the craft or currently trying to teach myself some new project. Last year, I attempted beading and macrame with hemp...but this was strategically NOT at a good time in my life during a relapse, when fingers, eyes, and short-fused patience from steroids caused me to want to weave a life sized noose out of the hemp cord instead of jewelry! (I'm kidding...I think) And, as is somewhat typical of ANY of my craft projects, the hemp weaving/macrame got shoved into a draw with an assortment of beads, never to be fondled again.

Until my niece arrived. I noticed her making multi-colored friendship bracelets out of embroidery thread one evening and I remembered I had the hemp cord and beads collecting dust in a drawer. I asked her if she might be interested in learning how to macrame with it (I of course purchased an assortment of "how to" books that were also filling the drawer) and her eyes lit up like the butt of a firefly. She spent the next several evenings of her vacation learning new knots and loops and macrame skills that were quite impressive...all the while staying up late after the rest of the family had gone to bed and talking with me. I was in spoil-my-niece heaven.

I asked her how she would wear all of the brightly beaded bracelets she was crafting and she told me they were not for her, but for her friends. She pointed out a thin, ankle bracelet she was wearing made out of tiny knots and told me her "best friend" had made it for her. She said they both made each other a bracelet to wear, signifying they were "friends forever"...until the thread eventually rots and the bracelet falls off.

I asked her (with a psychologically concerned look on my face that only an auntie who has 22 years of work experience in the mental health field could possibly wear) what seemed a logical question at this point: "How can you be friends forever until the thread wears out and the bracelet falls off? Wouldn't that happen long before "forever" arrived?"

She laughed at what was obviously seen as old-age silliness in my question and explained slowly...so her OLD auntie might possibly understand. "Well yeah," she said. "It probably will fall off before FOREVER, but not before we stop being friends."

Still puzzled, I inquired further. "But what if it rots and falls off BEFORE you stop being friends? What then?"

I could tell at this point she was becoming amused by my concrete thinking and probably concerned I was just "too old" to understand. She talked even slower at this juncture, obviously hoping her explanation might sink in.

"Weeeeell", she replied. "If it falls off BEFORE we stop being friends, then we just make each other a NEW bracelet to wear for the NEXT forever." She smiled that, "you really do have Alzheimer's" look and shook her head. Forever didn't mean FOREVER...just "for ever" during THAT particular time frame. Life seemed to be FULL of "forevers" to her...moments...pieces of time that could be dissected and remembered through tangible representations of friendship bracelets and school activities and birthdays and...there was more than ONE "forever" in her life.

This concept of time really fired up the ol' brain cells in my noggin' and I got to thinking about "forevers"...how I think or believe something will ALWAYS be the way it is in the moment, only to discover a new "forever" enters the picture and changes the very thing I thought unmovable or unchangeable. Take for instance, Multiple Sclerosis...or better yet, MY MS. Just when I seem to grow accustomed to or "accepting of" this or that symptom as "forever", it up and changes on me...and then I spend a great deal of energy and time adapting to the NEW forever!

The conversation with my niece brought home that NOTHING is forever. There's always another "forever" waiting right around the corner. And I can become anxious or even mourn the probability of fraying of the "thread" of my life and the eventual loss of my metaphoric friendship bracelet OR...I can anticipate with great joy what my NEW friendship bracelet in life will look like in my newest "forever" state.

Yes, I know...a philosophical concept that cannot REALLY be explained via the symbolism of a 15 year old's friendship bracelets! Sigh...but still, I try. LOL

While we were visiting the beach two weeks ago, my niece and I stumbled upon two, identical hemp macrame bracelets that we decided we needed to both wear...our symbolic "friendship" bracelet connection. We each tied our bracelets on as securely as possible, vowing NOT to remove them before they "wore out" (while I contemplated just how MANY germs I might be carrying around in a piece of jewelry that would be soaked in bath water, then dragged through God knows what on my wrist!). Now, almost two weeks later, my matching friendship bracelet on my wrist is beginning to show signs of wear and tear...the ends are beginning to fray and I am reminded of its fragile composition. I will be sad when it finally DOES fall from my wrist...just as I was saddened to say "good-bye" to my wise, but young niece when she left.

But, instead of crying over the loss of something I have now grown USED to on my wrist, I am anticipating with great joy the prospect of buying new materials to MAKE us both another symbolic bracelet! And I am very much looking forward to my next "forever" meeting time with my young niece...whenever THAT might be...

Time Flying By...

Here it is Sunday evening already and I am on the verge of starting yet another busy work week. Time seems to have FLOWN by this past week!

I am nearly recovered from the family tour of duty, but got a phone call from a dear, old friend from Houston, TX (the old BrainCheese stompin' grounds), this week informing me she was HERE...not Houston...but in Seattle at a Transit Conference. Talk about NO warning! But then again, just as old friends do, we were able to pick right back up where we left off the last time she visited...although the lack of notice DID require me to quickly PICK UP my house and complete the cleaning process required to scrub out the remains of the family visit.

I spent most of Friday remembering old times with her, laughing until my stomach hurt, and catching up on the details of my friend's life. We had a spot of tea a bit too late in the evening, which I believe was the culprit to my extreme insomnia until 4:00AM Saturday morning!

After finally falling asleep, I was awakened all too early by the vibration of my cell phone Saturday mid drooling sleep time...it was my neighbor calling to "consult". Apparently she was having a medical crisis (not sure why she would ever trust MY medical judgment, given my history, but...LOL), so I went to investigate. Low and behold, I discovered my neighbor looking like something from a bad cartoon! She was turning several shades of "hot red" and had developed a rash all over her body...and she was mumbling about a particular medication she takes causing a horrible side effect. After a quick and dirty assessment, learning she was now experiencing a "thick tongue", I decided she was having some sort of allergic/medication reaction, so I popped some Benadryl in her gullet, and drove her to the ER. Who knew that NIACIN found in a vitamin B-complex could cause such a dramatic reaction?!? (This was the final diagnosis by a trained emergency room physician...not me!)

Medical crisis resolved, I sprang into high gear to prepare for a party at another friend's house...this required a touch of shopping, a shower (yes, they let me in the ER with my bedhead and all to accompany the neighbor!), gathering a few friends for the convoy, and a short drive across the lake (via bridge, silly!). I spent a wonderful evening late into the early morning with another group of friends.

And then there was today...let's just say I am a bit "friended" out at the moment, having spent another entire day with ANOTHER set of friends! I finally arrived home this evening to a cranky cat, who believes I have abandoned her, which will require me to humbly submit to her every need at the moment. Holding her atop my shoulder while trying to type is a balancing feat I have almost mastered. I am oddly looking FORWARD to returning to work at the moment...

Now, I must travel to my bed and try to sleep, so that I can rise up early tomorrow morning and work a day shift doing some training with a new employee...the start of yet one more grueling work week of day shifts, meetings, and appointments. UGH! In the meantime, my gifted laptop has suddenly decided not to recharge itself, so I may have to run it to the APPLE store for a look under the hood. Without the laptop in my bed, I am no longer able to lie down comfortably and post blog entries OR read my favorite blogs...sigh. Life is hard at my house. LOL

On a final note (yes, thank goodness I am almost through here!), I received a lovely email from a fellow MS blogger alerting me to her blog here . Just click on the "here" (not there), and you will be redirected to a wonderful and fellow Washingtonian blogger. I have also added her to the link at the side bar for future reference under "J" for Jo Franz.

Move along now people...there's nothing more to see here...

The Empire Strikes Back!...

Ah, yes...once again I sit with somewhat smug satisfaction, having *won* yet another neurological battle with the "Dark Forces". I am pleased to report I will NOT be dragging myself out on my birthday this month to visit the neurosurgeon! YEAH!!!! That appointment is officially cancelled following this email exchange with Dr. She Who Will Not Be Named:

BrainCheese (Yoda): In spite of myself and my innate skepticism (about Tysabri, etc.), I seem to have turned a wonderful MS corner and I am doing remarkably well. My hands/fingers have returned to a semi-normal state of feeling (but I began losing SKIN off my fingertips two weeks ago like some sort of plague had set in?!? Go figure...) and my neck is at a tolerable level of discomfort at the moment.

Of COURSE this leads me to question the relevance of seeing a neurosurgeon on XX. I have so little to complain about, after all...your thoughts? Do you think this appointment is reeeeeally necessary?

Dr. SWWNBN (Darth Vader): Glad to hear you’re doing better. I guess you can hold off on seeing neurosurgery.

BrainCheese (Yoda): YIPPEE!! I mean...er...OK. Thanks. Besides, I really didn't want to spend my 44th birthday a neurosurgeon's office. Yes, that's right...I am and always WILL be younger than you! (And I really AM doing quite well at the moment)

The truth of the matter is, I really AM doing quite well neurologically these days...and REALLY in spite of myself and my habit of extremely poor self-care. LOL I survived the whirlwind family tour relatively unscathed and feel physically well at the moment. Oh, sure...the *usual*, crappy and lingering MS symptoms remain...those I've grown used to. But there is nothing NEW to report on my MS radar screen, and this feels like REMARKABLE news to me, given my past month of self-imposed intense stress.

Is TYSABRI to blame for my return to wellness? Who knows and frankly, I don't care...but just to appease the MS gods and NOT anger them, I AM going in for my 4th Ty infusion on the 29th. I don't want to test fate at the moment..."something" appears to be working in my favor, so I'm gonna stick with the same game plan for the time being. I'm sure that is, until I get another hair up my hiny to play doctor with myself (Wait! That didn't come out quite right...) and make my own medical changes in my regimen. Hehe...

I am finally catching up on some of my blog reading and have noted several of you NOT doing so well at the moment...I am sorry to read this. I wish we ALL could feel as good as I do for the time being, but such is the nature of this unpredictable disease. Thinking of you all the same...