AdventureWorld

The Bullet Dodged; The Bullet Lodged

The main reason I hardly ever blog any more is because my life has been so utterly consumed with medical drama for what is starting to feel like forever. I always said I never wanted to be one of those people who only talked about their health problems but now I AM that person. Health problems have a way of hijacking your life.
So, the things I have written about are not even the Main Event. My spine has progressed to a disaster zone. So, that bullet I’ve dodging for years, the ultimately inevitable surgery, has finally become the no choice option. But, after today, I literally don’t even know where to start first.
I’ve recently found out, from an MRI and a CT scan. that I had severe lumbar spinal canal stenosis in addition to the  spondylolistheses that was diagnosed years ago. My spinal canal is reduced to only 7 mm at L4-5. My ligamentum flavum, the big ligament that runs down the spine, is now almost completely ossified. AS—the gift that just keeps giving!
I’m at risk for permanent nerve damage now, not to mention the, uh, really un-funny pain. So, my spine specialist had already set me up to see a spinal surgeon for what would be extensive and major decompression surgery, plus fusion with  the dreaded bigass titanium screws and rods.
But, then my cervical spine is also killing me and I have developed incessant pins-and-needles tingling in my fingers.  It seemed like my already bad cervical spine was getting in on the act with these disturbingly NEW neural symptoms. So, I was sent off for another MRI and today I got the results. As you may have guessed, I also have a totally fucked up cervical situation, with severe stenosis at C3-4, C4-5, and C5-6. And, of course, risk for permanent spinal cord damage.
Motherfucker!
I see the surgeon tomorrow. I’m going to ask him if he is familiar with the term “twofer special”.

This Post Is Brought To You By The Letter L

L is for Lupus. I have it now, the version called drug-induced lupus, from taking anti-tnf biological response modifiers for years. Yes, kids, there is too much of a good thing. Supposedly it will go away since I’ve stopped the AS drugs but tell that to my malar rash. Butterfly, be gone!
L is also for Levaquin, which is the anthrax drug I just had to take an assload of because while my immune system was going WTF over the lupus nonsense, a particularly nasty respiratory infection moved in to stay. It raged for ten days of supine stupory. It was no fun AT ALL.
And L is for linger as in I fear that motherfucking respiratory infection is going to linger in my lungs forever! Really, I begin to seriously wonder.
Tomorrow I will be another year older so L is also for Lucky, lucky me! Actually, I prefer another year older over the alternative so that’s not nearly as facetious as it sounds.
L is for forgive me my lack of loquaciousness of late. I do have many things to say, someday.
And last, but not least, L is for love; gimme some.

I'll Be Dog Gone!

Yesterday I went for my allergy skin tests to determine if my hideously stuffy sinuses could be caused by a severe allergic reaction that in turn sets me up for these recurring sinus infections. That would be a better than the other possibility which is that the AS drugs have obliterated my immune system.
That would mean I’d have to stop my AS drugs. That would be a very bad thing. Indeed.
I have a history of allergies since childhood so it was a good theory. In my yout’ I was allergic to just about everything (BubbleGirl) and as an adult I’ve tested positive to most of the same things.
I had to be re-tested though because your allergies change over time and it had been more than ten years. I was sure I’d still test positive to dust mites, molds, pollens, cats—the worst culprits on my lifelong list. I’ve been through these tests twice before so I knew what to expect but the nurse explained it anyway.
She said “you’re going to get a lot of pricks”.
I said “sounds a lot like my love life”.
She snickered and stuck me 88 times in the back. She was right, eighty-eight is a lot of pricks.
The doc decided she didn’t trust the iffy pricks so I got 20 injections (owie) of allergens to get a stronger response. The results were altogether shocking, I’m still reeling from the news.
The only things I tested positive for were dust mites and ..DOGS! [gasp][insert shockfaced smiley-face bastard here]
Doggies! My favorite animal of all. And I’d just decided to get one (since it’s highly unlikely I’ll ever have a human companion to gaze at me with adoring eyes and I sooo adore adoring gazes.)
The Universe Fido-fucked me! Twenty-fours hours later I remain aghast.
A friend said “maybe you could get a poodle, they’re low on allergens”.
I made a totally disgusted face and muttered “fucking poodle” so she said (rather quickly) “or a labradoodle”.
I yelped “no oodle dogs! No oodles of any kind!”
After that outburst she left me alone so that I could sulk appropriately which is, of course, all one can do when a friend has suffered such a monumentally catastrophic disaster.
Ironically I’m no longer allergic to cats, which have always been my kryptonite ..and I’m not a cat person AT ALL. In fact, I think they’re kinda creepy and perhaps slightly evil.
Salt. Wound. Rub.  

Inopportunity Knocks

All my fun comes at a high price and the aftermath of my Alaska outing almost broke the bank. I’ve been flaring like the 4th of July. My AS hasn’t flared this bad in my foot in years, since before I went on biological response modifiers. I was hopping around on one foot for a week.

Yes, it did suck. Monumentally. But alas I’m still alive. Sorta.
My head has been so clouded with all the extra meds I’ve had to take that I’m kinda ambling through every day in a state of semi-consciousness. I’m so Day of the Living Dead, I’ve even got the zombie gait going. *sigh*

So, needless to say, it was very bad timing indeed for the MostImportantClientEver to decide he wanted me to do in one day what we’d agreed I’d have a week to do—analyzing and interpreting 500 disparate data points and preparing to explain to him what it all meant in a concise and coherent verbal report. Pulling that off would have been a miraculous feat for anyone but it was a particularly daunting task considering I was asleep on my feet ..er, foot.

It was like cramming for college finals, except without the uppers. All I had to keep me going was caffeine and fear of failure.

I can live with all the pain and various accouterments of AS fuckery but what just kills me is that it rears its gnarly head at the most inopportune times. This is happening with increasing frequency. This is sooo not a good thing.

Now, I always have that dread lurking in my mind every time I’m working on a major project or planning a trip, or just trying to live somewhat normally. Even planning a local outing with friends is too dodgy so I just don’t do it. Lucky for me I work with my favorite folks or I might just feel deprived in addition to being partially paralyzed with paranoia.

By the way, of course I pulled it out my ass and bedazzled the bejesus out of the MICE (heh). Regression, correlation, and cunning linguistics are things seldom seen packaged together, much less with such a deft touch as your truly can deliver (no brag, just fact). So when you can pull that off you're hot stuff, baby, a Goddess in the NerdWorld.

It took me all weekend to almost recover so that takes some of the twinkle outta my tiara. Trust me on this.

AdventureGirl, Interrupted

Well, that was no fun at all.
I had a very bad month of battling a severe infection. I was on Cipro for a week and got worse instead of better. Cipro is used for anthrax, just so you know.
So then I had two more weeks of a nasty "last defense" drug, which coincidentally is also used for anthrax. It wasn't until the end of those two weeks that I finally got better ..but at least I was protected from any terrorist's mailing spree. Hey, it could happen.
It reminded me what the risky part of being on an immunosuppressant is all about. Infection-- I got nothing.
I actually thought I was going to wind up in the hospital. It was kinda spooky. And really fucked up in general.
I'm fine now, infection-wise, but I couldn't use my AS drugs while I had the infection because, of course, they are the very same immunosuppressants that allowed the infection to kick my ass unabated. So now my AS is flaring EVERWHERE--I'm lit up like a Christmas tree, for fucking fuck's fucking sake.
I started physical therapy for my hands today in hopes of actually being able to use them again someday. That would be a very good thing, hands are awfully handy.
Therapy was a real pisser, more to come on that when I have more time for mockery and a mini-rant.
Also, I'm going to Zambia.

Stumbling Toward Ecstasy

As if I already didn’t have enough health drama I had to go and get the weirdest virus ever. Or I had a rare type of migraine. The ENT says she thinks it was a virus.
Whatever. All I know for sure is that it hurt like a mofo and made me so dizzy I had to hold onto the wall when I walked down the hallway so I wouldn’t fall down. Yes, really. It was dreadful with a capital D so make that Dreadful.
Walking became an extreme sport. And of course having this virus just happened to coincide with that Big Ass Bioscience Forum (BABIF) so every day I had to stand up in front of a room full of people who were spinning around me like painted ponies on a carousel and hope like hell I didn’t just tip the fuck over. It was so very Not Good.
Talk about stop the world I want to get off. Literally.
I didn’t write about it before because it’s bad enough how much of my life gets taken up with this kinda shit without spending time writing about this kinda shit ..but then again—it is my life, and this blog is like the story of my life so there you have it. Read it and cringe on my behalf.
I told meerkat the mental image of me people get, as evoked by the never-ending health drama posts, must be some beater car chugging down the road with one headlight, bald tires, and a loose muffler  ..with a fender painted with primer and duct tape on the upholstery, of course. Jalopime.
Now I have to do physical therapy 30 minutes a day because even though the (excruciating!) headache and severe spins are gone I’m still totally iffy on my feet. The ENT says my body has to re-learn how to balance—it’s like my sense of balance has to be re-calibrated.
Sense of balance, you better hurry the fuck up because I’m going to be bouncing around in a Land Rover in two weeks. That ought to be interesting.   
I don’t know why The Universe seems so hell bent on deterring me from this trip. However, if my plane crashes the reason will be readily apparent. And The Universe will be able to say I told you so.
I hate know-it-alls.

Oh! Oh! Right Thurr, Right Thurr!

I went to the orthopedic surgeon today to get my bum knee checked out. He was moving it around all over the place and twisting it in all kinda ways saying does that hurt and it was pretty much ok ..until he started up with the poking. The poking is never a good thing.
When he pressed on what I later learned was my meniscus I rose a couple of inches of the table with an OOooooWEEEeeee (Weeeee, not wheeee! Trust me, there was no wheee'ing whatsoever).
He said well I guess I don't have to ask you if that hurt.
Fucking meniscus.
He thinks it's torn but I have to have an MRI first. My insurance denied the MRI twice already--first they said I had to have an ultrasound to prove I had a cyst before they'd approve the MRI. I did that.
Then they said just kidding! and denied it again saying I had to see an orthopedic surgeon first. Okie dokie.
So now I've seen one and he said I have  to have an MRI, so I wonder how the money-grubbing bastards are going to deny it this time. And might I just add--for fucking fuck's fucking sake!
Hhhhhhhmmmm. Somehow this all just seems so familiar.
It's a lot like déjà vu except not at all.
P.S. My doctor was downright adorable so that made it a little less heinous. Also, he used to be an orthopedist for the Denver Broncos. Shout out to my Colorado friends!

Déjà vuboo

I started 2007 with a leg injury and I started 2008 with a cyst in my knee. Yes, really.
I had the ultrasound today and it confirmed the cyst that my doctor had suspected. It’s probably a politeal cyst also called a Baker’s cyst.
After an injury or period of inflammation the synovium starts producing too much synovial fluid and when the popliteal bursa fills with fluid and expands, the result is a bulge called a Baker's cyst. It's similar to a balloon filled with water.
It’s keeping me from exercising because when I exercise my knee swells up and gets so tight I can barely bend it. It feels really creepy. Sooooo tight.
And if it’s due to a meniscus tear or something that has to be repaired I’ll have to have surgery AGAIN.
Motherfucker!
Hopefully, it’s just the result of chronic inflammation or that ruptured plantaris I had last year, the thing that the orthopedic said should just heal up on it’s own with no problems. Yeah, like that ever happens. [eyeroll]
[clench]

No Pain, No Gain

I’ve been in a really bad place for a while now. I knew that physical therapy was going to be hellacious and it is. But what I hadn’t expected was the psychological toll all this was going to take. As The Goose would say it’s really taken the wind out of my sails.
I hope as my hand gets better my head will too. I wonder.
Anyways, physical therapy is something I do non-stop—literally. Even doing it constantly I’ve been making only teeny-ninesy bits of progress every day, progress that doesn’t stick unless I’m relentless—if I don’t keep it moving it locks right back up.
Lotsa pain, little gain.
Every morning it takes hours to regain the previous day’s progress so now I even work it throughout the night. Needless to say, I’m very tired but I’m getting it done.
At first I couldn’t understand why sessions with the hand therapist were so exhausting but she explained it to me. She said it’s the adrenaline.
She said the anticipation of the pain is like riding a roller-coaster, you know what’s coming and your body tenses with anticipation. She said look, you’re on the edge on of your seat and you literally hold your breath when I touch your hand.
So, the first thing I had to do was start breathing.
Breathing is a really good thing.
On a brighter note (and anything would be brighter than that blubber-fest) I just typed this with my gimp hand. Woo hoo, look at me! I can barely move my finger but (evidently) I can type.
Progress, baby, that’s what I’m talking about!
Also, I need a Vicodin. Typing is a real motherfucker.

A Wriggle and a Wiggle and a Giggle

That title will be way less funny to anybody who’s not a Buffy fan. Crazy fucking Dru. I adored her even when she was reeeeally annoying.
But surely I digress, straight outta the gate.
When I saw my surgeon on Monday she took the stitches out while I wriggled around because my poor little mitt did not like it AT ALL. She told me they had also glued it. Huh.
She wasn’t surprised that it was still hurting like a mofo because she reminded me of all the things she’d done to it in the surgery that I’d forgotten all about. She’d had to cut through a ligament to get into the head of the metacarpal so there’s that healing up.
And when she was in there she discovered that the bone had become quite deformed from the pressure of the tumor so she’d had to whittle some of the head of the bone away.
She said that is what’s causing the worst of the pain and why that joint is so tender, so sensitive to even slight pressure or movement.
I start physical therapy tomorrow. [meeps!] I was relieved to hear her say that she did NOT want me to try moving it to pincher-like to my thumb which is exactly what the therapist tried to get me to do last week before fitting me for my new cast.
Good thing I refused. I told her no way was it ready for that, fuck I was breaking out in a cold sweat just trying to wiggle it. It hurt so bad I was seeing blindingly bright colors behind my eyes.
Pardon me while I [vomit]
But on to the giggle part. My surgeon and I were talking about how I was “present” off and on during the surgery. She remembered my musical requests. She remembered asking me what I wanted to hear (after they had given me the feel-REAL-good dope before they put me under).  She said “you said Springsteen--but it has to old Springsteen, like Born To Run, not that goofy Dancing in the Dark stuff”.
She said “stuff” but you know I said “bullshit”. Guaranteed.
And I probably said “goofy-ass” ..or even more likely said “fucking”. Oopsie.
I said how about when I asking for Aqualung over and over and blathering on endlessly about him. She said the funny thing was that she actually had an Aqualung CD in there and she really wanted to put it in for me but, you know, they were kinda busy at the time. We laughed and laughed.
Before I checked out of the hospital a whole horde of interns/residents came in to tell me bye. They said they just wanted to say goodbye and give me get well wishes because I’d been so much fun.
I didn’t recognize any of them, but we’d had a so much fun???
I have no idea what that was all about and something tells me that’s probably a really good thing. File that under Ignorance is Bliss.