I Want My Money Back On This Ugly Year

This motherfucking year is irretrievably busted  and I demand to see the manager. I need and so deserve a full refund!

2020 IS, now that I've caught yur eye, a rabid, frothing dog from hell. Def not one of those cute, three headed puppy Cerebus types either.

Yesterday afternoon I had another goddamned, motherfucking seizure. Jen, Oni and I were having “tea,” watching the end of one of our new fave shows (Crazyhead) when my left foot began to shake, rattle and jolt. Having been here twice before, I figured I knew what was coming so I immediately announced that a seizure was commencing and perhaps Jen could ring up 911.

She did. 

She also called Ten who was hiking around Nut Isle – he hotfooted it back to Valhalla. Meanwhile, Oni was coaching me in the fine art of deep breathing and staying calm. Christ, I’m so lucky to have these three angels in my life!

While this episode wasn’t anywhere near as bad as the previous two convulsions, (this one was imited to my left leg and foot and I didn’t pass out), calling in the rescue squad and the EMT med crew was still a good thing.

Why was this shake-a-thon not more extreme? I’m on Keppra (anti-seizure med) so that limited the impact. Jen had dashed next door and grabbed my pills. I popped one and, within a few minutes, my quaking quieted and quit.

I felt guilty for getting the squad and EMTs out and not going to MGH (I was raised fucking Catholic – guilt is my resting state). What if I had another seizure later that night? I’d have to get them all out in the cold AGAIN. While taking my vitals, they chilled my concerns, saying that this, after all, was their chosen gig. Yeah but I don’t need to make it more difficult. Right?

I stayed home. I felt better, was able to walk on my own and didn’t need to take up the ER crew’s time. In fact, I did NOT have another seizure last night so there were wins all around.

Why did I have another bout of the shakes at all? Possibly it’s because I’d taken the previous night’s pill off schedule – not after dinner as uszh but at midnight. Jen called my neurologist, the good Doctor Plotkin. One of his associates allowed that Keppra has to be taken on a very strict, every 12 hour, schedge.

OK. OR my dosage needs to be upped.

Bottom line, it’s all that motherfucking meningioma’s blasted fault. I’m guessing I’ll be heading back to MRI-land and OR-ville sooner than I’d hoped.

Joy.

Having my day co-opted by tumor inspired spasmatic leg quakes means that I didn’t do all my PT ex or get a third brief round in on the elliptical. I only mention it but how’m I supposed to recover sufficiently before my next slice up if my old bod won’t fucking cooperate? Hmmmm?

Also, while I’m at it. VOTE!