The Big Day

That’s tomorrow mes amis. Jen will drive us in at five-ish in the AM. I’m due at six for prep work. Barker comes on stage at eight and has the OR booked for me, him and a half dozen or so residents for the next nine plus hours. Yeah, we’re doing stadium seating and the popcorn and beer vendors will be working the crowd.

I threatened to roll in scream-singing Humble Pie’s I Don’t Need No Doctor. He smilingly replied “I’m not a doctor. I’m a surgeon.” Note to self: though he laughed, it may not have been smart to roll my eyes and say “same/same Dude.” I allowed that I’d go with the Stones Start Me Up then.

He noted that I’d likely be asleep already and wouldn’t be able to make a grand entrance. OK, I can work with that too. My johnny is sequined, RIGHT?!

In any case, Saint Jen will post a How’d-That-Brain-Slice-up-Shit-Go on Saturday, most likely. Me, I expect to be doing a LOT of Zs between now and Monday. Anything and almost everything can happen in those 8-10+ surgical hours. I’m kind of hoping but not anticipating that I’ll come out with big fat angel wings, a smaller (yet still nicely rounded) caboose and pipes rivaling Grace Slick’s.

I don’t want much...right!?

Also too, if you’ve not watched WandaVision yet, do it, do it, DO IT! We watched the final ep last night and it was brill (NO spoilers here)! The show’s not perfect but, get past the first two meh eps and it’s wickedly, pull-you-in engaging.

OK then. Look for Jen’s weekend update and I’ll, likely, be back in a week.

Cheers all!

Flagrant Insouciance

Woke up with Diamond Dogs blaring in my head

As they pulled you out of the oxygen tent
You asked for the latest party

Oh yeah, Babies! This tune inevitably brings me back to my last year on the carnival road. Particularly to some bucolic spot well outside of Chicago (where we’d been playing South Side street corners all summer). I was so eager to get the fuck off the road, to start my next chapter. I’d play Bowie and Talking Heads at top volume on my little 8-track (yes, an 8-track), vibrating the walls of the pickup truck cap that was “home.”

I had to get through spots in Texas and Louisiana before I could, rucksack over my back, board that Trailways outta Lake Charles for Boston. I made it. Thanksgiving Day, 1980.


Insouciant
adjective
showing a casual lack of concern.

You need to be flagrantly insouciant.
You care way too much.
And because of that you will be paralyzed for life and miss out on everything.
~ Wendy Wunder, The Museum of Intangible Things

Study the past if you would define the future.
~ Confucius

What have I learned from my past to aid my future? Humor is good. Music — even if I can’t hear it outside my head anymore — is a lifesaver. Yesterday I was ‘listening’ to the Carmina Burana. AWESOME!

"Go back?” he thought. “No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!” So up he got, and trotted along with his little sword held in front of him and one hand feeling the wall, and his heart all of a patter and a pitter.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime you find
You get what you need
~ Rolling Stones

I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.
~ Roger Zelazny, The Courts of Chaos

This wasn’t prayer anyway, it was just argument with the gods.
Prayer, he suspected as he hoisted himself up and turned for the door, was putting one foot in front of the other. Moving all the same.
~ Lois McMaster Bujold, The Curse of Chalion

This morning is my pre-op COVID test. I’ll be stunned if I have the GQP Plague. I haven’t left the house (‘cept for MGH) in a month, have no symptoms and only see Ten, Jen and Oni, (also without symptoms and VERY careful).

One foot in front of the other, I draw closer.

Monday, Monday

According to Mr. Martinez, there’s an old Orc saying:

That which does not kill me can kiss my ass.

Yeah baby, tell it!

At this time, in four days, I’ll be suiting up for my, happily unconscious, day of BRAIN surgery (that should, like totally, always be in all caps).

Here’s the deal, I used to be out like a light before they wheeled me into the OR. Lately, and I’m not sure why this is, they keep me awake.

Possibly, the staff figures, I’m such an old hand, a nine time (more or less — I’ve lost count) neurosurgery vet, that I wanna greet the crew, say g'mornin', before they knock me out. Yeah, that’s cool and shit. The first time they did this, saying ‘don’t you want to be awake to see the doctor beforehand?,’ I allowed that I trusted Fred was gonna show up and wouldn’t need my blessings to start up. What was I gonna say? It was kind of an awkward moment, eh? What DID I say? ‘Hey man. You get a good nights rest? Bonne chance and shit. Now, could someone please knock me the fuck out?’ 

Yeah, I’m a real treat.

This time, when they wheel me into the OR, I’d like some pre-show entertainment. How’s about they get a scrub suited Cerberus, (AKA great hound of Hades) or a nice sea monster like Scylla, this’d be WAY more fun for ME and this is ALL about me. Dig?

How’m I spending my pre-show days? Attempting to cram in MORE physical therapy exercises, read more wildly escapist fun stuff, spend quality time with the fam which, natürlich, translates to LOTS of Coco lap time AND trying NOT to eat everything in the damn house.

This is hard. As Sherman Alexie, possibly, once said, ‘I’m an emotional eater — I have an emotion, I eat.’ Yup, das ist mich.

I’m working on avoiding the news, though it IS fun to look at 45’s de-oranged, obvs sinking farther into Dementiaville’s visage. No, I seriously doubt he’ll ever do time. I expect his lawyers are trying to run out the clock — obstruct and delay until the old fuck’s dead or obvs too deranged (something clear to most humans eons ago) to stand trial.

Other good news? As of yesterday, 69.8 million people have received at least one dose of a Covid-19 vaccine. Predictably, vaccination rates are lower in the high rube red states. Just gives me another reason to never set foot in Arkansas, Utah or Mississippi. When will yurs brain-tumor truly be inoculated? As soon as my cutter gives me the all clear — sometime post-op.

Remember, just ‘cause you’ve had the vaccine doesn’t mean you can go all Spring Break, Saint Paddy’s Day crowded bar crazy! Read the CDC’s advice and pay some fucking attention.

I’ll get through Friday’s slice-up but, do me a solid — I’d like to live a few more years — don’t risk giving me the GQP Plague.

Grazie…and shit.

Drama Llama

I was at my neuro-opthalmogist’s office yesterday, mostly just a check up (my cornea’s good — YEA!) but also to ask her to enter my eyeball med needs into the system for the post-op neuro-ward team. So many loose ends to attend to before I enter this next game!

Now then, I’ve long felt that referring to these procedures as BRAIN surgery, sounds ridiculously melodramatic — like “at least it’s not brain surgery.” Well actually, yes, it is. Still, sounds kinda over the top, no? Lately I’ve taken to calling them “craniotomies” — technically accurate AND less drama mamma-y.

Doc Jacobs surprised me by using that term — brain surgery — to refer to next Friday’s fun time. Huh, maybe it’s not such a Histrionic Harry term. It’s just my weird-ass reality.

Right now, I feel like I’m waiting at second base. The batter who’s up will hit one that'll get me to third but probably not home. That’s mostly on me, not him. He’s gotta deal with the pitch he’s thrown. My pitch, my wonk-ass brain.

There are no promises BUT my cutter is brill, I trust him—he’s not gonna take stupid, ego stroking chances. This really is the only instance when I like the term conservative. Barker won’t be timid by any means but he’s no showboater. Fucking PHEW!

I feel bad for the folks who love and worry about me. They’re stressing right now too. A LOT! I wanna help, put their minds/hearts at ease but there really is only so much I can do. Ultimately, this shit’s in the hands of the Fates, S’ok though, I slipped in a bribe — fancy, high, grade yarn and shit from my brief “oh yeah, I’m gonna join the knitting brigades” days.

I can’t be magically well for them (YET!) but I can refrain from wallowing in fear. I can be realistic without engaging in doom scenarios. I can just be my usual obnoxiously silly self. Best thing I can do is accept my physical limitations (both immediate and, possibly, upcoming), NOT overdo, rest when I’m tired, strive for chill-age AND let them help. Self care helps all of us. While there are days when I want to just have everyone else take the wheel, this is my fucking bus to drive. And, with their help, I will.

Bon bons help. Not those horrid ones with pink insides though— those are always a stone disappointment. The fuck they supposed taste like? Cherry? Raspberry? Strawberry? Jen gets me bon bons from a talented, high toned local chocolatier but STILL, the pink filled ones are more redolent of chemicals than fruit.

Hmmph.

Below is this morning's dawn. Hopefully, in another month or so, I'll be able to get out to take my own pics again. Meantime, mega grazie and shit to Ten!

Decades

WandaVision — the show would’ve made more sense, in the beginning if I'd seen all the Avenger movies. I suppose. Having said that, after episode three I’m utterly intrigued — hooked even.

No spoilers here (for once) BUT, despite my new GOTTA WATCH, attraction, I’m still not groovin’ on each show’s decade style and concept.

I’ve talked about this already — I know, BUT last night’s’80s themed show was, stylistically, a crime against nature.

The ‘80s should feel all warm and nostalgic for me, right? After all, I was in my 20s then — more interested in fashion and shit, right? Yud think!

At 23 I had my first craniotomy. I had long hair then which, post-op, meant that I was sporting a decidedly off beat, punkish look — head half shaved/half covered in straight, very dark brown hair with a killah long-ass scar. I liked it. It fit the neighborhood at the time — Kenmore Square where The Rat, comic book stores, head shops and used record emporiums still dominated.

Lest you think I was a full-blown punk, over the off-brand T shirts and unripped jeans (why rip my jeans? am I made of money? fer fuck's sake, these gotta get me through the Boston winter withOUT freezing my knees and ass!), I wore my Guatemalan vests and Goodwill men’s suit coats. Fitting in? Style homogeneity? Sorry, no can do.

All I’m saying here is that WandaVision’s ’80’s show was a ghastly reminder of the bad, BIG, overly gelled hair, disturbing clothing choices and MBA enrollments of so many aerobocizing acquaintances and friends.

Jen just noted that “at least you were spared hearing the soundtrack.” Yup, I had hearing in the ‘80s — I don’t need to have the Top Ten from that abysmally “cultured” decade buzzing on my internal turntable right now.

‘80s “style” horrified me so much that, I believe, I tuned out. I honestly don’t recall the sartorial statements of the ‘90s through now (aside from a disturbing amount of ‘camo,’ worn even by otherwise intelligent, non-RepubliQan assholes). As I, pre-surgery, rehab and whatevs, clean out my closet and drawers, I’m finding much of what I’d expect from me – vintage, hand-me-downs, TOO MUCH tie dye, funny Ts, cheap Sears crap and yoga pants.

What I’ll need, after I get home from rehab are shirts with wide, cavernous even, necks, pants that I can pull up one handed, oversized sweaters (hence, easy to put on) and my slippers. Today I’ll attempt to gather all these in a couple, reachable without bending over, top drawers. It’ll be full blown spring by the time I get home so pulling on socks won’t be an issue — YEA.

Yeah, I’m all about the planning.

Let’s get Morbid

I got my date. The old bean’s gonna be cracked open AGAIN next Friday, the 19th. I’ll be in hospital for a week, more or less — depending on how things go. After that, I’ll hit a rehab joint for two weeks to a month, again, depending on how shit flows.

Despite this all being expected news, it still hit me hard. No longer a potential reality but a definite, immediate future. My first reaction, aside from morosely sitting in bed, was to make a list of all I gotta get done, such as:

1. Do all my tax prep and send it off to the preparers
2. Update my will and have my legal dude make the amendments happen
3. Make sure all my bills that can be paid now, are. Arrange it so Jen can pay the ones which come in over the next month. Why?

• NO one wants tp pay bills from a hospital bed
• What if I don’t live through this (Yes, that Hole album is in my head now)? I don’t need late fees coldly sucked out of my dead self. Yeah, if I die, who the fuck cares? ME, I’m not gonna get fucked over by some rude-ass corporation just ‘cause I had the misfortune of farm purchasing.
  

In case I don’t make it home?

Make sure the cats are taken care of

Make sure Ten, Jen and Oni will be OK

Clean out my damn closet and dressers. There’s so much that I don’t wear anymore because:

• Gotta lose 10 more pounds (a constant refrain)
• I just don’t go to fancy places anymore
• How much tie dye does one woman REALLY need to own!?
• This would really look MUCH better on Celeste!

Yup, I’m in a mega morbid frame of mind. While I DO want to be prepared for all eventualities. I don’t need to focus on the ultimate goodbye.

I asked Jen, “am I always like this before big surgeries.” Apparently, yes. Goddamn, I’m fun! I only mention it BUT, considering the number of big fucking-ass slice ups I’ve had in the past year and a half alone, I’d of thought I’d be all out of loose ends and shit to plan. Nope.

I gotta shake myself out of this melancholy mood but how?  I seem to NEED to plan/be in motion. OK, fine. For starters, I can prep for being deaf in MGH Land and Rehab World. Instead of snark-ass words/cards about what deaf means (in my particular case) and how lipreading is NOT a get out of communication hell card (for nurses and interns) I can come up with a diplomatic short list of best, most effective ways to communicate with me ESPECIALLY in these masked up days.

The undiplomatic semi-snark versio

I can start with how pantomime is your friend and go on to suggesting Live Transcribe (for NON iPhone users) or just opening a Notes doc and speaking into the mic. I can also bring pad and pen in my hospital bag and just hand those to the staff.

Considering how long I’ll be in, maybe I should get Jen to print up 100 of these suckers?

Here at home, I believe I'll go through my sock drawer today — pull out all the ones with holes. As much as I intend to darn them, let’s face it, that ain’t gonna happen. Jen’s found a place which recycles cloth. Dunno what they do with it — resell as material for masks or funky, cool clothes? Plus there’s another place that takes shoes. It’ll be nice to come home to a  more tidy, cleaned out space.

Another thought — maybe it’s time to lose myself in the boob tube. Ten has suggested bringing the telly up here to the boudoir. I can binge watch old eps of Big Bang and Star Trek.

So, planning/doing but not focusing on death. This MAY just work!

We're ALL Italian Now.

FYI, I’m living in a nest of Italians and yet, I’m the only one of Italian descent (and just half at that).

How did I come to this conclusion? Well, particularly over the past couple weeks (but, honestly, this has been going on for longer) EVERYONE’S trying to feed me.

Ya know, that’s all lovely and shit BUT there are days when I only get outta bed to pee. Of course, at my age, that’s a LOT and can easily be included as part of my PT regimen. TMI? Suck it and DO notice how YOU feel when you’re at this august age. Do we have an understanding or wut? 

Back to my point — too much, too much food. Given that I’m not up and about much, I ain’t hungry. Nor should I be taking in the same amount of calories as a healthy, active blue whale. It's NOT like I'm wasting away here.   

I’m, of course, now remembering mia madre’s constant efforts to get me to eat more. I was FAR from anorexic but still... And then there was Giovanni’s mother who, when we stopped by for a quick hello on our way to Fiumicino airport, wanted to make us lunch. That woulda been fab but there just wasn’t time. Gio finally got her to understand. She dramatically proclaimed “Sto soffrendo qui” — “I’m suffering here!”

Godzilla Coco

Yeah, Jen, Ten and Oni have started that shit on me. That and the sad smiles and head shakes when I don’t finish my plate.

The guilt, THE GUILT!

My friend Paula, also not Italian, brought over a BIG box of Montillio’s pastries.

I suppose it’s my own fault. I start each day with a breakfast cookie and a cuppa strong Italian roast coffee. I can hear you shrieking, in healthy-eating-habit-horror (and I'm deaf fer fuck's sake!), “A COOKIE? THAT’S NOT BREAKFAST!”

Hey, you do you, I do me. Also Stella D'oro — that brand of breakfast cookie, didn’t exactly spring whole from the head of some marketing exec.    

Coco is, possibly, beginning to get bored with her Watcher duties. She’s all like “we’re in bed AGAIN? The view from the downstairs windows is better — more wildlife and shit. Plus, the old man puts my food out DOWNSTAIRS. Also, that’s where the treats live, you selfish witch. You just don’t care about me anymore!”

Even my cat’s gone Italian. The guilt, THE GUILT I’m feeling!

In non-food, non-guilt news, the new pill, a light steroid, IS having a positive effect. I can walk (OK, hobble) better, my balance is less heinous, I believe I have a scintilla more energy and strength too.

Ten’s all stern and “Don’t get cocky!’ Yeah, I was planning to get back on my elliptical and overdo it right away. Of course I was — why merely do when you can overdo?! For once I listened and am taking it mega slow. Today, I’ll do a little more (wouldn’t take much).

I need to enjoy my slaggitudeness while I can. After all, once I'm in rehab life’s gonna be all work, work, work. Hello boys, how ya doin’?

Maybe, post slice-age, I’ll finally get the vaccine too!

This morning's brill sky

Drugs & Babysitting

The medics have prescribed two new pills to get me through to my surgery date (most likely, the 19th). Thanks Docs, for keeping me alive and, more or less, mobile. BUT, fer fuck’s sake, by the time I finish taking my morning pills it’s ALREADY time to take my evening meds. I mean, this is one hell of a way to get me to drink more water but could we NOT have come up with a better scheme?

Also, did I mention? I’m 62 motherfucking years old and I have a ‘babysitter.’

Whenever Ten needs to run errands, Jen comes over and stays with me. Yeah. Me, who’s traveled across the U.S and Europe on her own, escaped countless life threatening situations ON HER OWN and has always been an independent cuss. Yeah, I have to be babysat now.

Why? Just in case:

• I have an “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” moment. They happen too often now.
• I have a seizure.
• I need help getting to the can, man.
• I need ANYTHING.

Plus? 

• To keep me in bed and outta trouble. Yes, I AM able to get up and down the stairs but I totally need a spotter or two.
  

No one wants me to be left on my own. Ya see, I seem to be “impulsive.” This is how the nurses at MGH have described me and they were being mega diplomatic Yes, I’m in rough fucking shape and am STILL a big pain in the ass for my caregivers. Everyone's gotta have a talent, eh?

Regarding having Jen babysit me — on one hand, I LOVE just hanging out, reading and schmoozing with her. OF COURSE I do! On the other — I HATE that I can’t be left alone. Mind you, I completely understand. After all, I’m “impulsive.” AKA not appreciative of or smart about my current limitations. AKA I believe I can fly so, I can...right? Magical thinking— it’s all the rage.

My BIG achievements yesterday?

• Showering (done sitting down which truly sucks)
• Filling my pill box for the week and, yeah, that takes about 12 hours to accomplish.
• Writing two thank you notes (friends and docs have been grand to say the least — especially with my pain in the assness.
• I paid a bill
• Did a few PT exercises

and

• Watched teevee while snarfing Oni’s fabulous black bean burritos.
  

Yep, big day for yurs invalid truly.

We watched another ep of WandaVision. It was ever so slightly better than the premier ep. I’m willing to give it ONE more shot but still…needs more spaceships and less early ‘60s sitcomy societal bullshit. The trailer, at least, promises more. I watched that kind of shit as a kid (horrified that I was expected to be a Donna Reed type) I don't need a reminder.

The Bean Update (and we're not talkin' Goya)

Saw my ever awesome brain surgeon, Doc Barker, yesterday morning. Sadly, there’s no good news. At best they can keep shit from getting worse – keep me from dying. Well, that’s good. eh?

I'm doubling up on my leg lifts, clamshells, etc and hoping for, but not expecting, a miracle. Surgery will be later this month followed by two weeks to a month in rehab. SUCH FUN!

The main issue, if I’m remembering accurately (a total crap shoot) is brain swelling. We’re NOT talking about a growth in smarts here. The brain itself is chubbing up like me after a big birthday dinner.
My understanding is that, if removing as much of the tumor as they can get out does NOT bring the swelling down far enough, we'll switch over to radiation. Not great but it'll keep me breathing. There's a three to five month wait after surgery to see if it did enough to warrant (or not) radiation. They can't take out all of the meningioma because it’s laying over some big deal blood vessel. Joy.

Basically, my head’s a mess.

Also, and this is the the extra special fun part, I can, basically, say goodbye to my hair. Ya see, I’ve had SO DAMN much brain surgery over the years, and if I live through this, there’s more to come, that my bean looks like a street map where all the roads are eight lane mega freeways. So, I guess, when I can start wearing head coverings again, I’ll be rockin’ the Dead slouchy beanie look or short awesomely patterned pillbox caps. Yes, every physical crap-out is a fashion opportunity.

All in all NOT happy here this morning.

Being and Nothingness

and all that jazz...

It is therefore senseless to think of complaining since nothing foreign has decided what we feel, what we live, or what we are.

I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.

Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you. 

It is only in our decisions that we are important.

The recruit who reports for active duty at the beginning of the war can in some instances be afraid of death, but more often he is 'afraid of being afraid'; that is, he is filled with anguish before himself.

 It is certain that we cannot escape anguish, for we are anguish.

Life begins on the other side of despair.

We are our choices. 

I woke in a Jean Paul Sartre kind of a mood. OK, I've been there for a couple days now.

I meet Doc Barker tomorrow morning at 11. We'll discuss the upcoming surgery, pick a date (I'm hoping for this week – get this shit over with), talk about what recovery might be like, discuss that rat-bastardly meningioma on the right side of my bean – the one with desperately bad growth timing.

Today? I believe I'll take a break from adulting – eat cookie dough ice cream, cute kitten vid surf and watch a few eps of Buffy.

F*ck February

HEY, we’re just about done with February. Thank fucking Bast!

This month is best described as astoundingly odious. Fer fuck’s sake, it’s cold, dark, icy and snowy, (and by this time of year we’re all sick of that shit. Am I right or am I right? You KNOW I am!) And there are NO bright, uplifting, goddamned holidays! 

Presidents and Valentine’s Days do NOT count. The first is just an excuse to sell big ticket items at “discount” prices If you can take 80% off and STILL make a profit WHY is your product priced so high to begin with.…hmmmm? The second is about chocolates, flowers and card sales AND making everyone who isn’t hooked up feel lousy about themselves.

On top of the that the “Conservative” Klan, the QOP is attempting a comeback. CPAC is this weekend. Tell me, why do all Republi/Fascist women look like pros? I’ve got nothing against sex workers but there ain’t one QOP woman who looks like she’s ever given it up for love or just a good time.

Monday, March first, is when I meet with my awesome surgeon, Doc Barker. Dunno when he’ll fit me into the OR but I expect/hope it’ll be soon. I’ve been able to do SOME leg lifts and other leg PT exercises but progress has been meager.

On the 12th, I’m due to see my neuro ophthalmologist for a general check up as well as a review of the latest red eye dust up. My eye is def less red so, if I’m post surgery and up and at ‘em, I expect that appointment will be free of nasty surprises.

Just FYI, 510,373 Americans have now died from the Treasonweasel Hoax. He and every last one of his dimwitted, sycophantic, asslicking, party-before-country, cult are the reason I’ll be in the hospital for, at minimum, a week without Coco, Ten, Jen and Oni. I’ll be dealing with bodacious stress levels ON MY GODDAMNED OWN. Yes, I blame every idiotic, empathy devoid Republi/Facist for this.

Stress is one of the seizure triggers. I’m really doing my best (HONEST!) to be as mellow as possible but that ain’t easy. Also, it’s a damn shame that I don’t believe in Hell. Ya see, if I did, I could believe that Teddy boy Cruz and the rest of his rotted brain, hustling, narcissists were headed there post-life.

I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.
~ Neil Gaiman

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.
~ William Shakespeare

Maybe this world is another planet’s hell.
~ Aldous Huxley

Hell is—other people!
~ Jean-Paul Sartre

Nothing to Say

It’s Friday. I’ve nothing interesting. informative. enlightening or terribly amusing to say. I’ve been cleared for surgery but have not, as yet, met with the charming cutter, Doc Barker. Dunno what my risks are but I imagine they’ll run the usual gamut from loss of mobility in my left leg (the one that’s weak now) to death – croaking is always on the table (whether I play scalpel, scalpel – who’s got the scalpel or not)..

I’ll still have seizures post slice up – just fewer. Hopefully, my daily, balance-banjaxing, Keppra dose will be MUCH lower.

Coco has been doing one hell-of-a-job as guard kitten. She obeys all Ten’s command (go sit on Donna’s lap – don’t let her get up, if you must abandon your post, stare at her ferociously so she’s too afraid to move, etc.)

So, once again, it’s Friday. Almost time to do leg lifts, clamshells and other assorted strength building exercises.  By the by, all pics were taken by Ten and messed around with by yurs truly.

 Jethro Tull – Nothing to Say

Worms

Nobody likes me,
everybody hates me,
I guess i m gonna eat some worms…
short fat slimy ones,
long thin curly ones,
see how they wiggle and squirm

Yeah, I woke up at 2:30 with this playing in my head. Wut up with that, you might be wondering.

Whelp…I’ve been desperately ill for the past year and a half and shit’s only getting worse. No, I have not heard back from my neurologist about Sunday’s MRI. I skimmed the written report but that doesn’t tell me more than I already know. The clot of tumors has grown and it’s causing all kinds of havoc. No, the fuckers aren’t huge but it’s location/position as much as size that sparks the bullshit.

In any case, my rat-bastard subconscious is apparently flashing back to my mother’s admonishments, “DON”T be a burden to anyone” – essentially ‘don’t EVER need help. NO ONE will love you if you have needs!’ And then there was my cousin Carmel’s severe cautioning “NEVER tell anyone you like that you have Nf2 – they’ll leave you.” Aren’t those pretty pictures? Bast only knows why I didn’t commit suicide after I was diagnosed at 22. My mother and a mother figure (both of whom also had NF2) were telling me that I was now, (through no-fault of mine) completely unlovable.

• First,  HORSESHIT!
• Second, why would I want to be with a beau or friends who are so motherfucking flimsy and shortsighted? Life’s a long-ass road and we ALL get sick at one point or another.
  Yeah I didn’t take their advice. I certainly could’ve ended up all by myself but I haven’t.
  

So, what’s up with the worm shit last night? I have never been this feeble for this fucking long. Granted, I just had my ninth (or tenth) seizure since the end of August. Each one, no matter how small, takes me down to zero. Big fun. I don’t have time to build my strength back up before another one hits. Pain in the bloody ass is what this is.

Why do Jen, Ten and Oni stick around? Beats the fuck outta me. My sparkling personality? Unlikely!

Jen and Oni have seen me though seven neurosurgeries (The Amazing Bob was up to six before he croaked). Ten’s clocked in at three. He’s never known me when I could walk without assistance.

So, huh. I guess I won’t eat worms AND looks like mia madre and cousin Carm were WRONG, WRONG, WRONG.

Good!

Monday, Monday

Yesterdays MRI went reasonable well. I didn’t start to freak out until the last five minutes after my happy-time drugs wore off. My own fault really – feeling all invincible-like I’d cut the dose in half (ya see, I hate taking pills). But, with the help of super deep breathing  exercises and focusing on the last good scene in the know longer worth a damn Misfits, I made it through. Barely.

Now, I feel like Superman…as long as I don’t actually try to run faster than a speeding bullet (fleet footed slugs are are più velocemente next to yurs truly) or be more powerful than a locomotive (more powerful than a kitten’s more like it) and I WILL refrain from leaping tall buildings at a single bound (doorsteps and stair are more my ability now, IF I’m lucky).

Amazing how fear and stress effect my ability to function. Now that the MRI is over, I’m walking slightly better AND I’m now able to sit up on my own, EVEN when Coco’ sprawled out over my chest (as uszh). Also, Imma get back to my strength building exercises. I’m gonna face this, next/third neurosurgery (for this past year alone) like Wonder Women dammit. I may go down but not without a big-ass battle.

In other news, when we got home we HAD to watch another installment of Lovecraft Country. Yes, without giving Misfit's new cast one last chance. We’ve totally given up on it. No point sitting through another gory snooze-a-thon. Lovecraft though – AWESOME+! So far, they’re following the book pretty closely. Cool, cool. I hate surprises.

Got any viewing suggestions? So far, we’re investigating:

• Resident Alien
• Aliens
• No Ordinary Family

and

• Braindead

What questions are we asking? Is it funny/silly enough? If not amusing, is it sufficiently engaging? Are the story lines interesting? Are the characters written with enough depth or are they paper cutouts. AND possibly most important, is the show carried by a provider to whom we already subscribe. If not, like Star Trek’s Discovery and Picard, how soon can we get the discs delivered?

I’m ignoring the freak show news as much as possible. I see that Treasonweasel von Shit-for-Brains is still mentioned periodically and I wonder WHY? Does he REALLY still make good teevee. Also, why is coked out Shit-for-Brains Junior still on any social media sites. Shouldn’t he have been booted for pixel abuse along with his disgusting fibster-pedo father? And what about imbecilic "sexy-voice" Senator Wannabe Barbie? Does she think that if she lays low for a year she can still primary Bible-verse-abusing Rubio and win? It’s Floriduh, maybe so.

Meanwhile, President Biden has been in office just 33 days and has already accomplished  so much in undoing Lice-riddled Weasel Snot's reign of error and terror. There’s a lot of shit shoveling left to do though.

I hope I live long enough to either see this ENTIRE crew locked up or fallen FAR from favor (even from the smelly, mentally ill Oath Keeper’s and Proud Boys esteem).

I’ve never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great pleasure.

~ Clarence Darrow

Meanwhile, a friend just posted this non Shoutface and I thought it was pretty awesome so ...here:

Snow, Cats and Crap

On June 22nd there were 149 new COVID cases here in Massachusetts (and I thought that was scary). Yesterday we had 1,818 new cases (I feel relieved because it’s one of the first times in forEVER that we’ve been under 2,000 new cases for one day) and ONLY 40 deaths. Gee, aren’t we doing just fabulously?!

South Carolina, home of the mentally disturbed right-wing lapdog (wait – that's redundant. sorry), Senator Lindsey which-way-is-the-wind-blowing Graham, has the highest rate of cases per capita in the country. More than even New York which has more than half again as many residents.

Nice job Linds. If you work just a little bit harder, you may surpass Cancun Cruz as stupidest senator EVER.

Meanwhile, here in blue, blue, "sensible" Massachusetts, I’ve just gotten an email from MGH stating that I can’t be vaccinated on one of my oh so bloody frequent visits:

Unfortunately, Mass General Brigham does not have any additional vaccine. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts informed us on February 11 that vaccine will no longer be distributed to any Massachusetts hospitals. The only sites that will receive vaccine are clinics operated by cities and towns, local pharmacies, and the state.

What can I do? A lot of research. I MAY be able to go to a Walgreens pharmacy in the next town over OR to Gillette Stadium (about a 40 minute drive) I think I’d feel more secure getting shot up in a hospital versus a retail shop or a sportsball stadium but //shrugs// gotta do what we gotta do. Someone else *cough* Jen or Ten *cough* is gonna have to do all the phone scheduling work and it may be months before we can get our shots. What can you expect from a Republican governor?

In less annoying news, last night I passed the two week mark – two weeks without a seizure. Yea me! BUT I’m so doped up on anti-seizure meds that walking is a real trip. I use a walker now or a wheelchair (when at MGH) and I’m kind of pissed about that.  I’ll do it as long as I need to (even if that’s forever) but I don’t gotta like it.

My MRI is tomorrow at two PM so tonight I’ll begin my Atavan chill-the-fuck-out regimen. I don’t know when I’ll get the results and my surgery date but am expecting news on both by early to middle of next week. The chemo option is still on the table BUT it may not work – no guarantees. I'm now reluctant to go that route.

My last go 'round with a surgery alternative, radiation, was a total bust. Didn’t work, made it so I can’t get an ABI on that side of my bean AND made me violently nauseous DAILY for more than a year. So, despite all the surgery risks, that’s the direction I’m leaning toward. So far.

Between expecting my bi-monthly seizure expectation and feeling all anxious and shit about tomorrow’s MRI, I was up half the night doing deep breathing and other relaxation exercises as well as  funny cat meme surfing. Nothing chills me out more than a good cat meme.

Especially this one!

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

I  had a dream last night that I was lost in New York – specifically Manhattan. If you’ve ever been there you know that this is, pretty much, impossible. Why? Grids, baby, grids.

Not in my dream though. Not only were the streets laid out more like Boston, they were – also like parts of Boston – cobblestone (hard for me to walk on AND maintain balance), PLUS instead of a below ground subway, mass transit was above ground trolleys – like much of Boston still is.

I’m tellin’ you, this was mega confusing. I was trying too get from  TriBeCa to Grand Central (Warum? Who the fuck knows). I boarded three different trolleys, walked endless blocks – no luck. I was mystified. Walking, it takes about an hour and is, pretty much a straight shot up West Broadway and Park Avenue. How could I possibly get so damn lost.

1. it was a dream
2. I’ve a talent for going off-course. Hells bells, I’ve gotten Jen and I lost in Amsterdam and that’s after having been there three times before.
   

What’s this all mean? Dunno but I suspect it has something to do with my ever worsening crap health.

How? I feel pretty disoriented. Every night, before bed I’m scared shitless that I’ll wake at one AM, in the midst of yet another motherfucking seizure. Chilling out, relaxing my brain and muscles is my adult version of a blankie and bedtime story.

Yes my April MRI is being moved up but I don’t have the date yet. The meetings with my neurologist and neurosurgeon will follow. I expect to be in the OR in March. HOWEVAH, nothing is written in stone yet and that bugs me. I wanna know the dates NOW.

The Amazing Bob’s fear every time we had to go to MGH, was that they’d keep him and, one of these times, he'd die. He did. I can SO relate.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door – Dylan

Side Effects

The good news: I’m now on, in addition to HEE-YUGE daily doses of Keppra, Vimpat. The medics feel this drug combo should stop my seizures. Thank, fucking, Bast!

Not so excellent news: I gotta go in for an EKG to make sure my heart is tolerating my new narco-cocktail. The EKG isn’t the scary part – the possibility of heart damage is.

More not so excellent news: It takes about a week to get past the odious initial side effects. What are Vimpat’s potential side effects?

• thoughts about suicide or dying (I’ve thought about dying a lot over this past very hard, health banjaxed year. I don’t believe I’ve got room to think about it more. Thanks for the heads up though)
• attempt to commit suicide (not bloody likely. In order to kill yourself, one has to make a commitment to death. As I’m sure I’ve already mentioned at some point over these bloody blogging years, I’m a commitment-phobe.)
• new or worse depression (after four+ years of the Tangerine Treasonweasel and his clown car of Fascist Fucks, I believe I’ve got this under control.)
• new or worse anxiety (see parenthetical statement above.)
• feeling agitated or restless (what I just said.)
• panic attacks (more? Will I even notice?)
• trouble sleeping (not as yet – hells bell, getting out of bed wears me out)
• new or worse irritability (will Jen, Ten or Oni detect any difference in my usual abby-normal state? Doubt it. Before she left for work this morning, I called Jen a twat. She rolled her eyes so hard that she nearly broke the sky and asked, ‘oh, is this one of those so called “side effects?” Yeah, like I’ve never hurled that epithet at her before.)
• acting aggressive, being angry or violent (aggressive and angry? See above. Violent? I’m too fucking weak for violence…unless we’re talking about a slice of carrot cake that I could just murder.)
• acting on dangerous impulses (that’s the norm for yurs truly – I can get worse? I’d be surprised.)
• an extreme increase in activity and talking (mania) (Actually, as it used to be – back in the 60s when speed was prescribed for hyper active children – I think Vimpat has pushed me over the top. I’m now in Totally Mellow/Nap City)

Dr. Coco is ALWAYS on the job!

I have noticed that my ‘essential tremors‘ have increased which is annoying as all fuck. To cope with this, I’m just trying to focus on releasing tension from my body – being conscious of my stillness (and lack thereof). 

Also too, I’m NOT going to follow the impeachment trial. Yes, the rat bastard should be convicted but, given the criminally craven state of the GQP (whose rallying cry is “we pander to the lowest, most morally bankrupt and least intelligent of this country’s citizenry – ALWAYS!"), that ain’t gonna happen.

If I go online at all, I’m not gonna read anything but good (or, at least, moving-in-the-right-directio ) climate news and happy animal stories.

Today’s goal is three minutes on the elliptical. Yesterday I showered and that, pretty much, wiped me clean out. I have an online appointment with my neurologist tomorrow. I’m not expecting any big news – just more of the same let’s watch and wait, see how this new cocktail works.*sigh*

Ya know, it feels weird to be eager to get into the OR to get the next brain surgery done and over with.