Bean, Wallace’s cousin from down the street, has been diagnosed with chicken pox.  So after a few scares now is the real thing.

I’m not worrid about him actually getting the chicken pox. We got through fifth’s disease okay and The Troublemaker and I have had the pox ourselves.  Our doctor feels that little guys and girls should have the opportunity to build their own CP immunities before a certain age because there is some question as to the longevity and effectivness of the CP vaccine.  There is some evidence to suggest that kids that get the CP vax have higher rates of shingles (same virus) later in life.

After a certain age then kids really need to be vaxxed, but our doctor puts that at, I believe, 7 or so.

In fact, Bean and Wallace have been exposed because one of their mini-buddies at day care had the vaccine and came down with a mild case himself.

The pisser is that I’ve been sick as fucking death for a few days and now, just when I’m getting better, Wallace is going to be down and out for a week-to-ten.  FUCK.  We’ve been sick for two and a half months solid around here.  We’re out of time and out of energy.  Jesus lord.

I said it before, when it wasn’t true.  I’ll say it now that it is.

CHICKEN FUCKING POX.

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My fever’s broken.  I still feel like warmed-over death, but having the fever gone is a good sign.  I may yet avoid the hospital.

There was some concern last night when Wallace came home from my friend’s house with a fever, but he slept through the night and woke up fever-free.  He’s also drooling copiously and sitting around with his hands jammed in his mouth and complaining of tooth pain. So far it appears he’s dodged whatever I have.

I’m actually exhausted today, which I’m taking as a good sign.  Yesterday I was so awful that I wasn’t tired I was just SICK.  Today it took everything I had to take a shower and get dressed. I’m hoping that my body is too busy fighting off the infection.

God, I feel like hell.  But no hospital yet. 

Going to take a nap.

KP

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Diagnosis:

Pneumonia and Flu.

I have 24 hours to get better before I go to the hospital.  I’m on Tamiflu and antibiotics.  Unless things suddely get better I expect I’ll wind up in the ER.

I’m currently on the couch having lots of fun flop-sweat.  I’m also watching Magnum PI and the Angels between dizzy spells.  Call me crazy, or deathly ill, but 1980’s television was so much better.  Particularly the cop stuff.

Sorry.  Delerious.

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I’m sick, Peeps.  I’m sick with a capital S.  There’s something going on with me and I don’t know what it is.

First of all I have a horrible, hacking cough that I can’t shake.  The kind where I periodically feel like I can’t breathe at all.  I’ve been using my rescue inhalor constantly.

Secondly my whole body feels as though my nerves are on the outside of my skin.  Every touch, from my clothes to lightly banging into things (as I do because I’m a klutz) feels like knives.  My joints are swollen and very itchy and painful.  It hurts.  It actually hurts to get dressed in the morning.  Normally it does not hurt to get dressed in the morning.  Obviously, something has changed vis-a-vis my skin nerves and their receptors.

Thirdly I puked my guts up this morning as I did other unspeakable things on the toilet, and I feel as if I might again.

Peeps, I’ve given it a week to see if any of this subsides.  I have a history of worrying about hypochondria and I don’t need yet another post about illness to turn people off.  I don’t want to be a total pussy, I swear!  So the skin stuff I explained away by my stress-induced urticaria, the vomiting with food poisoning, and the hacking cough with a sudden descent into Spring and the allergies that usually accompany it all.

There has been a lot going on in meatspace, hence the silence around these parts.  Nana Poopyhands is doing well, but I worry about her.  My Grandpa Joe fell and broke his hip and was bleeding internally.  He’s doing okay for now, but we don’t really know what happened or the best way to set about systematically repairing the damage.  Everyone is in Florida and I can’t afford to be there, plus it would be just one more person to find a place to sleep and to try and fit into the hospital room.  At the same time, I’m kind of lost and outside of everything at the moment.

My stepmother’s mother, who is the kind of person who could eat glass and smile at you at the same time, is having some episodes where her memory is going. I love her and I’m worried.

I’m going to dedicate the next Speckblog entry to Wallace and his badass self.  He’s awesome, but a handful.

I’m at work today, because I’ve used up all of my time off and then some.  What else am I supposed to do?  I’ve been to the doctor probably six times in the past month, including last week when we’re pretty sure that I had a small tympanic rupture.   I do NOT want to go again.  Despite all evidence to the contrary I actually do not like the doctor’s office.

I’m worried about Fibromyalgia, Hypothyroidism, Lupus, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, that my IC might be back, that I might have cancer, the usual list of suspects when the symptoms are non-specific but undeniably there… at the same time you can go back to various months at Speckblog and read all about my current malady list at any given time, so it’s not as if this sort of thing comes up for me out of the clearbluesky.  I’m determined not to behave like a wuss and go into the doctor AGAIN, to be told that it’s stress AGAIN.

Peeps, despite getting tons of sleep and excercise and making a real attempt to battle the stress, I’m sick.  I feel sick. I feel full of pain and I don’t know why.

Keep your fingers crossed for me if you can spare them.  I’m awfully tired.

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YAY!  I just got accepted into SXU!

I’m fairly certain that I’m going to go to Rush, but HOORAY for more choices!  That’s both Masters of Science programs that I applied to.  Damn.  Apparently they were not able to determine that I’m unable to cope with numbers greater than seven.

Hurrah!  Fooled ‘em again!

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An Avon Walk For Breast Cancer Update and Reminder!

Let’s see, what can I say about my Avon walk? 

• There are 76 days left until the walk itself
• I have raised $685, or 34% of my goal
• My goal is still $2,000
• My minimum to raise is $1,800

I have walked up to five miles and done two or three miles at least five times in the past week and a half. 

Hmm, when you hold that up to 20 miles a day two days in a row, it doesn’t seem like all that much.  It is, isn’t it?  It’s not all that much.  I’m going to get out there on Saturday June 2nd and I’m going to DIE.

All the same I plan to get out there in June and slog away, even if it cripples and/or kills me. 

For all this angst I think you might be able to spare a dime, brother.

GIVE!  GIVE GIVE GIVE GIVE GIVE!

GIVE NOW!

DO IT YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO ALL THE COOL KIDS ARE DOING IT!

The money doesn’t even go to me.  I never even get a chance to steal see it.

To find out more, or to donate, click the pic:

Or JOIN OUR TEAM. Send me an email at Kbee42@gmail.com and let me know who you are and we’ll be sure to throw you on the roster.

Also if you want to donate but don’t want to do it online, shoot me an email and I can mail you a coupon to do it through the post.

DONATE!  CANCER KILLERS NEED YOU!

Can you tell how important this is?  COUNT THE CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS, PEEPS!

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And all of them SPAM.

If you’ve commented lately, peeps, and your comment has not appeared here please feel free to resubmit.  Every day when I log on to Speckblog I get 500+ spam messages.  Many of them about the various incest events I can view if I so desire.  Great!

I have to tell you, that makes my morning, reading that.

I sift as carefully as I can, but I may have missed someone in my attempt to scroll through without seeing anything that makes me rip my eyeballs out and dip them in bleach.  If I missed you, let me know.  Or, better yet, shoot me an email and let me know about your comment.

xo

KP

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One of the clear pings for me that I was losing my mind and needed to see someone was my weight.  Again, to recap: Don’t need to be skinny.  Know how to not be fat.  Unable to make choices that keep me from not being fat and keep me normal.

The way my body appears righ tnow is a pretty clear indication of how I’m feeling about my inner self.  Namely: not good.  As much as I hate the way I look I get a sense of satisfaction out of looking down and seeing tree-trunk legs.  I believe it must be similar to the sense of satisfaction someone gets from cutting.

As in: There it is.  There is the physical manifestation of my misery.  I’m not pretty, I’m not good or sexy or nice or anyone you want to meet.  I’m a terrible, horrible person and I hurt and have dark horrid thoughts and now you can SEE it.

We’re going to be working on this and I’m hoping a little resolution will help me chose cake a little less often than salad.  I hope. 

The reason I bring this up is that I hate the choices I’ve made, particularly this spring:

• Jones number one
• Jones number two
• Jones number three
• Jones number four 

Any one of these, Peeps, a year ago I would have been able to order and have a prayer of getting into.  And looking good.  I love them.  I LOVE them all.

Will I ever get back there? 

I hope so.

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Redeaux.

Dear Peeps,

I ask you, two times in three months?  The fevers? The snotting? The sneezing? TWO TIMES?

We are down for the count and I’ve used up all my personal time at work as well as all of my grace and understanding from school.  We’re going to have to tough this one out and stay on our feet. 

SUCKS!  GAH!  SUCKS! WHY O WHY?

Germy Smootch

KP

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Fa So La

I know that some of the Speckblog readers have been a tad concerned regarding my sanity as of late.  Some of them aren’t even my immediate family, most of whom have been reading here in growing alarm and frantic-looking-around-type-movements.

Yes, I flirted briefly with a very deep depression.  There is no denying that I was very dark for a time or even that I’m still occasionally quite dark.  Things have improved greatly from a few weeks ago when my standard day was holding it together for everyone else and then having a proper anxiety/panic sobfest for an hour or so every night.

Essentially, despite the world being a fine place and despite having a good marriage and accomplishing quite a bit, my brain worked very hard to convince me that I’m not worth the paper I’m printed on and that it might be better had I never been born.

Now, I’ve been dark before Peeps, but never have I actively entertained the thought of giving up on any level.  The big S was never considered but I actually thought about just not showing up for work or school or indeed ever leaving the house ever again.  These thoughts are not me.  I didn’t know who they were, but they weren’t me.

Finally I scared myself enough that I went out and got myself a shrink to sit down and pick over some pertinent items.  I also made the previously-mentioned decision to slow down the stress level by putting school off for a year. 

The decision about school immediately took the pressure off and it’s amazing how I’ve been conditioned after 16 years so that even the thought of going to see the shrink is enough to begin to calm me down.  “It may suck dog balls now, but soon it will be better” is a powerful thought.

I’ve seen the shrink twice and she’s very smart and very easy to talk to in a boiled-wool-slippers granola-crunchy sort of way.  The first visit was chock full of me blabbing my entire pertient mental history because I’ve done this before and know that until she gets the background we can’t deal with the stuff I’ve got going currently.

At the second meeting she told me that she was having real trouble meshing the self-confident, intelligent, cool woman with the other woman in there who is obviously miserable and full of self-loathing.  One moment I’m speaking with great compassion and authority and the other I’m shrinking inward and exuding white hot beams of hate for myself and the world.

What it comes down to, the ten or so ways in which I feel my life is falling apart, is one running theme that has to do with some shit I’d already worked out; or at least, I thought I had.  It’s so frustrating to have the logic part of my brain not at all in synch with the emotional part; I can’t talk myself out of the depression. It’s also crushing to know that something I thought I’d come to grips with I totally haven’t and have to go back to the beginning and start over.

We’re going to explore more and do some cognitive behavioral therapy which I hope may make a difference in the long run.  In the meantime I’m going to try and remind myself that it really, truly is not a sin not to be perfect and that, whether or not it feels like it, it really is a good world and I really am doing very well in it.

That’s where we are with the brain.  Next installment:  Some about the job.

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