Not That Kind Of Girl

You may think with having an incurable heart/lung condition that I would be the constantly praying type, but I'm not. I do think loads of happy thoughts for my challenged organs and I think tons and tons of happy thoughts for loved ones, but very rarely do I ever send out a real prayer. When I do it's usually because someone else has just told me that they have been praying for me or that they need prayers, so I oblige. I know, all of this isn't very Texan of me, but there it is. I also liken telling everyone your religious views to telling everyone what you like to do in the bedroom. All of it is very personal, and none of it is anyone else's business. That being said, there is a point to confessing my praying habits. Don't worry, I'll leave my bedroom out of it.

Something else that I hardly ever do is tell complete strangers about my condition. I also most definitely do not dominate conversations with information about me. I have no need to make hostages out of the people I meet. But all bets are off if I get started on what I made for lunch or dinner. I can talk about that till you fall asleep, and with so much detail that you probably will.

This year I have been helping with the local pulmonary hypertension 5k run and 1m walk. I would tell you the name of it, but it has changed so many times that I no longer know what it is. It may be Zebra PHriends 5k Run and 1m PHun Walk. Our mascot is a purple zebra in running shoes. So many of us are first diagnosed with adult onset asthma that we need doctors to go a bit against training and instead of handing us an inhaler and sending us on our way, we need them to do the unpopular thing and schedule a possibly unnecessary test (echo). In other words, those hoof beats might be a zebra, not a horse.

We've gotten so much help with fundraising I've been a bit overwhelmed. Neither Mom nor I have asked for funds before and the experience has been terrifying and amazing. The first person we asked for money is the man who owns our favorite local Italian restaurant. He gets asked so often (the first of many times that we would hear this) and he usually turns people away, but instead he was our first donator. We were so nervous excited that my mom accidentally knocked over and broke her water glass when we got back to our table. Still not sure if maybe we should have given that gift certificate back. They shrugged it off, but I still do not recommend smashing stuff as a celebratory act after someone gives you money.

And that's how the roller coaster ride started. In a flurry of e-mails, meetings, printings, towns officially recognizing a pulmonary hypertension month, and a dinner, everything was coming together. Everything but the media.

Most of my time is spent grocery shopping, resting, napping or cooking. My group of friends is much beloved, but very small and also very far away. When the subject of getting our name publicly out into the world came up, I automatically knew that I was not going to be the person to do it. But still, I recognized the importance (HUGE!) of it, and so I prayed.  Someone with connections contacted me, but still not knowing what to do with the information, I passed it on to our group leader.  Pretty much all I was certain I could do was hope that someone else in our group would get inspired. That, and pray.

I do hope I've properly painted the picture of two women (Mom and myself) who have no idea what they are doing and who constantly feel like maybe someone else should be in charge. Even after all of our accomplishments and successes.

This morning we met with Parks and Recreation in Coppell to start finalizing our plans for race day.  Even though Mom confirmed our appointment yesterday, we were not on the books for today. We were the third ones there and if it hadn't been for the niceness of the guy who showed up after us, we would have been selected last for the day. An unexpected benefit of the lateness is that the woman on our committee who should most definitely be in charge of doing all of this organizing stuff was also able to attend.

My last right heart cath a few weeks ago was less than stellar. My orders have been to increase my flolan once a week for 6 weeks. Last year I increased 3 times total. Last night I finally had to add an extra vial to the mix. I pretty much feel retched. Leading up to the meeting and all through it my mantra was "don't hurl on the table, don't hurl on the table". Thankfully, I did not hurl on the table, but after a couple of hours my morning apple apricot sauce was gone and the particular pain and nausea that accompanies flolan is quite unique.  I either needed food or a trashcan. I haven't been to Cafe Express in a year, but it suddenly sounded like the best place ever. Amazingly we were heading right for it. Massive water pills had kicked in so when we got to our destination I about jumped out of the car for the lady's room.

If the Parks Department had seen us on time, then I would not have been so hungry when we left, my water pills would not have gone active when I was on the road, if I had gone into the restaurant with my mom instead of bolting out of the car, then I never would have met Melissa d'Arabian from the Food Network in the lady's room of Cafe Express. I wouldn't have gone with my mom to Williams Sonoma for her book signing after our lunch.  We wouldn't have taken one look at the huge line and decided to leave, we wouldn't have met the nicest cashier who I amazingly told that I would not be able to stay for the signing after all because of my heart/lung condition, and wouldn't have found out that her mom had a lung condition, I wouldn't have bought a new cookbook, or been taken to the front of the line where I had my picture taken with and had my book signed by Melissa d'Arabian, I would never have given her information on our race and pulmonary hypertension and let her know that I had been praying to meet someone that could help us get the word out about our cause, I wouldn't have been given the chance to let that nice sales lady know that I was going to pray for her, and Mom would never have wept a little in a Williams Sonoma because the whole experience was just too sweet.

I still can't believe that I met Melissa d'Arabian in a lady's room and I am extremely thankful that I did not hurl on her.

Where Am I & Who's Snoring?

Oh geez, I could remember what I wanted to write about before I took that nap, now all I can remember is that I wanted to get some thoughts down before I forgot them.  I should have skipped the nap. Then again, I may be one step closer to being able to answer the question, "what came first, the pillow face or the drool?" I'll give you a hint - the crease on my face is 3 inches long, the diameter of the drool is 2 inches.  Now I need a mathematical equation for rate of creasage vs droolage.

I have never been a graceful napper. I complain and pout on the way to bed, I stay awake way too long once I'm there, and then I sleep as if I had been boozing it up. 9 times out of 10 I wake up because the setting sun is blinding me and the swimming with Freddy Krueger dream was starting to get weird. And then begins what I like to call the Red Queen Hour, where the answer to all questions is "Off with their head!"

My mother, aunt and grandfather are/were spectacular nappers. All of the world's problems could be solved with a nap. My mom is able to conjure dreams of flying and fuzzy bunnies and kittens. I conjure geometry classes and hitmen. I am never teaching the geometry class but I do get to change if I am the hitman or the hit.

All I can remember now pre-nap is that Kate and Marg have both requested more writing from me, and the combination of the two was finally enough to inspire me to do it. And then the dreaded nap and now all is forgotten. That trick is really only handy if there is a fight I want to quickly get over, an expensive shopping receipt whose location I would like to forget or half a mushroom pizza that I would like to pretend is not in my stomach.

Ugh! This is so frustrating!! Off with their heads!!!! (not Kate and Marg- I love them both and wish them happy flying bunny dreams)

note:
Karl came up with mathematical equation.
crease times drool divided by pillow time equals honey
It looks better on paper.

Autofocus

My oh my but a long time has gone by. Almost a year since my last entry. I'm feeling a bit rusty already. I had originally put off writing anything for a bit because I was going to be taking a weekly pottery class and I thought zaniness would ensue and funny stories would be abundant. Instead, I missed a few classes because of a cold, an ice storm, and almost worthless legs from too many leg strengthening excericises perscribed by a maniacally happy chiropractor. I knew I was going to skip my next class because I had to ask Karl to help me get up from the toilet. And of course I'm on loads of water pills.

Turns out I have little natural skill at throwing clay. On a wheel or at the wall. I was behind everyone else in my class and did not come close to using up all of my clay. Ugh, just remembered that I left several pieces there. I really should have thought twice about taking a 3 hour long class that was 45 minutes away.

 

In the spring Karl and I went to Scarborough Fair. It was his first time there. Karl had never before seen so much inappropriately used synthetic material. Ever. I rode a small elephant, pet a goose and came away with the plague. Yep, it took the doc about a half second to diagnose me with shingles. A few very painful weeks later and I was no longer going braless in Walmart (I was quite popular during that time) and then the hottest summer ever began. I know I got out into the world, I know I had some fun, but right now all I can remember is the heat. Oh, and Karl went to Germany with his dad for 3 weeks just for the hell of it. Very cool.

  

I had a master plan of leaving Texas for the summer, but a nagging feeling and constantly rescheduled doctor's appointments kept me in town. Doctor's visits came back all good, and the nagging feeling turned into a lost filling and a root canal. I would have much rather been elsewhere, but it was nice to get those things out of the way.

 

Now we're heading into autumn, Karl has taken up running and finished his first race in 18 years this past Saturday. From his age group (40 -44) he was #16 out of 48 other men. He's really excited about his next race, and the one after that. He's also looking into taking some classes for fun at the local college. If I were to guess, I would say on the history of anything, but that man does often surprise me.

 

I am in a bit of limbo. My birthday is in one month and if I do not renew my massage license that I have not used in 5 years, then it expires. To get my license back I would have to retake the state exam. If I renew it then I will need about $450 for this and last year's fees and a couple of online ceu courses. Money that I do not have pretty much because of that art class, Scarborough Fair (with a couple of days in Austin), several doctor's appointments, a root canal and a replacement pair of eyeglasses. Somewhere in Paris, Tx my glasses are having fun.

 

I really hate to let that part of my identity go, but it has been 5 years and I was a massage therapist for only one year. One really great year. It feels like life is lacking a bit of focus lately. I'm not a fan of wanting to be told what it is I should be doing in life, or at least aiming for, but just now I kind of wouldn't mind a little help.

  

I think the only thing for it right now is to finish my now cold chamomile tea, sleep well and enjoy whatever tomorrow brings.

TV Made Me Do It

There is nothing like having pizza for dinner and then remembering just as you crawl off to bed that you did not take your evening pills. Skipping them means you'll be out of breathe halfway through brushing your teeth and then you'll curse having such a high bed. Taking them means you'll be up every 2 hours of the night. Outside I can hear the storm moving in, the cold wind is blowing. I think I have to vote for skip the pills. Not interesting in checking on just how cold the toilet seat can get tonight.

The Superbowl starts this weekend, so you know what that means. Tons of commercials for Velveeta and pizza, both of which I now have wicked daily cravings for. In an effort to keep from having to buy new pants, I've gone for a cross between abstinence and adjustment.

The Velveeta that I bought is in the smallest package available and is made from 2% milk. Never mind that I am about to finish the last of my second package in a month. I have been trying to stick to vegetarian pizza, performing a kind of surgery on the slices to remove as much extraneous bread as possible and also only eating the pizza that I really really want. My favorite pizza is a solid half hour out of my way to anywhere, so that helps.

Tonight we tried a local place that I have read some really good reviews for. One person from Chicago gave the deep dish 4 stars. The pizza we got was awful. The only thing I can figure is that the reviewer ate only at Domino's and Cici's. I take that back, Cici's is better than what we had tonight. I think tonight's pizza has saved me from any cheese addiction that winter and the Superbowl have brought on.

I may be skipping the evening pills, but I am most definitely taking a tummy pill. I really hope that my diet tomorrow puts rabbits to shame. I also really hope I don't have that dream about a giant deep dish pizza and his mushroom sidekick are trying to eat me. Not that I have had that dream, I'm just saying if it's going to happen, then I think tonight is the night.

Don't Wanna, Can't Make Me

Karl and I recently took off to Galveston for 24 hours. The day before his 2 days off, I realized that we could either blow town or take care of a greatly mounting list of to-do's. I had Karl's consent and a hotel booked within a half hour.

We left early enough the next day to have a late lunch close to the seawall. We topped our po' boys off with an afternoon nap that lasted until dinner time. Ah, the life of the lazy. Personally, I kind of hate naps, so mine was a bit shorter than his. I knew I had to resist the temptation of jumping on the bed, so I decided to be just a bit responsible and actually write out my Don't Wanna Do and Want To Do lists. Sadly, the former was much longer. To be fair, the Want To Do list would have been longer, but the "bad" list was so long that it made me a bit blue and good times got harder to think of. We enjoyed the rest of our time in Galveston and the list was not spoken of once. We were so good at ignoring the list that we continued our silence on the topic even after we got home. And for the next couple of days.

My dreams were just about the only thing that kept the list from being totally discarded. Lots of stressful action sequences. I have played characters in Crouching Tiger, Lord of the Rings and some version of King Arthur crossed with the Matrix.

Actually, I think the Lord of the Rings was a shout out for my medicine. I was Frodo and another random hobbit was telling me how the ring was so awful and how they would never be able to bear that burden. I was thinking, yeah, but if you knew how bad it really was, you would carry it, too. Thankfully, flolan themes rarely invade my sleeping hours. Flolan is invasive, but the PH is debilitating. It's worth it to carry the medicine.

3 days have gone by since the list's conception, and it has only grown. Tasks include paying the house taxes before the end of the month, calling a friend that I haven't talked to in such a long time, not for the purpose of chatting, but because I have something that only they can repair, calling various repairmen for non-vital but comfort improving repairs, and I truly cannot remember anything else right now without getting out the list which I have hidden somewhere. Okay, I know where, but you'll never get it out of me.

I have so much time to take care of these things, you would think I would just get them done instead of prolonging the avoidance. Anyways, I have stalled too long today to get anything done, and I'm fighting off a cold and the hot toddy I have been sipping on is insisting on me getting some sleep now. I hope I get to have a Narnia dream tonight.

When The Moon Hits Your Thighs

Winter is upon us and so are the pizza cravings. I would say that I am just trying to put on a little winter weight, but squirrels have taught me that I was supposed to have done this during the fall and I should be fasting right now. Instead, all I can think of is pizza.

I used to be satisfied with any ol' pizza. This was back in my elementary school days. I didn't care what kind of pizza it was, I just wanted the pizza. Probably more than french fries, probably less than a lollipop jewel ring. It wasn't until I heard my dad saying that Chuck E Cheese's pizza tasted like cardboard that I started to think about what the pizza really tasted like. I still ate whatever was put in front of me, but those slanderous words would haunt me the rest of my life.

Oh so slowly I began to turn against fast food pizza. The crust was too thick, or the sauce too sweet or our house was the last on the delivery route and the cheese had already begun to revert back to plastic. Still, the cravings persisted, although with less frequency.

Pizza restaurants have renewed my cheesy interests. Thin crust pizza truly made when you order it. Hawaiian pizza is awesome, but lately I have had a love for a tomato sauce pizza with cheese, mushrooms, basil and thin tomato slices. Big fat basil leaves would vastly improve the fast food world.

Then, last Christmas I went to a cheap pizza buffet with family. Perfect way to fill up kids high off of present opening. I turned my nose up to most of the pies and had decided to stick with water when a hot fresh pepperoni jalapeno pizza was laid out in front of me. One slice and I was hooked. Half a pizza later and I was ready for a nap. And a gallon of water.

It took a couple of more visits and a friend getting a bladder infection from overdosing on bread to realize the pizza really did taste a bit like pepperoni jalapeno cardboard. Finding my perfect pizza restaurant sealed the deal. Unfortunately, the golden pie is 30 minutes away, which is close enough for an indulgence every month or two but far away enough to give me time to decide that I do want to cook dinner.

Wow, I have to stop writing this now or I am going to have to make a pizza out of... celery. I have got to learn how to make my own pizza and then keep those ingredients onhand. Maybe Karl wouldn't mind driving a half hour out of his way when he comes home tonight. Maybe I should make a vegetable stew - I've put on 3 pounds of weight this winter, most of which I suspect is my Italian addiction. Enough! Vegetable stew it is! Or maybe barbeque.

The Squeaky Wheel Lives Forever!

When we moved into our first house in Fort Worth, I said that the first thing I was going to do was to rip out that awful 100 year old green carpeting on the 3 steps leading to our bedroom. Someone had a some point glued on a strip of really thin grey carpeting down the middle of the steps. I don't know why you would want to spend an extra cent to keep that stuff looking new. I am quite sure that particular carpet came off the line looking old. The carpet staid until the dog couldn't stand it anymore and ripped it out herself. Pretty much all in one go. 4 years had gone by and this was the project I vowed to take care of first.

We are in a new house now, and again, the first thing I was going to do was to fix the Banshee Door. Actually, first was going to be to install gas logs in the fireplace. This Christmas we gave our house the gift of gas logs. Now I just need to make the call to have them properly installed. To bad that phone isn't just a couple of inches closer.

Back to the Banshee Door. It leads to the master bathroom which at 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. is my water closet of choice. I could use the one off of the living room, but this increases my chances of stumbling over a furry animal or shoes that have (yet again!) been left in my pathway. Okay, usually the shoes are mine. Anyways.

If the door was just squeaky that would be one thing, but ours contains a family of at least 3 banshees. It happens the same every night, twice a night. I carefully pull the door open, but the first and youngest banshee has been waiting for me and starts the alarm. 3 inches is not wide enough for me to squeeze through, and so I open the door wider hoping the sound does not get worse. But no, the second banshee has awoken, adds her voice to the first and then wakes up the third sister. Shrieks are coming from the hinges so loudly and shrilly that the dog who sleeps outside 2 houses down starts barking. Karl is always awake when I crawl back into bed. All who hear the banshee cry are cursed.

Somehow, the only time I can remember to buy WD-40 is when I have just opened that awful door. Sleep erases all memory of their hauntings. Today is pretty much the first day that I have been able to retain what occurred during the night and I know what must be done. My only chore for the day is to go to the hardware store, buy the WD-40, possibly get it blessed, and then apply it to the door. Please, please, let me remember to do all of this one thing today.

Update: January 31, 2011
WD-40 has still not been bought. It is now time to go to bed. The Banshee Door Survives another night.