Crappy But Happy!

Yes, it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted last. Give me a break please – I feel like crap.

I know you most likely feel like crap too, therefore you understand and are now having great compassion for me. Right? This is my blog and my fantasy world and in it you all like me and understand and don’t give a rip how long it’s been – you’re just pleased as punch that I’ve taken the time to write today.

I feel like one of those people that you ‘think’ you know – but then they drop off the radar for awhile - not making any attempt at communication with you so you start to think, “Maybe they didn’t truly like me to begin with…maybe our sweet relationship was really just a farce – a fantasy after all??”

Yes, we Lymies are quite the paranoid bunch when it comes to wondering whether people will like us, or if people are talking behind our backs or conspiring against us for some reason.

Paranoia takes up a LOT of time. This would partially explain my absence from the blog world since the end of January.

I should feel great shame right now – but damnit so few of you emailed to ask, “DR. Wiseass – Are you OK? We miss you!” For those of you that did I’d like to extend my gratitude. “Thanks, Mom.”

WHAT? Is it because during my last post I got on my political soapbox that you decided to just ignore moi? How rude.

And yes, I know I totally missed the opportunity to blog during the month of February, March, and April, which probably means I basically suck. Again, thank you for your understanding and compassion – my readers are the BEST!


I don’t quite know where to begin, and I’m not exactly in one of my FUN, more MANIC phases so I worry about how entertaining this particular blog post will be for you. I’m such a people pleaser you know, that I am reluctant to write unless I think you will receive it with great joy and lightness of spirit.

But this morning I thought: “Ah screw it. Screw you. I need to BLOG!” So here I am…ready to drone on for a few pages. Are you ready?


TODAY’S MENU
Just say “AAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”
Sharing My Thimble Full of “WISE”
Sore Winner Cry-Babies
“Madam, Would You Care for Some Wine with that PAP?”
Aerobic Knitting & Cardiac Herxing
"Lifestyles of the Rich, Famous, & Frequent Urinaters & Defecaters"
Living in the Now


Just say “AAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!”
When last I posted - I encouraged you lazy asses to write/fax the federal Health Sub-Committee members? Did you do it? Probably not! Because if you did I’m sure you would have written me to rub my nose in the fact that there were errors in the contact info.

Here are the corrections:

Rep. Ted Strickland’s correct fax number: (202) 225-5907

Rep. John Dingell’s correct fax number (202) 226-0371

Now as an admonishment to all you lazy asses – “GET THEE TO FAXING!” (You know, after you read all this blathering on I’m about to do for 16 pages.)

Just to let you know, only MY representative bothered to respond to me and it was some pathetic little form letter written by some wet-behind-the-ears intern. Actually I was sent two pieces of correspondence from my Rep’s office which arrived on the same day. One was a fully stuffed envelope which I naturally opened first.

Do you know what those Capitol Hill staffers sent me? A bunch of shit about my Congressman’s involvement with the Medicare reform stuff. Now if I had written anything at all about Medicare – this would seem appropriate. However, I did not so much as mention Medicare in my letter – NOT AT ALL.

Meanwhile, the second, skinny ass little letter was just bullshit. I could have written a better damned “thank- you-for-writing-me-I-value-your-opinion-but-will-value-it-more-if-I-were-currently-up-for-re-election-but-I’m-not-so-let-me-just-say-that-I’ll-take-your-input-under-advisement-and-if-you-believe-that-you’re-a-bigass-sucker” letter.

Now, honestly I DID expect a form letter – what I didn’t expect was that the body of the letter would consist of informing ME what HR3427 covered!

SHIT! I faxed them! I told THEM what the bill would do and how it would benefit me, Congressman Dumbasses’ other sick lymie constituents, and the sick lymie citizens of America. Yet the response I get was to tell me what I already knew?

I hate it when people do that – don’t you?

I mean – it’s kinda like those people that have seen the SAME movie as you and they know you’ve seen the movie but they go on the EXPLAIN what happened in it to you anyway as if to imply that you are too stupid for words and clearly you need someone to EXPLAIN what it was that you just heard AND saw with your very own ears and eyes?!! As if to say you are too dumb to understand the basic plot or understand who all the characters were? ARGH!

(“ARGH!” That’s an interesting exclamation now, isn’t it? Does anyone other than Popeye really say “ARGH!” in real life? For me, I use it because it’s a more concise kind of word that semi-represents me screaming: “AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” over and over. And because I am such a concise writer, I skip the more verbose, yet accurate AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” and go for the pithy, but inaccurate “ARGH!” expression. Just thought you’d like to know.)

Anyway, I just don’t understand how someone could have legitimately READ my letter and then sent me such a stupid-ass follow-up letter.

So I picked up the phone and called my dear Congressman’s office. I can’t remember exactly y what I said, but I was indeed trying to be nice and explain, once again, the IMPORTANCE of the actual bill.

The little girl that answered the phone turned rather snotty on me. I wonder – do they just hire them that way, or is there special training involved to answer the phone and behave all snotty to U.S. taxpayers?

I tried to turn a deaf ear to snotty intern girl’s tone of voice and continued on, urging her to forward my needs & the needs of my fellow Lyme patients on to the ‘good’ Congressman. She then informed me that the Congressman is also a doctor and therefore knows all about Lyme disease.

First of all, I already knew that my Congressman is a damned doctor which is WHY I was really concerned with the fact that he has yet to sign onto this bill. No doubt he is a doctor on the wrong side of the political Lyme fence, and I was gently trying to explain that there were issues with regards to Lyme that many doctors are not trained to understand.

But the fact that snotty intern girl indicated that the Congressman ‘knew all about Lyme’ really tempted my DR. Wiseass voice to emerge and to set her straight…and quickly so. However, as I was operating under my everyday identity – I did not. I did not laugh at the ludicrousness of her bizarre statement; I only pressed on to find out if the dear Congressman SUPPORTED the bill.

Unfortunately, snotty intern girl was not privy to that as she is not his ‘health advisor’ or healthy staff member or whatever. So I asked to speak with the staffer in dear Congressman’s office that deals with the health issues. Surprisingly this other pipsqueak was also too busy to take my call. Hmph!

(I also like to use the expression “Hmph” quite a bit too….along with “Hmmmm…” Have you noticed? However, I think these spellings are more accurate to how these guttural semi-words really sound – don’t you think? None of this here is really important – just a useless observation to side-track my long discourse about my interaction with the political idiots, and a little test to see if you are still awake.)

I asked if snotty, intern girl would forward my desire to speak with the health pipsqueak and she indicated that she would.

What bullshit! That has been some time ago and I have yet to receive any more correspondence from Washington DC – at least not from that office.

Meanwhile, I have gained the health pipsqueak’s email and I fully intend to use it. I think I shall email the crap outta him. How much Lyme stuff should I send him? Should the regular me email him first – giving him the chance to pull his head outta his healthy pipsqueaking ass and go run & tell the good Dr. Congressman that chronic Lyme is a real disease? OR should I just allow Dr. Wiseass to deal with him?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

OK, in all honesty – I will have to have the ‘real’ me deal with him as I know that angry letters/emails, etc. will only end up in the trash…just like petitions and such.

A little bird on the Hill, and my friend BB (former Hill staffer) told me that most petitions are not taken seriously at all! In fact, because Congressional stuffed-shirts only care about where their constituents stand on certain issues (and hell, let’s face it – they only care about that when re-election is their main concern…) BUT that petitions usually include signatures from several districts. Because of that – it is too difficult for them to weed through the petitions searching for how many voters from their own district give a damn about a certain issue AND because anyone can sign a petition and even sign their neighbor’s name, or their dog’s full name on a petition – petitions to most Capitol Hill offices find themselves quickly in the trash can….”with coffee poured over them.” (Thus saith a secret DC source!)

I refuse to reveal my source for that information. I know you petition-toting advocates are now rather pissed that you have spent a great portion of your life gathering signatures for petitions…but at least now you know. Move on. Write a letter. They’re quite effective. Better yet – CALL your elected ones.

Ask to speak with the snotty intern girl. It’s a blast!


Sharing My Thimble Full of “WISE”
These past 3 months have been rather busy – wouldn’t it be lovely if I could now remember them and blog away about all my great experiences – sharing with you the daily minutia that makes my writing so damned effusive…I mean ‘entertaining’??

(Definition: EFFUSIVE – giving or involving an extravagant and sometimes excessive expression of feelings in writing or speech)

(Just so you know - I originally used the word ‘verbose’ – but while proof-reading this blog entry for the 3rd time because I MUST proofread over & over in order to allow myself to post shit because I have Lyme in my brain and sometimes I use entirely WRONG words which would make my blog so much more confusing than it already is….I discovered that I had already used the word ‘verbose’ in an earlier paragraph. You probably didn’t notice because you have a Lyme brain too and I imagine that you are doing good just to read thru all this bullshit even once! BUT I couldn’t, with good conscience, allow myself to post such a unique word TWICE within such a short amount of time/space. What kind of writer would I be? So I pushed “Shift F7” on my keyboard and the MS Word Thesaurus came up and I chose a word that sounded good: “Effusive” Did you like it? Naturally, I didn’t know what the hell ‘effusive’ really meant so I somehow found the way to get to the Encarta Dictionary thingy and then graciously provided you with the above definition because that’s the kinda gal I am! BTW, did you know I used to be an English teacher? God bless those children. Yes, I taught Language Arts for TWO of the longest damn traumatic years of my life! Those middle school kids sent me into early retirement! Actually I went out on maternity leave and never came back. My kid is twelve. All of that was just some extra goodies too. I’m in a giving mood today.)

OK, so one of the main BIG things that have kept me away from blogging is that I went from being a mostly ‘inactive’ member of my local support group to becoming EXCESSIVELY active.

Prior to January, I never really went to my local support group meetings because it seemed like a once-a-month-bitch-a-thon and frankly, I stay home and do that every day in my pajamas. Why would I need to put on make up, do my hair, and drive across town to bitch? What a waste of energy & gas, you know?

BUT some stuff happened with the support group leader and I was basically asked by my doctor if I’d be willing to take over.

STOP LAUGHING!

My doctor has no idea that my secret lyme-fighting identity is DR. Wiseass – at least not that I know of…or maybe he DOES know and just hasn’t told me? Hmmmm…..

Anyway – I said I’d have to give it some prayer and a lot of thought and discuss it with hubby as I know me well enough to know that I generally THROW myself into various projects, thus ignoring all of the other aspects of my life.

But after about 10 minutes of solid prayer and careful consideration, I said,
“Yea. OK. Whatever. I’ll do it.”

It’s a bit of a lengthy semi-dramatic story about how I came to really take over -- but it would make this blog entry just too long and you know I care about your opinion so I’ll keep it brief today.

((While proofreading, I notice that I’ve written 16 pages. Yes, I’m being brief today. Hahahahaha! And don’t you prefer “Hahahahaha! to the more inaccurate and overused “LOL”?? I mean – do people really “LOL” as much as they indicate that they are “LOL-ing”?? Honestly, I think “Hahahaha!” is underused and it is more honest – more indicative of your emotion – while not revealing too much. Is it an inner ‘hahaha’ ? OR is it a full blown effusive & very verbal belly jiggling kind of “HAHAHAHAHA!” Who knows!? I think people need to keep some things, such as their true feelings of joy – to themselves. We are sick people here…too much “LOL-ing” from others makes those of us who rarely “LOL” feel bad – like we’re more depressed than we really are!))

Now, back to my verbose story…

I would like to take a mini-moment to brag about some of the improvements that have occurred under my leadership – yet I can not remember what they are. But I DO have vision, and my desire to lead & support IS sincere, despite my tacky, tongue-n-cheek persona that I represent here on the blog.

See – my blog is my own private, yet ironically voyeuristic little world where I can come and basically regurgitate some of the bullshit that is really getting on my nerves about this disease and life because of this disease.

So far there have been some really interesting experiences I have already faced as support group leader in the last 5 months which would, indeed, make for great reading. HOWEVER, I really must think carefully before I start spinning support group tales because I do NOT want to ever give the impression that my desire and efforts on behalf of the group are not from my most sincere intentions. (Dr. Wiseass, does indeed, have a marshmallow side. I’m a softy. Yep. That’s me. I’m kinda like that bigass marshmallow man from Ghostbusters…only I’m a bigass marshmallow gal…and oh, so friendly!)

Truly, my heart is to do right by the group. Despite a few potentially Looney Tune characters in the group – most of them are sweet, wonderful people who just need information and support…and by serving as support group leader, it gives me the opportunity to feel like I’m doing SOMETHING rather than NOTHING while I’m in the middle of suffering. It somehow gives value to my suffering because I can magically remember all of my suffering (as opposed to remembering all of the good times in my life) and when I can use it to help a fellow brother or sister lymie make it through their own personal hardships with this damn disease – it makes my suffering more ‘constructive’. See? It’s all about re-framing your experiences. To give love, compassion & support to another person who is suffering somehow gives meaning to your own experiences with the same; and I think by sharing those moments – allowing yourself to open up and be vulnerable and to share & validate that mutual experience of pain - it allows both an opportunity to begin to heal psychologically.

YES, you morons Dr. Wiseass has a heart! I’m not just an ASS – I’ve also got a thimble full of WISE that creeps into my mind upon rare occasion.

Just because I can cuss a drunken sailor into a corner doesn’t mean that I am not full of compassion damnit so kindly leave me the hell alone! See? I’m full of heart. See how I used the word ‘kindly’ and resisted using the ‘F’ word? That alone should speak volumes about my true character!

Alas, I think that sharing some of my personal experiences with the support group would taste like a betrayal on my part. I won’t do that. I am trying to develop of sense of trust between all the members – so I can’t come on here and betray that trust…what kind of leader would I be?

Therefore, for now – you know, on my FREE blog site – I shall not retell any of my Peyton Place kind of experiences surrounding some of my more interesting, paranoid, Lyme-raging support group members – no matter how entertaining it might be for all of us. But just out of curiosity – would you, my dear readers, be willing to pay $19.95 for a hardcover book? Just let me know. Medical bills are expensive – gotta look out for #1!

((All that kinda makes you want to relocate to my town so you can be in my support group, doesn’t it? Well don’t! Anyone who reads my blog is probably a true pain in the ass. I’ve got enough on my plate damnint!))


Sore Winner Cry-Babies
In other news, although potentially a boring subject matter for you - the extra-curricular academic team that I’ve been coaching for the last 5 years placed 2nd in a Regional tournament back in February.

I have successfully whittled the team down from 7 co-ed members to 4 girls – one of which, is my daughter, otherwise I would not have any desire whatsoever to serve as team manager because damnit I have Lyme disease and I’m tired.

Allow me to supply you with more info than you care to read:

The tournament is for creative/critical problem solving types of challenges that teams work on about 6 long ass MONTHS! Finally, after 5 years of competing in this competition - I thought we had a chance at 1st place. It seemed that the team had all the required elements in place. I tried to motivate them by letting them know they DID, indeed, have what it took to win 1st place – yet they just needed to push through.

You see – my team, historically, has a roller-coaster waxing/waning approach to their efforts. The bulk of their effort is usually seen in the last 3 anxiety-filled weeks prior to the competition. I swear – I had diarrhea that whole time – despite my personal pledge to not get emotionally involved in whether they won or lost.

But as a mom & team manager – I just couldn’t help it because I think that academic competitions are a little unfair in the sense that there are so few of them – so few opportunities to taste that thrill of victory.

For the kids that are into sports – there are competitions all the time; many chances for a kid to feel like a WINNER…unless the kid really isn’t gifted in sports and is constantly getting placed on teams that suck. BUT for the most part, kids usually have that occasion at least once - to know what it feels like to win – to be TOP dog, even if just for a few days or a few minutes!

Academic competitions, on the other hand, are much more rigorous – and they are limited in opportunity. Spelling Bees & Geography Bees only come around once a year; the creative problem solving team challenge competition only comes around once a year (I don’t want to mention the name of the competition because I don’t want some poor kid Googling for more info about the competition and land their little minor ass here on my web page of foul-mouthed commentary…because I’m that kind of gal! YES, I’m a mom!)

Needless to say – my little team of 4 girls were all psyched to win! They were confident – except for dress rehearsal the night before when their backdrop started to fall apart and their technical element (which consisted of using the rotational movement of a fan to convert the movement of an object into vertical motion)….well, it fell apart too. We broke every old fan we had stored in the garage – about 5 to be exact! Hubby was not pleased. Fortunately I had purchased a NEW fan to replace one of our favorite personal fans…so that one ended up saving our ass.

Alas, our creative asses STILL did not win first place.

Our team came in a respectable 2nd place. Considering the competition, I was pleased enough – although honestly I was disappointed this was not the year for them to jump up and down victoriously screaming at the awards ceremony. Secretly though, part of me was relieved they didn’t win 1st place because that would have meant that our team & team manager(s) (ME!) would have to load their asses, their luggage, and all their theatrical sets and crap onto a damn bus and drive for about 10 hours to go to the state tournament. Hell, I can’t drive to my doctor’s office without feeling like I need sedation – so I was a little more than relieved that I got outta that one….again.

But at the awards ceremony – instead of the girls acknowledging with gratitude their 2nd place win – they sulked up to the stage to receive their medals; and then they started crying like a bunch of sissy babies!

The team picture – the one where they are supposed to be happily displaying their medals – every one of those girls had tears in their eyes. They were NOT tears of joy.

The principal of the school would like for me to supply the school with the plaque and the team picture so he can proudly post it in the school’s trophy case – but I’m having a hard time finding someone who knows how to edit tears & scowls out of the photo. Got any suggestions?

I just remember sitting on that hard gym floor at the awards ceremony – feeling like I had been severely beaten and left for dead by a bunch of hateful punks because after all, it had been one long-ass day and I have Lyme….and I was just so embarrassed that my girls were acting like a bunch of sore 2nd place winners.

I tried to console them and remind them they needed to feel grateful and consider how those teams that didn’t medal at all felt. They didn’t give a rat’s ass what I was saying. They were disappointed and they were going to sit there and cry. Finally I thought, "Well screw it! I can’t exactly stop their tears now can I?"

When we managed to drag my body and the rest of the team members back to the van after the ceremony and shut the doors, I began wailing….LOUDLY. Then I began bemoaning in my most whiny voice about the fact that it wasn’t fair that we only won 2nd place and that life stinks and that 1st place team surely must have cheated and Wah! Wah! Wah! I wailed until they started laughing because they finally saw how stupid they were behaving.

Once I stopped wailing and we talked about it – drove through McDonalds and got ‘celebratory’ ice cream – they started crying AGAIN!

Finally I gave up. Clearly I suck at being a manager. I decided to eat my (forbidden) ice cream and ignore them. Yes, ignoring your team – my new managerial style. We’ll see if that’s effective next year!


“Madam, Would You Care for Some Wine with that PAP?”
Speaking of sucking….as mentioned ad nauseum, I have this little disease we like to call Lyme Disease - therefore, my memory sucks. When you have Lyme disease, a lot of your life starts to suck too. Sure – parts of my life seemed to suck before my Lyme disease diagnosis, but now that I have this great label, I can practically wear the words SUCKS across my forehead…only it would probably give the wrong idea to most people and would attract unneeded attention.

And speaking of unwanted attention – who ARE you people that are reading my blog? Are you normal people with Lyme – or are you a bunch of weirdos? I really should make you people sign in – so I know exactly who’s reading this crap. BUT lucky for you I have no real techno-skills as I’m doing good to type, proofread 11 times, and post; so for now – I guess even the perverts will still be reading. What can I do?

To keep the perverts away from my site, I should probably not report to you about this year’s “well woman” visit….if you know what I mean. But there are some of you that would feel slighted if I don’t publicly share some of my more embarrassing, personal moments. After all – why else are you reading?

So – since I freely told you about last year’s appointment with a GYN that was a true Lyme basher - you remember him, Dr. SOB (I think that was his name….I can’t keep up with my own naming system.) – I should probably just be brave and tell you this year’s story too.

Here goes…

After last year’s awful confrontation with Dr. SOB, I decided life is too short to see docs that I refer to as SOBs and the like, so I found me a new doc.

((BTW, for my newbie readers - Dr. SOB - I think that's what I named him -- was a gynecologist that told me, while my feet were in the stirrups that there's no way that I have Lyme disease and that he could send wallpaper samples to the lab I used - and it would come back positive for Lyme disease. As I was in a vulnerable position about to be probed - I decided to refrain from expressing the anger I was feeling towards him; I also refrained from debating the issue at all, again only because of the vulnerability issue. NOW you understand my need for a new gyn????))

As far as gyn’s are concerned – they’re a dime a dozen – but I was quite fortunate, as FINALLY after 3 years, I found me another uro-gynecologist! YEE HAW! Uro-gyn’s are quite the rarity.

For those of you that have no idea what a uro-gyn is – it’s usually a gynecologist that has also had some additional training in female urology. A uro-gyn is best for those women who would prefer to actually see a doctor that is familiar with the workings of the female anatomy – as opposed to going to a urologist whose big business is handing out prescriptions for Viagra.

As a reminder, I am one of the lucky gals that suffer with interstitial cystitis – a most painful bladder disease that sometimes feels like your bladder lining is being etched out by acidic shards of glass….and then sometimes while that pain is present – things start to spasm so hard that you become convinced you’re about to give birth to your own bladder. That’s when I start wondering if I should be picking out names or hunting for a surgeon to shove it back in and tie it in there. Of course – IF my bladder chooses to exit my body, I’m thinking I need to ask for a bladder transplant or something.

If I’ve got to have a surgery – I think I’d like to have a bigger, better bladder. Bigger, Better, Bladder. No, not quite as entertaining as ‘rubber baby buggy bumpers’ but if you try to say it quickly and often, it could merit a chuckle. Bigger, better, bladder. Bigger, better, bladder, Bigger, better, bladder.

I think the word ‘bladder’ itself is usually funny…unless of course when it’s trying to exit my body at which point there’s nothing in the world that is funny. NOTHING. NO thing!

I digress.

My first appoint with Dr. UroGyn was back in December. (Hey, have I told you this story already?) When most people go to the docs these days, they are accustomed to being seen and examined from day one. Not me. At least NOT in December, and especially not with this particular type of doc. (FYI – For those of you not “ in the know” – December is the BUSIEST time of year….for WOMEN, since we are generally the ones responsible for spreading all the merriment. Making merry is time consuming and exhausting and I didn’t want a damn gyn-induced bladder infection slowing my ass down! I’m sick as hell, but I’m still smart!)

No, back in December I decided I was much too important and already in a moderate amount of daily pain, that I did NOT need to allow another idiot hiding behind medical letters to go poking and prodding around the hidden areas of my body unless they knew what the hell they were doing. So I did the unthinknable….I INTERVIEWED HIM!

Yes, I know, I know – WHO DOES THAT? I announced that I would NOT be disrobing and that I would NOT be examined on that day – that I just came to chat. Although a bit shocked, Dr. UroGyn was willing and quite cordial.

I recall interviewing docs when I was looking for the right pediatrician for my daughter when I was still pregnant. Did my hoo-ha not deserve the same careful interview process?

I questioned Dr. UroGyn about his knowledge & experience with interstitial cystitis and was moderately satisfied – although I’m sure I could offer him some additional education & insight – he seemed ‘teachable’. ALSO I asked him what he knew about Lyme disease – which he admitted he didn’t know a lot about, but he did NOT ‘poo poo’ my chronic Lyme diagnosis, AND he seemed quite eager to learn more - so he got some extra interview points right there.

At one point in my interview I set a boundary and made it quite clear that while he was allowed to disagree with me on medical matters since he did go to medical school – he was NOT allowed to argue with me while I was practically unclothed and/or while I had my feet in the stirrups….not unless he wanted to even the playing field and just drop his drawers while he was doing all the arguing.

Are you sure I haven’t told you this story before? ((How embarrassing if I have because you know every time a story gets re-told – even by the owner of the story – some detail either gets added or dropped due to failing and flailing memory…but I shall continue on anyway….))

Dr. UroGyn was only silent for about a split second and then he did what every self-respecting doctor should do when a patient makes such an awkward, off-the-wall remark, and that was to LAUGH. Yes, he laughed. I decided then I would give him a try.

SO – I scheduled an appointment for January. Had to cancel it. Rescheduled for February – twice; had to cancel those too. FINALLY – in March I went for the dreaded exam.

As I was getting ready for my appointment, I did as I had been doing daily for the two weeks prior and I massaged a homemade crème into my feet because I swear there are Lyme bugs in my feet eating away at joints, muscles and tendons and whatever it is they do to make my feet feel like I want to cut them off – they were doing it in double time! (I am now convinced I have Bartonella – but that’s another story.)

Anyway – I had made a crème using some BenGay and then adding a prescription anti-inflammatory and the prescription Neurontin – an Rx which is used for neuropathy pain, which is exactly what the foot pain felt like to me.

I was originally going to make my crème completely from scratch – trying to find a good base to make my homemade lotion – something that has penetrating properties that would take the medication and allow it to absorb through my skin deep into my foot where I needed it. But it occurred to me at some point that re-inventing the wheel was a stupidass waste of time, so I just dumped the meds in the BenGay and voila! I have now created my own foot crème formula.

If you have not experienced BenGay – it can be quite intense, especially for the tender skin on top of the foot. Intense but effective.

It wasn’t until I was signing in at the uro-gyn’s office that I realized I could still smell the unmistakable STRONG menthol aroma of the BenGay concotion on my feet – even though my nose was far away from my feet since I was upright, walking into the office. At that moment I realized that some women like to spray down with lots of perfume, perhaps even slathering on a lot of fru-fru lotion – in order to feel more comfortable with idea of a doc hanging around the second half of her body.

Not me. I went for the BenGay….which is an interesting name for a crème by the way…kinda curious don’t you think?

I must admit that I was a little embarrassed that the smell of my feet could open up the sinuses of anyone within a 40 foot radius of them, but part of me thought it was another Lucille Ball type thing that I did, so I just chose to laugh about it. (And I was laughing on the inside, as in ‘hahahaha’ not “HAHAHAHA!” and definitely not “LOL!” )

I apologized to the doc that my feet were making his eyes water; and he took it like a man which only further solidified my feelings of warmth for him; that and he DID, in fact, use the small speculum per my request.

As with all well-run exams of this nature, a nurse was also present in the room because when you’re in a most ‘ill at ease’ kind of position - being probed with instruments & such – you just can’t have enough people in the room. It’s like a special kind of gathering. I personally think they should serve wine & cheese with the experience, but no one generally asks for my opinion on how to improve the world, so me, being meek & stuff, I usually keep my brilliant ideas to myself.

((Watch – months from now there will be uro-gyn clinics popping up all over Beverly Hills and they’ll be serving wine & cheese and doing manicures during the exam. It will be all the craze….just because little ol’ me made the suggestion and some entrepreneurial spirit decided to go with it because you just can’t knock a good idea!))

Anyway – so here I was being probed and chatted up by the doc and the nurse, and I can’t for the life of me remember why the conversation turned from the delightful topic of my menthol feet to the topic of ‘cosmetic procedures’. And honey, we weren’t talking about the kind done on the face.

Now, I have never had the desire to have any kind of cosmetic procedure of any kind – and prior to that moment I did not realize that cosmetic procedures of THAT kind were performed, other than for some kind of gender reassignment surgery or something.

So there I was, feet in the stirrups, smelling like BenGay, craving some cheese and the doc is starting to tell me about how many um, “unusual” cosmetic procedures he has performed. At that moment is when the craving for wine really hit me. I wanted quite a lot - any flavor – from any vineyard – any year – and I didn’t even need a glass, just the bottle.

Being a good conversationalist, I had to send out those active listening cues by doing such things as ---asking questions. Granted, I was somewhat fascinated by the topic, but the timing of the topic was a bit awkward – at least for me. And when I feel awkward, I sometimes try to fill in any awkward silence with nervous awkward banter.

Without going into far too many details & by placing the words of the conversation here that would only bring more perverts to my site – let’s just say that the doc was telling me that apparently there are certain kinds of film ‘stars’ that like to have certain kinds of cosmetic surgery – as apparently there is a standard of, um, “beauty” within that particular industry.

First of all, WHO KNEW? I was fascinated and horrified simultaneously.

Since no one was pouring me any wine or painting my nails, I just kept filling in those small gaps of silence with more questions. Finally – I just asked it.

And I would like to preface this by saying it is quite natural for we ‘lymies’ to feel a bit paranoid about a multitude of things – so I can’t really be blamed for asking such an innocent – yet stupid & unnecessary kind of question. But I just had to know if I would be a likely candidate for the type of surgery for which he was discussing. And he said, to my shock & great relief –

“Relax . You can go home and tell your husband you have the [insert medical term here] of a [insert name of film genre here] star.”

There are moments in your life when someone says something so shocking to you that you just don’t know how to respond. Even the nurse took a moment – looked at me all wide-eyed, waiting for my reaction…and I did what every self-respecting patient should do when a doctor makes such an awkward, off-the-wall remark while your feet are in the stirrups, and that was to LAUGH. I laughed - and it was full 'LOL' and a "HAHAHAHAHA!" Besides, how else should I have reacted? I needed to 'lighten' the moment. So I laughted; the nurse laughed; and even Dr. UroGyn laughed.

Yes, it was just like a party – minus the wine & cheese.


Aerobic Knitting & Cardiac Herxing
Make no mistake, however, the last few months have NOT felt like a party for me personally. Overall, I have felt rather crappy.

I’m up to ½ tablet of Ketek a day in an effort to kill off my borrelia infection and whatever else is tagging along. Basically, the Ketek is kicking my ass.

One time I was lying on the couch watching a movie & knitting – and please don’t misunderstand it was not the soon-to-be popular aerobic-knitting – which will shortly be all the craze in Beverly Hills (along with the wine & cheese PAP smears) – just some mild-mannered knitting.

All of a sudden I felt horrible – MORE horrible than normal. I broke out into a cold clammy sweat and my breathing felt more labored. I became dizzy and nauseated and was really afraid I was about to vomit and/or lose consciousness. I got up – determined to take my blood pressure so I could ascertain whether I needed to wake up my husband or just dial 911 or both. I melodramatically made it to my blood pressure machine and then back to the couch. My BP was only slightly elevated, but my heart rate had soared to near 100. Remember – I had been lying down and knitting. Again, not aerobic knitting – just knitting.

I decided I was probably in some kind of new trouble as this was new…and it felt like trouble. So I used what energy I had to beckon my husband to the living room. Naturally he was snoring in the bedroom so I had to continuously yell as loud as I could muster. I knew I didn’t have the energy to get up.

By the time my sleeping Prince Charming rode his white horse into the living room to rescue me, a damned damsel in distress, the symptoms were beginning to subside. He just stood there for a minute like a proverbial deer paralyzed by the mesmerizing effect of headlights…then asked if he should call 911.

Hell – I didn’t feel like going to the ER (a/k/a “Duck Motel”) so I said: “NO – not unless I faint and then you can do whatever you want to.”

Hubby helped me to the bed and I relaxed and the main symptoms finally subsided. Meanwhile I had to recover from the subsequent anxiety attack that came along with them – but I finally drifted off to sleep hoping that I wasn’t going to kick the bucket while in dreamland – although if given my dithers that’s probably the preferred method to die – while sleeping. I don’t really want to die while suffering – do you? I mean, sure, it’s more dramatic that way – and drama can be fun; but I say “NO THANK YOU” to the whole suffering scenario.

The next day, I did indeed, awake. Fortunately, I had an appointment with my LLMD and told him all about my experience. He said it sounded like a cardiac herx.

Naturally this was the first time I had heard about such a thing and wondered if he was just making the term up. And shit – he’s a doc – he’s probably allowed to do that sort of crap, right? A cardiac herx.

Sounds rather scary, doesn’t it? But when I thought about it – about the fact that the spirochetes like to live in fat, tissue, and muscle – then it made sense that as the bacteria die in the heart muscle that the rest of the body might feel the effects of it since the heart seems to play a central role in the whole functioning of the body – so I logically accepted the term.

Emotionally, however, the thought of having another one scared the bejeezus outta me! And I had asked the doc what I should do if I had another one – go to the ER?

Doc said “NO” – just come to my office.

At the time of the doc’s comment I was experiencing some brain fog so that comment didn’t seem quite as ridiculous as it did hours later when I recalled it.

Go to his office? What – is he gonna be there at 10pm at night? And even if I was having a cardiac herx in the middle of the damned day – did he really want me driving? I mean – I DID feel like I could lose consciousness at any point so why would I want to involve myself and other vehiclists?

A Dr. Wiseass DEFINITION: Vehiclists = “people who drive or ride in vehicles.”

((Hey - If my doc can make up medical terminology I can make up new words when I can’t find the regular word I want to use. But look – I kindly supplied a definition, so stop your bitching about it!)).

Anyway, why would I want to get in the car, pass my ass out and take out a bunch of other people with me? That would be as smart a move as getting really drunk with Dick Cheney and then going quail hunting together with a bunch of our good friends! (Well, I don’t really have a lot of friends right now – so I would just want to go with Cheney’s friends.)

Finally, after my brain fog cleared - I just decided I would have to take each incidence on a case by case basis.

Fortunately, I have only had a few more instances where I have felt like I was having what I would classify as a cardiac herx. Naturally those moment occurred when I was out running errands because they’re more dramatic that way. Both times I was inside a store and not in my vehicle endangering the lives of my fellow “vehiclists” .

(WAIT! The word is MOTORISTS. But honestly – doesn’t VEHICLIST seem more accurate than MOTORIST? Let’s look at it – a vehicle is usually something that can be driven on a road. My lawn mower has a MOTOR in it; my blender has a MOTOR in it, as does my bedside fan – but just by using those pieces of equipment does not make me a MOTORIST, nor can I drive them on a road. Using a vehicle, however, would make me a VEHICLIST. AND the added plus with my new word is that a VEHICLIST does NOT have to be in or on a vehicle with a MOTOR. In my opinion, bicycles are types of vehicles – yet they do NOT generally have MOTORS. Would you call a bicyclist a MOTORIST? If you do – you would be INCORRECT! Bicyclists are VEHICLSTS just by virtue of the fact that a bicycle is a vehicle that does NOT have a MOTOR!. Gosh! Don’t you wish you were my neighbor and we could have these enlightening exchanges all the damn time!)

Back to my cardiac herxes – I would usually just stop what I was doing and find a place to sit down and just focus on my breathing…and try to send the message to my body that my heart needed to slow down and the excessive clammy sweat was basically unnecessary. And you know, during those times when I was wondering if I was about to die – I have had the most unique opportunities to talk with some very kind people – people who just may need to hear about why I’m having a cardiac herx.

The people who have come up to me out of a sense of compassion (some of whom were store employees afraid I would faint or start bleeding or convulsing or whatever would make them have to add more to their job descriptions ) have been given the opportunity to learn about the TRUE picture of Lyme disease. Naturally, neither one of us really wanted to be at that place dealing with the situation of me sitting there with my head between my legs, talking slowly, breathing deeply, sipping on water & holding a cold wet compress to my head. But damnit sometimes that’s life – at least life as a Lymie. And you know that saying when life hands you lemons make lemonade. Sometimes you gotta make that Lymeaid – although bitter – it’s better than nuthin’!


Lifestyles of the Rich, Famous, & Frequent Urinaters & Defecaters
Finally, some very happy news to report…an addition to our home…

My husband – after 11 years in this house and 11 years of continued effort to get this – hubby finally installed a TV in our bathroom!

I mean – I’ve got bathroom ‘issues’ – you know? That doesn’t mean I should have to miss all my shows, though! You know what I mean, right?

And when I am in lots of pain from my various bathroom-related issues, a little distraction is nice to have and you can only read Gardening magazines so many times before they tend to make you angry. Angry that I’m on the toilet instead of gardening; and angry that it was probably my love of gardening that invited more bacterial-infested bugs into my health picture.

So TV in the bathroom – what a treat! It kinda makes me feel like I’m living the life of the rich & famous – although hubby has yet to hook up the satellite in there. I wonder if Robin Leach would like to come & bring a camera crew to my bathroom? (Hey, is Robin Leach even still alive?)

Anyway, now I can sit there like some richass princess or celebrity and watch the stupidass commercials for IBS medication that is clearly not showing the TRUE horrific pain that can accompany irritable bowel syndrome.

Seeing a bunch of men & women with FLAT stomachs standing around with IBS symptoms written on their little tummies…give me a freaking break! True IBS pain will make you bloat up like you’re in your 6th month of pregnancy; true IBS pain makes you feel like you have a kink in your intestines and that kink is about to cause a leak – just like the water hose in the back yard gets all kinked up and all that pressure on the hose causes the hose to bust a leak. THAT, my friends, is the kind of pain IBS can really cause!

The double-me-over-if-I-don’t-get-some-relief-soon-I-wish-someone-would-come-in-and-either-sedate-me-or-kill-me-as-I-do-not-prefer-to-suffer kind of pain – now THAT’s IBS! They should bring a camera crew in my bathroom! I’ll give you a damn commercial for IBS medication!

So yeah, TV in the bathroom is great. It makes me happy to be able divert my attention away from my overwhelming suffering to watch the melodramatic suffering of soap opera stars and all those women standing in a line with acronyms scrawled across their bellies.

Yep. Life can be crappy.

Living in the Now
Despite all that crappiness that finds its way into my life – I realize I am happy because I have been blessed with a family that loves me. And I’m happy, too, because I’ve come to truly realize that life is short and offers no guarantees (dammnit) so each moment should be lived in the NOW.

I know this will sound strange to some of you, but I think that all this suffering has made me more grateful of those moments when I don’t feel like I’m dying in slow motion. People that have never experienced pain won’t understand that. But if you’ve ever had a really bad tooth infection – you know the pain can be quite excruciating and can occupy your entire attention. BUT – when the pain stops – you notice it…and most people, I surmise, are quite grateful for that lack of pain. All of a sudden, having a lack of pain is something to count as a blessing. Those whom have never experienced real pain usually don’t think to count ‘lack of pain’ as a blessing. Those of us who have, usually do…provided we remember! (ha!)

This stupidass disease has actually blessed me with a gift, as it has made me stop from time to time & just observe LIFE – and caused me to savor those sweet precious moments that are usually taken for granted by healthy people that stay so busy because that’s what our culture demands.

As a sick person, I’m “allowed” to slow down (although sometimes I don’t, even when I should…) and by slowing down I can more fully experience those moments – moments that are truly magnificent, just because of their simplicity.

Don’t get me wrong – I hate this damn disease and I would be elated beyond words to rid my body of this infection. But barring some miraculous event or cure – I know that healing is going to take awhile. I know I come on my blog and bitch a lot because that’s why I created the blog….after all – isn’t that what blog stands for? Bitching Log ? BLog?

I can be happy because I allow myself to bitch about my maladies and get them out of my body and out of my mind – which having a screwed up short-term memory really helps with the getting shit ‘out of my mind’ part.

I purge my emotional toxins so I can be relieved…and happy. It’s sorta like vomiting, or having a bad case of diarrhea. It’s gross, nasty, and generally a miserable experience – but afterwards – aren’t you relieved and genuinely happy that its over?

Yep. Life can sometimes be really crappy….but by the grace of God, I’m still happy.


DON’T MISS MY NEXT BLOG POSTS where I will write effusively about:
My daughter’s over-the-top annual birthday extravaganza; my new back porch, my new half-pit bull puppy that’s a pain in the ass but part of our multi-modal security system because we’re getting a crapload of new neighbors which will destroy my illusion that we’re living in the country; my recent TIA-like (mini-stroke) experience; my attendance at the ACAM medical conference where I virtually pounced on doctors from my state – questioning them about if they would treat chronic Lyme paitnets; and my horrific trigeminal neuralgia caused by the infection in my jaw bone, which may cause me to spend mega-bucks to have a freaking cavitation procedure. (Yes, I should include all that shit here today, so I could feel like I’m ‘caught up’ – but you are tired of reading and I am tired of typing. That’s life.)

Until next time….

Hugs & Kisses,

DR Wiseass
-not a real doc – just a real wise ass
drwiseass@sbcglobal.net