When I'm without words, music...

When I'm without words, music....

DNA RESULTS! OMG!! THE SHOCKING TRUTH!

So I did one of those DNA test things where you find out what the hell you are exactly.  And, as suspected: 70% Great Britain, 17% Ireland, 4% Italy/Greece, 3% Europe East, 2% Iberian Peninsula.

I won't go into the 'trace' nationalities because the margin of error can mean it may or may not apply.

One thing is for CERTAIN though---I'm probably the whitest chick you know!  lmao! So in honor of that, I give you this! ;p

Not really dealing with this well at all.

IWhere Fireflies Dream So you can view it all there.  BUT, I will be posting more here in a few minutes.  But yeah.. it's been one of THOSE days.
've pretty much said it all on my other blog

I'll be back.  No, really.  I will.

Is THIS my new "normal"?

And what I'm left with in the end is--not a single answer, solution, nor any real strength to wait until the next step reveals itself.  Over the span of more than a month now, ever since titering off the prednisone, my body has become my worst enemy.  It's weak when I need strength, it's 'loudly' painful when I need peace, serenity, rest.  And for the life of me nothing seems to get better as the days pass one after the next.  Nothing, it seems, is working.

There is hope, right?  People always say "There is always hope."  But the time for continuing to believe in something that has yet to be true--is coming to an end.  Once again, though most want to help, doctors are throwing up their hands and telling me--they don't know what to do, what it is, or how to help me.  I still have one last appointment, with an endocrinologist this time, who may be able to help.  Is this going to be my last hope?  I don't even have the strength to ponder that question.

So in this "New normal" of mine, real life doesn't exist.  Nothing beyond the windows means anything, and all inside this house can continue to collect dust in it's blooming irrelevancy.  Honestly, I've never experienced ANYTHING like this before and don't know what it is I'm dealing with.

I have no appetite whatsoever, and food doesn't even taste good anymore.  You'd think I'd get some benefit from that, like weight loss.  But no, thanks to the prednisone after-effects I can eat less than 1,000 calories a day and not lose a single ounce.  yay.

You're probably thinking "Oh, that sounds just like depression!"  Well, perhaps.  Except.. depression makes it so you don't WAN'T do do anything, go anywhere, and while it comes with physical pain, etc... what I'm dealing with isn't quite like that.  Oh, I GET depressed--but who wouldn't?  My mind and spirit WANT'S to do things again, not spend most of my time in bed (literally), wants to go places, take my camera and explore, and have at least an ordinary life if not an extraordinary one.  The DESIRE is there, buried deep beneath weakness, fatigue, pain, nausea, and so much more.  It's there, but it's being held hostage at the moment.

My life now, day by day, is marked by two thoughts: Morning: "Maybe today!"  And evening: "Maybe tomorrow!"

Is THIS my new normal?  Is this all there is, all I have to look forward to?  Will I ever feel good again?  Will I ever feel anything but pain, fatigue, and discomfort?  Will I ever have JOY again?

Will I EVER feel good or experience joy again?  Will it always be about pain, misery?

Will I really have to spend the rest of my life feeling like I have the worst case of the flu 24/7?

Will I ever... get answers to those questions?

Carrying on... but on a different approach..

So, as you guys may know (if you read my entries) my health has been chaos over the past year or so.  Okay, so before that too, but lately it's hit a whole new level of 'bottom.'  It is what it is.  Recently, due to being pretty much bedridden I began to wean myself off as many medications as possible, and so far... it's not helped.  But I think what's left to explore is possibly key.  About that in a minute.

I'm on a few medications.  A blood thinner due to a TIA in 2013 attributed to Afib, etc. I had ablations for 3 arrhythmias.  Two different medications for GERD, two different medications for (embarrassingly) chronic IBD, a statin, Prednisone and Imuran for AIH.  Over the past week I completely ditched the statin, and I ditched the Imuran shortly after weaning off Prednisone.

Yes, I'm at risk for a flare up of AIH by stopping the Imuran.  I don't care.  QUALITY of life is far more important to me than how long I live.  It's a weird thing to have to face that reality, but.. there's a chance the AIH may not flare again for a year or two.  We'll see.

So where I am, briefly because I feel horrible and am weak, is in hormone hell.  After taking the Prednisone for 3 months that has likely suppressed my adrenals, which affect other hormones...

Okay... sorry, but my arms are aching badly just from typing.

Sheesh.  More later.. I hope.

Fact after the fact.

Had an appointment with the Dentist re my "mild" sleep apnea.  This diagnosis, btw, was really surprising to me, because I knew I wasn't sleeping well but thought it was because I was waking up so much during the night.  Pain, etc., all played a roll in my tossing and turning at night, fighting will a stubborn pillow which refused to submit to my will, and wresting with a blanket that I once viewed as the softest, most comfy-cozy piece of fabric on earth.  I mean, microfiber is the shit, is it not?  Yet, it never occurred to me that I could have sleep apnea.  Who knew?

This diagnosis, as you guys may know from past entries here, and on my other blogs, happened a few months back, even prior to the AIH diagnosis.  However, the dentist I see who makes the oral device (CPAP is out of the question) revealed my "score" as "11."  I had no idea I even had a score, much less what that number was.  I really need a new pulmonologist.  Sheesh.

So the dentist held up my chart with "11" written with a black Sharpie and explained what was what, again, and what I should look for in changes as the device is adjusted over the next couple of weeks.  I asked him, as T did (he was there) what the number meant, and this is what he told me....

"That number is the score they gave you based on how many times you stop breathing while sleeping."

Well.  Alrighty then.

So as he further explained, it's a score based on how many times a person stops breathing during the night divided by how many hours they slept.  The score means that, on average, I stop breathing 11 times per hour.

I sat there for a moment considering this information, and I wasn't sure how to react really because it was the first time I learned of this.  No one at the sleep study center told me, and my pulmonologist didn't bother telling me at all either.  It took a minute to digest.

So I guess there's a damn good reason I'm tired all of the time--in addition to all the pain and weakness.  But wow.  11 times an hour--and that's in the MILD sleep apnea range.  Crazy.

Over time it will be interesting to see how I feel as the device is adjusted forward.  This device, btw, moves the lower jaw forward a little to open up the airway and move the tongue forward--this is based on CPR maneuvers.  Pretty cool.  But it takes a little time because if the jaw is moved forward too quickly it can cause TMJ.  I already have issues with this due to grinding my teeth when I sleep, something the dentist has told me is solely due to stress.  In fact, when I asked him what the 'cure' is, he replied... "Not being stressed."

Well, I'm shit out of luck in that department.  Oh well.  So anyway, the adjustments for me have to be done a LOT slower due to this.

On another subject, I will have a new cardiologist soon.  My first appt will be in May.

Now that I've made my arms ache typing... I'll wrap this up.  There's more to say but I'll give myself a little time in that respect...

Home.

One thing I've known for certain for pretty much all of my life is that when I'm ill, I long for home.  When I was little I knew where that place was, and despite its terrible flaws it was still home.  As an adult I was surprised to find that I no longer knew exactly where home was.  So I would spend the majority of my adult life longing for a place that quite possibly, for me anyway, doesn't exist.  I've never been able to reconcile this; not physically, and certainly not emotionally.

The closest I've come to being "Home" once moving out of my mom's house at 18 is Mobile, AL.  I had a tiny little apartment, and though not every moment there was perfect, it felt safe, and it felt like a warn welcome every time I walked through the door--no matter how good or bad things were.  It was a safe place for me to be myself, where I could decompress, where I could dream, wish, hope and feel alive.  This is not the case where I am now.  Not even close.

How did I get here?  I got here the same way I got into every bad situation in my life; By pure blind trust.  It's a flaw of mine and one that's gotten me into more trouble than I can tell you.  I give people the benefit of the doubt, take them on their word, and actually believe what they say.  Well, to a point anyway.  The thing is, that 'point' in which I pivot and see the error of my ways is usually far too late to avoid any damage to my life, and to me.

I'll probably always be this way, a far too trusting person.  I'm okay with that, I guess.  But I really wish I were better at assessing and discerning the heart and motives of people BEFORE I get involved.  We all have our flaws, I suppose.

As I wait for the sluggish process of diagnosis beyond the AIH, I'm left far too vulnerable for my liking.  There are days I can't walk well, verging on not at all, and days where lifting my arms to look at my phone is almost too much.  The weakness grows more each day and the doctors I need to see are weeks out of reach since I'll be a new patient.  The waiting is going to end me in the ER at some point, I'm afraid.  But the worst of this is being this sick and living in a place where I know absolutely no one at all.

T only helps around here bare minimum, and as the chores, etc. pile up... I long for the simplicity of the life I had in Mobile, where I didn't have to clean up after another human who refuses to do what's necessary to not live in a dirty, cluttered house.  I can't live this way, so I struggle to pick up the slack.  And I'll tell you, the slack is far far more than what T actually does.

How the hell did he survive on his own?

I have to somehow find my way home--wherever that is.  I know I can keep struggling a little bit to find my way here, to at least hang in there until I'm better---or at least better enough to survive, to move, to do something to help myself.  At this rate I don't know if I can work, which scares that crap out of me.  Disability requires a definite diagnosis, and at this time I don't have one that explains fully how I'm continuing to weaken and become more and more sick.  What can I do if even typing an entry like this makes me shaky and nauseated with weakness?

I want to be well again, to feel good again, to have energy again.  I want to be in a position where I can find my way back home again.

Home.  I just want to be... home.