Baby Steps, Secret Goals, Grammar, and the Miracle of Lists

Posted by anomaly

Can I accomplish anything, anything at all, sitting in a hot car shoving a sandwich into my piehole as quickly as I can, while savoring a few moment’s peace before returning to my sweatshop-esque job? Anything? Some inspirational words strung together in a mildly pleasing manner, or even an idea to escape this job purgatory – this endless treadmill going faster and faster and faster, until my body gives out and I collapse and die, then get flung against the wall like in those YouTube fail videos?

No? Okay, then.

Well, at least I fucking tried. Because that’s what I told myself I would do: take one small step every single day to change my unsavory life and work situations, in order to ease my stress and hopefully find some happiness. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But I have a sneaky feeling a magical change will not just happen upon me unless I do something, however small, to initiate it. I can’t just sit here dreaming, pretending I’m someone else, somewhere else, being all happy and fulfilled and shit. I need to take concrete steps – even baby steps, if necessary – so that maybe, just maybe, I can someday feel happy and fulfilled in my real, actual, non-imaginary life.

Like, maybe every day I should work on my resume and portfolio, just a little. (I have a degree in Graphic Design.) One day it will be complete, and then I can show it to people. Maybe, just maybe, one of them will see it and say, “It’s okay that you let your technical skills deteriorate while you worked at that sweatshop for over a decade; you have potential, so we’ll get you up to speed.” And then they’ll pay me a good salary.

Or maybe I could work every day, just a little bit, on my various writing projects. One day, eventually, I will finish some and show them to people. Then maybe someone will say, “It’s okay that you forgot most of the vocabulary words and grammar you learned in high school, and that you were too afraid to even apply to the writing college you wanted to go to back when you could actually write, so you got involved in an abusive relationship for 9 years and let your dreams wither and die.” (I’ll interrupt them right then to point out their run-on sentence. That could salvage some lost grammar points.) Then they’ll tell me I have potential, and ask to publish something I wrote. Like, for money and stuff. I’d really like to have money. In fact, my biggest desire right now is to have the lower part of my Maslow’s hierarchy of needs met. I know, it’s a tall order.

Maybe I could also write a list of everything I want in life as though I’ve already gotten it, and meditate on it every day. Several years ago I heard of a lottery winner who meditated on a certain number every night, and even slept with the number on a piece of paper under her pillow. She ended up winning that exact lottery amount. It was a lot, too. Like, over 20 million. Why couldn’t that be me? I’d have to start playing the lottery for it to work, but maybe it’s do-able.

Uh-oh. Lottery fantasies. I’m turning into my mother again. Let’s switch to a more realistic list of desires, because who’s kidding who? There’s no way I’m going to drag myself inside some gas station every week to stand in line for lottery tickets. (If not for this aversion, I could totally win, though.)

So, here’s my list of goals…

Wait…I just read an article saying that people are less likely to achieve their goals when they share them. And it was backed by actual science, I think. So maybe I shouldn’t broadcast my goals to anyone. Hmmm…

Here’s what I’ll do instead. I’ll copy down the list I made when I was acutely ill with MCS. As part of the Gupta Programme, which is responsible for my 80% recovery from MCS (roughly), I was instructed to make a list of what I’d like to see my future, healthy self doing in my future, healthy life. I made the list, though it was hard. I cried while writing, missing my healthy self, and hesitant to fantasize – however briefly – about a future I ached for more that anything, but which might not come to fruition. But as skeptical as I can be, I am also very open-minded, and willing to give almost anything a chance. So, I made the list and dove into the programme. (That’s the British spelling, BTW, otherwise I would have used my grammar skills to correct it. Or spelling skills. Is spelling an aspect of grammar? I really have forgotten everything, haven’t I?)

Guess what? The programme worked. Yes, I have thoroughly slacked on the exercises the last couple years, and really should get back to it, but at the time it was my savior. It pulled me out from the depths of hell so I could breathe again. Literally. The MCS gave me breathing trouble at times. Either that, or it made the act of breathing stressful when I inhaled chemicals which made me ill. Can you imagine what it feels like to experience stress just from the simple and vital act of breathing? I didn’t think so. But don’t feel bad like you lack empathy, or anything – most people can’t imagine such a thing. (Well, I guess people with asthma and other lung conditions can. Uh…nevermind.)

ANYWAY, many months after experiencing recovery, I ran across my old list. Guess what? Every single thing I wrote down happened – all the things that made me cry to wish for, because I thought I’d never experience them again. I was astounded. (Well, not EVERYTHING happened. I couldn’t move and paint walls or garden, for instance. But I’m certain I could have done those things and remained healthy had there been an opportunity.) I’m not saying the act of making the list was magical, but I am saying that I got to experience many things I had formerly believed were utterly impossible. That was the miracle.

So, at the end of this post, I think I’ll copy that old list instead of my current list, which I plan on making later. That way I don’t jinx my goals. When everything on the current list comes true, or at least a significant number, I’ll post that one, too. Until then, it’s for my eyes only.

Hey, look…I actually did string some words together on my lunch break! That’s a minor accomplishment. I’m terribly late returning to work, though, so it ended up costing me $15 in wages, or approximately $2 after taxes. LOL. But that’s okay, because I took a baby step. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to take a baby step that doesn’t cost me the money I’m trying to materialize in my life.

Also, I feel better. A little inspired, even. And I no longer have the urge to take a nap on the train tracks. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, here I come!* (I wonder if that sentence has ever been uttered in the history of language.)

*Okay, the article I linked to earlier informed me that I do not need to have my lower-rung needs met in order to be self-actualized, but god dammit, I still intend to eventually get my basic needs met before I drop dead, hopefully to avoid dropping dead prematurely due to the stress of not having my basic needs met. And fuck grammar – I’m gonna leave that possibly run-on sentence with repetitive words alone. I aced this stupid grammar test the other day. Doesn’t that count for anything?

Future Self list, from approximately 2011:

1. I am wearing makeup
(I could barely use any personal care products back then, let alone frivolous makeup.)
2. I have a nice haircut
(I couldn’t visit salons because of their ambient chemicals. My hair was a long, frizzy, stringy mop with roots growing out for 2 years.)
3. I am sitting in a coffee shop writing, reading, and drinking coffee
(None of that was possible when I was sick(er).)
4. I am painting the walls of my own new house
(I couldn’t tolerate freshly painted anything. In fact, fresh paint in my workplace contributed to my development of MCS.)
5. I am gardening
(I think I just wanted to get my hands in some dirt. I probably could have had an organic garden, if I had had my own yard and the stamina to actually grow it. Okay, maybe I couldn’t have gardened while sick with MCS.)
6. I am visiting friends
(People’s personal care and laundry products made me ill, so I stopped visiting friends.)
7. I am on an airplane
(That thought was a joke when I couldn’t grocery shop without getting sick.)
8. I am on vacation in a city
(Again, a joke. Plus, pollution.)
9. I am on vacation someplace tropical
(Travel was difficult/impossible back then. Now that I’ve traveled again, I am officially counting an East Coast beach as “someplace tropical”, because fuck it – it’s a beach. Close enough.)
10. I am visiting my family
(I couldn’t do that for years. My one attempt was disastrous healthwise.)
11. I am eating delicious food
(I ate a boring-ass diet for a couple of years due to food sensitivities. None of it was delicious.)
12. I am hiking outdoors
(I was too sick to exercise or enjoy nature back then.)
13. I am laughing
(I rarely laughed.)
14. I am happy
(I was more miserable than I ever imagined possible on a daily basis. Not that I’m the epitome of happiness now, but at least those pesky death fantasies are mostly gone.)

See? The miracle of lists. Now I’m off to make a new one, because as miraculous as it was to achieve these goals at the time, they no longer suffice. It’s time to get out of this limbo/purgatory, for fuck’s sake, already.

Misadventures with Nasal Spray

Posted by anomaly

I’ve had intermittent facial pain for the past 4 years, approximately. It mostly affects my left side, and can involve my nose, sinuses, teeth, jaw, eye, and ear. I have sought medical advice on numerous occasions. Here’s what I’ve been told at my various appointments, in pretty much this order:

“It’s probably allergies. Try this nasal spray.”
“It could be a tooth infection. Go visit a dentist.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with your teeth. Follow up with your doctor.”
“It could be allergies. Try this nasal spray.”

The pain and irritation comes and goes. I’d pursue an accurate diagnosis more frequently, but I hate going to doctors. My faith in the medical system was completely destroyed by years of visiting countless doctors who either dismissed my issues or couldn’t help at all. Therefore, it’s a rare occasion that I actually seek their help anymore – usually I have to be in somewhat bad shape to decide to brave their offices again. Not to mention, floxing gave me a higher than normal tolerance for physical discomfort by forcing me to endure illness and pain for several years with no help whatsoever. So, I tend to live with bothersome symptoms for long periods of time, hoping they’ll just go away eventually. Smart, huh? Yeah, I think so, too.

Anyway, one reason doctors haven’t been able to help is because all they seem to do is speculate rather than identify the root cause of the problem. Then they prescribe drugs to mask symptoms. But as weeks and months drag on, I inevitably forget these details and end up in an exam room again at some point.

This time, though, when my discomfort flared again I remembered the results from all the visits of the past, especially the “It’s probably allergies. Try this nasal spray” thing. So, I decided to try some nasal spray before heading to the doctor again. Luckily, I have amassed a small collection of little-used physician samples over the years, and so I happened to have two such sprays to choose from. I picked Nasonex, mostly because it was in arms reach the moment it occurred to me. Bonus: it wasn’t even expired.

Because my chemical sensitivities have improved so drastically from the first 2 years I was sick, I tend to forget I’m still very sensitive to drugs of all varieties. (I take them only rarely.) So, when I decided to squirt one spray into my affected nostril, I was surprised by the side effects that ensued in the coming hours.

First, I began to feel crappy. Yes, that’s a vague description, but it was a noticeable contrast from the previous two days of feeling relatively good. In addition, within a couple of hours I began to get joint and tendon pain, nausea, mild peripheral neuropathy of the itchy/crawly variety, muscle twitching, nausea, stomachache, and jitteriness.

I thought, “Oh no, am I coming down with the flu?” Then I thought, “Wait a minute…surely it can’t be from that ONE SQUIRT of nasal spray in my one nostril, can it?” So I googled “Nasonex Side Effects”.

The answer? Yes. Every single one of my sudden symptoms could, in fact, be related to that single spray of Nasonex. Well, except for the peripheral neuropathy, I think. Most medications tend to flare that no matter what – just another gift from Cipro that keeps on fucking giving.

But anyway…I’m going to share some gems I stumbled across in my google searches, just to illustrate how ridiculous life with sensitivities really is.

Some of my symptoms fall under the “normal side effects” category. That’s fine. I understand that even healthy people get side effects from medications.

Some of them, however, fall into different categories. “Flu-like symptoms” falls into the “call your doctor at once if you have any of these serious side effects” category. Oh really? No, thanks. That’s a quick route to a “paranoia” notation in my medical chart.

Now, jitteriness was another story. I didn’t see it mentioned on mainstream websites, so I decided to do another google search: “Nasonex jitters”. Of course, I got several hits. It must be a known but rare effect. Whatever. It happens. I am certainly no stranger to the concept of rare side effects. What struck me as beyond ridiculous, however, was this statement:

“Usually seen in women aged 50-59, who have been taking the medication for 2-5 years.” Uh…okay.

My search for “Nasonex twitching” yielded similar anecdotal evidence of this side effect, including:

“Muscle twitching is found among people who take Nasonex, especially for people who are female, 60+ old, have been taking the drug for 1 – 6 months…”

What? People, I’m 37. And let me remind you that I used ONE SQUIRT of that shit. One squirt, one time. I mean, really? What the actual fuck? I haven’t been taking it for a month, let alone 2-5 years. In fact, it had only been 2 hours. But my body, in its infinite, distorted wisdom, said “Ooh, 2 whole hours?! Break out the fucked up side effects – 2 hours is just too long to be on that drug!”

Suddenly I’m remembering AGAIN why I still have so many samples from the doctor’s office, and another reason why I always put off appointments: because I can’t tolerate the bullshit drugs they always want me to try. So, I guess it’s possible my face/eye/tooth/jaw pain is from allergies, but I can’t tolerate the medication long enough to test this theory.

I swear, the level of insanity involved in the aftermath of floxing is staggering, even to an old-timer like me. (By old-timer, I’m referring to my veteran floxie status of 6.5 years.) You’d think I’d be used to this sort of thing by now, but I’m fucking not. THIS SHIT IS RIDICULOUS.

Oh, and for the record, I have no idea if the Nasonex even helped. The pain and discomfort in my face lessened after a while, but it seems to do that randomly when I don’t take anything for it. So who the fuck knows?

I’m just going to end this post here. I have other ailments that have evaded diagnosis, but I’ll save elaboration for another time. Here’s a little teaser, though: be on the lookout for a post entitled “Misadventures with my Ass”, or some such thing. That’s sure to be a fun one. (BTW, get your heads out of the gutter – I’m referring to medical issues only!) I’ve got to gather the courage to talk about my ass woes publicly, though. It might take a while. Or, it might not happen at all. We shall see. Hopefully none of my ailments will eventually result in someone saying “Oops, we thought you had allergies or minor digestive issues, but it’s actually stage IV cancer. Sorry!” Because that would totally suck.

And I’m not making light of cancer in the least, BTW. It’s actually been a fear of mine for quite some time, to receive one of the worst diagnoses possible after years of medical mysteries. So, that probably means it will happen someday.

Until then…stay tuned for more misadventures with ailments and modern medicine! Good times! Gooooood times.

My Country Western Song/Fucked Up Children’s Book

Posted by anomaly

A few weeks ago I got a migraine and wrote the following:

You know those stereotypical country western songs in which some poor sap is down on his luck? Maybe his dog just died and his woman just left him, and his boss is getting him down – that kind of thing? I’m having one of those evenings, only substitute the dog and woman and boss with illness and other absurdities.

Let’s see, what are the elements to tonight’s country song?

Well, to set the stage, I was lazily researching school-related info for my kid online when I realized with dismay that I was getting a migraine. I haven’t had a migraine since around April, so I was pretty bummed out about it.

I’m not sure what brought this migraine on. My theory is either stress, the extra coffee I drank today, the apple I ate at lunch, dehydration, or the perfume my new coworker sprayed in the bathroom today. This may sound odd, but trust me – these are all potential migraine triggers for me.

I should note that I had/sort of still have MCS, that pesky condition (understatement of the year) in which a person reacts to various foods and low levels of chemicals in the environment. I used to be extremely ill because of MCS. I suffered acutely almost every single day for 3 years, with migraine being one of my main, most troublesome issues. One day I will write more about that whole ordeal, but not tonight. Tonight I’m writing about my fucked up country western song.

Here goes:

So, once I realized I had a migraine, I got depressed. Anytime my MCS status is relegated from “former problem” to “shit, this might still be a problem”, it fucks with me. I tried not to think about it, but I got depressed, then moved quickly into uncontrollable crying – a PTSD reaction to the horrid memories of those 3 years suffering with this unacknowledged medical condition. My fear and despair from those years just flooded back to me as the familiar vice grip of the migraine tightened its hold on my skull.

I composed myself and started doing these breathing exercises that help with MCS (long story). While doing the exercises I decided I needed to eat dinner, so I dried my face and began cooking a frozen fish fillet and zucchini. Then I discovered that the heating element to my oven was broken, so I had to use the broiler. Only, you’re not supposed to broil this fish, so I decided to use it just to heat the oven to an acceptable temperature. This meant I needed to cover the fish, but I realized I was out of foil. So I covered it with a cookie sheet, which ended up emitting a smoky, stale grease odor as it heated.

While this ridiculousness was going on, I decided to wash dishes. Because of my broken thumb, I wear a brace and glove while doing the dishes. I must have pressed too hard while scrubbing, because I felt a snap when the end of my thumbnail pressed against the brace. I then realized that my thumbnail was beginning the process of falling off. Super. The doctors told me it would happen, but the warnings didn’t render the event any less cringe-worthy.

So anyway, in the span of 30 minutes the following occurred: migraine, PTSD, broken oven, out of tinfoil, baking with broiler, smoky kitchen, thumbnail falling off. I actually laughed and wondered what on earth could possibly go wrong next, then begged the universe to leave that question unanswered.

So, that’s tonight’s country western song. It’s not really a song, though. Perhaps I should’ve used a different analogy, like from the children’s book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Have you heard of that book? It’s about a series of events that occurs after a person gives a mouse a cookie – a seemingly minor act which leads to more and more minor acts, eventually culminating in mayhem and total exhaustion for the frazzled giver of the cookie. That was my evening.

Here’s the “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” version of my evening:

If you eat an entire honeycrisp apple at lunchtime, you’re probably going to get a migraine later. When the migraine begins, it’ll trigger your PTSD and you’ll begin to cry. While you’re crying, you’ll remember you need to eat dinner, so you’ll decide to bake yourself some fish. After turning on the oven, you’ll notice that it’s broken and decide to use the broiler instead. You’ll discover you’re out of tinfoil, so you’ll find an old cookie sheet to cover the fish. Then you’ll do the dishes while waiting for the fish to cook. While you’re doing the dishes, you’ll feel a snap on your thumb. When you realize the thumbnail is falling off your previously-injured thumb, you’ll notice the kitchen is beginning to smell. You’ll open the oven and a cloud of noxious fumes will rise from the cookie sheet and assault your senses. You’ll close the oven and leave the kitchen, pondering how to care for your dangling thumbnail, when the food timer will go off. Then you’ll eat dinner while composing a blog post. Writing will cause you to stay up too late, making your migraine worse. As your migraine worsens, it’ll trigger your PTSD again and you’ll begin to cry…again. You’ll give up and collapse in bed, vowing to finish the blog post some other time. When you finally resume writing, you’ll realize several weeks have passed with very little time to write. This will depress you, so you’ll shake your fist at the sky cursing the gods for giving you a passion you have so little time and energy for. But you still won’t write much, because it’s Saturday, and time to take your son to his annual birthday sushi buffet lunch. Hopefully your lunch won’t give you another migraine.

There. I think I’ll call it “If You Give a Floxie an Apple”. If I could illustrate, I’d make a cartoon out of it, or a small graphic novel or something. Do illustrations of migraines and thumbnails falling off and PTSD sound as awesome to you as they do to me?

My life is so ridiculous sometimes.

Thoughts are Bad, M’kay?

Posted by anomaly

So, that last entry about my faulty thumbs? There’s a little more to that story.

I mentioned that I had begun writing about my thumb woes months ago but couldn’t manage to finish the post. But it was constantly on my mind. Every day I thought, “My thumbs hurt. I need to finish that blog post.” Every single day. Then, about a month ago on my way home from work, I added this thought: “I need to get my mind off this recurring sinus issue I’m having, because it’s stressing me out.”

Approximately 10 minutes later I exited my car and slammed my right thumb in my car door. Just slammed it right the fuck in the door. Then it stayed there as I scrambled to find my keys and unlock the door in order to free it. Then I almost passed out. Then I unloaded my groceries and drove myself to urgent care.

Long story short? My thumb is broken now. Hairline fracture, but still. A month later and I still can’t use it much, and need to keep it dry because of the disgusting wound right under my nail, which is bruised and will probably fall off eventually.

Now I REALLY can’t do collages now. Or write or draw. Isn’t that some shit?

You know what else? I’ll take you through some of the thoughts such an injury creates in a person with my fucked up health history:

“Will the doctor try to give me Cipro?”
“Will I be forced to educate a disbelieving and dismissive doctor about FQ adverse reactions?”
“I can’t mention MCS. I’ll have to downplay that one.”
“I’m sick as fuck of downplaying my health issues because modern medicine has not caught up to the reality of environmental illness.”
“OMG, I might have to downplay it for the rest of my life…which could potentially mean decades.”
“This is bullshit.”
“I feel depressed and alone.”

I did downplay my health issues at urgent care, refusing a tetanus shot because of my MCS, without outright saying I had MCS. Instead, I told the doctor that I have peripheral neuropathy from my adverse reaction to Cipro, which worsened the last time I received a shot (lidocaine). Therefore, I did not want a tetanus shot. In reality, the preservatives and/or immune system activation involved in such a shot has the potential to cause a huge backslide in my health, not just with increased peripheral neuropathy, but with increased chemical sensitivities. I cannot deal with that level of illness again. I haven’t even been able to write much about it, because of my residual PTSD.

True to form, the doctor scoffed, looked at me incredulously, and said, “You don’t want to get lockjaw, do you?” I said no, but I don’t want my peripheral neuropathy to flare, either. I’m sure he thought I was insane. From his perspective, I’m sure I looked insane. No hard feelings, doctor, in spite of you subsequently rushing me out of the office for “refusing treatment”, and in spite of your lack of awareness that FQs can cause permanent peripheral neuropathy. You know what else? I was refusing a tetanus shot, but I actually did want his other treatment recommendations. But because I felt rushed and mildly shamed, I didn’t communicate any of this. I just cradled my thumb and let a nurse show me the door.

I spent the next few days paranoid about getting tetanus. I began using homeopathic remedies, but since that did not assuage my fears, I decided to visit my natural-leaning MD to see if they had preservative-free tetanus shots. Sure enough, they did. Well, “as preservative-free as possible”, as he put it. Good enough for me. I got the shot and went back to work.

Then I spent the following week paranoid I was reacting to the shot because I was fatigued and my arm developed a large, red, warm, itchy spot. (That’s the hard part of surviving MCS – not knowing whether a side effect is normal, or indicative of an adverse reaction which will result in worsening health.) Symptoms gradually resolved, though. No worsening of chemical sensitivities have been noted so far. Now I’m paranoid about my thumb developing an infection, but trying to refrain from running to the doctor again.

The moral of this story, people, is a few things: A little bit “be careful what you wish for”, yes. Because I wished for a distraction from my sinuses and ended up with a broken thumb. But also? Watch your thoughts. Every day with the “My thumbs hurt.” Every damn day. And look: I attracted even more thumb pain into my life! (I’m kind of kidding, though a tiny part of me wonders if there is any law of attraction truth at work here. Yes, I am one of those people. Feel free to internally mock me, or stop reading this blog.)

I could use this opportunity to advocate positive thinking, but I’m feeling too cynical right now. Instead, I wish I could stop thinking altogether. Forget any kind of thinking, both positive and negative, because thoughts are bad. Thoughts are are terrible foes that make things happen. They break your thumbs, make you feel things, and keep you awake in the night.

One final realization: People with MCS (and FQ Toxicity) naturally develop a degree of paranoia because the illness often involves intense physical reactions to relatively benign substances. As such, any given chemical, or food, or prescription drug has the potential to cause misery and a worsening of overall health, requiring extreme diligence on the part of the sufferer in order to protect his or her health. However, mainstream medicine views this diligence as paranoia, and therefore a cause rather than an effect of the illness. They do not recognize the illness’s physiological roots, or that the resulting paranoia is a necessary aspect of survival – especially in a world where disbelief in the illness runs rampant. Mainstream medicine’s misconception of MCS actually forces sufferers to exercise greater caution in their healthcare options due to lack of external support and acknowledgement, making them appear all the more paranoid.

What a vicious circle, the irony of which has been duly noted.

Now, I would like to stop thinking about this vicious circle and carry on with my day. But please, universe, don’t break any more of my fingers or thumbs. I’ll find my own distractions from these unpleasant thoughts, thank you very much. Also? I enjoy my ability to think, so please don’t take my thoughts away just because I complained about them. Okay? Okay.