What is your worst nightmare?

sickPeople all have “worst case” scenarios running through their minds at times.  At least I do.  I’m so careful about things.  I try to be an optimist, but so many times, I am disappointed.

Like now.  My hip is infected.  Again.  That’s right folks.  Just like before.  Although this time I had 3 months infection free after the revision surgery.  Yay for me!  But now….

My worst nightmare has come true.

The sad thing is that I wasn’t surprised.

Prayers are greatly appreciated.  Again.

Thank you so much.  I have nothing more to say.

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How many spoons do you need?

spoon

Some time ago I heard a story about spoons, in regards to Crohn’s disease.  I don’t remember it exactly, and I’m going to apply it to my hip situation today.  It might help people understand what I am going through, or any people for that matter.  So here goes.

When you are sick, or don’t have a hip like me, you wake up every day with only a certain amount of energy, or spoons if you will, to get through the day. Every task, every chore, yea, every bit of entertainment costs you spoons. Some days you will wake up with more spoons than other days. Therefore, you must choose the use of your spoons wisely.

Today I woke up with 10 spoons. To get out of bed go to the kitchen and get coffee cost me one spoon. To make breakfast cost me another spoon. I got showered and dressed, that was probably more than one spoon. I talked to insurance companies and nurses. Another spoon. I am typing up this blog. Spoon.

Sigh. Here it is not even lunchtime and I’ve already used up 5 spoons. Only 5 more left to get me through the rest of the day and bedtime. I must be conservative with my spoons, because if I “borrow” a spoon from tomorrow for today, tomorrow will be that much more difficult.

So how many dang spoons do I really need? Well, when you are feeling good and able to do just about anything you want, you feel like you have an unlimited number of spoons. Me, I feel lucky that I have worked my way up to 10 spoons. Right after surgery I think I started out with only one spoon.

It is difficult to answer people when they ask how you feel, or how your day has been. I think this spoon analogy is an easy way to get people to realize how being handicapped in some way feels. Cause once your spoons are gone, they are gone dude. I don’t care how much you beg and plead and cry, there are no more spoons to be had. So learn your lesson and be more careful in how you spend your spoons tomorrow.

You never know how many spoons you will wake up with.
spoons

When is it MY turn?

I just don’t get it.  I must have been evil in a previous life.  I try to be a nice person, and even succeed sometimes.  When someone I know gets sick, I bring them a nice lasagna.  When I get sick, I still bring them a nice lasagna.  Cause nobody is bringing ME a nice lasagna.

I’m the person that drives herself to the ER cause she doesn’t want to bother anyone.  I’m the one that apologizes when she can’t loan somebody something because the last loanee never returned it.  I’m the one that will run out and buy someone a card, a book, a gift because they lost a pet.  I’m the one that is all alone when she has to say goodbye to her pet at the all-night emergency vet.  I’m the one who “handles” everything for everyone.  Including myself, even when I can’t.  Nobody steps up and “handles” me.  Nobody sends me flowers at the hospital.  Nobody brings me a casserole when I come home.  I’m the one cooking for them.

I do this to myself.  All I have to do is ask, and I shall receive.  But I guess I figure I shouldn’t have to ask.  So I don’t, and then wonder why I get nothing.  I keep hoping people will be like ME, and just do it because you should help people in need, without being asked.  I shouldn’t expect people to think like me.

There are exceptions to the rule.  I was pleasantly surprised this last go round in the hospital, because I actually had multiple visitors, and a beautiful flower from my SIL.  Lots of phone calls.  And lots of Facebook messages.  Facebook has been a huge positive in that regard.  In the past I would be in the hospital, usually for at least a week, without any visitors or flowers.  No one would know, because I didn’t call them up and say, hey, guess what, I’m in the hospital!  I would be embarrassed because the nurses would feel sorry for me.  I would make up stories about how far away my family lived or that I insisted they not come.  I have taken limos home from hospitals because I had no ride to come get me.  Now I make sure I drive myself there, if I can, so I have a way home.  A few times with my Crohn’s, I had to call 911 and an ambulance took me to the hospital.

People don’t realize that when you live alone, you don’t have anyone to cook for you, do your laundry, clean the house, feed the cat, clean the litter, or even get a drink of water, when you are sick.  When you can’t even lean over to put your underpants on, let alone get dressed, you are stuck.  So you do what you can, and do without for the rest.  You pour the cat food on the floor, try to pour the water into the bowl, keep pouring more good litter after bad, eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner, watch the dust bunnies grow, and wear your summer PJ’s when you run out of winter ones.  You just don’t realize how helpless you are until you are crippled and have to rely upon other people who don’t reside there.  People always say the usual “let me know if you need anything” but what am I suppose to say?  Yes, I need someone to clean the litter box, and bring me dinner?  I just can’t do it.

I do have family close by, and they will go to the store for me and stop by for a few minutes.  But they have their own lives and work etc., so I don’t expect a lot out of the them.  Everybody has their own issues.  Unfortunately, with my Crohn’s disease I have been in and out the hospital a lot, and people just get tired of it.  Luckily I have been doing good in that regards for a few years .  But now I have the 5 herniated disks and sciatica, and I am waiting to have surgery for, for almost a year now, and things just get worse and worse.  I joke about going to Wal-Mart and riding the scooter, but deep inside I am horribly embarrassed.  I don’t like to think of myself as handicapped, even though I have been lately.  I use Peapod for my groceries, and try to save my walking steps for laundry, which is down two floors.  I hate my raised ranch!

I can only walk so far until I have to stop or I will fall over.  I am in chronic excruciating pain at all times.  My doctor actually sent me home from the hospital with Fentanyl pain patches, in addition to the usual Vicodin.  I’ve used a few but they don’t really work.  I would much rather do my hot tub twice a day than wear the patch (I can’t wear the patch in the hot tub).  My pain is way beyond pain killers.  I need my surgery!  I hate waiting on the insurance company to approve it.

Ok, done with my whining.  Thank you for listening.  Time to try to sleep again.

Go back to bed before you hurt yourself…or someone else!

Ever have one of “those” days?  No sleep the night before, and before your eyes are all the way open in the morning, you are counting down the minutes until you can crawl back into bed.

That’s me this morning.  Yesterday went back to the dentist cause my jaw/tooth was aching so bad, thought it was from the cavity refill.  Partly, yes.  Mostly, it is from a really red throat and swollen gland from a sinus infection!  Who knew?  I didn’t have a runny nose or anything, never crossed my mind.  Now I am on strong antibiotics, and hope it knocks it out soon, today feels worse.

Also, my Crohn’s has been on a rampage this week, and the antibiotics will just add fuel to the fire.  One of those, damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations.  Right now the mouth takes priority.

So I woke up out of sorts today, and my Catholic guilt won’t let me have a sick day and just go back to bed.  Oh no.  There are too many other things to worry about.  Things must get done.  Today.  Not tomorrow.  I can just hear my mother shouting at me, telling me I am lazy and to stop reading that book and do something useful!  My mother has been dead for 8 years now.  She still has the power to yell at me from her urn on my coffee table.  That Catholic guilt just never quits.  And that’s a blog for another time.

I’m going to bed now before something else malfunctions.