SlimStacey

Weight Update

This morning, let's go lyric-less and quoteless.  Download the (yes, familiar) song of "Green Onions" by Booker T & The MG's.  E-mail me and say, "Oh, yes, I KNOW that song!"  Have fun....

Oh, yeah, there's a reason why I started this blog in the first place, wasn't there?  I was documenting my weight loss and progressive healthy life choices....  That's right!

I have to say, I'm glad that I went from 203 pounds when I gave birth to my son Steven Ames in November of 2008 to 161 pounds as of November 16, 2009.  That's a loss of 42 pounds (just saving you whipping out a calculator).  How did I manage that? 

Exercising 30 minutes a day, usually with weights involved.  Eradicating soda from my diet as of March 2009.  Cutting down from a large Coffee Coolatta with hazelnut daily to once or twice a week.  (Since my Bell's attack, that's completely gone, too).  Going from white bread/pasta/anything to wheat.  Then to stoneground, sprouted wheat.  (Oooo, don't jump directly to that, try just plain ol' wheat first...otherwise it may taste like you're devouring a macrame art project from 1982).  Going from whole mile to no-fat milk enriched with calcium.  That's how.

Thank God I did what I did, or instead of getting Bell's Palsy on November 16, 2009, I'd have had a heart attack, stroke or worse.  So, don't think I feel like all ofthose positive life changes were made in vain.  They helped save my life.  What are you doing to save yours? 

In the meantime, please note:  from November 16, 2009 when I was weighed in the hospital to November 30, 2009, I went from 161 to 158 pounds.  I'm back in the 150's!!!  Oh, yeah!  Just another 23 pounds to go, and I'm back to my weight I've been most of my life...135!  That put me, in my frame, in a size 6 to a size 8.  Marilyn Monroe was a size 8.  That's good enough for me.  Honest.

How did I get to lose 3 pounds in 2 weeks WITHOUT EXERCISE?  (Yeah, that kind of ground to a halt since the Bell's attack two weeks ago).  Tune in tomorrow....

Ward Off Sickness

"A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty."  --Sir Winston Churchill

I want you to start learning what I'm learning so that we can be healthier together, y'all.  So here's the deal...don't feel like catching a cold in the first place?  How do you fight it off? 

1.  Get enough sleep!  The average person's sleep meter is full at around seven to eight hours.  More than that, according to the National Sleep Foundation, you're probably oversleeping, and no wonder you never feel rested no matter how long you sleep...because you've engaged in overkill!  Sleep too little, and obviously you're exhausted and your body is vulnerable to attack.  Put down the remote, turn off the TV at night (or step away from the computer, put down the Crackberry, etc.) and go to sleep!  Set an alarm and get up so you don't oversleep.

2.  Wash your hands frequently or at least sanitize on the run with antibacterial gel.  Yeah, you get tired of smelling the funky medicinal smell, but I promise you, it's nothing in comparison with the benefits of warding off germs...especially this time of year, when everyone is out and about touching everything, including kids and adults with runny noses that they wipe off with the backs of their hands. Ewwww.

3.  Hydrate--drink lots of water and tea.  Eight 8-oz glasses of water per day is the minimum.  Your body is mostly water to begin with; think of what a mop bucket looks like if you never change the water.  I know--ewwww.  Think about your body if you're not hydrating sufficiently...yup, your insides are pretty gross.  Soda, coffee...those are diuretics.  That means that they're getting fluids OUT of you!  That's why you want to stick more towards pure, clean water.

4.  Take 500mg of Vitamin C twice daily.  You can get "insurance" by taking it in supplement form (and it's not expensive and easy to purchase, even at a grocery store...you don't have to go to a shop in the mall and pay top dollar).  OR you can get it from eating foods like oranges, tomatoes and bell peppers.  The vitamins build up your immune system so you can kill those germs!

5.  Lactobacillis acidophilus.  God bless you, you say.  No, it's an organism found in yogurt that has been clinically shown to fight off fungal infections.  Hate yogurt?  Fine.  Take supplements 20 mg twice daily of acidophilus OR with supplements containing Bacillus coagulans.

6.  Use spices like ginger and curcumin (turmeric) in your cooking.  Not only have these spices been shown to ward off infection, they have been shown to reduce your body's tendency toward expressing genes that can lead to cancer and other maladies.  More on that in a future post...it's fascinating!!!

7.  Eat foods with flavonoids:  strawberries, oats, apples, broccoli, cranberries, red wine (1 glass nightly), and so on.  Look up flavonoids on the 'Net...and start eating a diet rich in them! 

Still feel a cold coming on?  According to Dr. Mehmet Oz (of Oprah fame; he now has his own show, too), eat chicken soup four times a day, take 500 mg of Vitamin C four times a day (may as well wash it down with the chicken soup) take a zinc lozenge every 6 hours and nearly drown yourself in fluids to keep your system clean.  Good luck!

It Can Happen To You

"You can go to extremes with impossible schemes/You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams/And life gets more exciting with each passing day/And love is either in your heart or it's on its way/Don't you know it's worth every treasure on earth/To be young at heart/For as rich as you are it's much better by far/To be young at heart/And if you should survive to 105/Look at all you're derive by being alive!And here is the best part, you have a head start/If you are among the very young at heart."  --Frank Sinatra, Young At Heart

Well, I am extremely happy to report that my eyeball is no longer a great ball of fire.  In fact, (and here's to hoping I don't jinx myself), it actually doesn't burn anymore, and it has needed fewer drops of lubricant.  That new medication, Tobredex, certainly has done me wonders.  If I continued to take Dr. Troll's advice (see two posts ago), I might have been blind by now, and no, I'm not being sarcastic.  I'm grateful to Almighty God that my eye is on the road to being healed.  Time will tell if the cornea heals completely, but now that I've traveled out of the Valley of Unending Pain, my optimism is returning along with my ocular comfort.  Thank you for your prayers and well wishes.  Keep 'em coming!

Frank Sinatra talks about being alive at 105.  Do you know, that it is thought in the medical community today that, given both technological and medicinal advances, we have the ability to push our life expectancy into the 100 year mark and beyond?  There's a group that actually believes we can live to 120, and personally, I like that estimation...it means I haven't hit middle age yet.  Hooray!

With everything going on right now, I don't have time for a mid-life crisis anyway.  You?

But that actually gets me into today's topic...how Bell's Palsy, or something similar, can actually happen to you...even if there's no prior history in your family of it occurring.  (Now, there is in mine; my maternal grandmother had a bout of Bell's, and it was temporary for her and she made a full recovery which is what I know in my bones I will achieve, too).  I'm greedy.  I'd like to take all of you with me into the centenarian status.  You can do it!  Positive thinking actually is one of the ways you get there.  In future blog posts I will give you the steps to get there.  SHARE THIS BLOG WITH YOUR FRIENDS!  Let's all make it through a long, happy, healthy life together, OK?  :)

First, what is Bell's Palsy?  It's a form of temporary facial paralysis resulting from damage or trauma to one of the two facial nerves.  The neves in question are a paired set known as the seventh cranial nerve.  It travels through a narrow bony canal known as the Fallopian canal in the skull, beneath the ear, to the muscles on either side of the face.  Not only do the facial nerves direct the muscles that control eye blinking and closing and overall facial expression, but also taste sensations in the tongue and the nerve impulses sent to the lacrimal (tear) and saliva glands.  When Bell's Palsy strikes, it disrupts the facial nerve, interrupting the messages the brain sends to the facial muscles, leading to facial weakness and/or paralysis. 

Bell's Palsy affects approximately 40,000 Americans annually; it affects men and women equally, and can occur at any age.  It disproportionately attacks people who have upper respiratory ailments like the flu, bronchitis or a cold.  Guess what happened to me?  I had been exposed to some sick folks at an event, I contracted a nasty, near month-long case of bronchitis and had to utilize powerful drugs to eradicate it, but that baked my immune system further...and SURPRISE!  Bell's Palsy kicked my butt around the time the meds finished kicking in to remove the first ailment. 

The immediate take home message to you is:  old or young, man or woman, you can contract this malady...and if you or anyone else in your family are sick...stay home!!!  Get rest!  See a doctor, even if you have to go to a walk-in clinic and pay a higher co-pay.  Get the care you need so that you and everyone you come into contact with can be safe!  At Vassar Brothers Hospital, the ER doctor told me, given everyone passing around the garden variety flu, swine flu, and all the other usual fall/winter colds, PLUS the everyday stress everyone is baking themselves with by living everyday life, the instances of patients presenting with Bell's Palsy has increased in recent times!!! 

I'm not trying to be unrealistic here; in fact, I'm not pointing fingers at any one person, I swear...I used to be one of those offenders.  I'm a workaholic, and my attorney lifestyle means that there isn't much time for me to breathe, let alone take time out for being sick (remember, I brought a fully loaded trial bag of legal work with me to the ER, when that should have been the last thing on my mind).  I was an idiot, working when I was sick, pushing myself to work when I should rest, and going to the doctors' only after I'd been sick for a week...and by then, my immune system was already as destroyed as my exhausted body.  Plus who knows who else I infected along the way by not taking myself out of the public and by not taking care of myself sooner?  I'm going to learn, grow and change from my mistakes.  You?

We need to learn, all of us, to take better care of ourselves.  To be proactive about our health and not treat such proactivity as an optional extra in life (and stop worrying about being labeled a hypochondriac or one of the "worried well" by putting the effort into maintaining our bodies in optimal shape).  We should be better disciplined, as responsible adults, to get the care we need the SECOND we're sure that we're sick and it's not "some 24 hour thing."  We have to educate ourselves about stress and how to reduce it, because you may not be practicing law, folks, but I'm sure you'd feel you could meet me power for power in terms of the stress load in your life.  Right?  You're probably grinning.

THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!!!  This isn't a contest!  Did you read about my being wracked with pain and agony on Black Friday?  Do you want to go through that?  I don't care if Bell's Palsy finds you or not.  You could suffer from a heart attack, stroke or cancer.  You think those things involve a pleasure cruise in terms of physical experience?  I don't want to go there!  I want to live longer and stronger. 

I never thought I'd get sick in any major way.  You probably think you're going to somehow dodge a bullet yourself.  Forget anything else you are doing to yourself or NOT doing that you should be doing...stress will get you.  Hop around on the Internet...what doesn't stress cause?  What is stress not a contributing factor to?  Bell's Palsy isn't the only thing, folks....  Scientific studies have proven that stress causes chemical changes in the brain...and these chemical changes literally fry our systems...how it manifests is different for each person.  Each of us have our own unique DNA combination, so each person's Achilles Heel or weak spot is different.  "It" can happen to you..."it" being something unique as your unique DNA.  So, are you willing to learn with me, change with me, and grow with me into someone leaner, meaner, stronger and healthier (mentally, physically and spiritually)?  Keep tuning in.  My goal is to post to this blog regularly...daily if possible...because I'm learning so much from articles, studies, books, my actual health care providers and more.  Benefit from my experience...before it's too late.  We can make it to at least 105, with a great quality of life, but clearly NOT if we keep repeating the same mistakes.

No Blacker Black Friday Than This One

Wyatt Earp:  "How are you?"  Doc Holliday:  "I'm dying.  How are you?"  --Tombstone (1993)

There could have been no blacker Black Friday than this one.  At least, there hasn't been yet in my life.  While other wives and mothers rose up at 2:30 AM to either get to the malls and stand-alone stores, or at least begin preparing for the trek, I awoke at the same time screaming in pain.  While women and men bitched and moaned to themselves or others in line about their life challenges in having to wait in line or get up at such a ridiculous hour, I tried not to wake up Steven who snored next to me as I climbed down the stairs, weeping softly first, then louder, as I put distance between us.  Soon, in the freezing cold basement, the door shut between the bottom floor and the top one, I could writhe in a heap, roll around and rock rhythmically, and neither father nor son upstairs would know a thing. 

I wished I had all those people's typical Black Friday problems.  Wait on line.  Pressure to get the gifts, pay for them, wrap them.  Bake cookies...whatever.  I hurt like hell.  I've hurt like hell for weeks, sometimes barely at all, sometimes a lot, but this...something was wrong.  Something had gone very very wrong.  Yes, I had an eye infection.  It's a common parallel malady when you have Bell's Palsy.  No matter how clean you are, no matter how much antibacterial soap you wash up with and antibacterial gel you clean yourself with, no matter how well you patch the eye, seal it with lubricant, air it out for a bit, then put on sterilized gauze and tape it for a bit, then air it more, then patch it again...you run the risk of the slightest speck of dust getting in there, and it's all for naught.  Can you believe?  You who can probably blink your eyes without thinking, who may never have had an eye infection, can not understand the horror of feeling your eye go dry, almost losing it, and then feeling as though a white-hot poker is in there, stuffed up your eye socket and pushing into your brain.

Steve has to open the store and run it.  Little Steven is with me through the day.  I try not to say anything.  I keep putting in the Ketorolac antibacterial drops, knowing that the stinging and pain is supposed to be killing off the infection.  Truly, the infection needs to be eradicated.  I get that.  I'm a big girl and I have a decent threshold for pain...I've had a cavity drilled without novacaine once (no lie).  I'm a first degree black belt working on getting her second degree in Tae Kwan Do.  I'm not a wimp.  I'm not lazy.  I am NOT being melodramatic.  It freaking hurts!

As I apply more drops throughout the day, the eye grows weaker.  The vision is cloudy.  My pain gets worse, not better.  I call up my father, who's home today, to see if he can drive me to the eye doctor.  Maybe I need a different medication.  But no, everyone on my side of the family has contracted a bug.  They can't come near me, especially in my immuno-suppressed state.  Steve is at work.  He'd have to shut down the store, so his father drives over to get me and take me to the eye doctor, who numbs my eye (which actually is a blessing, despite the temporarily increased stinging) and then examines it through a framework of lenses.

"Well, the neurologist was right, you have an infected eye," he begins, carefully.  "But he was wrong about the medication he prescribed you.  I mean, normally, you'd want something like Ketorolac because it IS an antibiotic, and you do need that.  But not in a dried up eye like yours.  You wouldn't prescribe that kind of medicine for a Bell's Palsy sufferer if they're not making any tears.  You're kind of frying your cornea." 

My stomach dropped out of my body, through the chair, and into the floor. 

"Have I permanently damaged my right eye, then?"  My voice is a ruined whisper.

"I hope not.  We'll prescribe you a gel, it should feel much better, and we'll see.  I'll check you again early next week, but you come in sooner if you need to.  Just walk right in, we'll take you, we'll move whatever we can.  I'm so sorry." 

So am I.  You can't put a price on your vision.  You can't put a price on being pain free, now come to think of it, either. 

When I fill the prescription for the eye gel, it's a whopping $75.00 co-pay.  I was upset enough at the $45.00 one for the previous antibiotic, and I really only used it for two days.  Money just keeps getting poured down the drain...we've spent much more already on the other medications I took orally just to work more directly with the Bell's Palsy.  Forget all the over the counter stuff I was instructed to get, too.  The receipts keep piling up, and I'm just afflicted with Bell's Palsy.  I can't even imagine what it would cost if, God forbid, it was something else. 

Hold on.  I went through infertility treatments for nearly two years before conceiving Steven.  What am I saying?  That was no financial pleasure cruise, either.  Thank God we had insurance, good insurance at that.  Until you need it, you just don't appreciate it...or the wretched life you'll lead without it if you needed it in the first place.  Who knew this would happen to me?  Bell's Palsy manifests suddenly, without warning.  You don't know until it's too late.

When I put the eye gel in, though, while the actual application feels better than the Ketorolac drops, pain sears through my eyeball at double the rate I'd felt all day.  I went into a white-hot mode where I could not do anything but rock, sometimes my limbs would shake like I was having a seizure.  However, I was certainly in control of my motions...but I just listened to my body and went with it, trying to ride the waves of pain like a surfer, because to not ride them meant I would be drowned by them.  I'd be sucked under by a bestial undertow of torture.  Childbirth was about as bad, I have to say, and I do remember it--my son only just turned one a year and a few weeks ago.  Lord knows I remember it. 

When I could speak, eventually it was just a broken voice begging for my mommy.  I hate to admit it, but it's true.  The pain was so deep, so intense, so frightening and gutteral (my eye! my eye!) that I'd regressed.  Someone had taken sandpaper and run it across my eye, then poured iodine in it.  You think iodine on a scraped knee when you were eight years old was a tragedy?  If that was pain, this was supersized pain with an extra side of hot apple pie.  Thousands of bees stung my eye.  It took every little bit of sanity I had left...and trust me, it was running away from me like the sands of an hourglass...not to tear out the eyeball.  Because as much as it would stink to lose the eyesight there were moments, bitter, twisted moments, that I just wanted the pain to end, no matter what the cost. 

I couldn't even call my mother to cry on her shoulders.  She was the only well one in the family, and she was at The Gap working, because she has no choice.  It's Black Friday.  Every employee of her retail store was required to work that day.  There's nothing bad, in and of itself about that.  But I needed my mother.  I needed my husband.  I needed someone, anyone.  I wanted to die.  There are just not words enough to describe my pain.  When I was brought home, Steve watched Steven and I kept putting hot compresses over my eye, on my right temple, over and over...the second the heat died, I would be at the sink, running the hot water, burning my fingers cherry red, just to buy myself a lesser form of pain by applying the compresses.  I paced and paced, moving, to distract myself second by second, until I felt exhaustion strike...and I fell asleep, trying to release the pain long enough to embrace blackness.

I've awoken this morning and my eye is a tad less dry; I put in Lacrilube gel, and it feels...nice.  I haven't used the antibiotic yet.  I know I need to.  But I want to do simple things like go to the bathroom, eat a small breakfast, maybe read some e-mails from friends who love me.  Because if I put that gel in and even half of what I experienced comes to visit me today...I want to say I at least spent an hour free from writhing at the bottom-most level of Dante's Inferno.  You go bake your cookies and wrap your gifts, you lucky sons of bitches.  But don't you complain.  I'll trade you in an instant.

Beware the Trolls

"Will you tell me something?  Have you come because you need my help to save a certain distressing damsel?  Er...rather damsel in distress?  Either one."  --Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribean:  At World's End

I'm both damsel in distress and distressing damsel these days.  I have good days and I have bad ones.  Some days I relapse and my jaw is in screaming, yammering pain, some days not.  Sometimes I feel like I have had a blazing hot poker shoved into my right eye socket, because the right eye still won't make tears, and all the fake tears in the world (artificial tears, gels, lubricating night gels, and now antibacterial solution) can't make the eye any less dry for more than five minutes at a time. 

And when you're dealing with doctors, I think it's safe to say, most people know they're not gods.  Most people exepct that doctors make mistakes, even whilst having the greatest of intentions.  And some doctors have good personalities, some have great ones...and some are trolls.  Beware the trolls, because if you don't mind them, you'll think every doctor is like the ones at the bottom of the barrel, rotten apples that they are.

Take my neurologist.  Please.  (Enter Henny Youngman, fiddling)  I waited an hour and a half for him to see me, after I bothered to show up at least five minutes early.  When his obese self finally came rolling through the door, he bitched, moaned and complained about the computer system in the office and the fact that he was sneezing every two minutes and didn't know why.  I think I did that before he said hello to me.  He came at my body with tuning forks, safety pins (I'm presuming sterilized) and other metallic toys.  He didn't explain what he was doing, and since I've never been to a neurologist before, it just seemed like witch doctor stuff to me.  Maybe an explanation would have helped, no? 

"Well, you definitely have Bell's Palsy," he concluded stiffly.  "I can't see you for another three months." 

"Why not?"

"You'll either get better or you won't.  Ninety-five percent of people who suffer from this malady get ninety-five percent better.  You can't expect recovery, or a full recovery at that.  And it would take at least three months' time for you to do the majority of any healing that you may do...getting me involved again before then is a waste.  By then you either won't need me, or if you do it's for surgery."

Have a Coke and a smile, doc.  Thank God you're not at my deathbed; Doctor Kevorkian seems like a freakin' cheerleader next to you. I'd be asking for euthanasia...why be such a burden to society, anyhow?

Dr. Troll tapered me off my medications, but for my eye meds.  In fact, he pronounced that I had an eye infection.  I had no idea.  He wrote four medications' names down on a prescription pad page and tore it off.  "Here, they're all over the counter.  Hit the pharmacy on your way home and use all of these on your eye.  The top one is an antibacterial." 

Now, I'm no doctor, but wouldn't an antibacterial medicine be prescription only?  Lo and behold, that's what the pharmacist said, too!  Go figure!  No wonder I spent ten minutes of my life that I can't get back trying to find the top item on the shelves while the other three I found right away.  You mean, I'm NOT a dingbat?  It's not my fault that I can't find Ketorolac out on the shelves along with the Chapstick?

"Well, no worries," said the pharmacist.  "It's written on a script pad, so I'm treating it as a prescription."  He produces the bottle for me, and I walk out of the store (after paying, of course) thinking, "Was that appropriate?"  Not to always be an attorney, but wasn't Dr. Troll supposed to have signed the paper or stamped his signature on it in order for the script to be valid?

Why is it that my health care team seems to be playing air ball right now? 

But you can't let the Trolls make you think that there aren't Fair Princes and Princesses who are practicing the art of medicine out there.  The exceptions shouldn't be treated like rules.  (Or is my wonderful internist a rarity who ought to be cannonized as a saint?)  If you run across a health care provider who isn't any good, or even if the are and it's just not a great personality match for you, don't avoid health care.  Don't use that as an excuse to opt out of the system.  Just try again, with another health care provider, and you may very well find yourself a lifesaver worth the title of hero or heroine. 

Kill Bill: Mentality of The Bride

The Bride in Kill Bill as she lies in the back of The Pussywagon:  "Come on.  Wiggle your big toe." 

This is how I feel as I try to get the right side of my face to work.  Like The Bride in Kill Bill, I'm focusing all of my energy on the one area of my body that bothers me the most in terms of its inability to work--my right eye.  I'm otherwise flaccid, purposefully, because I'm envisioning all of my energy, my chi, flowing into the right side of the face, and into the orbit more specifically.  I'm nothing, if not determined. 

I'm not worried or scared.  I'm not even concerned.  It's like when I was told by four reproductive endocrinologists that I could never conceive a child, or if I did, successfully carry it to term...or if I did, it would be a crippled wreck of a human being.  I know now, like I knew then, in my soul, in the pit of my being, that it was all bullshit.  I'd be able to break that bronco of a problem.  I felt my child's soul on the other side of eternity, and you were never, ever going to convince me otherwise.  I kept marching to the doctor's office and if they had to draw blood six times that day, I'd smirk at them through the tears of pain.  Because I knew I'd have my baby.  KNEW IT.  And I know that I'll move the right side of my face again, including my right eye.  KNOW IT.

So, don't worry about me being afraid or feeling helpless, hopeless and out of control.  No way.  I'm focusing on something simple, something you take for granted...wiggle my right eyeball.  Wiggle my right eyelid.  Forget closing the eyelid...that isn't happening right now.  But notice I said, "right now."  It WILL happen.  But The Bride didn't sit there (or lay there, actually) in the back of the truck and say, "Get up and walk right now."  She knew the level of her debilitation at that point, and she knew she'd get to rising and walking...but first she had to accomplish the smallest of tasks and build from there.  "Wiggle your big toe," she said to herself, willing the digit to move...but of course, it wouldn't move right away.  She had to keep at it, stay focused, put the time in.  And eventually her limp, previously comatose body began to respond to her command. 

And so it goes.  My eyelid won't close.  My eyeball does have more motion to it, though.  And my eye doctor told me yesterday that the corneal scratches are healing.  Awesome!  I have a fresh contact lens bandage on, but this should be my last one.  I can go to regular lenses in about a week or so, and hopefully by then the photosensitivity will be gone, if not greatly reduced.  That's why I can't drive right now...the eye isn't reliable (sometimes it rolls...ewwwwww) and it's photosensitive.  If you can drive, that's probably another thing you take for granted.  But I'll get there.  I lift my eyepatch up a few minutes more each day, sucking down the salty sting of pain.  I'm getting used to riding out the pain and discomfort...it's like anything else.  You build up your tolerance to pain only by experiencing it.  And as the hackneyed phrase goes, whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. 

I am building up muscles to win the weightlifting competition of life.  That's the way I see it.  Even with a rolly, unpredictable eye, that's how I see it.  If there's something bothering you today, something you feel you can't get done because you "just can't," quit whining, channel The Bride and I, and power through until you've succeeded.  You know what Captain Barbossa, of Disney's Pirates of the Carribean, is famous for having said in negotiations he didn't care for?  "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request.  Means 'no.'"  That's what I say when something gets in my way.  You do the same!

A Pirate's Life for Me

"One word love:  curiosity.  You long for freedom.  You long to do what you want to do because you want it.  To act on selfish impulse.  You want to see what it's like.  One day you won't be able to resist."  --Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Carribean, Dead Man's Chest

I mean, if I'm going to look like a pirate, I might as well start acting like one, right?  This black pirate eyepatch really is horrendous.  But it's totally necessary.  It was worth its weight in gold when my son Steven Ames took a toy and bashed it, suddenly and unaccountably into my face.  Right towards the right eye, which couldn't have blinked or closed to protect itself otherwise.  I mean, he's one; it's going to happen.  Plus, the eye is photosensitive; and the vision is blurry.  I have a hard time seeing over the bandage contact lens covering my cornea anyway, trying to keep it from getting scratched any further than it already is. I have to put a thick eye gel over the orb at least once an hour, or the eyeball will wither and dry up. 

I know...EWWWWWWWWWWWW....

So far, it's staying moist, but it's pretty gross nonetheless.  Now, am I just being a big old complainer that more's the pity that this affliction didn't arrive before 10/31; I could have put on a nice pirate costume and gone Trick-Or-Treating with my son and not be totally stared at.  I mean, because now I'm just getting totally stared at.  In the doctor's office when I'm waiting to be seen.  At the Walgreens when I'm getting prescriptions filled.  By the Jehova's Witness who showed up at my door, and between the eye patch and face mask decided all on her own that now wasn't a good time. 

Really and honestly, I'll break this down piece by piece in shorter blog posts than yesterday's Odyssey (sorry about the length), but this Bell's Palsy thing is like a hydra with so many heads.  The eye manifestation is just one part of the fun.  PLUS, I'm additionally immuno-suppressed, so that's more so why I'm on house quarantine...for my good, not for society's good.  You can't catch what I have.  But I sure can catch everything you have.  Keep your swine flu away from me!

So, tune in tomorrow about how I'm supposed to heal this...and how YOU can avoid it, because though it isn't contageous, you still are apparently at an elevated risk of contracting it all on your own, darling!

Bell's Palsy Sucks

I couldn't be more succinct, I suppose.  But it's the truth, of course.  I'm just not in the mood, nor do I have the energy, to be polite.  But you may as well know the truth.  It's nasty.

This past Monday morning I awoke at the time I normally do, and wondered why my right eye was dry and hurt so bad.  I'd never had such a problem before.  "Perhaps I left my contact lenses in overnight, and one flipped back behind my eyeball," I thought.  I don't normally sleep with the lenses in, but hey, I'd lie to you if I ever pretended it never happened, ever.  So, I did the normal thing and went to blink my right eye.

And couldn't do it.

So, of course, now I'm awake.  And scared.  Adrenaline is freight-training through my body.  My mind is racing.  Can I blink the left eye?  Yes!  Can I speak without slurring?  NO.  Can I move my left eyebrow?  Yes.  Can I move the right eyebrow?  No.  It was a gruesome inventory of body parts and abilities.  And the right side was definitely afflicted. 

I ran to the bathroom and stuck on my glasses; my contact lenses were sitting innocently in their case, floating about in the eye solution, minding their own business.  Okay, I hadn't caused this by sleeping with my lenses in.  Check.  Now that I could see, I began trying to blink the right eye to see if it had any movement at all.  Nada.  Nil.  Zilch. 

Bad, bad, bad. 

The right eye stayed open, gawking, staring, immobile.  I couldn't blink, I couldn't even bring the eyelid down one bit.  The eyeball had no motion, either, staring straight ahead like...well, I hate to say this, but like a Halloween mask.  Like Two-Face from Batman.  In fact, the frozen aspect of the right side of my face, including the gawking eyeball, really did channel up Two-Face, minus, of course, the massive scar tissue, fire damage, etc.  (Thank goodness)

When I frowned while looking in the mirror, it amazed me to see how perfectly in half my facial expressions were.  You know how your forehead wrinkles crease evenly across?  On me, said wrinkles stopped dead center of my forehead, with the right side of my forehead being perfectly smooth, while the left side was as wrinkly as a Shar-Pei.  Wicked, right? 

So, of course, I drive myself to Vassar Hospital, because Steve has Steven Ames, our son, and I really don't want my year-old son taken to the hospital if it can be avoided.  I'd rather go alone.  Should I have called the ambulance?  Thank God I only have Bell's Palsy because if I'd have suffered a heart attack or stroke, well, driving would have either been impossible or a tad inappropriate under the circumstances.  I realize that now.  But when your adrenaline is skyrocketing, you're not exactly your most calm, centered, rationale self.  I mean, did I have the other signs of heart attack or stroke?  No, but then again, I'm a lawyer, not a doctor.  I'm not a paramedic.  I'm not even an EMT!  What the hell do I really know, anyway?

When I show up in the emergency room, I've brought a book with me, along with my trial bag loaded with work.  Listen, I figured I'd be hanging out in the ER without anyone even glancing in my direction for hours.  I should keep busy.  And what if they admit me?  The work still has to get done.  So I save the work for my possible admittance, and start  reading the book.  Of all things, it's a Suzanne Somers book on health.  Did I bother to look at what I grabbed?  Naw!  Suzanne Somers is not a fan of regular medicine; she believes in alternative medicine, and as a Libra, I say both ways are great.  But do you really bring a book into the ER that doesn't always have flattering things to say about Big Pharma and doctors pushing pharmaceuticals?  

"She's a kook," says a nurse, pointing at my book as she walks by without even necessarily looking at me.  I flush scarlet. 

But I haven't sat down for more than 120 seconds when another nurse comes running out with a wheelchair.  "Quick, get in," she directs me. 

I look around at everyone else surrounding me in the ER waiting area, stunned.  There are so many, and it's clear they've been there eons longer than me.  I don't want to incite a riot.

"Me?" I ask.

She's practically grabbing me by the scruff at this point.  "You might be suffering a heart attack or stroke.  There's no time, hon.  Let's go." 

"But I don't have any of the other signs...look, I don't want to make a big deal about this."

"Are you a doctor?"" she asks.

Well, here we go again.

I'm wheeled to a section of the ER where there are some frightening looking cases hanging out, and lucky me, I'm stripped, thrown into bed, under two heated towels, with some gadget stuck on one finger while they place, like, a million stickers on my chest, stomach and sides.  The nurse begins attaching wires to them.  "We're taking an EKG" she announces.

Excellent.  Plus, they get my vitals.  There's a phlebotomist who enters the room, with some scary amount of tubes.  She's barely making eye contact with me.  I get it; you can't get emotionally involved, or you'd get nuts.  God bless people working in this industry, from the first responders who find the broken human beings to the nurses and doctors who work to piece them back together again. 

Me, I'm trying to do my best to stay calm.  I'm being uber-polite to everyone, reassuring them that it was probably "just Bell's Palsy." 

"How do you know it's just Bell's Palsy?"  I'm asked. 

"Well, I looked up my symptoms online, and Wikipedia said...."

Oh, I just couldn't even finish the line.

"You should have just come right over!  Oh, honey, you could have done more damage by waiting!"

That's me, folks.  Smart enough as a lawyer to almost never have lost a case, ever, since 1998 when I passed the bar; dumb enough to risk croaking because curiosity killed the proverbial cat.  Duh.

The EKG is over.  The woman's face seems calm; I'm guessing everything's OK on that end.  It turns out later I'm right.  As she leaves, the phlebotomist moves in on me.  Weirdly, she asks, "Gotta pee?"

That many tubes and a hungry needle staring me down, wetting myself has crossed my mind.  "Sure!"

"You can do that first; catch the specimen in a cup and put it in the baggie.  Then bring it back to me in the bag...and we'll get down to business."

How friggin' foreboding.

When the doctor finally comes to check me out, I've read a few chapters of my book.  I've taken off the jacket of the hardcover and shoved it under my blankets.  So far, the book Knockout is interesting reading, though, I'm kind of glad I brought it with me to pass the time.  Because, well, it's four hours later and I'd go insane if I just stared at the walls and/or listened to folks cry anymore.  You really face your mortality lying in a hospital bed, no matter where it's located (unless you're in the maternity ward, where I was last year after birthing Steven Ames...then you feel like the Font of Life).  It's hard not to be frightened.  You're not supposed to be here; it's not supposed to be like this. 

You certainly never want to come back.  Your new goal becomes living to at least 120 and dying happily in your sleep. 

"Well, it's Bell's Palsy," the doctor says cheerily.  She's got white hair in a short pixie cut, cute button glasses and a big smile.  I like her.  But I'm hardly shocked. 

"OK, but I'm only 39...just turned 39 a month ago to the day, actually," I say.

"Well, you'd be surprised, but it's striking people younger and younger...the numbers are increasing rapidly, and I've actually seen a lot of this go around in the past few weeks." 

Say what?

Pixie Doc continues, "So, you see, your age really isn't a factor here.  Three factors exist:  Lyme's Disease, virus and stress.  I believe you probably have all three things going on, so I'm giving you medications for all three things."

I'd first been diagnosed with Lyme's in 1992, the last semester of my senior year in college.  I'd just joked to someone a month beforehand that I'd NEVER seen the inside of the Infirmary and was going to graduate and barely knew where the joint was on campus...and then a month later, there I was, lying in bed in the upstairs portion of the infirmary, quarantined, unable to see out of my right eye (although the eye itself was normal) and running a 103 degree fever for days.  Long story short, it was Lyme's.  Who knew?  I was bedridden for a month.  In 1995, I had a two-week recurrence, though not as strong, and my eyes/eyesight was A-OK. 

In terms of viral-esque stuff, I'd been sick throughout all of October, unfortunately, and had to ultimately be treated with Z-PAC to knock the illness from me.  The problem with me on that front has been, since the 1992 Lyme's episode, when I get sick, it's never for 2-3 days like most people.  It's 2-3 weeks.  I wish I were kidding, just trying to be jocular to spice up my blog.  If you know me at all, you know this is true.  I'm sicker longer and more intensely than most folks.  And it pisses me off.

Which, of course, leads me to stress.  I'm a lawyer, darn it.  Enough said.  And bringing a trial bag to the emergency room, loaded with stuff, just so that if I'm admitted the work beat can go on?  You may think that sounds nuts, but any other lawyer reading this blog is like, "So?"  From 1998 through December of 2004, I worked for three firms.  The corporate culture demanded that you work, work, work, even in the hospital.  You worked on weekends.  You worked nights, mornings, during lunch...you even brought case law with you to read while on the toilet.  You worked 15 hours at least a day.  In January of 2005, I went off to work for myself.  Much less stress.  I only worked 40 hours a week.  That's nothing in comparison to what I used to do.  Nothing!  But the corporate culture hasn't left me completely.  My husband hates it; he doesn't want me to be an attorney anymore.  After today, it's pretty darn tempting to just hang it up and quit.

In fact, after I'm given three prescriptions and booted out the door with my discharge papers, I drive home and convey the information to Steve, who says, worriedly, "So what's next, Stacey?  A stroke?  A heart attack?  You're doing too much.  Something has to go." 

And he's right of course.  Since Steven Ames was born, I've juggled house, spouse, kid (full-time), work (full-time, but "only" 40 hours a week, mostly nights, weekends and nap-times).  You could have eaten off the floors in my home, and we don't even have a housekeeper come at all, let alone once or twice a week like some folk do.  I was doing it all...and doing myself in. 

I wearily poured the medications into me, drinking water with a half-functioning mouth, so of course, I wore half the glass before I got the meds down.  Then I shuffled like a zombie to bed and passed out.  Basically for the next five days straight.  I've gotten up to take medications, use the bathroom, drink my meals and take a bath or a shower.  The doctor warned me that the viral aspect of things would leave me weaker than a kitten.  Meow.  

Well, actually, I did have to leave the house to hit the optometrist on an emergency basis, since my eyeball nearly dried up in the socket...but oh, dear reader, tune in tomorrow for more!