Congratulations, it’s an infection!

My fellow spoonies will understand how good it was to hear from my doctor that I have (another) UTI. The “another” part not so much, but the UTI part explains a whole lot. I shouldn’t be, but I am still surprised how the effects of an infection, or anything that triggers an immune response, go so deep and wide. I’ve been taking nitrofurantoin ( a new one for me) for a few days now, so I’m expecting my strength, such as it was, to be returning soon.

In addition to overall physical weakness and increased lassitude, I find (and maybe you do too) any kind of infection leaves my cognitive functions dulled more than usual. Frustrating when I have so many brilliant ideas of to share with you.  I can feel the ideas fully formed rolling around in my noggin, but when I sit down to write, I don’t seem to be able to build words around any them. In my younger, healthy days, I wrote a great deal. My stream of consciousness seemed to flow directly from my brain onto the page. I produced great bushels of chaff, with maybe here and there an actual grain of wheat. Not so much anymore. It seems that my writing forte now is the false start. Add in the complication of using dictation software and I never seem to be able to get anywhere.

Anywho, enough about me. While I don’t think I will post to this blog anywhere near as often as I would like to, I hope you few enlightened souls who follow One Life will be patient and stay tuned. In the meantime, feel free to poke around in my photography portfolio at Captured Light.

Better yet, turn off the computer and go play in the sun.

My Kryptonite

Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Maybe it’s a feature of my MS brain (what’s left of it), or simply a human-evolution survival mechanism, or maybe it’s just me, but when the weather turned beastly hot the other day, it took me a bit to figure out why I was suddenly feeling so weak. Oh, yeah, it’s hot, it’s my kryptonite again. I remember years ago, when MS was just starting to rear it’s head, or maybe this was just before, on the first hot day of the spring, walking from the back door of my office building to my car in the parking lot and being mystified, and a little frightened, at how difficult it was to go across those few dozen yards of tarmac. I was still in the “What the fuck is this MS shit all about,” and the “what the hell is wrong with me,” phase. (I still ask myself, and the cosmos, those, and other, questions.) I had no idea what MS meant (topic for a future post), and was learning stuff as it happened.

iu

When I first experienced the power of heat, I really didn’t know what was going on. I knew about the foot drop, and the optic neuritis, and I had read about fatigue and lassitude (still believing that this was stuff I could understand and grok by reading about it), but, wham, that first wave of heat-induced weakness caught me by surprise. Oh, so this is heat intolerance, eh? Lovely. I gotta deal with that, too? (How innocent I was. Sigh.) Fortunately, I live in Maine, where we don’t have sweltering hot days very often. And after all these years, I still get caught by surprise, and get reminded all over again.

So, yeah, heat is my kryptonite. I wish I felt like Superman the rest of the time. But, hey (as we say in Maine), at least it’s not snowing.

560Click here to buy my t-shirt! Show the world you’ve got spoons. 100% cotton t-shirt is perfect for summer. Wear it everywhere! Original artwork by Val Sivilli. 50% of profits go directly to the National MS Society.

Field Trip: The pot store, pt. 2

la-confidentialThis ain’t your dad’s marijuana. At least it certainly ain’t my dad’s marijuana. This stuff I got is far more potent than anything I’ve ever had before. It doesn’t smell like it, it doesn’t taste like it, it doesn’t even look like it. When I opened the packet, I was met with a heady aroma, floral and sweet and spicy. Inside the packets were tight buds of pale olive green with strands of bright red woven through them. Definitely not the baggie of stems and seeds and shake that I grew up with.

I’ve written and rewritten this part of the story several times. After about two weeks of investigation and testing, I’m still not sure if it’s doing what I want it to. I was hoping for a slam-dunk, a “Wow, this stuff is amazing!” moment. I was hopeful that at the very least, it would ease the painful and random Charlie-horse leg cramps that keep me awake most nights, and maybe even help me get off the drugs I take for insomnia. I was hoping to be amazed.

What I’ve found is that in the two weeks that I’ve been smoking it before bed (and often again during the night), I’m having much less cramping. Not no cramping, but fewer episodes, and less intense. Nothing amazing, but it’s better. Nothing else I tried made a dent – not stretching, not medications, not “eat a banana before bed.” Cannabis has not eradicated this problem, but it is much better. I will need to go back to The Store to talk with the pot-istas and the experts, and see if we can fine-tune the product, but for now, I’m happy with the results. I’ve enjoyed doing the research and field testing – no hardship there.

In the meantime, I’ll just be holed up in my laboratory continuing my scientific investigations. Let’s hope The Man doesn’t get all up in our business.
560Click here to buy my t-shirt! Show the world you’ve got spoons. 100% cotton t-shirt is perfect for summer. Wear it everywhere! Original artwork by Val Sivilli. 50% of profits go directly to the National MS Society.

 

Field Trip: The Pot Store, Part 1

iuIf you had told me back in the day I would walk into a nice clean store on Main Street, and legally buy marijuana, I would’ve told you that you’d been smoking too much of your own product. In a former lifetime, when I was a recreational user, the idea of pot being legal – in any sense of the word – was a George Carlin comedy routine. So, when I finally got to my local marijuana store, after acquiring the official state license ($150 and a phone call), it was a bit of a surreal experience. A little Twilight Zone-ian.

 

After passing through mildly tight security (they buzz you into the lobby from the street, and then into the actual store after showing your official marijuana card and a photo ID), I found myself in a retail space that felt like an upscale book store. I sat down in a side room with a nice young man (Jeff?) to go over the menu. We talked about my previous experience with marijuana, and as we talked all about the different strains, Indica versus Sativa, the various cookies, or “Medibles” (lemon crinkle, gingersnap and peanut butter chocolate chip), I waxed nostalgic about the olden days of buying who knew what kind of pot in a Ziploc baggie from a friend of a friend. “This is all different,” Jeff assured me, the cannabis (as they prefer to call it) is now all carefully grown and graded and cleaned and packaged. He helped me make my selections – 1g each of LA Confidential and M.O.B. – and released me to the sales floor.

 

There was a lounge area with a few tables and chairs and soft indirect lighting. Not a smoking room (no smoking of any kind!), like a Christian Science Reading Room. Separated by a bookshelf room divider, the other side of the room was where the actual business transactions took place. I waited in line for my number to be flashed up on the overhead display, just like waiting your turn at the deli counter. There was the “Everyday Value Menu” and the day’s specials. When my turn came, I stepped up to the counter and I gave my “Pot-ista,” my order. She came back with two hermetically sealed plastic packages with my very own medical marijuana in them. I paid (cash only as The Man does not allow credit card transactions for this particular product line), they put my cannabis in a little shopping bag, along with a glass pipe I purchased (one stop shopping!), and a folder with a copy of the menu and some other promotional materials.

 

And off I went! I had just made my first mostly legal (it’s still illegal according to federal law) purchase of medical marijuana. The kids back in 1976 would never believe this. Brave new world.

 

Stay tuned for my product review in Part 2.

 

Stop waiting to be ill enough

You’ll never feel ill enough. There will always be a little voice in the back of your head whispering that you’re fine, really, you’d be okay if you only tried harder.

That little voice isn’t the voice of reason – it’s the voice of internalised ableism, and you owe it nothing.

Find someone who can help you. Apply for the benefits you need. Use the mobility aids that make your life easier. Give yourself a break.

You deserve it. You are ill enough. You aren’t faking it, you aren’t mooching. You’re surviving, and you deserve a round of applause.

Found on the blogKipple Kipple Everywhere.