tornadoes and guns

So, here in the southeast, the word 'tornado' now has a different meaning. Before, it was just kinda annoying to most people. You know...ruining plans and whatnot. But after the other week when Raleigh and the surrounding areas were hit, everyone is starting to pay a little more attention now. That ominous Saturday started with running into two of our friends at an estate sale. I knew that storms were going to be rolling through later, but I didn't know that  in a mere 6 hours my husband and I would be worrying about whether those two friends safely made it through a massive tornado. They were going to be heading toward Raleigh soon after we saw them. Then there are the friends and family we have that live in the area. Once everything calmed down and we had heard or at least seen sign of life via Facebook or texts from the people we know in Raleigh, we felt better. Then we saw the picture everyone has seen by now of the Lowe's Hardware store...Other photos started coming in, people started posting on Facebook about their neighborhoods being demolished. A few days later, I was reading while my husband was watching NBC Nightly News...and I heard a familiar name. Two people who I had watched grow up in the church I attended when I was younger were being interviewed...they were rummaging through the rubble of what used to be their grandmother's house. Their grandmother didn't make it. A girl I went to school with posted a first hand account of the storm on her blog-complete with all the details and horrid photos of her own neighborhood. Towards the end of the photos, there's a photo of a girl that is absolutely haunting. You can see the pain, devastation, and confusion on her face. It's like she's standing there, trying to process it all.
So then tonight, they're calling for more storms, and more tornadoes, and even using some new (to me) acronym that I've never heard before: PDS. Apparently it means "Particularly Dangerous Situation."....I mean..what the hell, ya'll?? What am I supposed to do with that information?! I live in an upper floor apartment! I don't see much sleep in my future. We literally have clothes laid out and a bag of stuff and leash ready to grab. This whole tornado thing is bringing up some awful memories. Most of the memories are kinda disorganized and broken apart, but some are very vivid. Hurricane Hugo- September 1989. I was watching a Jim Henson Muppet special on television. My dad was at work. I was 7, my sister was almost 2. Tornadoes were running rampant across the state. The 'find a hallway and take cover now!' blurb went crawling across the television. All of the sudden, things were getting very real. My mom, sister, dog, and I huddled together in the basement hallway. My sister was crying, our dog was confused, I was terrified. My poor mom. You want to know what made matters worse? Yours truly had convinced herself that tornadoes could come through the toilet (it spins when you flush it...just like a tornado..I mean I was 7 so cut me some slack). I refused to get near the toilet, but maaaannn my nerves were getting to me. At 7 years old, crouched under a blanket in a closed off hallway with a toddler, dog, and my mom, and I totally crapped myself. And I will never live that down. Besides the obvious humor we all get out of that story now, something serious clicked in my brain that night. I was terrified for months. Completely terrified and convinced that my entire family was going to die. I didn't leave the house except to go to school. In fact, there was a specific chair I would sit in, rubbing my bottom teeth across the fingernail on my thumb. Doing that was some kind of nervous release for me. I rubbed that nail so thin that it hurt. Every second of the day my focus was to keep my family alive. I could only do that if I stayed close to them. My mom and I went to Eckerd Drug-back when it existed. I remember her buying me a lollipop molded to look like Garfield. I focused so hard on that lollipop, trying to get the feelings of doom, death, and storms out of my head. I wouldn't go outside and play with friends, if it started raining I had myself convinced a tornado was on the way, I constantly sat in the chair by the window to listen for any kind of train sound. I was obsessed with preventing our immanent fate of death by storm. My parents knew something was wrong with me, but they had no idea just how deeply terrified I was. They took me to see my pediatrician who talked to me and basically told my parents that I would get over it and it wasn't that abnormal. In retrospect, it was very abnormal. I was 7 years old and all I could think about was death and storms. For MONTHS. No other interests, just simply filled with terror. And now, 22 years later, I realize I was a 7 year old experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The definition of PTSD has drastically changed over the years. At one time, it was only attributed to soldiers after a war. Now we know it has a much more prevalent place in society. But in 1989, I doubt anyone would have diagnosed an otherwise normal 7 year old with PTSD. I got over it at some point...some how. Time is a great healer, and 7 year olds are pretty darn resilient. 
My second bought of PTSD came about 15 years later. This time the situation was a bit more serious. A last minute stop by my apartment mailbox turned ugly. My husband (then boyfriend) jumped out of the car to grab my mail for me. Actually, I distinctly remember bribing him to do so because it was freezing outside and I didn't want to get out of the car. Next thing I know, I look up, and there's a gun pointed at him. Three guys..all wearing bandanas...and a gun. I didn't have my cell phone. I didn't know what to do. Time stood still and different images of various possible outcomes were flashing around in my head. One of them saw me and was coming toward me in the car. He forced me out of the car and on the pavement. I was in pajama pants with little sheep on them. I stared at one of the sheep on my leg...praying for everything to be over and us be okay. Wallets were demanded, but the measly bit of cash in mine made them mad. I can still hear it in my head. "This all you got?! And a damn debit card?!"
Somehow, someway, a couple came down the stairs across the lot. They scared off the robbers. I tried so hard to scream and warn the couple about what was going on. I was hyperventilating....and some strange half yell came out-but I must have said enough because the couple ran back up the stairs and called the police. We went to my apartment. I've never ran so fast in my life. I ran up the stairs, gasping for breath. Not only did I go out cell-less that night, but also without my inhaler. In my defense, I had never hyperventilated before...
My husband and I were pretty much communicating in hand gestures and short yells at this point. Full panic mode. We both went for our phones-I dialed 911. Now that I think about it...it's not a good idea to have the person who is hyperventilating be the one to call 911. The dispatcher told me that if I didn't get my inhaler and breath slowly on her count, she was sending an ambulance along with the police. I calmed down enough to satisfy her, but no one else I spoke with during the next hour would completely be able to grasp my words between my gasps. The police came. My car was fingerprinted. Our statements were given. Helicopters were dispatched. That's right folks, full on spotlight helicopters. A K9 unit was there....and the assholes were caught. Neither of us were shot or physically harmed. But I have never been the same since. I don't know if other people have noticed that or not. I don't really talk about it, and no one else does, so I kinda assume that my secret is safe. But unlike the fear of storms that started in 1989 and ended a few months later, this one is still with me. I think it's probably is here to stay.

***update** we survived the night!! and it barely even rained!!! and I got very little sleep!!

I have zero focus today,

Man, I am in a world of hurt right now. I went to the gym yesterday for the first time since last Monday. I couldn't go during the time in between because I was spending my nights wheezing...and exercise + wheezing= emergency room. I hate having that long of a pause between workouts. It's one thing to be the type of person who feels guilty if they don't workout-but then there's the fact that I'm working out for rehabilitation as well as exercise. When I don't workout-I hurt. I mean, I can barely walk today. For the days I can't exercise, I get stiff and my hip hurts. Then, after I go back to working out, my iliopsoas screams in pain. It sucks having a muscle cramp and muscle spasms in a place that is impossible to reach. I'm actually going to bite the bullet and email the surgeon about two things I have questions about: 1. Should not being active cause this much hip pain? and 2. What's with the leg aching? It scares me because last time I asked a surgeon questions I ended up having more surgery. I know that isn't a logical concern because that isn't going to happen, but I still get nervous. On a happy (?) note, I am beyond month 4!!! Healing takes 3-4 months, with a year of improvement before the end result is seen. And now that I've realized it's almost noon and I have a lot to do, I'm just going to bullet my other thoughts.

• Sammy's small mass on his lip was benign! yay for Sammy!
• I love my vet.
• My parents dog may be having kidney issues. Poor girl.
• Easter was awesome. The only thing missing was my sis and my grandma. 
• Seeing my friends' kids makes me happy.
• Seeing friends makes me happy.
• Seeing an old friend who has kinda become a new friend makes me happy. Especially since the pause between old and new doesn't even seem like it ever happened. So I guess she's still an old friend.
• I finished my Statement of Purpose for LR grad school. It's either really good, or will be the worst they've ever read. I took a risk but I feel good about it. 
• In about four hours my husband and I find out his biopsy results. 
• I've been telling Sammy to go find his toy for an hour to try to get his to stop pawing at my bag. I just realized his toy is in my bag. He's so much smarter than I am.
• Change scares me, and things are about to change. Maybe. And it's either a good change or a bad change. But I hate not being in control of it and having to wait it out.
• I still haven't heard about the job I interviewed for. They haven't filled it yet, and anyone who isn't offered the job will get an email saying as much. The one who is offered the job will get a phone call. I haven't received either.
• Even if I were the person to get the phone call, the place is 30 miles away. I get 32-36 miles per gallon while driving. The route from here to there is full of traffic which equals idling. Gas is $3.80 a gallon with talk of it getting to $5-$6 a gallon. The job is 5 days a week.

So 34 mpg (corolla average) - ~10 mpg (idling)= 24 mpg.
24 mpg/30 miles one way= 1 1/4 tank of gas.
1 1/4 tank of gas x 2(there and back)= 2 1/2 gallons of gas
2 1/2 gallons of gas x 5 (days per week)= 12 1/2 gallons of gas per week
12 1/2 gallons per week x $3.80= $47.50 in gas per week (low end)
12 1/2 gallons per week x $5.50= $68.75 in gas per week (high end)
$47.50 x 4 (weeks in a month)= $190 (low end)
$68.75 x 4= $275 per month (high end)
HOLY CRAP.

Just $5?

My grandmother is currently in late stage Alzheimer's...she's been dealing with the disease for years. I've watched her mind disintegrate. She doesn't even look like my grandmother anymore. The worst part is knowing how hard it is on my mom to slowly watch this happen, knowing there is no cure. We need a cure. The number of baby boomers who are going to suffer from this disease....lose all of their memories and cognitive skills...is terrifying. I have raised money for the walk the past two years...but because if my injuries, haven't been able to actually walk. Now, I can actually walk in the Walk to End Alzheimer's! Please consider donating just $5.00 to support my walk. I can't do this without you!
DONATE!

'Cause this is thriller, thriller night...

Yesterday was day 3 of feeling like crap...so I decided to go to the doctor. I woke up without a voice Tuesday morning and a sore throat that was nothing like the allergies I had tried attributing my yuckiness to the other days. Afraid I had strep, I called my doctor. They're out of town. All of them. They suggest going to Urgent Care since they were both in the same system and would have my records on their computer. Now, I thought about my past experiences with said Urgent Care...but those were more serious issues (a broken bone they insisted was simply a 'contusion'). I decided that even a monkey could swab the back of my throat and send it to a lab...so off to Urgent Care I went...
Well....apparently everyone else needed to go to Urgent Care at noon on a Tuesday as well. I fill out the paper work, use hand sanitizer, and grab a seat as far away from people as possible. The seat I chose was next to a table, which I failed to notice, held face masks for people with flu symptoms.
Crap. The flu? Still? In April? Awesome. Some snotty nosed little emo kid came in, told the receptionist lady (who was constantly coughing WITHOUT covering her mouth) that he thought he had the flu. She TOLD him to put on  a mask. Of course, being completely paranoid, I quickly move to a different seat away from the flu table. He went to the table, picked up a mask, grabbed a magazine he proceeded to cough all over, and set the mask in his lap. What the heck did he think that mask was for??? I started looking around the room...my new seat was right by the entrance/exit in case I went into full panic attack mode. I could see everyone. Coughing receptionist lady, mask in lap emo kid, and a lot of poor suckers flipping through snot infected magazines. I will never understand people who read the magazines at doctor's offices. They are INFESTED!! Ugh. I get the heebies just thinking about it. The people in that waiting room looked like they had all been in some sort of toxic spill or something. Some only had one eye open, most hadn't bathed in days. The people coming in the front door looked like they were auditioning for a Thriller dance party or something, all with a strangely stiff limp. My heart was about to beat out of my chest. Just when I had endured enough and was about to leave, I hear my name called. Thank GOD. I am free from the waiting room of test subjects sick people. I was so freaked out I was shaking. The girl who took my blood pressure checked it three times. She looked at me, very concerned, and said "135/111-are you ok?"....
No lady, I'm not okay. I was just forced to inhale millions of cooties in a tiny room full of 'people' for 45 minutes. Before the PA comes in, she apparently researched my past blood pressure readings because she came into the room inquiring why my usually normal blood pressure was sky rocketing. "It's never been high before, especially not this high." I tried to explain to her that sick people terrify me. That the waiting room was full of them. That the emo boy did not put his mask on. I think she just thought I was insane. I went through all of that, and then this morning woke up with a cough. Which pretty much means it's doubtful that I have strep. I exposed myself to a petri dish of germs for no reason.
Monday, when I had decided my symptoms were just allergies, I went to the gym-which made me feel like hell. Now, day 2 without the gym, I hurt. The top of my leg is cramping like something awful. All of my muscles and hip flexors feel like they're seizing up. I guess I get to deal with that until I'm well enough to work out again.

courtesy Vanity Fair

3 1/2 months

I'm basically 3 1/2 months post-op now, and while things have progressed very well, there are still some issues. Going into the surgery I had in December '09 for the nerve entrapment and scar tissue, I was hesitantly optimistic. After years and years without a diagnosis, I really wanted the surgery to be the end of it all. Well, the beginning of the end...physical therapy and healing being the end. I had fought my insurance company so hard, for months..so when I finally won my case, I felt like the battle was over. I kind of forgot the fact that it wasn't winning against the insurance company that was the battle....it was getting through surgery and it working. That didn't happen. So, going into the surgery for my hip in Dec '10, it was kind of like...'here we go again'. There's a lot of emotions that go along with having hope, losing hope, having chronic pain, and trying to live life. It's roller coaster of ups and downs and frustration like I can't even put into words. Lots of tears cried, alone and on my husband's shoulder, in the bathroom at work, and over the phone with family. And I am tons better-TONS. But of course, there's a nagging itch in my brain about the pain at my pelvic crest. Why is it back? Will it get worse? It's not something that I want to worry about. I'm perfectly fine with ignoring it, but ignoring pain and having to wait so long for a diagnosis is why things got so bad in the first place. Then there's the psoas pain. It's not as debilitating as it once was. But it's there. It hurts. I don't understand how I can do interval training at the gym, the bike, elliptical, and treadmill with no psoas pain (but some hip pain) but vacuuming kills me. I mean, I guess I understands the technical part of it, but why won't it go away? And what's with this ache at the top of my thigh? I never had that until after hip surgery. I suppose I should email my surgeon and ask...but I never get the answers that I want.

I'm back.

OMG..OMG. The dog whisperer was right when he said, “I know why God gave her to me. We complement each other.” My super sensitive and anxious dog is a mirror image of me...just much more vociferous. Let me walk you through his 'drop-off' vet visit (which we never, ever do unless it has to be done, like in this case).

Sammy and I get to the vet Wednesday morning. He says hey to a few people and the dog in the line in front of us. All seems good. I fill out his paperwork, talk to the girl at the front desk, and warn her about Sammy. She had never been around when Sammy had to stay all day....and no one warned her. I told her what a treat she was in for. Then I looked at Sammy as I turned him over to her...and his eyes said it all. Have you ever seen anyone with a serious thyroid issue? Where their eyes are all popped out?   

That was him..


I leave, knowing that as soon as she shuts his kennel door, all hell was going to break loose. I called to check on him, and at that time, he had stopped 'talking'. 'Talking 'is what the vet and the groomers call his incessant crying. I refer to it as a mix between a mating cat and a wolf killing a crying baby. He mixes it up for you...he'll start with some high pitched whining, move on to some howling, and then, for the finale, he hangs his head down really low, and just lets it all out. Apparently, he had worn himself out and took a small break. 10 hours later when I went to pick him up, I could hear him 'talking'. And lord, he sure was 'talking' up a storm. He was pissed and he wanted everyone to know. Everyone in Petsmart, everyone 8 stores down at Target...everyone 3,000 miles away in California. So, imagine my still-a-tad-drunk-from anesthesia dog...'talking'...looking off into space, looking crazy because some of his fur on his cute little muzzle had to be shaved off. Only on  one side. This photo doesn't do it justice, but it will have to do, cause there's no way in hell I'm disturbing him now that he finally...36 hours later...stopped 'talking'. Now, ignore that his face is wet, but as you see, the right side of his face is normal..... 

...but the left side is shaved.Which makes it all the more hilarious. That is until he cried ALL NIGHT and ALL DAY TODAY. Not hilarious. I couldn't leave the house...I couldn't leave the room. He's completely convinced that if I'm out of his site, I've abandoned him and he'll wake up alone in a kennel with half of his face shaved off. I mean-where does he think I'm going to disappear to when I go to the bathroom?! Maybe there's a secret exit it the shower?!?! Clomicalm didn't help, DAP didn't help, Music My Dog CD didn't work, begging didn't work, crying with him didn't work. But somehow, for some reason...he stopped. He walked into my bedroom... alone... jumped up on the bed, and went to sleep. He's been quiet ever since. I wonder what's going to happen when I try to leave tomorrow...
Now some people may be thinking that if he's crying so much, he must be in pain. And I must be a horrible mommy for not knowing this. Ahhhh....but that is what I thought the first time this happened. The time when I flipped out and made my then boyfriend, now husband, race us to the emergency vet at 1 am. Hundreds of dollars later, and he was just fine..
He isn't in any pain. In fact, he plays ball and tug...but the whole time...he 'talks'. He eats and drinks, and in between swallowing, he 'talks'. He 'talked' so much the last two days that now instead of sounding like a mating cat/wolf eating a crying baby, he sounds like a mating cat who smokes a pack a day/wolf eating a crying baby.

                              

I moved!

My new URL will be here..
Right now, it won't take you to anything, but soon it will, and the old URL will be dead.

hiatus

Going on blogging hiatus for a bit. I have a job interview and I don't need them knowing that I can't use a toaster without hurting myself. Thank you to those of you who read it! I'll be back soon. :) Take care.

it's a wrap.

Funniest things I've heard this week:

'Well, on the bright side, at least neither one of you are on meth.'-my sister in reference to one of her patients.

'Wait-weren't you in PT for your hip?'-a physical therapist in reference to my knee.

'So hold on- is there a piece of your finger still in the toaster?'-my husband.

'Is that knee brace for the left or right knee?'-yours truly.

I have hit the 3 month post-op mark! Excited about how well things are going so far. I really need to pace myself. My excitement for activity and normalcy keeps leading to me getting hurt, then set back, then frustrated. As you can see above, I did get a knee brace and hope that helps so I can go back to my normal activities at the gym instead of only the bike. Rushing through things and not taking my time is more than likely how I was injured in the first place. I have to chill out, slow down, and be careful. Rushing to do things is also why a piece of my finger may be in the toaster.....ugh. It's an awesome toaster, too. Not one I would ever buy myself, but a really nice one we received as a wedding gift. I keep trying to get my husband to see if finger fragments are in there....but he won't. So for now, we just won't use it...
If you have a little extra time in your day on Tuesday, please send positive thoughts in the direction of my husband. It would be much appreciated. Also, if you could send some Valium in my direction, we would probably both appreciate that.

what I do on rainy days weeks 

what Sammy does on rainy days