Well, Slap Me Silly!

Saw my wound care doctor today. Instead of moaning about the two worsening wounds on my posterior, I'll cut to the chase. I've been in total denial. I can't say this never crossed my mind, because it has, many times, but I never let it stay for more than a second. I just mentally flicked it away like it was a pesky fly. But Doctor Bennet said something that brought the thought back, and I wasn't able to swat it away this time. He said that healing up my wounds wasn't going to be a problem, but if anything anything was going to keep me from getting the orthopedic surgery to straighten my legs, it would be the hidradinitis that has caused a bunch of open sores to stretch the width of my abdomen. 

I knew that. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but deep inside I knew it. And since there is no cure for hidradinitis except for excision, which the surgeon has already declined to do, that means all my plans and hopes for some kind of independence would be stopped dead in their tracks. It's not as if that's happened but I believe, in all likelyhood, that it will. There's a slim chance they'd do it anyway, but that's not a realistic expectation.

What to do, what to do?

Suicide is not on my list of possibilities, but I don't know how I will cope if the door to my greatest hopes, hopes that I hold onto for dear life, is slammed irrevocably in my face. I'm not certain just how far my strength and courage would stretch. It hasn't happened yet. Don't worry about it. I wish I could follow that advice, but too much is at stake. I truly hate the way my life is now. If I really believed that it wouldn't be able to get better, that I would have to face years more of living this way.... It's inconceivable. I'd feel like I had been diagnosed with a painful disease that would stretch out interminably -- no treatment or cure, just pain. I already have one of those kinds of diseases. I really don't know if I could handle two.

So, I feel kinda dumb for not facing this probability. It's best that I do, though. I have time, now, to explore possibilities and think about how I'd react.  Make plans, so to speak. Don't take that as an ominous foreshadowing of what I have in mind, OK? I really don't have anything in mind. Little Miss Hopeful, here, is still rooting for getting the surgery. 

So I guess it's even more important, now, for me to refocus my attention on something which I have some control over. And the only thing I have any control over is my mind. And my upper torso and my arms and hands, which is a considerable advantage over not having any control over them. But I have to tell the truth. I'm worn out, mentally. I just want to lay back and listen to some music, maybe some reggae. I used to love dancing to reggae. Now I just dance on the inside when I hear it.

Dance and love and laugh, my special spirit friends. I will strive to do the same.

Violets vs Violence

Last night the 3-11 shift went by. At about 8 i asked to be turned from one side to the other. This is supposed to be done regularly, to avoid getting bedsores again. I also asked that my colostomy bag be changed because it was getting pretty full and I didn't want to take a chance that it would spring a leak or overflow.  Also, every night I'm supposed to get "peri-care" which is cleaning the areas of my body that are warm and moist, and have Nystatin poweder applied to avoid developing yeast infection.

So I pushed my call button. One of our newest aides answered. I told her what I needed. She told me she'd never changed a bag before. I offered to teach her how. It's not awfully complicated. If I could reach the supplies and was at an advantangeous position so that I could see what I was doing, I'd do it myself. She said, no I couldn't teach her because the nurse had told her not to and she was alone on the hall. So she left without trying, or doing anything else.

The bag was finally changed at around 11:30, by the aide on the 11-7 shift. She was not happy. I was not happy. I never got turned until the 7-11 shift the following day. The peri-care was finally done about 24 hours after I asked.

I'm generally a patient person, but I have zero patience with this. No matter how bad the other two nursing homes were where I lived before, my absolutely necessary care has never before been simply ignored to the point where I have been utterly abandoned. Yes, I complained, and intend to report it to the Director of Nurses. I don't want to become a grouchy old biddy, but this was just too much.

Last niglht I took a trial subscription to Gaiam TV. It has a lot of videos about spirituality, and since I'm interested in spiritual matters, I watched a few videos. I watched two, parts one and two, of an interview with Ram Dass after his stroke. I could very much identify with what he had to say, and it gave me cause for some deep thinking.

It's possible I have attached myself too thoroughly to the idea that I must, above all, regain as much independence as possible. I've had the conviction that if I can't become reasonably independent, then there's nothing to live for.

But what if, instead of exhausting myself by beating my head against circumstances I have no control over, I, instead, look for the positive things that go along with them. I have been given the rare gift of time to myself. Free time. Quiet time. If I couple this with my writing skills, what might I accomplish? Never mind that I don't have a clue what to write about. I can practise meditation in earnest. Used to be ideas would pop into my head while I walked. It was things like tall, dry winter grass, bending in the same rhythmic dance of the north wind that would set me off.. Can't do that anymore, but maybe I can discover a world inside me to take my inspiration from.

I am struggling. Oh, how I am struggling. But I haven't given up.

So I choose the gentle, vaguely fragrant path of violets, growing my spirit slowly as I nuture my soul by learning and opening myself to inner knowledge that is rarely taught in books. I vow to leave the Quixotic forehead-banging of situations I cannot control and leave my angry frustrations behind. It won't be easy and I'm not certain enough of myself yet to be consistent, but I promise myself that when I inevitably lose my way, I will strive to find my way back.

That's about it. I love you all and wish you to find whatever life path is best for you.

Lavender will do, too.

Squinting Until My Forehead Hurts

This is what happens when sadness overwhelms me and I cry and I can't stop. All I can see, 360 degrees around me, is the barren wildernesss that has become my life. What's the point? What's the effing point to life when it it is full of nothingness? I still don't see suicide as the answer but there is Nothing -- NOTHING -- that makes my life worth living. I've been holding onto hope that my life will get better,  with a firm grasp at first, then ever more loosely with each realization that nothing has gotten better, just worse and worse and worse until I'm barely holding on by the edges of my fingertips, wondering if I should end the pain and let go. I don't want to let go. I don't want my life to continue like this anymore, either. I've long said that a person never knows how strong they are until they have to be strong. I feel like I'm on the verge of finding out where my strength ends.

All I want to do is sleep. I have such interesting dreams. Last time I dreamed that I escaped from a mental institution with two other inmates. I was a young man, about 18, with severe depression. My companions were a large schizophrenic woman who was very angry and aggressive. The other was a thin man in his 30s. He had a black goatee, tons of tattoos and several piercings. He never spoke. We stole an old RV. They sat in the front, and I stayed in thre back. Slept some. Since time doesn't exist in dreams, we went through several places. Once, we met up with a motorcycle gang, and the goateed man left us.

Eventually, the large woman left, too, and a bunch of young people around my age joined me. We made it to Alaska, where I have never been. The road was so steep I had to drive very slowly and the others got out to lighten the load and to enjoy looking at the scenery while they walked. We made it to a valley down the other side and stopped to look back. It took my breath away. There were two peaked mountains and centered between them was, I thought, the moon, bigger than I had ever seen it. Then I realized it couldn't be the moon. It was blue, with swirls of white over it. I was elated. I felt so incredibly free. Just as I was wondering if it might be the Earth, a nurse woke me, poked my finger and gave me a shot of insulin.

What a letdown.

It doesn't take a genius to know what my subconcious was saying. Or was it my guardian angels giving me a message? It was all about escape, of course. My fondest wish is to escape from my helplessness. That's what I've been struggling for. And that is what I've been failing miserably at.

So here I am, still stuck in my wilderness  of nothingness, seeing no goals to work toward, with the spectre of hopelessness eclipsing whatever light I could still glimpse. Lost. If I don't find a way to change this situation, then somewhere between where I am now and where I'm heading, I will come upon an invisible abyss that cuts through my path like a sharp knife slides through skin. And, as my next step hovers above that chasm, I will, once again, have to decide whether to step away, or to step off that cliff.

I'm not there yet, but I sense it's too close for comfort.

Tomorrow may be better. I might see something rising out on the horizon that helps me find my way again. That's my inner hope, calling from some distant place deep inside me, to not give up. So I'm still following that dim ray of hope. It's flickering like a flashlight when the batteries are about to go out, but it's still there.

I hope this hasn't exhausted you like it has me. Sorry about that.

Watch for the sun in the morning. Be well and happy.

Doing the Limbo

I'm neither there, where hope lives, nor there, where the grasping fingers of despair keep ypu ensnared. I'm floating somewhere in the middle, feeling neither. It's an effective defense mechanism. I've used it many times in my life. Sometimes it worked to support me. More often, it proved to be detrimental to me. But right now, it seems to be working for the better. Somehow it's not entirely blocking out love or hope. They're faded versions, to be sure, but their lights have not been extinguished altogether.

It's the best I can do, under the physical circumstances that retrain me so completely. I cannot move forward independence, due to the many wounds, lesions and developing or healing abcesses my body now fights. And I may as well be tied down to these circumstances because there's nothing I can do.

Hence, I retreat into limbo land. Good thing I have developed tolerance and patience. Things are so much better since I decided to let go and just float along, following the river where it chooses to take me. Once I find myself in a place where I can find a toehole again, I'll dig in and stop floating. But, for now, I'm a drifter. I know where I want to go, but, so far, life isn't leading me there. Thrashing has done more harm than good. A couple of times I felt like I was about to drown and wasn't so sure that was a bad idea.

But suicide is not amongst my choices right now. While I believe it's a reasonable option, should life become intolerable, at the moment suicide is unthinkable. It would be like watching an exciting movie, then leaving before it was resolved. I want to see how this story ends. I'm interested in what happens next.

So I am, in my own little way, feeling good. I have people to love and, though some of them are part of short-term relationships, like my therapist, I'm happy to spread love his way, too, for as long as our relationship lasts. He's a sweet guy who deserves to have a little affection offered his way.

I am at peace, for now. Not contented, exactly, but OK for the moment.

I wish I could wrap up these feeling in a box with a bow on top for every one of you to open. That would be beautiful. ❤

Just Imagine -- Life Without an Alarm Clock

I don't have an alarm clock. Don't need one. I just realized how cool that is. This is the reason I didn't post a blog entry yesterday. Was it yesterday? I'm not sure. I just fall asleep when I get tired and wake up when the Wound Care nurse starts poking things into the abcess in my chest. Being in slumberland as I was, I practically jumped off the bed screaming. Well, I couldn't jump out of the bed due to my physical Limitations. But I could scream, which I did, loudly and long. I know she doesn't mean to hurt me. She's a very sweet person. But, for some reason, when she's the one tending to my wounds, I seem to yell a lot. The other wound care nurse barely squeezes a tiny chirp of pain from my lips.

Alas, I have developed a new wound on my bottom, but it's not too bad so far, so there is hope it will heal quickly. Also, a painful small red spot has developed in the middle of my back, exactly the same place where painful red spots which developed into abcesses have appeared before. I call foul. The abcess on my abdomen is still weeks away from healing. No fair adding to my misery. I want to have a severe talkin to withwhomever is in charge of this. I want to ask, what's the rush? Since we've already healed up two abcesses on my back, why don't we just judge the two jobs well done and forget about the third time? 

As for the new wound, it was coming loose along the scar tissue for awhile. I'm pretty sure that the two new aides who gave me a shower last week pulled the skin near it while she was trying to turn me in the most narrow, hardest plastic shower bed that Satan, if he exists, could ever devize. And if Satan and his minions exist, I blame old age on them, because nursing homes would be the perfect place for them to lay low. It's not the fault of the people who work here. They truly do the best they can. But you know... hardly anyone sees rats, for example, just their deleterious droppings and the results of their busy little rat workings.

I am NOT saying we have rats here. Not even a hint of the tiniest mouse. This is a good nursing home. The best I've been in, anyway, and it's miles ahead of the other two I've been a resident of. 

So how did I get on that subject, anyway?

There's another subject I want to approach. If you're a friend of mine on FaceBook you may have noticed me post a status update about whether or not to become a prostitute in my nursing home. I decided against it. I'll let some of the older ladies take a shot at it.

(Hint: this never has and never will happen. This was just a bit of FaceBook silliness, so don't get me kicked off FB, OK?)

Saw my therapist Friday. Last two times I've noticed he's looking kind of rough, so I'm a tad worried about him. He has respiritory problems. Sometimes he has trouble breathing. I wonder if the cold weather is negatively affecting him. I make sure there's no deodorizing spray or cologne in the air in my room when it's time for our session. Probably not good for him. I'll ask him next time I see him, assuming that I do.

Time to stop and find other things to amuse myself with until I succumb to my sleeping medicine.

Good-night, all. Happy dreams and perfect tomorrows.

Actually, it's a group portrait. ❤

Breaking of the Dam

Sometimes I just can't cope. I feel physically weak, all tingly down my arms, like you get just before you pass out. Only this has been going on for more than an hour. The nurse took my vitals which were all good except for a glucose level of 300+ and high blood pressure. Seems I'm ultra-stressed out. Completely overwhelmed. Don't want to cry, but can't stop. Jeff is supposed to drop by tonight after teaching his class to bring me some diet Dr. Pepper and give me a much-needed hug. I'm a mess, so I must pull myself together before he gets here. He's the one who needs comforting, not me.

The nurse gave me some medicine. I'm out of my anti-anxiety med, so I hope these help. Wouldn't want to have a heart attack or stroke from high blood pressure, after all. That would be very bad of me.

I apologize for this weepy, straggling mess of an entry. Time to distract myself with some Bones episodes and relax. I want to DO something, but that's impossible, so it's time to seek refuge somewhere other than my brain. And some place where my heart doesn't hurt. If only there really was a place like that in this lifetime.

Be well, my sweet friends. Be kind to yourselves and each other. I love you.

 Eventually, there will be respite. I just wish I didn't have to leave everyone behind to go to the place where I can find it.

On the Flip Side

I had a think-fest last night and decided that i was going to stop thrashing ard flailing around t

Into this raging river of frustration I've been drowning in and stop beating myself up by trying to control things I have no way to control. My abcess is doing wrll, though it will probably take several more weeks to completely heal

I got up in my chair today, which was extremely pleasant.i snagged the lady from the business office and got a huge surprise. Now that I am a "skilled" patient, Medicare is covering my room and board. I get to keep all my social security, at least for now. I'm too cynical to think that this will last, but I'm going to spend some,on necessities, then save the rest.Then I took a shower and was feeling pretty happy

Then I got a call from my ex. He was talking very fast. He said, "i'm not going to be able to isit today because I flipped the car. He said he was ok. I thought, who can flip upside dowm in their car and be fine? He said he would go to the ER to get checked out. I hope he really did that.

I was extremely upset and worried and was literally wringing my hands with agitation. The nurse gave me some medicine snd I calmed back down to a level where I could relax.

Then the wound care nurse replaced a bandage on my posterior, took a look and said, This looks terrible!" She explained that I'd had a short red line along the scar from where my plastic surgery scar is. Now, she said, it's all open andd looks awful.

I'm breathing in a deep breath and exhaling a huge sigh. It'ts always something, it seems.

Here's a picture of Jeff's sad little car. It makes me terribly sad., but I'm happy it wasn"t any worse.

May you all live and travel with love and safety, my friends. You are precious to me.

.

Mercurial Moods

I've been a crazy person all day. I don't mean running-down-the-halls-naked-and-screaming crazy, though I might give that a try if I was able. I mean emotional trampoline crazy.  I've cried, I've laughed, I've cried while laughing and laughed while crying. I've been in the depths of despair and, minutes later, been happy as a clam. Mostly, I've been really confused.

There's a light hovering just beyond my reach. It's a light of lasting love toward life, and a calm comfort, like floating in a warm pool of water. It's knowing that everything is unfolding as it should and I'm capable of forgetting my worries and being in a world of joy. But it's right... there... just far enough away that I can feel it but can't get it into my grasp. I want to reach further, strain my muscles to their limit, I want it so badly. But a little voice is whispering to let it go because the more I fight to reach it, the less likely I am to get it.

See what I mean? It's very confusing. But I know in my heart it's there and I'm capable of reaching it. All I have to do is stop trying.

This is not the way I've experienced the world. I grew up learning that if I want something, then I'll need  to try with all my might to get it. Like wanting to become as independent as possible. I've worked so hard to get that, even though it's been almost four years and my physical situation not only hasn't gotten better, I'm just about as far from being independent as I can get, unless something else goes cataclysmically wrong with me. Maybe I shoulsn't bring that up. Before I caught meningitis, I weighed close to 300 pounds. I dieted all my life, to no avail. Finally, I gave up and decided that only way I'd ever get thinner would be to catch a cataclysmic disease. I want to point out to whomever was listening, that I absolutely did not have meningitis and paraplegia in mind. Anyway, I became unable to keep anything down and, for about three months I steadily became malnourished. During that time I lost 110 pounds. I do not recommend it. Since then, I've lost an additional ten pounds but can't tell you how. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the food they serve us here.

Anyway, I'm having a hard time changing my way of thinking, after having spent a lifetime learning how to get what I want. All that gets me now is a headache, both real and metaphorical. After learning to close myself in to protect myself, I need to open myself up. (Why does an autopsy come to mind? I think I've been watching too many episodes of Bones recently.) I think I need to take a deep breath, relax, and let the universe come in. No fear, just acceptance.

I feel like I'm no longer a part of the world, but do I really need to be? This will take some time to evaluate. I am a world within myself, but am also made of the same starstuff as everyone and everything else. If I don't love myself, how can I put love out into the universe? If I close myself in, then how will love come into me? I don't have the answers. I'm just a lost little traveller, looking for signs that I'm going the right direction.

May you all find love, comfort, and joy.

Putting the Courage in Discouragement

It's been nearly four years. At first I thought my life would be different, but enjoyable and that I would progress as time went by. But that's not what happened. I just got worse. The more time went by the worse my situation got. Today i feel like i'll never make any progress. To say I am discouraged would be like saying the Mississippi River is a gentle, burbling stream. I squeeze my will with all my might to proceed with courage and hold onto whatever shreds of hope I can find. It's literally a matter of life and death. I'm not talking about suicide. I'm saying that existence without courage or hope is like being utterly dead inside. I've been there and really don't want to ever go back again.

So I'm embroiled in an epic battle with myself. I'm so tired of traveling this road and losing and losing every time I turn around. It's just one battle after another, one wall after another. Is this what my life will continue to be like until I'm lucky enough to die? What a dreadful thought.

Today I am discouraged. Hopefully, tomorrow will be better. I'll hang on to that tiny spark of hope that means I'm not entirely lost. 

Hang in there, loved ones. The darkness hasn't won yet. ❤❤❤

Buried Alive

It's how I feel lately, and me without a shovel. Even a big spoon would do. I hate being so down. I hate even more spreading it around by writing about it. Sometimes my legs have the sensation of being trapped under large, heavy rocks. It's weird because, in reality, they really don't have sensation of any kind to speak of. Sometimes my soul feels like it's weighed down, too.

I keep thinking about how unhappy I got after I had my first shower in months. I cried and I don't know why. It wasn't from joy, I can assure you. It wasn't from physical pain, either, though the plastic table they lay me on to transfer me down to the shower room hurts my back. Also, when they had me in the lift, they bonked my head really hard on the door to my room. That hurt, too. Thankfully, that seldom happens.

Saw my therapist today. It was a somber session. He did get me to laugh, once. He was proud of that, because I was not at all cheerful. He's a real sweetheart and I'm lucky he's my therapist. I'm extremely unhappy that I will lose him as my therapist if I actually do get orthopedic surgery. I'm dreading the thought of never seeing him again, and of starting all over again with another therapist. But the way things are going, I have to wonder if the surgery on my legs is ever going to happen. Something always seems to get in the way of my progress. It's almost uncanny.

I am grateful.....

...that I have such a terrific therapist

...for my wonderful friends and family

...that I generally have my wits about me

...that Jeff and I have become great friends

...that I still have hope I'll live with a warm, cuddly old rescue cat one day

...that I still remember what a purr feels like and sounds

...that I have children I am proud of whom I love very much

...that I was privileged to have Lyra in my life for nine wonderful years of love and laughter

And so I will end this on a positive note.

May your lives be filled with laughter and happy dreams that never end.

Out of the Land of Nod

Oops. Slept all day. Literally. Didn't fall asleep until 5 a.m. and woke up about 10 p.m. I think I succumbed to escape from depression. Had some really bizarre dreams. So absolutely nothing happened today except that I have a hellava headache from sleeping too much. Also am hungry because I slept through all three meals. I'm pretty sure, however much I may enjoy BeanieWienies, one small can of them will not be enough. Good thing I have sandwich makings.

I wonder if I'll sleep again before my mental health therapist comes to see me tomorrow? Probably not.  Well, that pretty much guarantees I will not be sharp-witted for our session. On the other hand, when I'm tired I tend to be more open with my true feelings, so maybe it will prove to be beneficial. We'll see.

By the way, I found out today that Sterling House does not accept Medicaid, Medicare, or Social Security as payment. So that goal has been shot down. I hope that's not true of all assisted living places in the area. Cross your fingers for me, please.

Here's hoping you are all well-rested and happy. ❤

I gotta work on this, but I often feel as though struggles are all I have and I grow so weary of the fight.

The Law of Distraction.

The Psychiatric PA visited me today. She's supposed to increase my Wellbutrin, which is an anti-depressant that works well for me. I hope that actually happens because I have had a heck of a struggle fighting depression off. I get hopeful and feel good about the future then something like not being able to get physical therapy because my legs are frozen into a convoluted mess comes along. And I become devestated again.

She pointed me toward a documentary named "The Secret." I found it on Netflix and watched most of it. I thought about what I want in my life. Of course, I want to walk again, but since part of my spine has been removed, that's unlikely

So my greatest goals are:

INDEPENDENCE

1.  I want an automatic wheelchair that I can ride in and control.

2. I want to get orthopedic surgery to straighten out my legs so I can sit in a wheelchair.

3. I want for all my wounds to heal so I can have have the orthopedic surgery.

4. Once I accomplish these, I want to become strong enough to transfer myself from bed and whatever else I may need to, like a shower chair and my wheechair.

5. I want to live in an assisted living apartment with a small kitchenette where I can have some privacy, like in the Sterling House in Midwest City.

6. I want to adopt a cuddly, older cat to snuggle with.

I know there will be many obstacles and hoops to jump through, over, and around, but I believe I can accomplish these goals.

"The Secret" is all about the law of attraction. Put simply, the premise is that whatever you're thinking about, good or bad, the universe will provide it to you. I don't recall ever, at any time, thinking about being a paraplegic, so I'll need to explore this further.

This is a lot to take in, and, so far, it seems a bit simplistic, but I've heard it mentioned in many genres of spiritual and philosophical treatises, so maybe there's something to it. At least, it's worth looking into.

So here I will go -- the great explorer, traveling through the universe with my heart and soul.

May each of you carry sunshine and affection in your hearts forever.

Reaching New Highs

The nurse tested my glucose level right after I woke up today. It was 450. For you lucky folk who don't have a reason to know this, I'll clue you in. That's high. That's go-the-hospital high. Normal is 100. She gave me insulin and a bunch of pills, then took it again later. It was all the way down to 415. Right now it's down to about 186, which is way better than 450. Why is it getting so high? Maybe because of the fact that one of my tried-and-true diabetes medications was discontinued while I was in the hospital. My doc said he'd reinstate it, but hasn't done so.

Needless to say, I've felt pretty bad all day. It's such a treat to feel sad and then get physically ill, too. But, on the positive side, the abcess on my abdomen doesn't hurt constantly anymore. That's a plus.

When I started this blog, I pictured reporting my struggles, but also my progress. Mentally, things have improved. At least I don't just lie around wishing a chunk of an airplane would fall on me. Or a large cow. Anything fatal would've done. But there has been no physical progress. In fact, physically, I've gotten worse and worse. I've tried really hard to get what my body needs in order to make progress and regain as much independence as I can, but something always blocks it from happening. Physically, I'm much worse off than I was a year ago.

And I have to wonder why. There's no answer, of course. It just is what it is.

Being who I am, I'm not angry at anyone. There's no one at fault. So the feelings go where they always go -- inside me. They nestle down and curl up in my abdomen where they ooze sadness and pain and fear. I watch helplessly as hope turns to smoke and starts drifting away. Because I am stubborn, I capture some of it and put it in a pocket in my heart for safekeeping. I am determined to hang onto it because I know I can't live without it, and wouldn't want to.

Well, this has been a cheery little treat for you. Don't worry. I have a couple of pieces of advice I give myself. The first is, "If there's one thing you can depend on in life, it's change." It may not be a change for the better, but things never stay the same. And they're just as likely to be changes for the better as they are changes for the worse.

The second piece of advice is, "Start from here." In other words, treat dead ends like they are new beginnings. Look forward, not backwards. There are a lot of ways to say this, but however you say it, hope automatically becomes a part of it.

Be as cheerful as you can, even if the tent you're hiding under to make you feel safe collapses around you. Maybe it's been hiding you from happiness. And with that enigmatic crumb of advice, I bid you happiness, health, and love.

Huh. There's a small vehicle in my eye.

Running Up the Slide

Fight or flight. Can't fight, can't run away. What, then, can I do? Been waiting for things to get better, but they never do. I haven't given up hope, but that hope has taken on the red rustiness of cynicism. What do I expect to happen next? I expect more obstacles to spring up, one after another. And still I will batter myself against them because without even the tiniest slivers of hope there is nothing left.

Sometimes I give up and allow myself to feel sorry for myself. I give myself comfort, as much as I can. I hug my pillow and pretend it's my lost little girl and for a fleeting moment I can feel the warmth of her prickly-haired head against my cheek. I think about the day she was visiting me in the nursing home when she picked up my hand and rubbed the back of it gently across her cheek. Sometimes I do that to my own cheek. It's comforting.

But it's sad because that is lost now. It also makes me happy. My heart feels like it's being twisted by conflicting emotions.

I feel, tucked away in my little corner of a nursing home, that I'm no longer a part of the world. I'm just in storage until I turn to dust. That's one of the problems. I'm almost completely isolated, and there doesn't seem to be a solution for that. But this is part of the human condition for people like me. I'm certainly not the only one.

Somethng inside me is screaming that life shouldn't be this hard, that every way I turn I shouldn't be greeted by an impenetrable blank wall. I feel like I'm trapped in a tiny room with no way out. But I still keep searching for a crack in the wall that I can scrabble at, that maybe I can chip away at until I've created an escape for myself. There is one sure way to get out, but I'm not ready to take that route. It is not under consideration. I'll let you know if that changes.

This March 29 will mark the fourth anniversary of the day I last walked. My, how time drags onward by its elbows.

Keep your eyes on the good, my friends. You don't want to dwell where my heart dwells. I wish better than that for you. ❤

New Year, New Troubles

Don't think my old problems have disappeared in any way, despite the way-too-long sabbatical I took from writing this blog. I did accomplish writing the novel, completing it four days before the deadline. Yay for me. Of course, I was ignoring practically everything else in my life, not the least of which was my blog. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days was incredibly intense, but it was also invigorating.

The abcess on my back healed, but it took a 3-week course of antibiotics. Still, I consider that a triumph. But then, a few weeks ago, a tiny pimple-like thing sprung up in the middle of a decades-old scar on my abdomen. This had never happened before so I was kind of bemused by it. My new doctor prescribed hot compresses every 6 hours. I was lucky if I got one a day. So not very effective. The little pimple got bigger and bigger and more and more painful until it was huge and I was in constant pain. Still no treatment. Then I went into cold sweats and became utterly listless. At that point the doctor finally prescribed antibiotics.

I decided it was too little too late and decided to go to the hospital to get treatment. By that time, I learned, the "pimple" was filled with a staph infection and had a very deep abcess under it. That was weeks ago. I stayed in the hospital six days getting heavy-duty intravenous antibiotics. I even spent Christmas there. I was extremely unhappy about the situation. The wound, which is a more accurate word for what it has become, seems to be infection-free now, but has in no way healed. Every day a wound care nurse repacks my wound, which, even though they pour lidocaine into it first, is still very painful. The healing process is likely to take several more weeks. That thought makes me most unhappy.

I was re-evaluated by physical therapists and they determined that my legs are too contracted for me to get physical therapy and they suspect my hip joints are "frozen" in place. This means I can't even begin to make any progress towards independence until I have orthopedic surgery. Recovery time for that will probably be months long. And if my hips are involved, then it will most likely be really painful. But, before we can even discuss getting surgery, all my wounds have to be healed. And I'm not even sure I am strong enough to withstand the surgery. They might disqualify me because I'm a diabetic. That would mean I'd never gain any kind of independence.

So I'm feeling pretty glum.

Sorry for the doom-and-gloom attitude. I'll work on that. But paraplegia definitely sucks, so I'm not making any promises.

I sincerely hope  your lives are going well. May 2014 treat you kindly. ❤