Guess What I’m Doing….

So I haven’t decided if my yard looks like a construction zone or a crime scene….

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I have “caution” tape allllll the way around my house. *But* I also have signs for Solar City and big trucks and cars all over my driveway, street, and yard.20160827_114934

Sooooo, I’m pretty safe. Pretty sure nobody’s going to think it’s a murder scene or anything.
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And we’re getting solar panels. Because my house faces south which makes it a good candidate for solar panels on the front and back of the peaks of my roof. And in Maryland there are lots of incentives for solar use. Who knew?

Good thing too, because the “co-op” that is our electric company keep raises the rates. Thieves.


That blue thing over there….that’s my car. Hubs pulled it out of the garage in case I want to make a break for it. So, I have that going for me….which is good.




Everything Is Relative

In my own little Wonderland, and depending on the day, I can be pretty far down the rabbit hole….

Time in Underland is not the same as time up here…

I’m fond of noting that everything is relative. Not just the six degrees and all that, but think about what you know, and why you know that. Call it six degrees, call it karma, call it your personal narrative; but everything is relative. What is true for you may not be true for me.

That being said, I’m an only child with authority issues. That means I accept very little at face value and don’t understand the concept of “just do it because you’re supposed to/because you were told to”.

“Why?” is the one word you could use to describe me.

Which is why I felt called to contemplate another conspiracy theory. (We all have them, my personal favorites involve JFK’s and Marilyn Monroe’s deaths).

*But* if you heard of a “conspiracy theory” that involved almost 300 years of “phantom time”, missing time, rewritten history; what would you think?

The first clue….

Phantom Time Hypothesis

Phantom Time Hypothesis


The theory: Roman Emperor Otto III misdated the Western calendar 297 years because he liked the idea of ruling in the year 1000 AD. Otto, the Pope, and others filled in this “phantom time” with some completely made-up history: the Early Middle Ages. If this is true, the current year is actually 1719.

Any proof? Surprisingly, yep. There are literally thousands of recognised forgeries of documents from the early Middle Ages that claimed to be written hundreds of years before they were, and describe events in detail, centuries before they happened. A huge majority of these were made by the Church. There is also hardly any literature, art, records, or cultural artefacts from Western Europe in this period, nor any real progress in agriculture or technology – hence the term “the Dark Ages”. Read a paper about it here.

(via Buzzfeed)

Hmmmm….okay. But, Xun…..Buzzfeed’s fun and all, but seriously?

True, but I remember when I worked for an insurance company I had to learn how to notate Julian and Gregorian dates for archiving claims. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but does it really matter if I refer to the Julian date? or the Gregorian date? Or what about the Chinese calendar? In that one, it’s five thousand something, right? Or the Jewish calendar? Six thousand something? Or the Mayan calendar? They ran outta room of their rock….we’re gone.

Other sources:

Medieval forgeries

Mystery Of The Controversial Phantom Time Hypothesis

Did the Early Middle Ages Really Exist?

Time is relative. Does it really matter if it’s 2016 or 1719?


Would it change your existence if 297 years was MIA?


Maybe the Mayans were right? In which case, we maybe just bought ourselves 222 years to get our shit together before the planet really does disappear into….well, wherever the Mayan calendar assumed we’d go when time ran out.


WTF Does That Mean?!

Okay, I totally hit a wall yesterday.

A little history….hubs is a retired Navy Chief, but the running joke is that I’m the one with a mouth like a sailor. Until last year, I was the one with the tattoos (he has one now) and piercings. And the mouth. But I’m a college educated lady, thankyouveryfuckingmuch. And typically I’m pretty good about my language. Until I get pissed off-fa-fah! (Did that come across as harsh? Because I was trying to inject a little bit of humor, but I tend to come across as a little harsher than I mean sometimes.)


It’s been an interesting week. Hubs returned from 13000 miles away, kid and I finished one set of classes and signed up for ASL 2 at the local community college (I’m really enjoying learning American Sign Language!), and inspired by Kara‘s recent turn to fuschia hair, I dyed mine London Lilac!


Because purple hair. And Suicide Squad. =D

So, not a bad week, yes?

Until the end of the week started piling up. And now I hate all of my doctors.

I sent an email to my PCM a couple of weeks ago because it was time for my yearly thyroid counts and refilling of the synthroid, because autoimmune thyroid. Only my endocrinologist has since retired and canceled my appointment. So I sent off a message: I need my TSH & T4 tests and my script refilled, do I need to find a new endocrinologist or can you do that because I’ve been stable for over a year?

I get a message back: You need yearly labs and to schedule a physical here. Oooooookie. Whatever. Baby PCM doc graduated med school in 2011 and she’s way, WAY out of her depth with my case, but I’ll play along. Need my synthroid. We can juggle this.

So I make the appointment and go get my labs drawn and we started playing the authorizing my dose for the “tide over” script I need until my appointment. Irritating, but what. Ever.

Meanwhile, I’m also refilling a couple of scripts from my pain doc because they don’t always line up to fill all of them on the same day, and my appointment isn’t until Tuesday with her. Got one. Requested another. No message back. Ugh. Send another message. Pharmacy calls me: we called, they said patient need to get a hold of them. What? Why? At 3:30 on Friday afternoon. Needless to say, no meds for Xunnie til next week.

In the middle of all of the fuckery, I also get another email from my PCM’s nurse. “Your liver function tests came back slightly abnormal, we need a repeat fasting labs as soon as possible.”

What the fuck does that mean??!!

I email him back: Can you send me my labs? and I’ll be in next week. Response? They’re online, you can look them up.


Fine. I spent an HOUR setting up my TOL profile to get into my lab results. Guess what? Say it with me…..not available yet.



(I kinda snapped. That was me hitting the wall.)

So, I:

  1. still have to get a hold of my pain doc and find out why they won’t refill one of my migraine prevention meds.
  2. Have to find out what labs came back with what results and decide if I’m going to fight with them about it. (This is, after all, the same doc that decided I needed a colonoscopy and a fuckload of iron because I HAD MRSA & MY LEVELS WERE OFF BECAUSE I LOST 15 POUNDS. So, yeah, none of that happened.)
  3. contemplate repeating the labs at some point next week. But they’re 12+ hr fasting labs.
  4. pain doc appointment on Tuesday and monthly refills


I also have: kid’s photography class next week M-F 1-4 pm, the stupid physical they’re bullying me into on the 25th, my oldest’s birthday on the 25th, new asl classes starting on the 16th, neuro appointment on the 26th so I can ask her about surgery to remove the cyst in my left maxillary sinus so I can breathe and because I’d really like to prevent me getting MRSA again. AND at some point I need to get my shit together and get the kid’s curriculum set up for the coming school year.

All those ^ I can do. Because that’s life, and there’s lots of good stuff. But I kinda freaked out a little and got overwhelmed by juggling my pcm’s demands, whateverthefuck “slightly abnormal liver function lab results” means, trying to fill my scripts and jump through all their damn hoops and follow their damn rules, trying to get a hold of my pain docs, and juggling doctors, scripts and tests.

I don’t want to do this anymore. Life with chronic illness blows.




New? Not so much….

So……this popped up in my Facebook feed and I decided to go check it out because chronic pain is about the most unfun thing you can think of, and in the middle of the full on assault of patients rights to be treated compassionately for pain, we in America are always struggling for pain relief. And the fight for doctors, nurses, PT nazis ( if you’ve through physical therapy, you get that), nurses, hospitals, the frickin FDA, and now politicians to stay the hell out of my pain management is never ending.

That being said…post cancer treatment pain management: second verse, same as the first.

Critters, part 2

Okay, so when I wrote about the furry critters a week and a half ago I honestly meant to post a second blog about the crabbies a few days later….but, well, life happened.

Hubs left the country, and I (on schedule) started coughing green shit up again and spent 4 days pretty sure I actually had an invisible ice pick in the back of my neck. The ghosts that stabbed me with an ice pick around C6 (and if you get that, I’m sorry….but yay for you! for knowing what the hell I’m talking about half the time!) seemed to have pulled it out, and despite the fact that I seem to cycle around 3-5 weeks between coughing green crap up (but there’s nothing wrong and I don’t need a bronchoscopy) and it cycling back back to me being able to breathe without my inhaler, I’m surviving 2016. Sort of.

Anyway….the crabbies….

The crabby enclosure. They have it pretty good.

Because we have the 3 cats, we seem to acquired hermit crabs too. Because that makes sense.

First we have Speedy. We’ve had him the longest. (I think it’s a him….do hermit crabs have genders??) Speedy and another crabby (who has since died) that my oldest won for my youngest at the county fair 2 1/2 years ago started this whole thing.


Next up is Stimpy. Kid asked for a name, I graduated in ’91…do the math =)

Stimpy, despite his namesake, isn’t as social.

We also have Harry. Because it turns out that hermit crabs do better in colonies of at least 3, and the kid is a Harry Potter geek =)

The pink shell was actually George’s, but he grew, so Harry’s apartment hunting.

Finally, we have George, who is huge! We all agree he must be a different sub-species of hermit crab or something, but he got BIG over about a year.


So, there you have it. Three cats, and four hermit crabs.

We’ve always had animals, and lots of different kinds. I had peach canaries a few years ago, we’ve had hamsters, parakeets, … a ferret named Mokie who was in love with my Border Collie Dera. Seriously, it was like a Pepe le Pew cartoon. Mokie has a new home with 4 other ferrets after we moved several years ago, and we lost Dera 2 years ago. Her ashes are on my mantle. My kids have grown up around all kinds of critters to love and raise. The circle of life and all that.

Now we have rescue cats and some hermit crabs.

15 years

Every year I mark time in my head. Wait, that’s not right. What I mean is some years it’s quieter, and some years it hits me harder. But July 17, 2001 is the day my before became my after.


After 9 days in the hospital and my doctor finally realizing my hematocrit was 6 and I was septic, she panicked. She made *the face* and sent me by ambulance to the local trauma 1 center. With nothing left to do but try to save me, I was induced and delivered my baby girl at about 19 weeks gestation.

My doctor was very kind and my nurses were amazing. I know I was the biggest, whiniest pain in the ass because I had blown every IV site in both arms and was down to my last site in my left hand with an 18 gauge needle, which wasn’t ideal. And every 4 hours the antibiotics burned going in. But they were patient and compassionate and I will forever be grateful.

Looking back, I now know I had PTSD from the whole thing. I didn’t know it then, and I’ll save the details, but I had nightmares for a year and a half after I got out of the hospital. I slept with the light on for over 6 months, and I didn’t eat or sleep much for the first few months. I fell apart.

It’s been 15 years. That’s hard to believe, but I came back from the hardest, darkest part of my life. Mostly. You never really recover completely.

But I’m alive and I’m grateful for the kindness of the nurses in the post-surgical ICU at Shands Hospital in Jacksonville, Florida. Thank you for saving my life, and thank you for your compassion and patience.


I was influenced by a post from one of the bloggers I follow the other day. She’s a fellow brain tumor spoonie and shared about her furry babies. So I was inspired to share about mine. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, and on some of my toughest days my furry purr boxes help me survive the pain.

We rescued my Phoebe kitty in 2009 when she was 4 months old. She’s unique in that somehow it seems like she’s all Manx even though her mom was feral. She’s a silver tabby and everybody always asks me why she doesn’t have a tail. She’s sweet and funny (and credited with changing hubs’s mind about cats) and earns her nickname of FeedMe Kitty all the time.


Next we ended up with Honey Girl. My oldest daughter rescued her, but when she moved back home Honey decided she belonged with us, and her and Phoebe are like sisters. Honey was born on or about July 15, 2011….making her and Phoebe almost exactly 2 years apart.


She’s a beautiful long haired tortie and she loves everybody, definitely earning her name Honey Girl!

Our youngest kitty has only been with us for about 2 months now. Daisy is a short hair tortie and she’s still finding her place in the household, but she’s very sweet and active and loves sleeping next to my head at night. We think she’s about a year and a half old, but she’s little at only 7 pounds.


Did you know that cats purr at a frequency that soothes pain?


Next up…. probably tomorrow or Monday….we have 4 hermits crabs too!