Eh.
More time resting. A little more energy to give over to the tasks of daily living. Fold some laundry, cook some food, do some dishes. Sleep some. Read a lot. Sleep some more. Nothing much to say other than I am behaving myself.
That's quite a lot for me to say.
A good day.

I'm starting to settle into the idea that this is a new and different phase with my body. I tried to self massage today, just to get some tension out of my upper body. My breasts feel flat and lifeless, my skin saggy and my muscles lacking in tone. I was able to lay there and think," ah, this is what it feels like to live in here and be sick."

I'm in a place, today at any rate, where I can observe what it's like to live in here, at least today, under these circumstances. I don't have the energy to hate that I am as I am at this point in time. Rather, I find myself thinking of the gentleman from whom I gained TB exposure and I am able to think, " what a crappy existence he has" It's the drug, I know it's the drug. And the infected tooth that's finally gotten the third phase of root canal and now the dentist wants to put me on a course of antibiotic for that. Shit. I think I'll have Erik pick up the bots and keep them on hand while I wait and see what manifests with this tooth. I think I should have followed the impulse and had it pulled back when it's neighbor fractured and had to be evicted. Hindsight is a beautiful thing.

My big accomplishment for the day? Finally getting the backsplash,where the dogs have their water, washed. I still have to wash the fire extinguisher washed that hangs on the wall, but at least it doesn't look like the mud puppies live there any more.

I had a friend visit last night. Her comment on the way out? "When is Erik going to do something about the floor?" She was observing the linoleum in the kitchen on the way out. I wish I had thought to say, " He's too busy worrying about and caring for his wife. You idiot!"

It's a floor. It works for now.

Losing focus. Time to rest. Perhaps I could commend resting as my accomplishment and not some random cleaning

The good news: I am being taken seriously as a sick person and not as a manifestation of depression. The bad news: I am still sick. And tired. And too much of a stoic for my own good. Too much of a self doubter.
I think I finally got it across to Erik today that being raised by a schizophrenic well known in the county in which I grew up has made me very self conscious about people perceiving me and how they interpret my mental illness. I was nervous about the doctor's visit, worried that I wouldn't be taken seriously- particularly when I saw the encounter form read,"Depression." Erik was my rock. I have some wonderful support from friends and co-workers. I feel less embarrassed and ashamed of the fact that I am ill and out of control of what is happening with my body.

So I'm off work for two weeks at this point. I'm feeling relief that I'm being listened to. And I am ready to rest.

I am feeling less suicidal today. Not much better other wise. Still febrile, still hacking crap from my lungs. Feeling very supported by others and feeling stupid to need the support.
How's that for gratitude?

Life sucks. I wish I were dead and no longer having to deal with any of the shit of the day to day. Verbally abusive patient? Not dealt with. Gave a verbal notice of May 1. Did have the patient's doc approach me at lunch time about the way patient treated me and the other employees of the practice. Was able to obtain agreement that said treatment is untenable. Having rescinded my resignation- yet. Supposedly we're going to work on a policy and patient is to be warned by M.D. at next visit.
Why is it so hard to get people to treat each other decently?
I am so tired. I have to go to sleep. Life still sucks

I'm feeling a little better than I did yesterday. That's not saying much. Now instead of pissing my pants when I cough, I shit them. Yep, it's time to get back into life with Depends. I am behaving myself for the most part. I've rested today. I've knit a little. For obvious reasons, I have placed a load of laundry in for washing and drying. Two, actually. One was dire necessity. The second just because it needed to be done. Bryan brought down a lovely loaf of homemade bread. And some of Gwynneth's birthday cake. Which I enjoyed immensely. Now back to tea and Benedryl.

I'm sick. With a virus. I just spent time advising a friend on another blog about spewing her symptoms in public. Said it was ok. And I've spewed some on my other blog. but the fact that I feel responsible to my readers not to spew has caused me to censure my thoughts. The fact is, I feel like a piece of warmed over fecal material. I'm tired of feeling shitty. Pharynx ripping cough that has rendered my larynx inoperable. Dripping sinuses. Fever. It feels as if all I've done this last year or so is be sick. Fight off upper respiratory disease. Fight off tuberculosis. I've left my self care up to doctor's. I've not done the things that could enhance my health. I'm one hundred pounds overweight. I eat sugar. I don't exercise. I eat crap. I don't go to sleep when normal people say I ought to. I hate my job. I really hate my job. I keep looking like I do in the picture to the left and I'm going to be dead before I'm fifty four. The question isn't who cares? The question is, do I care? And if I didn't would I write about it? No. I don't think I would.

I am sick. Sweat pours off me in rivulets. I cough up carmel colored bloody chunks. I manifest a temperature of 101. I am an fm station.

I dealt with a verbally abusive patient yesterday. In twenty four years of nursing I have experienced more verbal abuse in the nine months I have worked at the Center than in the previous twenty three years, three months. I am seriously contemplating quitting after yesterday's encounter. On Monday, the practice leader will be telling the abuser's Primary Care Provider that he needs to give the perpetrator thirty days to find a new practice. If the doc refuses, I will hand in my resignation. I will not work for a physician who condones that kind of verbal abuse of employees.

'Nuff said

I grabbed a banana for breakfast today. This most phallic of fruits often bridges the gap between home and work for me. Usually eaten in the car during commute, today it fills the stomach while commuting from blog to blog. This is my third blog. I've two on xanga and the one here.

This is the inner work blog for today, I guess. I was going to write of how the pain in my body has recently migrated to my left arm and shoulder, but then I was distracted by the idea of illustrating today's blog with a picture of my bitten banana. The creative muse satisfied, I find myself no longer wanting to explore this pain that seems always in my body but not always in the same space or time. The pain has been with me as long as I can care to recall. A small number of days stands out as being totally pain free, but in order to acheive some of them, I had to master the fine art of divorcing my body. So along with divorcing pain, I divorced pleasure. We're all well reacquainted these days. I experience the whole gamut. I don't believe I fully appreciate the pleasure when it comes. I don't think I've ever fully appreciated anything until I've lost it. I think that's part of the human condition. One lusts after things unattained and rues things lost. Rarely would it seem the moment appreciated. Cultivate mindfulness and the rest will be attained. It takes a life time, but it can be done. Or so I've read.

"You know you want to," says my mind as I attempt to open the portal to this particular place in the blogosphere. I want to write something that will have meaning to the ones who read this. At this time, I am the only one reading this place and space. Only one other person knows I am here in this guise. Maybe she'll check it out, maybe she won't now that I've commented at her place, finally, successfully.
The thing is, though, I've advised her to take her time of illness and use it as an opportunity to do the inner work that seems so necessary to keep one's self from being stuck in a place of ill health. It is the inner work, I suspect, that determines whether one stays or goes from this plane of existence. It is the inner work that I am convinced I have come here to do.
A being of Light. A being of Love. A Be-ing. If my life is the dream I am dreaming somewhere else, then why would I need sleep to check back in with that life? Why can't I stay awake all the time and live this dream? Why must I check back in with that life that exists in a seeming state of creation? It seems to have a lot of twists and turns, unexpected rhyme, reasons not yet revealed. And yet here, in this life that is dream the very same things can be said. Is this proof that one exists on more than one plane at any time?

Here I am, Look at Me

So you want to comment on a friend's blog. Oddly enough, you can't unless you create a blog yourself. Nothing else seems to work. You buy into the concept that perhaps you could write in another place, under another nom de plume. It seems oddly satisfying and somehow just another extension of all the expressions of your selves the world has already seen manifest.

How am I liking it so far? So far so good.