New Symptom, Old Problem

One of the difficulties of chronic medical conditions is that when new symptoms crop up, you can't always know if it's part of an existing issue, a complication of a medication, or something unrelated. This can be especially confusing when you have multiple chronic problems that have overlapping symptoms. Because of this, I spend a lot of time on WebMD.com. I also call my doctors often, but because my worst conditions cover three different departments (Gynecology, Rheumatology, and Psychology - my joint issues are pretty stable) getting a consensus can take more than one phone call.*

This morning, I woke up with the shakes. It's becoming more common, though they generally pass after an hour or so. I've noticed it happens more when my fibro is acting up, so I have reason to suspect it's related to that, though the way that other problems interact doesn't allow me to rule those out completely. The initial glance at WebMD.com suggests hypoglycemia, though I've always had good blood sugar. If that's the case, it's easily maintained and not a big deal, so I'll bring it up next time I go to the doc.

Doctors run into this problem too. When there's a mess of symptoms, it's hard to work out what's a result of what. This leads to a lot of "let's try this treatment and see if it works" kinda thing. My fibro went unacknowledged for over a year because it was hard to suss out from the Endo and PTSD. We did eventually (so. many. tests.), but this sort of thing is very common (as is over diagnosis). Medicine may be a science, but it's inexact at best. I feel very lucky that this was all done at the VA, where my doctors aren't incentivized to test and medicate me for the sake of the insurance payouts. The only medication I'm on regularly is the NuvaRing, which serves as a hormone regulator for the endometriosis, so we have one less variable. I'll reach a point where I'll need something for the fibro and I have Percocet for those days when the endo flares up, but the days of 20 pills are still (hopefully far) in the future (and in the past - we've walked that road before).


*I consider myself very lucky that the VA uses a unified electronic records system, so one doctor can review the records from another, which makes this less of an issue, but still annoying.

Changing Your Perspective

Thanks to a combination of family, the Army, and life, I have now lived in California, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Korea, Maryland, Virginia, and New York. I'm about to add another state and check off Mountain Time, but that's 6 states and 2 countries, covering 4 time zones.

Not only has this assured that I can pack incredibly well when motivated, but it means I've seen a lot of ways of life. My sister's marriage gave me access to another way of life I was distantly but not directly exposed to - the rural upbringing of her husband. I know beach bums on both sides of the country (they're different based on which ocean they worship), farmers, city girls...I love having access to so many perspectives, even though I know I couldn't live many of those lives.

I get frustrated with people who never force themselves to see other perspectives. The military is great for that. My brother-in-law, whom I adore, had never met a black person before he joined the Air Force. He saw the ocean for the first time dating my sister and all sorts of new experiences while serving two Iraq deployments. He was able to make decisions about the kind of life he wanted, both in the ways it would be similar to his own and the ways it would be different, based on the fact that he had seen something other than the rural, somewhat secluded upbringing of southeastern Oklahoma.

There are ways other than the military, if you're brave enough to try them. After my sister, who spent most of her life in Oklahoma, graduated from high school, she chose to move to the DC area and live with one of my dearest friends. For a year, she associated with a variety of people she hadn't accessed before - people who lived differently and believed differently than she had been raised to live and believe. She made the choice to return to Oklahoma and raise her family here, but not because it was her only choice, but be cause it was the one she wanted to make based on having seen, and understood, another point of view. She's considerably more open to others and interested in their views because of the time she spent in another area.

Less you think this is a problem constrained to the middle of the country, it is one I saw in New York over and over. People who had never lived, or even extensively visited, other areas of the country, other ways of living, but are so quick to dismiss it as a possibility. They scoff at the "flyover states" without ever considering that there might be something there for them, even if it's only another perspective. How can you say, definitively, that X is what you want when you've never seen Y? There's a perspective that I heard again and again in the northeast (and other areas, but it's overt in the northeast) about where they live and that nowhere could be as good. So many wear it as a badge of superiority, but I always thought it was sad when it came from people who never ventured out of the area. Are you so scared to push your own opinions that you have to dismiss others?

Having been so lucky as to see much of the country and some of the world (though so much more remains on my "to visit" list in both categories), I am now looking to settle and establish roots. I have a clear picture of the life I want to have and how I want to live, based on getting to try on a few options both directly and vicariously through others. I can't imagine making those decision based on a lack of choice, rather than an abundance of it. My best friend is taking her first big step towards her life goals. She mentioned she's scared and I told her that I like to think of fear as your body saying "Pay attention!" rather than "Don't!". She doesn't have to run towards like I do (I admit to a reckless streak in me), but the fact that she is rationally choosing her path, even though it's scary, as one that will expand rather than limit her perspectives makes me incredibly proud of her. It takes courage.

Rain on a Tin Roof

My parents own 300 acres, as seen recently in the Asher post. Kellie and I were talking about the future and we decided we really want a cabin out there that will hold the entire family (which is growing rapidly) and will be a place where kids can hang out. The current hunting cabin only sleeps 8 and is not kid-friendly. So we started mentally designing and planning the Asher Cabin.

We envision it being built on the flat spot over the big pond that my parents chose when they considered living on the property. We see a large, open downstairs with a kitchen area, dining area (large table), fireplace (maybe two), and sitting area. Lots of windows, probably east facing so that it gets warm in the winter, with storm shutters so we can protect the glass and block out sun in the summer. There would be stairs to a loft, where half walls will divide beds (reserved for adults always).

There are challenges to this. Running electricity out that far is expensive (we have electric on the main road, but we'd have to run it in and only the first two poles are free), so we'd have to plan for, initially, no electricity (though possibly a generator). Plumbing also doesn't run out there, so we'd have to plan for no running water, including toilets. But eventually, we could add a septic tank and maybe drill a well (we have several natural springs). It'd be a bit rustic to start, but it's the middle of the woods, what do you expect?

Kellie and I talked about the added bonus after mom and dad are gone - we'd have a "family home". Big enough to accommodate both our families, we see Christmas trees (we cut ours from Asher anyway) and fires and lots of kids and, someday, grandkids. We even timelined the building of it (my dad always says for anything that's happening, he's got a daughter with a list and a daughter with a plan). Our parents are preparing to expand their house (three additions), so after that's done (we're calling it 18 months even though dad says a year) then we can start actually laying plans. By then, we should all be able to pitch in, so it's three households helping pay for it instead of one.

Last night, I fell asleep to the sound of rain on my sister's metal roof. I think we should have a metal roof at the Asher Cabin, just so we can sleep to the sound of rain on it.

And we'll even let the hunters use it when we're not there...

Unexpected Joy

Tonight, my parents went to the 70th birthday part of a member of my parents' Sunday School class, Floyd. I've met him and his wife, Becky, before at church and at a few get-togethers at my parents' house, but I don't know them very well. I could tell my mom wanted to spend more time together (we got our nails done and poked around antique stores this afternoon) and that they expected to not know a lot of the people there. Floyd is a car enthusiast (he drove his Edsel) and his car club was most of the people there. So I went, mainly to keep my parents company.

No need, of course. My parents never met strangers (my sister and I come by it honestly) and enough of their Sunday School class was present that they were kept socially happy the entire time. I settled in to ignore people after wishing the birthday boy happiness, only to be bombarded by his wife (who might be one of my favorites). Soon I was talking to people there about tracing family lines, NYC, and other various topics. We stayed around after everyone had left to help clean up and chat with Floyd and Becky.

It struck me, later, how something I had no interest in doing produced some beautiful moments. An elderly couple told me how they were both from OKC, but he had moved to California as a child. Incredible happenstance brought them together, back in OKC as young adults. His parents were welders during WWII. His mother was so small, they put her in the tight places to weld since she could fit. We discussed how my maternal grandfather couldn't join because he was so small, all his uniforms would have had to be custom fitted, so he made A26 Invaders in Tulsa, where he met my grandmother, who was a wing inspector for the B24 Liberator made in the same factory. It was just a lovely moment.

So we go to things we don't care about, but if we go with an open mind, sometimes we'll leave with a beautiful new moment.

Hard Labor in the Heartland

Today I woke up at an egregious hour to join my dad on our property in Asher for a morning of work. The early hour wasn't so much of a problem as the heat. It was 90 by 9 am and 110 when we left at 1. Oye.

My parents own 300 acres of undeveloped land in Asher, OK. They've owned it most of my life (bought in 1987). My uncle Tom and his boys (and their boys) have used it for hunting property for years. My dad doesn't hunt, but he goes out with them some times to read a book and enjoy the company.

Originally, the land was undeveloped entirely. Now, there's a hunting cabin, shed, and outhouse (recent addition!) in a area that previously was setup with tents. Dad has used the land to drop trees for firewood and we get our Christmas trees from there. Now, he and my brother-in-law have started reworking the land to make parts of it marketable for hay or general grazing land. It's not easy work - dad says the land was used to plant cotton and terraced accordingly, which has now caused deep ravines of erosion. We've got to fill those ravines, which means hauling burned out trees (we had a fire a few years ago from someone dropping a cigarette on the roadside) into them, evening out the slopes to discourage future erosion, and moving the dirt to bury the trees. That's long, hard work in the sun and we're all doing our time.

We took Indy out with us. He did well, despite the heat. He checked in on each of us working, then crawled under the truck. I got to drive the Bobcat awhile and knock an hour off of my needed 15 to get licensed. My biggest challenge is that you need to be able to provide weight on your feet and hands at the same time, which is hard when you're struggling to reach the peddles, but I manage. 






Overall, it was a good, if incredibly hot day. And the shower I got when I came home might have been the most glorious thing ever. I got to break in mom's snake boots (I haven't lived somewhere where they were necessary in a long time) and see my dog survive as a country dog. I also got a reminder of how beautiful it is out there. I couldn't live in it - the isolation would kill me - but it's great to visit. I now need my family to build a proper cabin for staying in so we can go and enjoy it. 


More pictures available at Asher album.

Three Kinds of Bad Days

I have three kinds of Bad Days. The worst is the Really Bad Day. Those are the days where I can't move, where I avoid drinking anything because it would mean having to go the bathroom, and that requires moving. Those are the days when even typing hurts and when thinking in nearly impossible. Those happen most often when it's cold or as a result of a Kinda Bad Day (see below).

The next is a Bad Day. This is a day where things hurt, walking is slow and achy, but I can walk and I can (mostly) function. My brain is a little fuzzy, but I can put together sentences. I shouldn't drive and I'm really bad at making choice decisions (a or b).

The least type is a Kinda Bad Day. I'm usually achy, and pain is present, but I can push through the day. The danger with this kind of day is that if I push too hard, I end up with a Really Bad Day the next day. Learning this lesson has been one of the hardest parts of accepting the new version of life that has become mine.

Today is a Bad Day. Slow to move, in pain, but I can function. I was able to watch my nephew (he hung out in bed with me) while his mom did some stuff, I just couldn't lift him above my head (no airplane) or get out of bed while holding him. I watched Tombstone, then moved to the front room, where I've been on the computer while laid out. I read everything I type three or four times to make sure it makes sense, I can't work on my thesis, and getting a cup of tea takes 20 minutes, but it could be a lot worse.

Why Do They Yell?

Being home with my family, I've gone to church more this summer than I have since 2004, which is to say, three times thus far. The first was to my parents' church for Father's Day. Their Sunday School class is a lot of fun and made up of great people. Their pastor, on the other hand, is a mission focused pastor, who would have every heathen converted. I don't have a lot of patience for that type.

The second time was in California, when we went to our old church (Immanuel Baptist in Highland) to hear the pastor we grew up with, Rob Zinn, preach. I love that man. I didn't agree with everything he said, but I like his message and his attitude. His sermon was basically about how judgement has no place among God's people, but to approach others with love.

Today was church three, as I attended Sunday School and church with my sister and brother-in-law. They're class was also a lot of fun, and you can see the group environment and learning. Kellie attended the church when Brandon was in Iraq, but she wasn't a member yet (they joined after he returned). Even so, they took care of her, taking her out to lunch and ensuring she wasn't too alone. That's the kind of community I expect from a church, and I was glad she had it. The sermon made me ask the question, "Why do Southern Baptist* preachers yell?" Kellie said that he didn't usually get so excited, but it's a common thing. They seem to think that if they yell at you, you'll hear them better. Rob gets loud, that's for certain, but you can see the excitement in what he's saying pour off of him. But for most, it just seems like they're yelling so you'll think they're serious.

I haven't been a member of a church since I left high school. Technically, I'm still a member at University Baptist Church in Shawnee, since I never transferred my letter of membership. I've been involved in a couple of Catholic communities since I left, but I've never joined a church. I don't like most aspects of community worship and the message that comes from the majority of the pulpits is one that chafes me greatly. Anytime someone teaches exclusion or superiority (which is often how a mission-oriented minister sounds) or hate, they've lost me entirely.

I haven't had much use in my life for a church, and I don't see that changing soon. Faith is a very private matter to me and I don't have the desire to share it, especially not in the manner that proselytizing faiths employ. It's been nice to visit a range of churches, to see what I like and don't like about them. But I don't see a return to them for me in the near future. Maybe, someday, a faith based community will call to me again. But not now. And never to one that yells.

*I'm sure other ministers yell. My experience is with the SBC.