I Saw My Brain and Other Adventures

I woke up this morning with every intent on this being a good day.  That is until I realized I slept in for the first day of school.  I rushed and somehow managed to get three kids fed, dressed, washed, lunches made and out the door in time to get to their first day of school.  It wasn't without some battles of "there's no way you're wearing that" and the panic of making sure everyone has everything they need even though we've checked and double checked every day for a week now.  Let's add the breath test to make sure all the teeth are brushed and the face inspection to make sure no jam from breakfast was missed during the washing.  Clean kids is a small morning victory.

We all managed our shoes, our stuff and were on our merry way.  Lily found her grade six class, Chloe made it to her grade three room and Little Man Everett arrived safe and sound to grade one.  Once they were dropped off I slowly meandered my way home.  Kids first day back to school was a small morning victory so I kicked a rock, mailed a letter (yes, people still do this) and pondered how fast my kids are getting older and bigger and also, like most mothers, how weird it will be to have a quiet house all day even after a summer all by myself. However great this small victory, I still needed to get home and clean the house a little. 

So I get home and what faces me is two broken wooden beds and a bunch of boxes that I pulled out of storage to rummage through and purge.  That was a mistake.  I looked up the stairs and wondered how the hell I was going to get the energy to get up them let alone get the broken beds broken down for the garbage.  Not only that, I had company coming at ten for tea.  It was 9:30AM and I wasn't even close to ready for anyone to see the mess that had become my apartment.  I quickly kicked off my boots and grabbed the clothes and the Mr. Clean and the broom.  I had that place looking clean yet slightly disorganized with enough time to brush my teeth, my hair and change my shirt.  I stood with the broom in my hand, the dish cloth on my shoulder waving like a cape with my hand on my hip ... Super Mom? No, Super Procrastinator who completed a small task in a tizzy rush which I am counting as another small morning victory.

The kettle was on when my morning visitor came bearing gifts of a giant box of tea and a big jug of milk.  It was lovely but I was more excited about the smile, the hug and the little bit of affection I was craving.  I will not nor do I want to get into details of the discussion but let's just say that no one ran, no one cried, no one freaked out but someone did fart.  All in all, another small morning victory that left me happy, comfortable and secure.  

Now the big part:  the neurologist.  The kids went to my friend's place while I went for the bus which was late then the ferry which was also late then the walk which made me late to the office where the doctor was running behind.  Thank you universe.  There's only one other time I remember shaking in a doctor's office and it's not a time I care to remember.  I texted my friends, joked with the receptionist and listened to the older couple next to me try to figure out what the purpose of a neurologist was. They also whispered about me very loudly.

"She's too young to be here, there's nothing wrong with her."

"Ohhh wait, look! Her hands do that tremor thing like mine do .... hers are worse." (Picture the look of awe on a woman who is at bare minimum 80.)

Yeeeeah, dear readers, remember that sometimes people can hear you whisper when you're sitting next them separated only by an end table with two magazines.  Nothing else to do but giggle as they were freaking adorable.  Before I could debate too long on whether or not to tell them what the FRCPC meant after Dr. MacKelvey's name (Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of Canada for anyone who was also wondering), THE Dr. MacKelvey was calling my name.  

Off I went but no skip in my step since I felt like I was walking to my doom.  I sat, he sat and reviewed my charts and then he did the coolest thing ever:  he brought up my MRI scan and showed me my BRAIN!!  I saw my brain! Top and side view and my neck and it was so interesting and so gross.  My eyes looked like boiled eggs and my cervical spine look like meaty ox tail.  The brain itself looks just how you'd imagine it, like wrinkled grey play dough.  The MRI scan was amazing, I could even see hairs coming from the line that was my skin and wrinkles and what would be muscle and the bone was incredible.  I was able to see the inside of one of my vertebrae!!  Small afternoon victory of seeing the inside of my own head and not a lobster's! Whoop!

I also saw my lesions and that's when it was real.  Reading the MRI report was one thing but seeing the white blotches on the screen that was MY brain, not a Google image, hammered home the reality.  I was in a neurologists office, not someone else, being told that although I seem to have gained some strength since my last visit, my progress was slow and it didn't look like my hand function was going to come back.  I wasn't holding someone else's hand when they were told that even though the lesions were small, there were a lot of them, I was wringing my own hands together.  It was my shoulder this man touched, looked me in the eye and promised me he was going to do what he could to keep my from progressing like my mother.  He told me not to give the 100% to the diagnosis yet, to keep hope up and there are still more tests to do then finished that statement with,

"All young women like you with these kind of lesions, it's always MS".

Lumbar puncture next week.  Going to look at my cerebrospinal fluid for oligoclonal bands, patterns of immunoglobulins (antibodies) which are products of the breakdown of myelin or something to that basic sort.  Testing positive for these bands is indicative of MS and will, along with the MRI and EMG test, give me the 100%.  Although, the way he looked at me changed and suddenly I'm being seen not at his office next time but at a hospital with all of my follow-ups at the local MS Clinic.

The receptionist was a little nicer on my way out, spoke a little softer when she handed me a blood work sheet and the clinic's card to call at any time with any questions.  She'll be in touch with the time for the lumbar puncture, which will happen within a week with a six week return on the results which, if positive, will be the result needed to start interfuron therapy to slow any progression and help put me in remission from this lapse.

No real victory this afternoon, just a good dose of reality.

The Great Gimpy vs Lobster Battle of 2013

Picture it:  Atlantic SuperStore, Fairview Halifax during a no-tax sale.  Myself and three small kids wandering through deciding on how to spend our very small budget to obtain maximum meal results.  We also required something for a celebratory meal since after months of stress, worry and spending copious amounts of money for requested paperwork, my long-term disability claim was approved.  I don't have to worry anymore about forcing myself back to work and can concentrate on my appointments, the lifestyle changes, regulating medications and getting myself to a good place before I have to add work to the equation but, I digress, as that is not the point of this story.

We traipsed around the store until I spied a big yellow discount sign in the seafood department, I swung a hard left almost knocking three tiny people down like dominoes and headed toward the beacon of money saving possibilities.  That is where I saw a sale on lobster.  LOBSTER!  So not only did I find cooked, fresh lobsters at a no-tax sale but also marked down for sale.  I rummaged through the bin with the other vultures, shooting necessary dirty looks until I found the perfect lobster.  Not too big and not too small not too big of an amount on the price tag which fit perfectly within the range of "I'd only spend it on tea at Tim's anyway" reasoning.  

Red Delicious

We brought home our fresh red delicious crustacean and carefully placed him in the fridge.  There he sat while I sat at the table realizing that I have the grip strength of an eight year old child and cracking a lobster could prove next to impossible.  The search for a volunteer lobster cracker began and, after two days and contacting pretty much everyone I know to see if they would be willing to come help me, I ended up with no help. Finally, on the second day I came to realize I was in the position where it was either eat the damn thing or introduce him to the compost bucket in the morning.  I almost mourned this lobster by constantly thinking about the newspaper and plastic bag covered table, the mess of the shells, how long it had been since I've dribbled lobster juice down my chin and the front of my shirt while I was tipped back in my chair and sucking on claw like a por... nevermind, not finishing that analogy but I'm sure you guys get it.

I decided to take out Red Delicious and while ripping open the plastic wrap had a chat with the lesions in my brain to please allow my hands to not be so weak today because there was something important that needed to be completed.  No, I don't have a nutcracker and yes I have a hammer but considering the fact that I drop almost everything I pick up, no one really wants me to be swinging a hammer.  I thought about it, I planned and, in some cases, I sent texts with subliminal messages such as, "feel like having some lobster?" but it didn't work.  I considered locking the munchkins in a room and digging out my hard hat so I could hulk smash this little beast but then thought of the possible holes in the walls or the broken kitchen window that could result from me flailing any type of heavy object.  Finally I was cranky and decided to go for it.

Calm.

Prepare for murderous rampage.

 I know, it's not very big but we had our talk and I think my hate face finally softened his shell.

I took some deep breaths, I had some minor meditation and then Red Delicious and I had our talk.  I explained to this beast that I was a mother with children to feed and that he was going to a better place, our bellies.  Finally I tried an intimidation tactic and showed this little, delicious ocean cockroach who was boss and brought out my hate face.  I put it on the table, I took off my sweater and put a bun in my hair and readied myself for the gimp battle of the year so far.  My cracking, aching hands were no match for my will power ... and, aside from that, I was hungry.  I grasped the tail, I twisted and I pulled.

SURPRISE!

Hell yeah, now let's get serious.

 The beginning of my victories over this beast of the sea!

I snapped that tail one way and then split it the other pulling the meat out and letting the juice spill on the plate below me.  I tossed the remnants onto a plastic bag and went for the body.  Slowly I removed each leg, one by one and enjoying every snap of the shell as it came off in my greasy hand with a crunch and a squirt of the salty water this monster once lived and was boiled it.  As I grasped the now legless and tailless body in my hands, I squeezed it in my fists and felt that shell crack which allowed me to open it and take out the gross stuff that none of us here eats.  However, I did get to inspect the inside of Red Delicious' head which followed promptly by disgusting myself at how a little too interested I had become in lobster brains.  

The tail was completed, the legs were removed and the plates were filling up with lobster meat but there was one part left:  claws.  This is the part I was worried about, the part that gave this Lester his strength in his life might be the downfall of my slow victories today.  I took a deep breath and started, each knuckle coming off easier than I expected (the lobster's, not mine although it was starting to feel like mine were about to snap off) and I pushed little pieces of meat onto the plates while the juices started spilling to the floor.  A messy clean up was worth these small conquests and I was happily sitting on the top of the food chain.  I did it.  I cracked the claws and dug out the meat.  The juices and bits of shell covered my shirt and I was loving it.

After wiping up the majority of the mess, I yelled to my kids to come taste the fruits of my labour.  One little lobster died so that we could have a treat ... CORRECTION: so that they could have a treat.  The three little monsters ate it up so fast by the time I turned back around from putting the shells in the compost, it was all gone.  Vultures.  I live with three tiny vultures but it's okay since they were smiling and happy on the top of their food chain too.

Thumbs up to lobster murder and dismemberment.

Things I Need to Stop, Please (picture me sticking my tongue out)

I'm starting this after a misunderstanding of a comment from a lovely cousin on a post I put on Facebook last night.  What started as a joke turned into a half a joke leaving me confused.  My cousin was able to squeak out a "stop please" before she ran to go for coffee with her friend and was unable to finish the joke she was making.  It left me sitting here wondering what it exactly it is I need to stop.  This woman is amazing and, even though we've barely had a conversation over the last few years, she's been quite supportive and offered a lot of support for my new journey with MS so I know there was nothing negative but, it still made me think.

I laid in bed staring at the ceiling making a mental list of things I needed to stop or possibly needed to stop.  Stop writing?  Oh hell no.  I don't care how awful of an author I am, writing this blog is the best therapy outside of getting a tattoo and we all, well most of us, know how therapeutic that needle can be. 

Do I stop getting tattooed?  Stop laughing, I was serious!  It'll never happen though, I don't feel finished yet and getting inked is a personal journey.  I'm sure I'll let you know when my canvas is complete.  Same goes for the ears, they're at a 0 gauge and definitely going to be bigger.  Swallow that thought now, I'm not arguing about it or justifying it.

Do I stop second guessing my abilities?  Yes.  I think that's one thing I can stop and learn to trust that I am an intelligent and capable woman.  Fear of failure stemming from doubting if I was good enough has already cost me a couple of dreams so dammit, I need to work on putting that one to bed as do a lot of us other smart, capable women.  A road to success is paved with failure.  Yes, it is now cliche o'clock.

Do I stop hoping to find love?  The answer six months ago was a resounding yes.  There was no way in hell I would even consider being in a relationship.  I didn't want it, wasn't looking for it and had no desire whatsoever to let someone in.  I was quite happy alone and was quite happy with staying that way.  There was no way I would let anyone set me up, introduce me to people, just no.  I very much enjoyed the freedom of being single, being on my own and doing my own thing without having to include anyone else outside of my little family.  Funny how things change when someone walks in your life and throws you for loop.  Seems all of my desire to never be in another relationship melted away and now I look forward to it.  I'm actually a little mad this person has made me a smiling, ridiculously happy hypocrite.

Do I stop the negative body image?  Another resounding yes!  So  what if I'm fluffy, I've actually grown to love the few extra pounds that I have.  The older I get, the less afraid of mirrors I have become.  Yes it can be difficult finding clothes since I'm too big for normal stores and too small for plus size but hey, I'm not exactly a person with a conventional sense of style anyway.  I've learned that no one is perfect and I've learned that it is the imperfections in people that I find beautiful because they're what makes that person different.  I needed to learn to love the imperfections in myself and I think I'm on that road.  So hey, calling me fat is not an insult, I know what size my pants are and if you don't like my fat ass, that's your problem and not mine.  I'm gonna flip my giant curls and keep strutting along.

Do I stop singing to myself?  Only when I'm alone in public.  I'm a rock star, my singing to myself is not going to stop so please, stop shooting the dirty looks up at my kitchen window when I'm putting on a concert for my cats.

Do I stop worrying?  I'm a mother of three kids, I will never stop worrying.  It's the things I worry about that needed to change.  Worry priorities!  Worrying what the people at my job think about my performance when I know that I'm doing my job to the best of my abilities is not important but worrying about my kids getting home safe from school is perfectly fine.  See the difference?  I have learned to, albeit not always successfully, prioritized the worries.  I'm working on it.

Do I stop shaking?  I have MS!  Okay, that's not funny but hey, I need a sense of humour with this diagnosis.  I won't stop shaking but I'm not going to stop working on taking care of myself and getting as healthy as I possibly can, learn to live with the symptoms I have, prepare for the ones that might be ahead of me and fight like hell to keep the Lesion Family in my brain from adding to their brood.  MS picked a worthy opponent, I'm one tough sonofabitch.   

I had a big list in my head last night while I was laying in bed but this is what I've managed to get out for tonight.  I expect that this entry may be edited to add more "stops" and explanations as to why I should or shouldn't actually stop them.  It was a nice purge tonight and must say I feel pretty good now.  Good enough for a cup of tea, pajamas and a snuggle up with The Big Lebowski.

OH!!  I will never stop with tea,  zebra print flannel or classic movies either ... 

It's That Time of Year ... 100 Pre-Sharpened Pencil Time!

I sit down a little while ago to do the inevitable and combine three school supply lists into one easy list for shopping.  As I have the three lists in front of me, I realize just how specific these lists are but horribly so.  It's not a pack of crayons, it's Crayola crayons only and very specific scribblers, pencils, etc.  Before I have a teacher jump down my throat here, I understand that it's better to have the classroom uniform and all the kids have the same things but my question is this:  does it really have to be Crayola, Hilroy, HB, Fiskars, Mead and everything else brand name?  Why can't it be no-name or dollar store brands?  I understand there are some things that can't be found as a no-name product but come on, there's no reason to not break it down to minimal name brand supplies.

Let's look at it this way:  I don't live in the best of neighbourhoods.  Where I am situated, although close to an elementary school, is a combination of low-income families, single working mothers/fathers, fixed income families and other assorted families peppered between senior citizens.  It's a quiet neighbourhood but still a little sketchy as one would expect from a low-income area.  So, if the majority of the children going to this elementary school are families like mine and budgeted to the penny, than how is it possible to expect all of these families to come up with the supplies?  Okay, I'll concede that a lot of them have one child which makes buying supplies easier but, for the most part, it's two or more children in the school and that can make for a small financial crisis.  I didn't start this to complain though as this is a time of year I normally enjoy and not just because the kids are back in school but because we have a lot of fun getting ready for it.

Back to school shopping is normally a game.  The kids and I pick a day to go to the stores with our list and turn shopping into a scavenger hunt where each will be given a supply to find and put in the cart.  Sounds kind of boring but think of chasing three little people with a shopping cart while they get excited over the pretty folders and the funky scissors, can't help but have a good laugh at the red-faced little people fighting their way through an aisle full of crayons.  Oh and the look on their faces when they can't reach is priceless and turns them into tiny engineers if I don't get down the aisle in time to get it for them.  Then it's home, a little pizza party to celebrate our conquest followed by sorting it all out.  Everyone in their own spot with their list yelling out what they need while I toss it in their pile.  Once that's finished, it's the labelling and packing and bed.  Doing this last year was actually quite simple and I was blessed with the list requiring a lot of dollar store items but this year, well see for yourself:

• Edit:  List of supplies has been removed as it was brought to my attention that the post was coming across as a shady way of asking for help and that is not the case.  My apologies to anyone who misunderstood the point of this entry and I do thank you for the offers of assistance.  Please, all I ask is that you keep on reading ...

I still have some supplies from the last school year but not nearly enough to get them through.  When I add school bags, lunch bags, gym sneakers, new clothes to the list it makes my head spin.  I want to enjoy this back to school season as much as the other ones, not fret over if we're going to get it all together in time.  I've already mentally written the note to the teachers to say, "sorry but you'll just have to wait for the rest".   No harm in that I guess and I'm sure I'm not the only parent who isn't able to afford everything all at once.  I know I could've done it all in bits and pieces over the summer but all of the extra money went to my doctor's office to pay for the reports requested by my employer, Shepell and ManuLife.  That itself is a totally new post.

So, dear readers, cross your fingers that at the end of this month I'm delegating the sharpening of 100 pencils to a group of tired babies of mine in preparation for the impending trek to the classroom.  I can't think of anything I'd rather do than a school supply pizza party with my little munchkins.

Who can resist chasing these three tiny crazy people around Wal-Mart?

Nightmares? No, I've had enough but thanks ...

Have you ever had one of those dreams that were so real that they stuck with you for hours, sometimes days after having them?  Or that they were so real that you woke up from your sleep mid-dream in either sweats, tears or panic, maybe even ecstasy?  That happened to me last night. I remember bolting upright in my bed with a tightness in my chest and an unnerving sense of urgency and panic thinking I was still in my dream.  I slowly realized I was in bed and in the dark except for the reptile lights, sweating under my comforter and trying to catch my breath.  The dream I had was so real that I really did want to pinch myself.

The evening started quite normally, I snuggled up with my copious amount of pillows, ensuring they were all placed perfectly where they'd be the most comfortable for me.  Three under my head, body pillow wrapped around between my knees one tucked behind my back and on and on.  I don't know why I do it, I wake up with most of them on the floor but it's a cozy way to fall asleep happy and relaxed.  The cats did their usual bounce off me and into the window but they settled down while I finished watching a silly show on the laptop before turning over and passing out.  Then I remember this:

Laying in a hospital bed surrounded by a doctor, a couple of nurses, my shooting instructor and a lawyer.  The lawyer I have never come across in waking memory which doesn't make any sense because I do have a lawyer that does my papers.  I remember them saying something that I understood as "feeding tube" and felt the actual pinch in my side.  I looked at the lawyer, the worried face of my charming companion and signed what I understood as a power of attorney, a living will.

That's when I woke.  Deep breaths, confusion and panic in the dark but I came around, sent texts to people that I'm close to asking if they ever had dreams that felt so real.  I ran to the washroom and did the cold water on the face trick that I think only works in the movies followed by some deep breaths.  I fell into some meditation breathing and snapped myself out of it, went back to bed and, after a long time and diary entry, fell back to sleep.

I don't think that this would be so much of a nightmare if it wasn't something that could possibly happen.  With the diagnosis of MS, I've had to rethink and redo a lot of things in my life from diet and exercise, work and yes, even my final wishes and plans, insurance and all that other lovely stuff.  Was this my brain telling me to get a move on with some of these things or just some fears manifesting in the subconscious state?  Was it a way for my brain to tell me that I've been a little too aloof with this diagnosis and to start taking it a little more seriously?  Either way it ruined my lovely sleep and I can think of much better things to do with my range companion than sign paperwork in a hospital bed.

Whatever the reason for it, it freaked me out, still is a little bit and for some reason, I felt the need to share.  To be honest, I'd take a zombie nightmare over that any time.  Zombies I'm ready for but lawyers scare the shit of me (teehee).