Frustration

For the handful of people who read this blog, you're used to narratives with a touch of humor to them. My apologies for this entry as it's not going to be the least bit humorous. I've been having some health issues over a period of time. I was either not seeing any problems or was dismissing them, attributing them to other issues. But, it came to a head in the last two weeks.

Know the saying, 'Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most'? While I haven't lost my mind, I've lost parts of it. Memory has taken a dramatic turn for the worse as has the ability to stay focused and a few other little mental abilities. As a result of these problems, I lost my full time job. I couldn't keep up with the duties I had so deftly been able to handle a year ago and was reduced to part time status. My health insurance will be going to the wayside at the end of this month; I could buy in at half-price, but on a part-time salary, even half-cost is out of my pocketbook's range. I will also make too much money to get full Medicaid and won't be making enough to buy in at a reduced cost. Finding a second part-time job or even another full time job is going to be difficult, given the circumstances. Even the simplest jobs have instructions that must be followed for the sake of completion, sometimes for the sake of safety of self, co-workers, and others. If I can't follow instructions on the job I have because I can't remember them, how can I follow them elsewhere?

I have a neurological evaluation coming up in two weeks. Whether anything's figured out before my health insurance runs out remains as much a mystery as the problem itself. I'm fairly certain that my warranty as a human being hasn't run out just over the half-century mark. I come from genes of good health and longevity. But on the other hand, no one in my family has had this kind of problem before, either. I would have to be the first. It's new and unexciting all around.

Before I finish and likely forget that I've posted this (no, not kidding), here's a bit of poetry that shares its title with the title of this long bit of silliness.

Frustration

To have had a mind like a steel trap which could learn any new skill or piece of information in a short while and retain it

To have been able to memorize names, numbers, voices, faces, facts and other trivial bits and be able to recall them later on command

To have been able to recall incidents that happened days, weeks, months and years ago with a clarity that impressed even me sometimes

To be able to focus on any subject and get it done with room to spare

To have been so independent in thought and deed that it impressed and inspired others

To be reduced to making lists for everything I need to do just so that it gets done

To be reduced to cringing inside when people ask, “Do you remember …?” when it was only yesterday or, worse, earlier in the day because, quite honestly, I don’t

To be reduced to not remembering lists of anything, including the lists I make to get through the day

To be reduced to sometimes not being able to do simple arithmetic

To be reduced to not recognizing words spelled wrong or thinking a word spelled correctly is misspelled

To be reduced to typing or saying a completely different word than the one I was thinking of

To be reduced to seemingly having the attention span of a gnat

To be reduced to all this in a matter of a year is frustrating beyond the telling

To not be able to see what was happening earlier is appalling

To not be able to now figure out what’s wrong is frightening

To be able to see that it’s not getting better and reason that this might become permanent

That I might become a burden to my family or others

To lose my streak of independence and not fulfill my hopes and dreams is both horrifying and saddening

As someone else once said, “Give me back my life!”

Have a better day.

Adventures in Sleep Study Land, the Final Chapter

Dropping off to sleep normally comes easy for me. I put my TV on 60 minutes of sleep mode and fall asleep within 15 of those minutes. Even if it's a favorite show, I'm gone before the halfway point. Trying to fall asleep in a strange room on a strange and overly firm mattress with wires all over me and tethered to the wall, that was a different matter. I opted for a fan for circulation in this closed up, sound-proofed room because I dislike air conditioners in general (a wrong choice, as I found out later). The fan competed with the TV as far as background noise, so the TV went off early. I tossed and turned a bit trying to find a more comfortable spot on the mattress, which was wholly impossible. Eventually, I gave up and fell asleep 38 minutes later.

Now, don't misunderstand. There was no clock in the room and putting the TV on was frowned upon; you're not supposed to clock watch and the TV might wake your fellow poor sleepers if it's too loud. I only know from reading the report later that my snoozing started 38 minutes after parking my tired self for the night. Some might consider that an acceptable amount of time (I think they did), but for me, that was a little slow.

I don't remember waking again until some point in the future when my bladder insisted on being emptied (normal for me). I'm not sure that it was entirely nature calling that woke me, though. The room was overly warm and stuffy, the result of the door being closed, the window being sealed and the fan only circulating the enclosed air around. I called out to Amy, who responded within a few seconds as I had already warned her about needing to get up at some point during the night. She immediately recognized the stuffiness of the room as well and suggested, as she had at the beginning of the night, that air conditioning might be better. Live and learn. The A/C went on.

She did the quick disconnect of wired box to wired box and took the monitor off my finger. I was free! Free to wander into the bathroom with my electronic friend now dangling like a pendant from my neck. A pendant on a really long cord. Figuring out how to deal with the box and the need for toilet paper use had me giggling at the absurdity of it. Wasn't easy, but I managed.

I got back into bed, found my spot on the slab and drifted back to sleep. I woke sometime later and for some reason, I felt as though the monitor on my finger had disconnected. I called out to alert the tech, which was silly because she would know it before I did and she wasn't there plugging it back in. Clearly, I wasn't as awake as I thought, but I did quickly realize my error and apologized so that she wouldn't have to come in. She told me that there wasn't too much time left to the test, which thrilled me. I found out later that it was close to 6 AM, so I wouldn't have been able to get back to sleep if I tried because we were past my normal waking time and my body's wake/sleep rhythm wouldn't have let me.

Just before the end was called, Amy had me go through the pre-sleep test movements again. Stare at the ceiling, chew, deep breathe, and so on. My legs felt a bit heavy and my back was screaming to get up, but I did everything asked of me. While I waited for her to come in, I sat on the side of the bed and just stretched to get the kinks out. Lots of kinks. They only offered a complimentary breakfast in the hospital cafeteria, but I really wanted somebody gorgeous and named Sven to come in and offer me a morning massage. So much for that fantasy. It was only Amy with a clipboard and another questionnaire about how I felt I slept for the night as compared to my normal. I wrote that I felt I didn't sleep as well and complained about the mattress. I then got dressed, stuffed my pillow back in the bag, told the bed I wasn't going to miss it and exited. I said goodbye to my vigilant sleep tech and wandered out into the sunrise to head home.

What did I get for my night on the orthopedic stone? A detailed report as to what's happening while I sleep and don't sleep. Fascinatin' readin', it was, with its breakdown of what my oxygen levels were during the night, what my brain was doing during REM and non-REM sleep, etc. One of the most interesting things I found out was that, even though I said I woke four times on the post-study form (I can only remember three now), I actually woke many times during the night. No wonder I yawned during the day! I also know why I woke and it wasn't because of sleep apnea. I don't stop breathing during sleep, which is what I thought might be happening to the overweight woman that is me. Very happy about that, too.

What was it? Oh, sorry, this is one of those 'live without knowing' moments. I'll tell you about the adventure to get there, but not about the treasure found in the final crypt. That level of health information stays with me, my doctor, and the papers the report came on. It was a surprise, though, and maybe someday, I'll write a health article on the subject. I'll also say that it wasn't a bad experience, save for the mattress, and that I highly recommend it for those who don't sleep well, want to know why and want to correct the problem. I missed the good snooze and now I'll get to find it again.

Sleep well, everyone, and happy dreaming.

Adventures in Sleep Study Land, Part 2

So, I checked out my room visibly and found it not to be chamber of horrors. The TV worked and had a good picture, although putting it in sleep mode was a manual rather than remotely performed action (it pays to be tall when you need to reset the TV bolted high on the wall). Then, the big test -- the bed. I flopped down and then back. Okay, I might have been wrong 'cause this thing seems to have all the comfort of the board that they stretched victims out on the rack on. You know, that torture device from the Middle Ages that Gomez Addams used to relieve his back problems with? Never mind. Anyway, this was no regular hospital bed mattress. This was an orthopedic extra firm slab of fabric, foam and springs and clearly not the same as the one at home that sagged in all the right places. Still, it could be worse -- I could be in a real hospital bed trying to sleep with all the gadgets on. Adventure, adventure, keep thinking adventure.

I got changed for bed, as it was close to the time I normally go to sleep anyway, and started filling out the pre-study sleep questionnaire. When do you go to bed, when do you wake, how often do you wake, do you fall asleep at inappropriate times, etc. I got a sense of déjà vu, as this was a shorter version of the questionnaire I filled out before I even set foot in the place. Still, there had to be a reason other than keeping me occupied while Patient #1 was getting wired for sound and monitor blips that I was given this little activity.

As I was sitting back on my rock -- I mean bed watching TV, Amy came in to get me and bring me over the room where all the electrodes and wires are placed for the study. Ah, the real adventure begins. Electrodes on the chest to monitor the heart, an electrode under the chin for some reason that I forgot to ask about, electrodes running down the sweat pantlegs and attached to the calves to monitor leg movements, electrodes all over the head to monitor brain wave patterns (attached with gritty gluey stuff guaranteed to stay on all night and requiring two shampoos to get rid of completely), and two soft but snug straps across chest and abdomen to monitor breathing. This was all attached to one control box with shoulder strap to carry it back to the room. Once in bed and semi-snuggied in, the control box was connected to the other control box. Then two, count 'em two, nasal prong thingees (two nasal cannulas for those in the know) to monitor air movement in and out were placed, and finally, my second finger got to wear a monitor to measure the level of oxygen in my blood. Très chic and I get to try and sleep with it, too.

All this done, Amy left the room, but wasn't leaving me to sleep just yet. There was the final calibration left to do. This involved me doing some mild bed calisthenics on command for both camera and monitors -- blink, stare at the ceiling, chew, deep breathe, pooch out my belly and suck it back in, lift my legs and point my toes. All that done, intercom and camera on for the night, the sleep study had begun. Now all I had to do was sleep.

Part 3

Adventures in Sleep Study Land, Part 1

I've had problems sleeping for a long time. Years, actually. I've blamed it on the shifting hormones of my middle years, as I've been awakened by that uncomfortably toasty hot flash sensation more than once. I've blamed it on the heat and humidity of some summer nights when I really can't find a cool spot on the sheets, but won't cave in and buy an air conditioner. I've blamed it on stress, although I'd slept like a rock at the most stressful times in my life previously. I even have blamed it on my body, knowing that excess weight (yes, folks, she's a tall, heavy set, greying brunette -- move on) can impact on the ability to breathe properly while sleeping. But what I never did until now was to actually investigate it properly.

Yes, modern medicine is wonderful. There is this place called a sleep study lab where they can see that, why yes, you do wake up a number of times a night and here's what's happening at those times as well as the time you're there. Shyness and self-consciousness must be tucked away for this test (more on that in a bit), as there is no reasonable scrap of sleep data left unobserved in this overnight stay. But the end result could be invaluable if quality sleep is what you crave. So accept or just get used to the concept of being under the sleep lab 'microscope' before you go or you may not snooze enough to help them help you.

I embraced it as an adventure. I also look at civil service exams as fun challenges, so I'm clearly in a weird category of test takers by myself. But, I was also a little nervous and decided that I'd bring my favorite pillow for comfort. Hey, they encourage bringing articles that encourage a good night's sleep, so don't laugh at my wittle piwwow.

I was met by the sleep technician, Amy, who I found personable and knowledgeable. She also didn't treat me like someone who had no clue. Respect for my knowledge always wins points with me. She directed me to my room while she finished preparing the another patient for the night of scrutinized snoozing. My room looked like a simple hotel room with full sized bed, TV, standard lamps, chairs, and a bathroom. Then came the not so standard items - camera on the wall, intercom, and the well-wired box that connected their medical monitors and computers to the well-wired box that was connected to each patient, including me. I had a silent moment of, "Yikes, how am I supposed to sleep with that attached to me?" then just gave in, pulled out the pillow from my overnight bag and tossed it onto the bed. Hey, the pillowcase even color coordinated with the decor. That had to be a good sign.

Part 2

Ms. Goody Two-Shoes

For the second time in my lifetime so far, I've encountered somebody's lost ID and gotten it back to them. The first time it happened was years ago, when identity theft wasn't a big concern. In today's world, though, the saying "He who steals my purse steals trash" is not as accurate as it used to be. Losing wallet, purse, etc. quickly sends us into a panic and a flurry of activity, notifying credit card companies, replacing IDs, contacting the police, possibly changing locks. For one fellow female today, though, the steps stopped abruptly at panic.

I was driving along a road that runs behind several stores and malls when I saw this small case almost at the side of the road. I was thinking somebody's eyeglass case until I got closer and realized it was too large for eyeglasses unless they were Elton John's glasses from the 1980s. I pulled over and went back to pick it up. It had a little heft to it, indicating it had more than just papers. When I opened it up, I saw a flash of some kind of ID and a cell phone. I didn't bother looking further. I zipped it back up and took it to the local police. Same process as last time. Also the same as last time, they took down where I found it, my name and phone number (I actually gave the dispatcher my license -- saved her from having to ask how to spell my last name that most manage to spell wrong, anyway). After that, I went about my shopping business and went home.

While in the first found ID episode, I knew the person's name because my friend and I had to gather scattered pocketbook contents from a busy stretch of street, I didn't know who the owner of the purse was this time. I wasn't looking to find out who the person was. I didn't look because it didn't matter. What mattered was getting it back to the owner ASAP. I didn't even expect to hear from anyone after that, as I didn't the first time around. But, I did this time. The owner left me a voicemail saying she wanted to thank me. Wasn't necessary, but I called her back. After thanking me again, she asked if I had seen the purse fall off the car. I said no, that I just found it, but she confirmed what I already suspected. I mean, even in the three seconds I looked in the purse, it appeared everything was intact. What are the chances that a thief is going to be so kind as to leave everything in place and drop it alongside a well-traveled bit of road? No, this smacked of leaving it on top of the car and forgetting it was there. Been there, done that, got the head-thunk moment (imagine my embarassment and gratefulness to the stranger who got out of his car at the red light and handed me my pocketbook from atop my VW those 25+ years ago).

My grateful purse owner of today wanted to send me something for my actions, but I turned it down, telling her to go do something nice for someone else. Yes, I turned down a reward for my good deed. From Donald Trump, I probably wouldn't turn it down (mercenary moment -- sue me). But on this Labor Day weekend, for a found purse that likely belonged to a working class woman like myself, I would only want her to continue to have a nice day. Hopefully within a fairly short time of the "Oh, my God, where's my purse?" realization, she did.

And this Goody Two-Shoes will sleep well in the knowledge that the universe, once again, put me in the right place at the right time and I did the right thing with it. A proper payback for that nice man's actions all those years ago.

Contemplating the Birthday Navel

A startling revelation this morning - 51 looks and feels exactly like 50 at 2 AM when you wake from sleep needing to use the bathroom.

The day was uneventful. It wasn't supposed to be, but the gentleman I was supposed to daytrip it with ended up in a hospital upstate on Thursday for likely the duration of the weekend. He's fine and swore he'd make it up to me. Hey, Keith, that's two you owe me (and I'm glad you're okay).

So, I ended up with a quiet day of self-made wildly curried pork, a simple salad, an indulgent slice of chocolate cake, and more than a few moments of self-examination. Surprisingly, I didn't have this thoughtfulness last year at this time when The Big 5-0 rolled around, although I did some reflection a few weeks beforehand.

Now, who's to say when the downhill slide really begins. If I don't live to make 52, then the halfway point was when I was 25. Scary notion. However, if I live to be 105 like my grandfather did, then I've just about reached the summit and there's a whole half a hill left. Either way, there's still road to wander and off-road to explore and I best make the best of the time I have left, whatever its length.

Every year, folks make new year's resolutions. Long ago, I logically reasoned that if I make a resolution only to break it several days/weeks/months down the calendar, then what's the point? However, I've decided to make two birthday resolutions this year, in defiance of that logic for some reason.

1. I resolve to become less of a couch potato. This is not a hard thing to do, it's just a hard thing to start and keep going at. Yeah, you laugh, but you know I'm right. I know that there's still flexiblity and stamina under that morning joint stiffness and that slightly winded feeling with more than normal activity, and unless I do something now, I may find myself just watching the world go by later. I still respond fairly quickly to the positive influence of exercise, as I found out earlier this year when my car's starter died, so I may as well take advantage of it.
2. I resolve to pursue my writing more. I've found myself letting go of many activities because of lack of time, lack of funds, or just waning interest with the passage of years. One of them was writing and that one I feel I can't let go of unless I'm really ready to throw in the towel on things. It's the one activity that calls from within me to be pursued and pursued more. Besides, like exercising, it tends to be an activity that leads to other activities.

I think these two goals are both attainable and sustainable. Little steps to improving the path just a little. Perhaps this is the start of a new tradition for me, of birthday rather than new year's resolutions. After all, isn't the birthday more of a new year than January 1?

Birthday cake, anyone? There's plenty left.

Dust Bunny Fever

Yes, indeed, it's that time of year, when the brooms, dustpans, dustmops, cleaners, paper towels, and similar foreign objects get hauled out in earnest to clear the way for the spring season. Given my housecleaning style, this may take all summer.

The first inkling that I had caught this contagious disease was my wanting to wash windows. Mind you, it's only in the 30s today, but the drive to see clearly now was quite strong. Just doing the inside of the glass made a difference, not only in the quality of seeing the great outdoors, but also in my transition to the 'hey, it's really spring' mentality. Besides, my tomato seedlings need more light than the little fluorescent plant light will allow.

This was followed by some dusting. Dusting takes some of the enthusiasm away. All that coughing and sneezing. Okay, there isn't so much dust that you can fingerwrite 'Clean Me' on surfaces, but it does make me want to walk away until the uncaptured dust I've unsettled resettles.

Then, there are the cobwebs. You never realize how many cobwebs there really are in the corners and along the ceiling until you start knocking them down or sucking them into a vacuum cleaner. Could practically make a yard of spider silk fabric out of the result of this endeavor. (durable stuff, but as yet impractical to try and mass produce). I try to leave any spiders I see alone, which is a bit counterproductive in terms of cobweb re-accumulation, but is better in terms of insect control and karma. I don't have any qualms about co-existing with arachnids so long as they don't suddenly decide walk across my arm or dangle in front of my face.

Sweeping, vacuuming, contemplation of reorganizing, painting and redecorating. Yes, it's all there. But, I obsessively refuse to be compulsive about spring cleaning. I'm a self-described female version of Oscar Madison. Such an abrupt change in style can't be good for me.

Yet, the windows still call -- all 26 of them. Could someone take a message for me? I'm washing dishes.

Well, That's One

Earlier this week, I received a letter -- and check -- saying that one of my little bits of writing had been accepted. I was happy to see the check, even if it wasn't that much and didn't last the day, but I was more yee-hah happy that someone other than a friend told me that I have some writing ability above and beyond what it takes to pass English 101.

The reaction from friends has been interesting. People are happy for me, from simple congratulations to "About f-----g time." They're happy that I was successful in this endeavor, although it goes beyond just making some coins off my written words. It's the effort, the courage to take the step, the trying rather than just wondering if one is good enough. The step beyond self-doubt. We all have it, and I felt in some of the folks who gave me the atta-girl that I actually gave them hope that it's possible to make that step and succeed. Admittedly, someone else's success inspired me to try again (third time was the charm), so it seems only fair that I pass on that hope to others.

Thing about pursuing this, though, is that once you take the step, you have to keep walking. There's still that self-doubt that this purchased written piece was a fluke and it's never going to happen again. But, I'm told that's the way it is and that feeling never really goes away, so shut up and keep at it. I suppose I'll have to. I really liked the rush that came with getting that tangible and spendable evidence that I can occasionally write goodly.

Back in the VW Saddle Again

My Volkswagen Golf died. Actually, it died last year about the same time and under the same circumstances - weather got cold enough that the bendix on the starter occasionally refused to cooperate; it started without problems once the temperature were above freezing and I didn't have the problem for a year. The mechanically inclined would say hit the starter lightly with a hammer or mallet, that it should free up things and allow the starter to crank. First of all, this action doesn't always work. More importantly, I know where the starter is located and this woman ain't crawlin' underneath the car every single time my fair weather bendix friend refuses to work and play well with other car parts.

Now, there is an alternative in this situation. My buggy is a 5-speed, capable of being pop-started. However, one of two conditions must exist in order for the car to come to life and be driven. The first is that there is enough of a decline or hill to roll down to get sufficient speed for things to go pop-start. This actually works well for me, as I live on a hill. All I have to do is push it out of my driveway and onto the hill that is my street, jumping in and steering the car before it hits my neighbors wall across the road or, if the wheels are really turned to the left, have the car quietly roll down the hill without me. Having coasted down the hill on a lark on a few occasions (okay, so I'm a middle-aged kid), I know that it hits a maximum speed of about 35-40 MPH by the time it gets to the bottom. I shudder to think of the possibilities, yet I did this for a few days with success while I contemplated the impact of the cost of the new starter on my less than comfortable budget.

We now arrive at the second condition which must be available should rolling down a hill not be an option. The car must be pushed fast enough to be able to pop-start it. This requires one person to steer and engage the appropriate gear and some means to push the car. In other words, you need at least one volunteer to either push with their car or with their hands. Guess what? There isn't always a volunteer available.

A week ago last Thursday, I headed out to my car to leave for the day. The temperatures down in the single digits on the way to work, I had to do the push-and-hop-in maneuver to get there. The temperature never got out of the teens that day. There's one place in the parking lot of our building where there's a slight sloping. I had hoped it was enough that things would still start if I turned the key and only heard that tell-tale whirr and had to let it roll. Wasn't enough. I tried third, second, even first gear - wouldn't start due to insufficient speed. I ran out of room and didn't want to hit the service truck which was directly in my path at the lower end of the lot. I started to push it into a parking space when one of the men from said service truck came along and helped finish the short trip. Gee, who knew that one good-looking, able-bodied, 30-something man and one not-so-able-bodied, 50-something woman would find pushing a 2,454 lb. car 20 feet so difficult? With no way to try again in the space the car was nosed into, I grabbed what I wanted/needed from the car and locked it to sit and wait until I could pay for the repair work.

Cut to six days later, when my car is towed to the garage and fixed. I've been relying on my supervisor to get to and from work and a co-worker takes me the final leg of the journey to pick up my now starting perfectly each time Golf. I have relearned the gentle and wonderful art of walking more than the few feet it is to my car. I made my supervisor's trip a little shorter by walking to meet her about a half mile from my house and having her drop me off to walk back home. The hill I live on is a good cardiovascular workout which challenged me, but didn't leave me needing to call 911. I had bought groceries just before the starter died, but my neighbor volunteered to pick up groceries just in case I needed something. Laundry was hand-washing. A simpler lifestyle, not intolerable and certainly enjoyable.

But it was only for a week. Oh, how I missed my little blue beast of burden.