Sunday, January 29, 2012

K is for Krave

Look at the dog on the purple box of eye drops.  I can't believe how much that dog looks like Freckles! In fact, I'm not sure it isn't Freckles--that's exactly how her eyes look now that she is blind in one eye.  Maybe she's a cover grrrrl and we don't know it.  Those royalties would help pay her vet bills, so I may have to follow up with this.  (These are not the eye drops she is currently using but if she's the cover grrrrrl, I'll make sure she starts using them pronto.)
 I was going to blog about my spontaneous purchase of "Krave!" cereal yesterday (those marketing geniuses put a ginormous display of this naughty new breakfast cereal--complete with video hawking this stuff right from the display--right in the busiest aisle of the evil conglomerate--even taught the boxes how to jump into unsuspecting carts), but since someone else already did this (and did a better job than I would have), I'm posting her link and calling it a day.  I highly suggest you read this review (after you read every blog entry I've ever written) to learn more about this pillows of sugar: http://www.theimpulsivebuy.com/wordpress/tag/krave-cereal-review/

In case you are wondering, I thought it was an underwhelming experience, I don't like when people use "K" instead of a "C" and I'm surprised they didn't use high fructose corn syrup in this cereal because everyone uses it in everything these days.  I understand why they had to use the "K" instead of "C:" if it were "Crave," it would be a cat food and that's probably not the image they wanted to portray.

I do not like K for C.  Seriously.  Ever.  Why do people do that? It's not klever.

Speaking of cats, which leads me to thinking of dogs (just go with it--I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I have a head cold, so there is no telling where my brain is going this morning), Lucy is going to a dog chiropractor tomorrow (or, is it a chiropractor for dogs?).  I'm firing up the charge card and ready for action--Money Pit #2 needs some healing and I'm ready to secure it for her.  As you can see in the photo, she is giving a Paws Up to the thought of chiropractic care. Thankfully, her medications do what they are supposed to do: lower the pain, lower the inflammation.  That said, the medications do not solve the problem.  So, it's off to the chiropractor.  I do not think My Beloved Lady Chiropractor is trained to work on dogs, so we'll need to take a road trip to get this adjustment....hmmmm.....I will be checking to see if MBLC does work on dogs and if she makes house calls....

Thankfully, there has not been any screaming, yelping or whimpering this week (well, none from Lucy....I've been kinda whiny and the wife seems a bit yelpish--after all, it's almost Super Bowl time and there is no sight of anything green or gold in the game and that is enough to leave the wife yelpish for months).  Although she still walks cock-eyed, Lucy seems no worse for the wear. (thank you, baby Jesus!).  In an effort to discern what course of action we should take, I utilized the social network and asked my peeps about using a chiropractor for dogs.  The response was overwhelming....and 100% positive.  I had no idea so many of our friends had used a chiropractor for their dogs.   What wonderful stories of help and healing.  Even better--all the local people who responded to my queries noted that they use the same chiropractor that Lucy will be seeing tomorrow night. Who knew?  The testimonies were heart warming and so I am feeling mighty confident this will be of great help.  As the doctor is not in town, Lucy and I will be taking a 45 minute road trip.  I'll leave the wife and Freckles at home this time.  It will be a bonding experience for Money Pit #2 and this source of funding.  I'm hoping to get a photo of two of the experience so you, dear readers, can come along for the ride.

Argo Warrior Princess and Three Hawk (whose dog goes to said chiropractor) gave us some homeopathic drops to give Lucy for her injury....but, I have yet to get any IN to Lucy--I've only managed to get them ON Lucy.  It's much easier to get an eye drop in Freckles' blind eye than it is to get a homeopathic formula drop into a moving target called Lucy.  Since the drops have alcohol in them and since she is wearing lots of drops, please do not think that Lucy is hitting the sauce in an effort to dull her pain--it's just the tinture in her fur that has led to this odor.  I hope the chiropractor doesn't think we've been drinking and driving.

That said, I'm off to drink some coffee (albeit NOT Dunkin' Donuts, sigh), eat some Krave, drop some more drops all over Lucy's face, get a photo of Freckles Warrior Princess so I can prove that it is her on that box and go look for the wife (who was outside shoveling last time I looked)....

....if you see the wife, please do NOT mention football.  Do not mention the Super Bowl.  Do not mention anything that might even remotely be tied to pigskins. If you do say something about football, please deposit $5 in her therapy fund and I'll pour some of those alcohol-based drops into her so she can forget you said anything.....

Monday, January 23, 2012

Back to Back

It's been one year since the wife fell screaming to the floor after blowing her disk out one work morning at 5 A.M.  Remember? She went to brush her teeth and instead she found herself writing on the bathroom floor, unable to get up or do much of anything.  She spent the next five days on the floor--literally FIVE long days of hell--on the floor. 

So, imagine my surprise when I one year later hear a blood curdling scream emanating from the upstairs hallway on a work day at 5 A.M.

I've never heard anything quite like this scream, tho...that's because it was a dog.  It was Lucy, to be exact.  I didn't know dogs could scream but I am hear to tell you that they can.

What happened next is a blur.  I jumped off the toilet (yes, I was peeing) and threw myself toward the dog.  The wife....well, she went streaking out of the area and hid in the other bathroom, screaming "DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING!" from afar.  Freckles was shaking so hard she was blurry and she kept trying to get to Lucy.  I bent down on the floor and gently scooped the dog toward me.  She kept yelping like there was no tomorrow.

My heart hurt hearing that awful yelping.


In case you are wondering, I did remember to pull up my pants.  Also, in case you are wondering, you are free to laugh at any time during this story because envisioning this scene really should bring you at least a guffaw.

So, I talked in a gentle voice to Lucy, all the time doing an exam of her parts.  I kept thinking that she must have blown out a knee or ripped a tendon or something awful. I looked and I searched and I reassured (the dog, not the wife--the wife was on her own for the time being). Front legs-- good. Back left leg....good.  Back right leg....good.  Both eyes....in the socket where they belong.  No blood, no bones protruding, no nothing.  Just this pitiful yelping and whimpering. 

I was finally able to soothe her to the point she stopped crying.  Poor Freckles was still a blurred mess and the wife was still in panic mode.  I talked to Lucy but she had little info to share.  I explained to her that we needed to go outside for the morning pee (her pee, not mine--I already peed).  I put her down on the floor as I put on my shoes....I noticed that she when she tried to get back up the stairs, she couldn't.  I mean there was no way in hell her body part(s) were going to let her do that.  She couldn't jump, she couldn't dance, she couldn't go up the stairs.

Great.  Now we have one dog that can't go UP stairs and one that can't go DOWN stairs...and, we live in a tri-level.

Stairs.  That's all we have. Stairs.

I had to carry Lucy in and out so she could do her duty. By this time, the wife had surfaced from the bathroom and Freckles was only shaking a little bit. Although I could still see nothing wrong, I could tell there was something definitely wrong with her gait and that she couldn't use her back end like normal.  I wasn't sure what to do.  I couldn't miss another day of work--I just missed one for pooping my brains out.  I couldn't leave her like this.  I couldn't take her to work.  I did the only thing I could think to do:

I drugged her. 

I took a pain pill left over from her tooth surgery and shoved it in.  I made sure she was safe and as comfortable as possible and then I sucked up all my guilt and went to work.

As I was driving, I took solace in the fact that her tail never stopped wagging when I was talking to her.  I took that as a good sign--I figured if her tail was wagging, her back must be functioning at least a little bit.

As I was driving, I made an appointment with the vet (CA-CHING!) and only spent a few hours at work.  When I got home, Lucy was very happy to see me but she couldn't jump up.  It was miserable to see.  She wanted so badly to give me my usual greeting but her body did not cooperate.

We won't even talk about how awful it was when she went out and tried to poop.  Oh my.  I need therapy after seeing that.

The vet did a body scan, asked questions, watched Lucy walk to and fro...all the time Lucy's tail never stopped wagging.  They know Lucy and I could they were concerned.  At least there wasn't a tooth sticking out of her snout this time. The vet tech bent over but Lucy couldn't kiss her. She lamented how Lucy must really be sick if she couldn't jump up to give a kiss. I confessed my sin of drugging my dog using leftover tooth surgery medication.  Thankfully, the vet nodded at me in understanding.  "Well, it's not neurological and that's very good," the vet said reassuringly.  She then felt along Lucy's spine, cocking her head almost as if she were listening.

I could see it coming.  I could tell what the vet was thinking.  For one-one billionth of a second, I went to a very dark place....one that said, "I can't do this to my dog. I can't make her go through surgery."  I quickly knocked off the melodrama and calmly waited for the vet's proclamation.

The diagnosis? A back injury.  Just like the wife.  A back injury at 5 A.M. on a work morning.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Suffice it to say, Lucy was given several meds to decrease the swelling and to drown out the pain.  The vet, ever so in tune with the money-pit-ness of our dogs, stated we could do the rest/relaxation/medication route for the weekend. If things didn't improve, x-rays and other tests would follow next week.  The meds weren't a cure but would give Lucy time to heal. She reassured me that it was nothing that we had done or not done--"all it takes is a sneeze."

Like I didn't already know that.  Geez, the wife was just reaching for her toothbrush when she went down in a blaze of glory.

I'm happy to report Lucy is giving us a run for the money--literally.  We are supposed to be keeping her quiet and calm.  We're trying to make sure we carry her up the stairs, that we don't let her try to jump up on the couch, that she not dance in happiness when she sees us.  I am here to tell you we are doing a really lousy job--those pain meds have her feeling good to go.  She moves faster than us. She is doing extremely well and is able to get around without issue.  I'm cautiously optimistic.  In the meantime, I going to learn more about canine spine issues. I'm going to learn how to use pressure points to help her heal & to lower the pain with less medication.  I'm going to seek direction on how to help her prevent this in the future.  If I have to, I'll build a ramp to the couch and to the yard.

I'm not sure if you can help a dog strengthen its core, but if you can, we'll be doing it. 

......One who can't walk up stairs and one who can't walk down stairs.  The wife and I are building our cores and all our other muscles carrying these mutts up and down the stairs... it's all good as long as the wife and I can get up and down the stairs on our own.....

Whose idea was it to buy a tri-level, anyways????

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Hot Lava, Hot Grrrrl, Hot Dog

Get ready to file this in the "didn't-really-need-to-know-that-thanks-for-sharing" pile. My blog for today was to be exclusively about my new eye glasses.  Unfortunately, that will have to wait a wee bit as I am experiencing a horrific bout of diarrhea.  Not that you really needed to know that. (See? I told you.)  As this is the first episode of "non-medication/medically induced diarrhea" I can recall since 1990's (I'm not kidding), I am intrigued, albeit in a twisted way.  As I have literally no other symptoms of which to speak and as I have not been around anyone who has been spewing things out of their orifices, I assume this delicious issue is food related.  (Cue Bridesmaids movie here.  You know, I put something about the hot lava as my Book de la Face status just a few minutes ago and I don't think people got it.  I think they thought I was actually watching the movie.  Not so much--I was living the movie.)  Despite my actual interest, I am unable to go to work.  Even if I could get there (and that would be a feat in itself), I'd be too mortified to have diarrhea in the staff bathroom....after all, it is IN the staff office and there would be no way around "sharing" the experience with my coworkers.  (If you are in the planning stages of building office, do NOT put the bathroom in the office. Trust me on this one.)  It's such a waste of a sick day to miss work due to diarrhea.  When I want to use a sick day, I want to use it because I'm miserable with the cold or flu or something fun to do, not the shits. Thanks to my spewing hot lava, I watched a Hercules/Amazon Women movie, half of a special on a famous tattoo artist, played seventy three rounds of Words with Friends,wrote this blog ....as well as went to the bathroom countless times.  (BTW, I am proud to report that I used all three bathrooms today at one point or another. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do).

As for my glasses, well I am in love with them.  Suffice it to say they are Gucci and we all know what a label snob I am (tongue firmly in cheek). Since getting my glasses on Monday, I've decided that being a label snob might actual come in handy.  This pair of glasses came with a gold Gucci box, with a gold Gucci case, with a gold cloth with which to clean your glasses and with a card of authenticity, proving that these glasses are, in fact, Gucci.  Huh.  They are spectacular spectacles. I don't know how they look on my face but they look really good in the gold box. I am very happy to report that I can now read teeny, tiny print.  People who make fun of me when I look over my glasses to see the camera view finder will laugh no more, as I don't have to do that.  I somehow don't think I can see as well far away but I suppose there is always a trade-off of some type or another and I'm tired of not being able to see close up, so I'm good with this for the time being.  If I go on to be a pilot, professional driver or some other worker that needs to see street signs from 1.5 miles away, I'll worry about it then.  Besides, I look hot!

Ah, about the hot dog.  No, I did not start eating hot dogs again (if I did, that would explain the diarrhea).  I'm referring to a certain dog in a certain neighborhood who is leaving a certain product on our lawn.  The wife gets crazed by this--she turns reds, she stomps around, she mutters obscenities, puts her coat on to go over there, only to end up picking up the poop because it is too upsetting to leave it there.  I've seen her fling a piece of poop a time or two and I can't say that I blame her.  I told her texting wasn't the right way to address the problem (not that flinging poo is a good idea, either).  She's talked to them before but they seem to make a joke out of it, then continue the same bad neighbor practice. (Hey, it's a lot of poop.  It's quantity oriented. Don't even get me started about the dog piddling on our stoop.  That irks me more than the poop--but, this is about the wife, so forgot the stoop pee.) It's frustrating to know that we pick up our poop each and every time one of our dogs leave a gift and we keep an eye on them, monitoring them as they sniff around pre-during-post duty.  Since none of us have fences, it's the least we can do AND it keeps the dogs safe, which is important in my little corner of the world.

After watching the wife stomp and storm around the house on Sunday (and this was before the Packers lost, so she wasn't even crabby yet), I decided to take matters into my own hands.  I did what an y proud participant of the social network would do:

I posted the dilemma as my status update on Book De La Face.

I got over 40 responses, most of which were very appreciated and seemed quite helpful in one way or another.  Suggestions including involving animal control (that will make you best of friends), bagging up the poop in a brown paper bag and setting it on fire after ringing their door bell; rubbing their noses in it (bad dog!); talking to the dog; flinging it at the house; putting it in piles on the stoop; have a poop ball fight; make a video and put it on UTube with hopes it goes viral; take a photo of the dog pooping and post around the neighborhood; feed the dog rubber bands so we can shoot the poop back at them easier; post various kinds of signs; do rather awful things to the dog (it's the not dog's fault, so we ruled those out without even a moment of thought); put the poop in a nice bag and hand it to them while saying, "I think you left me something in our yard."  We had some really nice, adult ideas but we ignored them.....but, that didn't seem half as fun as the wife going out there and pooping on their lawn. Priceless! I'm having a visual.

The best use of the social network was unintentional.  It was actually unintentionally genius. I'm not the dog owners' FB friends.  But, I am friends with friends of the dog owners.  One or more of our "mutual" friends must've let the dog owners know that they were the fodder of my status....as, we haven't had any poop in our yard for three days in a row.  (It's easy to see with the snow cover--both the offender's paw prints and poop product.)

Either that, or I can't see as well out of these new glasses as I thought I could.

I feel a wee bit bad about the use of Book de la Face thing but not too much.  After all, it seems to have worked.  Humiliation is a mighty motivator.  

If the poop continues (mine or the neighbor's dog), I'll let you know.  I do not anticipate any further reports on my pooping status, but I am concerned that we will be having some more pooping on the front law......I have my camera ready and my glasses cleaned.....

Friday, January 13, 2012

A Tear in My Beer


This is Miranda Lambert's "logo" and tattoo. Yeee haw!  I did not draw it and I did not take the photo but I had to share it. HAD to. I hope Miranda doesn't come beat the snot out of me.

 Before I talk about Miranda, I have to get this off my chest: we have become a world of weather wimps.  Seriously.  (I rant about this every winter, so I might as well get it out of the way.) All this technology has ruined us.  In the olden days (read: before Doppler Radar, before the Channel of Weather, before weather reports were included on every device we own), we woke up, looked out the window and decided what to wear.  If it was raining, we'd put on a rain coat.  If it was snowing, we'd put on our boots.  If it was windy and snowing, we'd put on our boots AND scarf.  We didn't have a week to worry about what might or might not happen--we had here and now (and maybe tomorrow).  Yesterday's "snow storm" (since when does six inches of snow constitute a snow storm?) was predicted a week ago...giving people seven days to fret about how bad the weather was going to be.  You know what happened when the snow arrived as scheduled? People started canceling things and teacher friends said things like, "I wonder if tomorrow will be a snow day?"  When did regular old, boring, seasonally-appropriate snow become a storm?  We are weather wimps.  Now, I'm not saying we should be out plowing through a foot of snow during a blinding snow storm.  I'm all for common sense.  I just don't know how we (me included) became so wimpy. We should be ashamed of ourselves.

(May I note that having a week's notice did not seem to get snow plow operators ready for action.  The plowing was embarrassingly atrocious. The roads are still ridiculously unacceptable. As they say on ESPN, "c'mon, man!") 

One person who isn't a weather wimp (or a wimp of any kind) is Miranda Lambert.  (Actually, the 7000 people in attendance at Miranda's concert last night weren't weather wimps, either--so, good for us! We embraced winter with all our country western hearts.)  Ms. Lambert showed up (sans Blake) to open her world tour in our town.  Who the hell starts their world tour in Rockford, Illinois?  I have to say: I loved the concert--it was great fun, high energy, musically sound...she really impressed me.  Now, you regular readers know that I am a concert wh*re so me saying I was impressed actually means something.  (I go to a lot of concerts-I stopped counting after 100.  There's nothing like live music!) I've never seen opening night for a tour, so it was kind of exciting to be there. 

So, how was hanging out at the baggage claim? I loved whole thing.  I especially liked how authentic & how genuine Miranda seemed to be.  Not every performer will admit to having the jitters.  Not every performer will own up to his/her mistakes. And, most performers, in my humble opinion, are not authentic enough to have a moment of overwhelming emotion during a performance.  Well, Miranda, that little sassy & angry ball of spitfire, did just that.  While performing one of songs--a great song which has touched many people--it became just too much.  The song, a very personal song, swallowed her up. It wasn't rehearsed.  It wasn't contrived.  It wasn't fake.  It wasn't designed to tug on heartstrings.  The song just swallowed her up.
 

It was one of my favorite concert moments of my life. 

I've seen people in the audience bawl like babies.  I personally have had a tear a time or two.  But, performers? Not so much.  I'm trying to remember a time when any of the performers I've seen in concert have experienced a genuine moment like this.....I can't recall even one.  I'll have to think more about that.....

I don't know if she saw it coming or not, but most of the 7000 in attendance did. One look at the jumbotron told you she wouldn't be able to sing the heartfelt words because they were so heartfelt.  The words were real and meant something to her. It turned out just fine because we all sang it for her.  Heck, it turned out better because we sang it for her.  Lest you think I'm kidding about the crying, I've included her tweet (see image above). 

I imagine it is incredibly hard for a sassy, angry girl to have such a public moment of vulnerability.  Personally, I think it took the concert to a whole 'nother level and thus I thank Miranda for her public tear in her beer.  I'm getting to be a sap in my old age.

As for the rest of the show, it was complete cowgirl sass.  It's hard not to like someone who has a two-pistol with wings tattoo on the forearm and is oozing attitude.  (I daresay Blake has his hands full.)  She's gonna have a great tour--if she can get out of bed today, that is.  Miranda had a whole lot of shaking and jumping and head banging and pink guitar playing going on the entire time she was performing.  Someone get that cowgirl a massage! If any of you have the chance to hang out at the baggage claim with Miranda, do it.  As she says, she's packing it in---come and get it.

Thursday, January 05, 2012

My.Oh! Fay.Shull.

Dear goodness, is it Thursday night already?  My art professor told us that as we age, time goes faster.  When he said that, I was 20 years old. I thought he was kidding.  Now that I'm only a wee bit shy of 50, I see what he means. He was painfully serious.

You probably thing I've been sitting around doing nothing, but that is far from the case.  I've been getting my myofascials released!  

Now, you may or may not know what this means.  I'm having it done and I'm not sure I know what it means. I never really heard about myofascial release until our friends educated us, as related to my seeming-medical issue.  You would think I would know at least a little something, considering I own one of those foam roller things that people use for myofascial release. (I have the foam roller per the suggestion of Phlange-a-slam, who thought it would help with my IT band woes.  It did.  Guess I never thought about what the foam roller might be all about.  I just follow direction.)

Suffice it to say that all those little fibrous bands in my connecting tissue are just waiting for someone to release the tension and I have been led to someone who can do it.

Anyways, having your myofascials released is a complicated thing.

Okay, not really--I lay there on the nicely-heated table and listen to soothing music while my personal myofascial releaser (and the Universe) do all the work.   It's not complicated at all.   I don't even have to understand it.  I don't have to get undressed, I don't have to think, I don't have to do anything but be.

I can be with the best of them.

Since the miracles of modern medical science have done nothing to help me (well besides confirm that I have an actual problem that is visible on a CAT scan), I am enjoying this "different" route and embracing every minute of it.  It actually makes total sense to me: if there is the possibility that my issues are cause by (or at least exacerbated by) scar tissue or tension in my connecting tissue, something--besides surgery--needs to be done to release the tension from where it is tense. Since I had surgery in the area in question and since the issues I am having do indeed suggest issues with adhesions or some other scar-related issue. it makes even more sense. 


Still with me?  Good.
Lest you think I'm out frolicking naked in the woods (not that there's anything wrong with that), let me give you a clue about what happens when I go for a treatment: 

1.  Hop up on to the table that has been pre-heated ("What a treat!" as the wife would say.)
2.  Relax.
3.  Experience gentle massage-like pressure on the part(s) in question.  Yum.
3.  Relax more as your myofascial get stretched, kneaded, massaged.  Yum squared.
3.  Become one with the Universe.

See? How great is that?

After the first session, I felt like a million bucks.  Talk about relief.  It was the first true relief I've had in many, many weeks.  Unfortunately, the next few days were tough.  I figure this is quite normal--after all, my connective tissue has been a hot mess since the summer--it probably didn't like being told to go back to from where it came.  (I hate being told what to do.  I imagine my myofascial feels the same way.) By the time I go to the second session (yesterday), I was ready for more.  Today, I am experiencing a pleasant silence from the area of which has had lot to say over the past many months.

It's hard to describe what I mean when I say "a pleasant silence."  I thought trying to explain my vague symptoms to the doctor was hard--this is just as hard to describe.  A pleasant silence follows months and months of static.  It's like you've been living with this loud, irritating static noise in the background and it's always there and although you can keep on working and doing what you do, the static is always always always there and always at a low grade irritation and you.can't.make.it.stop.

So what happens when one is given the gift of a pleasant silence?  It is like heaven.  It is delicious.  It is appreciated. It give me hope.  It reminds me of what its like to take part in the process of healing.  It gives me gratitude out the wazoo.  It soothes my soul. 

Since I've lived with the "static" for so long, the pleasant silence is a little disconcerting; after all, I haven't had silence since July. I keep waiting for the irritation to return.  I then chastise myself for such thinking.  I go back to enjoying the silence.  Ahhhhhh.

I'll let you know how this progresses.  In the meantime, give a google if you need more info.  Until we meet again, I'm going to go enjoy my delicious, warm, golden, beautiful, glowing silence. 

Shhhhhhhhhhh.