Right, so I didn’t fall off the face of the earth, but when you don’t see me online for months, it’s probably a pretty close bet that I’m hanging desperately on to the edge.
Let’s put it this way: Evidently any close up work or screens that I concentrate on real hard end up causing seasickness that the meclizine can’t take care of too well. If walking around with sea legs were where it ended, that’d be fine. But usually it ends up with a trip to visit the porcelain goddess. Let me tell you this: Every last time that happens, I have a pug glued to my leg for the next 36 hours. Penny is petrified of the thought of her mom imploding. It’s in evidence every time I sneeze.
So what’s the verdict? Well, jeez, what’s always the verdict? Not much we can do. Reacclimatize yourself, but it probably won’t be great and just remember to stop before you get ill.
I think the most troublesome thing is when I look back, I am seeing that the core bits of my problem have been here for years. Decades. And periodically, things get worse… usually after I’m run down, or get a cold or virus or some creeping crud. Then it blows up, and blows out, and leaves me with a souvenir. It’s taken decades, but now I’ve got really crappy lasting ones.
Saw a neurologist (again)… And I will give him this: For a neurologist, he wasn’t a complete sociopath. Actually, he was very personable. Not as personable as my sleep neurologist, but hey. But he said something that is indeed troubling me. First, that a lot of what has shown on tests could be explained by inflammation — like, nerves firing without reason in my chest is generally the result of a virus that inflames stuff. And if I don’t have a pituitary tumor (and since my medications don’t include things that cause it), diabetes insipidus is generally the result of brain swelling.
And by the way, he doesn’t think my problem is neurological. Cough. Now, fine, it didn’t kill me or anything, just basically pulled a Tonya Harding on my Nancy Kerrigan of a brain — but let’s say (as my physicians have agreed) that this is something that keeps flaring and remitting — shouldn’t, um, recurrent brain and spinal column inflammation be a slight cause for concern?
I’m not okay with the fact that chances are good I’m not getting back much that I’ve lost thus far, but I have to accept and deal with it. Fine. Will do. And I might be able to reclaim some of it. But dammit all, I really would like to cut down the chances of losing more. And no one seems even willing to think in that direction. The kicker is I know when it comes back (it will, alas. No one wishes it were different more than I do, but I can’t delude myself… it’s disappointing enough when it comes back all on its own), I’m going to have another round of distracted doctors looking at different bits of the damned elephant.
In the meantime, I press on. Because that’s what comes down to me, and if I throw it in and don’t do anything to make it worthwhile, I’m only screwing myself over. I’d love to just say the hell with it, and not go to doctor’s visits and just use that time to do something I’d at least want to do (since I seem to be spinning my wheels again anyway with them) but that means I’m okay with the fact that a good deal of this is simple reluctance, overwhelmedness, and fear of failure and defeatism on the medical profession’s part. I don’t feel defeated, or hopeless, and I’m totally okay with defining “failure” as simply a lack of trying. I don’t have time for defeat. It’s not a luxury I have anyway.
Now, to visit my friend John.