#doc said three days for stress doses and today was day one

[tj-crochets]

Still no craft updates on account of I feel Bad* but I did get like half a beanie crocheted this weekend? I also have a bat that's haunting me. In that there's a bat design I desperately want to turn into a plushie not in that I am being literally haunted by a bat. As far as I know I am not haunted by a bat but to be fair I'm not confident I'd know? *my heart rate got high enough that made me cough but my asthma was flaring up enough that cough launched me into an asthma attack, which raised my heart rate even more, so basically I used my emergency inhaler and then was on the floor for a while. Feels bad! Do not recommend. I'm okay though just tired

[atths--twice]

Mulder has been left alone, watching Scully walk out, and not look back.

Chapter Three 

Echoes of Goodbye

September 2014

Mulder fell to his knees as he heard Scully’s car start and then back up. He could do nothing, say nothing, as he remained frozen on the porch. He began to cry, sobs shaking his body as he heard her car getting further away. He could not believe this was happening.

Her words were still ringing in his ears, her words of sadness, not anger. She had not shouted at him when she left, but she may as well have, because her quiet sadness hurt worse than any shout ever had. He could see her face, her tears, feel her kiss on his lips, and he felt numb and broken, sobbing anew.

It was not until his legs began to hurt that he chanced moving. As he raised his head, he saw the sun was almost set. It was early afternoon when he followed her out there. Or was it morning? He put his face in his hands as he realized he was not even sure of the time of day she left. He lost track of time, and not the nine minutes they had lost so long ago. No, this was his own doing, and what apparently pushed her to the breaking point.  

He got up off his knees, his muscles crying out as he did. His feet were asleep and he welcomed the pain of it, the tingling jolts of it feeling the way his heart felt, firing out electricity as it shorted out.

He stood on the porch, his head down and his body empty. If he moved, he knew only part of him would go back in the house. Like the old cartoons when the character would die or get scared and their body stayed behind, but their soul tore away from their body. Only, in his case, it would be his heart that stayed behind, while the rest of him moved forward.

He wobbled, his feet uncertain, but he knew he had to move to do something. Chase her down? No, he knew without question that was not the answer. How could he follow her and change her mind, when he could not even do it before she left? Call her? And say what, he asked himself, “I’m sorry for being such a fuck up?” She already knew he was a sorry shit because she said as much, just quietly and sadly. Jesus Christ ...

He closed his eyes and forced his feet to move, to go back into the house and figure out what the hell happened. As he stepped back, his eyes flew open. It felt as though his heart was being pulled out, and brought to the spot where his world had stopped. It was as if he could see it, hovering for a second, before it made a new home under the floorboards of the porch. His own personal version of The Tell-Tale Heart. It would wait there, beating and driving him mad, and only he would know.

He moved more forcefully into the house, wanting to escape the image of his heart lying in wait. He closed the door and stood in the suffocating silence of the house. Somewhere he heard a clock ticking and it made his ears ring. How could time still be passing when the world should have stopped? He looked over at his office and his stomach dropped.

He walked to the doorway and looked around, seeing it through Scully’s eyes. The papers stacked high, books, photos, dishes and cups all haphazard and in some cases smelly and collecting mold, something he knew she hated.

“It smells in here, Mulder,” she said on many occasions. “How can you sit in here with the stench of old coffee cups permeating the air?”

“It’s an acquired scent I suppose, Doc,” he said, her expression disgusted, as he cracked open a sunflower seed. She rolled her eyes before she left, closing the door with a pointed look.  

Looking at the room now through the eyes of a profiler, he knew this room would be a virtual treasure trove of information. Seeing it differently, he saw the madness, saw the way it must have pushed her away, but he also knew the things he had found. The contacts he had made could not all be wrong, some of them had to be right. She just did not understand what he was doing. How he was trying to save them both.

His gaze landed on his bottle of medication, had he taken it today? Is that why this happened, because he missed a dose of medicine, maybe two, and he was back to appearing depressed and manic to her? As much as he wanted to blame it on that, he knew he could not. This was his fault.

He felt anger bubbling up inside him, at himself, at her, at the fact that she would just leave him like she did. He kicked at a pile of papers and sent them flying. Then he threw them out of the chair and the room was snowing papers. He swept the desk off and his computer crashed to the floor, along with the plates and cups stacked beside it. Glass shattered and the computer screen broke. He did not care, but continued tearing apart the office, papers being pulled from the wall. Is this what she wanted? All his work destroyed? Fine, he would do it, he would show her.

His brain seemed to finally realize what his body was doing and put a halt to the actions. He panted, out of breath from the physical activity he was no longer used to doing. He looked at his ruined office, at the devastation he had caused, and he broke down. He stumbled into the wall and slid down it, his legs out in front of him. He leaned his head back as he cried out his frustration.

How could she do this to him? To them ? He knew things were not perfect, but to just fucking give up? Her? She did not do that, so why did she start now?

Because, you fucking loser, you pushed her to it, his brain seemed to say as it rolled its eyes. He cried harder, knowing it was true, he had pushed her away. So many times she had tried to get through to him and he stubbornly refused to hear her.

For a while, things had been good. When all charges against him were dropped, he felt like he had a new lease on life. No longer stuck at home, cooped up in his office, he felt free, and happier than he had in awhile.

They bought a second car and he would go for drives, meet up with Scully for lunch or coffee and sometimes even meet up with Skinner, or just head out to old haunts. The wind from the rolled down car windows never felt so good.

The trip they took, away from the darkness , was amazing and exactly the warmth and sunshine they needed. Scully was so beautiful on that trip, not that it differed than how she was normally, but she had a happy glow about her. The amount of her skin he saw every day did not hurt either.

“Did you simply pack different bathing suits, and not much else?” he asked on their third day there, when she came out of the bathroom in a black one piece, with cut-outs close to her hips. It had one wide strap and the other shoulder was bare.

She reached for her cover up, but he grabbed her before she could. His fingers traced her skin through the cut-outs, and she breathed heavily. Her suit soon joined his on the floor, delaying their day at the beach.

They made love under the stars, in the ocean, and on the porch of their private deck. Lying with her, the warm wind teasing their sweaty bodies, he felt complete and happy. He told her so and she sighed, pulling closer to him, just before she fell asleep. Her soft, warm body pressed against his, pulled him under not long after.

The trip ended and they came home. For a while they still could get each other going with a look or a do you remember story. While the sex was amazing, as it always had been with them, the afterglow was almost better. They would talk and laugh about whatever and her soft gorgeous body would be wrapped around his, making him feel safe and loved. God, he loved her so much.

They took weekend trips to the vineyard sometimes and they walked around his old hangouts. He showed her where he and Samantha used to play pick up baseball games, some of the places no longer empty lots, but buildings or apartment complexes. They walked along the seaside, her hand in his, bundled up from the wind blowing across the water.

“Watch this, Scully,” he said, picking up a rock and skipping it across the water. Three hops and he looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

She smiled as he did it a few more times, before she bent and picked up a smooth, black stone. She raised her eyebrow at him, and threw hers, watching as it skipped further than any of his had. Smirking, they both knew she bested him, as she usually did.

When she was working, he would attempt home repairs. He actually did some work in their bathroom, well he supervised anyway. He had changed the medicine chest, and he made plans for a clawfoot tub to be put in for her. When it was done, his glee could hardly be contained. Her happiness and then the thank you sex was worth all the stress to finish it before she came home.

They had dinners at Mrs. Scully’s house and she came to theirs. He always enjoyed her company, as she laughed at all his dumb jokes. Both Scully women in one place was always fun. They shared stories and laughed about the past. Not knowing everyone they discussed, he simply listened and laughed at their antics.

During those dinners, he learned that Mrs. Scully was very competitive and loved to play games. Cards, board games, trivia, she loved them all. She did not always join in, but when she did, she took it very seriously.

A Scully head-to-head match was what he loved to watch most. The two women did not back down, never going easy on the other, and when the points were tallied, the winner strutted around like a proud peacock.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Mrs. Scully would say, as she danced around with her hands above her head, before reaching for a high five from him, with Scully sulking in the background. He laughed every time he got to see that display from Mrs. Scully. Her celebratory dance was different every time and he loved to see what she would do.

Everything was going well, but as the predetermined date began to approach, he spent more time in his office, more time away from Scully. He was on the computer, searching for any and all information he could find. Days would go by and he would be unaware that they had. He would forget to eat and then grab whatever was closest and easiest to eat. Sometimes a box of Pop-Tarts, sometimes a meal Mrs. Scully had sent home with them.

He began to lose weight and become sallow, his hair unkempt and his beard growing back. He knew nothing of Scully’s comings and going, and one day she called him out on it. He did not understand her anger, trying to explain what he was doing, what he was preparing them for. He needed to know what to do, to expect on that day, to save them both. She walked away, shaking her head, her anger still obvious. He shut the office door and promptly forgotten she had ever been there.

The date came and he was ready, as ready as he could be. There was no planned place to convene, no place safe from the impending invasion. They stayed home, together, never apart from the other. The whole day he waited, sure it would come, the idea that it would not happen was unfathomable. He could feel Scully watching him, feel her worry for him, and it made him angry.

He pushed the screen door open, walked down the steps, and stood in the middle of the yard, his head raised to the sky.

“Mulder! Come back inside! It’s freezing out there!” she called out to him, but he did not listen, convinced he would see something if he stood and waited long enough.

A jacket was placed upon his shoulders and he put his arms inside it. She helped him zip it up and then grasped his hand. Hers was warm and his was freezing cold. How long was he standing there? She squeezed his hand and looked up with him, until he heard a beeping from his wrist. Midnight. The day had come and gone.

“Mulder,” she breathed, squeezing his hand, smiling with relief. He stared back, worry and confusion on his face. He dropped her hand and turned away from her, heading toward the house, the questions running through his mind.

What happened? Or more importantly, what did not happen? She called to him again, and he turned to look at her. Standing there in the dark, a light layer of snow on the ground, she looked so small, so alone. She said something but he did not hear her, too many thoughts pushing around in his head. He saw her posture though, saw her shoulders fall and her head drop. When she lifted her head, she had tears in her eyes, already seeming to know the path of the road ahead.

He returned to his old ways, burying himself in information. Looking, always looking. She came in his office one day, pleading with him to join her for dinner. He looked at her, confused how it could be dinner time already when he had just eaten breakfast. He glanced out the window and saw it was night, and then discovered it was also already two weeks into January. Almost a month had passed and he had no idea.

He stumbled to the dining room table and apologized to her for losing track of time. Telling her he had found some people discussing what had happened and their theories about what went wrong. He spoke through most of the dinner and then walked back into his office, not realizing that she had not said a word.

Another month passed and he made an effort to plan a dinner for Scully’s birthday. They did not really celebrate things like that, but he wanted to show her he could. He meant to, he really did, bought her a gift and everything, but the reservations slipped his mind. They arrived at the restaurant and he realized his mistake. She sighed and then looked at him with such sadness, he felt like a huge failure.

They had found an all night diner instead and it was better than the stuffy restaurant would have been. They talked, not about the darkness he insisted on jumping into, but anything and nothing. She smiled, her hand reaching for his across the table. They ate messy cheeseburgers and shared the best chocolate milkshake he ever tasted. She made him pull over on the way home. So close to the house, but unable to wait, she climbed into his lap and got enough clothing out of the way to sink down onto him. She felt so good and it occurred to him that he could not remember their last time together.

After they arrived home, her gave her the gifts he picked out for her, a book about sprites and a child’s doctor’s kit. Rolling her eyes at the book, she reached for the doctor’s kit.

“I think you might need a checkup, Mulder,” she said, setting it on the couch, and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “I noticed your heart was beating fast earlier and I’m concerned.”

“You’re the doctor,” he said, letting her slip the shirt off his shoulders, before she moved her hands to his belt buckle.

Her eyes never left his as she told him the things she would need to check out. She gave him a thorough examination, commenting again on the fast pace of his heart as she ran her fingernails across his stomach. He grabbed her and pulled her to the floor, the doctor’s kit spilling, before he made her heart race.

That night, the office did not have a visitor.

But, it could not stay that way and he went through times where he seemed to drift from day to day, season to season. Before he knew it, it was December again and he had no new information, nothing concrete anyway. He and Scully were not the same. He saw her, but it seemed days would go by and they would not speak, or she was gone at odd hours for work.

When she approached him to eat with her or watch a movie, he would plan to do it, but then forget and when he finally did remember, hours had passed. He would find her asleep in bed and he would hate himself for who they were becoming- strangers living in the same house. He missed her but he had to find the answers he needed.

He fell asleep on the couch one night, exhausted after staring at the computer screen all night. He woke up to her crying and pleading with him to talk to her. She climbed in his lap and clung to him, saying she loved him and that this was hurting them. Her tears and her cries broke his heart and he cried with her, telling her he was sorry and he missed her, as he started kissing her neck.

It had been so long since she was that close and he was almost embarrassed at how quickly he became hard. They had not been intimate in a while, her refusing him while he had “that fucking beard.” That day though, she welcomed his touch and his love.

Quick was one way to describe it, but it was still wonderful. They held onto one another after and as they did, he made a decision to shave off his beard. It would not fix everything, but it would be something he could do for her. He left her on the couch, heading to shower and shave. He was surprised at the paleness of his skin, the sickly look to his face under all that hair.

She cried at the sight of him as he stood in the kitchen letting her tell him with her kisses and fingers how much she appreciated the small gesture and how much she missed him. He knew how she felt, he missed her touch and her love, so much. Only when he was shown it, did he seem to know how much it meant to be with her that way.

He kept his eyes closed and his head bowed as he was presenting himself to her, silently apologizing for being an asshole, and trying to show her he was trying. He knew they were in a bad place. He could feel it, and see it, but he did not know how to change it. He did not know how to crawl out of the darkness when he needed the answers so badly. The date coming and going, no real answers after so long, it was like a weight upon his soul.

That day had been wonderful, but things began to unravel afterward. He had good and bad days, but that was how things had always been for him. So when she asked him to try taking medication for depression, he was stunned.

“I’m worried about you, Mulder,” she said, reaching for his hand. “These highs and lows you’re experiencing, it’s not good. Not for you or me. Please, Mulder.”

“I’m fine, Scully. I’m not depressed. Maybe you need the medication,” he said, knowing it was childish, but annoyed with her for suggesting it.

When she brought him home the medication, he refused it, staring her down defiantly. She stood her ground, and he finally relented, grabbing the bottle as he walked in the office and slammed the door.

He fumed but knew how hard it must have been for her to reach that point. He opened the door and grabbed her before she left the room, apologizing again for being such an asshole to her and promising he would take the medication.

It took a few tries to get his dosage correct, but when they did, he felt like he came out of a fog he had no idea he was stuck in. He felt better than he had in a while and she appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. He was more involved again, making her laugh, back to sleeping and other activities in their bed.

Then one day, an email sent him down the rabbit hole. That one email led to searches, articles, examining photos, listening to recordings, and then message boards and chat rooms. He spent days in his office trying to piece together the puzzle he had before him. He was onto something, he knew it.

But, those discoveries and excitement meant something else suffered. Until she came into his office and his annoyance at her kneeling on the papers he had carefully organized had led to them screaming at one another, he did not know things had gotten so bad. He slammed the office door, angry at her complete disregard for the work he had put into his research.

He looked again for the website where he had found the information on the paper she ripped up. It took a bit, but he found it and sent it to the printer. He forgot about their fight until he heard the office door open.

Her words at first angered him, and he let her know, pushing her buttons to get her to fight with him. She did not take the bait, and instead remained calm, and at the same time, so incredibly sad.

She was leaving. She was suffocating, drowning, suffering, and all because of him. Her analogy of the oxygen masks broke through and made its way into his brain. Years of seeing those flight safety instructions, he could imagine them in that situation. Him stubbornly refusing her help while he looked at a shiny object, as she was slowly dying because she would want to help him first, broke his heart. He was not worth dying for. Not his sorry ass.

He slammed his head back against the wall, causing the things hanging on it to shake. He did it again, hoping something would fall on him, hurting him physically, the way he felt the pain emotionally. Nothing fell and he pushed himself to his feet. He looked again at the office and he shook his head. What a fucking fuck up he truly was.

She left. Wait, he thought. 

He ran up the stairs and into their room. His breath left him as he bent over at the waist inside their closet. Her clothes were gone, completely cleaned out. He shook his head and moved to the dresser and found her drawers empty. He stumbled forward, his body hitting the dresser, not shutting the drawer as his eyes landed on the spot where her favorite picture of them sat. It was gone, along with her clothes, and the woman who wore them. He sank once again to his knees, as he realized the enormity of what happened.

He thought of the sadness in her eyes as she looked at him. He dropped his head, thinking of the feel of her body pressed against his as she held him. She felt so small and thin. Had she always felt that thin, or had she lost weight? God, he had no idea when he last held her in his arms. Could she have lost weight because of him and the undue worry and stress he put upon her, or was she trying to do so? He did not know, had not noticed, and it was like a knife to the gut knowing she was right; he stopped seeing her.

She left him. She loved him, but she left him. No, she left him because she loved him. She made sure he knew that before she walked out the door. Made sure he knew she still loved him.

With a strangled cry he suddenly fell forward, his face against the cold hard wood of the floor, as he realized that he had not told her he loved her. She had made sure he knew and he had said nothing. He lay on the floor, his world crumbling, and wept out his love for her, hoping somehow she could hear him.

[drizzitwrites]

Football RPF Challenge - Day 9: Cuddling

I’m officially renaming today’s prompt as “We started out on a short, simple, straightforward journey and ended up somewhere I never even meant to pass through on the way to our destination that is also NOWHERE near our destination, but whatever, it’s a nice place so I guess we’re just here now.”

Today's prompt was supposed to feature cuddling. This one should have been remarkably easy, or at least it seemed so on the surface before I actually started writing anything.

Basically, the plan for today was a short spin-off scene that may or may not actually get used in the fic it's intended for (but could get posted later as a related work maybe?) of Vincent's injury recovery and Christian cuddling up with him on the sofa instead of going to dinner with friends because Vincent’s been sleeping in a separate room to keep from waking Christian up and Christian misses him.

That is.......not what I wrote.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I could get back there given some more time, but I took 1.5 hours to write what I have because I did that thing where I started a scene and then accidentally slid into a flashback (about things that happened like FIVE HOURS EARLIER, WTF, Drizz?). I thought about fixing it once I got back from the appointment I had to leave for, or at least finishing the scene and writing until we got to the point where Christian was actually there cuddling up with Vincent on the sofa, because (and I cannot stress the word *shouldn’t* enough here) it shouldn’t take much more to get us there. 

BUT! I have things to do and would like to spend time with my SO, etc. so I decided to just post this as is. It doesn’t adhere to the prompt AT ALL, but there’s an object lesson here:

Sometimes writing is like this. Sometimes you sit down at the computer with a brilliantly clear idea of what you’re planning to write that day. You know everything that’s supposed to happen in the scene and you know the players and you know the motivations and you know all the things you are supposed to know and then...it doesn’t go that way.

And usually that’s frustrating, especially when what comes of it isn’t good or useful or taking you anywhere and you just feel like you had this plan and instead you couldn’t execute it and ended up with a bunch of worthless words and wasted hours. BUT! Sometimes it takes you to a place you didn’t think of, but you’re like...THIS SCENE THAT I HAD NO INTENTION OF CREATING HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL AND I WANT TO EXPAND ON IT AND MAKE IT ITS OWN THING.

Basically, when your writing takes you someplace you never meant to go, you have to ask yourself:

1. Is this place somewhere I actually *want* to be and thereby worth exploring more? Should I keep going down this path a bit further?

2. Is it okay that we detour through here on the way back to the main plot? Should I finish out this scene and then figure out a way to steer us back on course?

3. Is this NOT AT ALL where I want to be and I’m just going to pretend all this writing didn’t happen and start over, following the plan? (If yes, don’t delete what you did, just put it in a separate “for later” doc, because, who knows, maybe that place you went will work just fine in another story or will turn into a story of its own someday).

Explore those tangents, friends. Because no path explored is made of wasted steps or something equally profound that makes more sense.

Vincent shifted a bit as he heard the unmistakable sound of Christian's garage door sliding closed, followed a minute later by the slight creak the inside door made as it swung open. Was it that late, already?

Christian had left earlier that morning, Vincent only half-awake and still mostly delirious from his 6:00 am dose of pain medication. Vincent vaguely remembered a cool hand smoothing the hair back from his forehead and Christian's soft lips pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I'm off to training, Liefje," he'd said, his voice soft and low, as though he were afraid to rouse Vincent from his near-constant sleep. "I left you some fruit and toast, although it might be cold by the time you get to it, sorry. Someone will be here later to check if you need anything, okay? I love you. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Vincent didn't recall what he'd mumbled in response, or if it had been even marginally coherent. He'd slipped back into a fitful sleep before he'd even heard the door click shut behind Christian.

Christian, in defiance of everyone's advice, had insisted on staying home from training for the past few days so he could help Vincent with his recovery. Vincent hadn't minded, of course; it had been nice to have someone around to bring him food and glasses of water and, much to Vincent's extreme embarrassment, help him down the corridor to the toilet. Still, the Premier League season was only just underway and with so many of Christian's teammates newly back to training after the World Cup and several others out with injuries or international duties, Christian's presence in the squad was even more critical than usual.

Somehow, he'd managed to convince Pochettino to let him have three days of leave ahead of their match with Manchester United the following Monday, and today had been his first day back following Vincent's surgery.

He hadn't expected to miss Christian much while he was gone for the day--it wasn't as if Vincent did much of anything besides crashing in and out of fitful sleep in-between his doses of painkillers--but it seemed he'd gotten rather used to Christian rushing to his side whenever Vincent made the slightest commotion.

Toby's wife, Shani, had turned up around midday, bearing gifts of salad and selection of sandwiches. She didn't look in much better condition to make the trek up and down Christian's stairs as she went to refill Vincent's gathering of water bottles and exchanged the dishes left behind from his light breakfast. She was due to give birth any day now, and Vincent wasn't at all sure she needed to be prioritising his care over her own, but she'd waved away his protests.

"This is the first time I've left the house in days," she'd said with a laugh. "Don't get me wrong, I think after today I might be happy to stay shut up indoors with my feet up until all of this is over, but it's nice to have a change of scenery for a time."

Vincent had shifted around on the sofa, attempting to prop himself up into a sitting position so Shani could sit down. She'd done her best to lean over and straighten the pillows behind him, but Vincent had shooed her away.

"No sense you hurting yourself," Vincent had told her. "I can only imagine what Toby would say if he found out if something happened on account of you helping me. Besides, I'm not sure either of us would be in a position to help the other if we both end up falling over or something."

Shani had let out a giggle at that, but she held up her hands and let Vincent struggle through rearranging himself until he was scooted into a sort of half-slouch against the corner and arm of the sofa, leaving half a cushion free for her to settle in.

They'd stayed that way for nearly two hours, talking and laughing as they caught up on everything they'd both been up to in the months since they'd last seen one another. For all that Vincent and Toby had always held one another at a distance, he and Shani had fallen into amiable companionship from the beginning. She was lighthearted and kind and Vincent had always found her easy to talk to. It didn't surprise him that she'd been the one to volunteer to come by and check on him while Christian was away at training, despite her rather advanced pregnancy.

After the fifth time Vincent had nodded off while she was speaking, she levered herself off the sofa and began gathering up the remnant cutlery and containers from their lunch.

"Don't..." Vincent started, a yawn swallowing away the rest of his words. "I mean...leave it all. Christian can clear it up when he gets home. I need to make the long trek down the hallway to the WC anyway, so I'll at least, I don't know, push it all into a pile with one of my crutches or something."

"I should help," Shani said, staggering a bit as she tried to shift her wait to help Vincent to a standing position.

Vincent held up a hand. "No, thanks. Really. I appreciate the offer, but...I'm not sure we're the sort of friends who help one another go to the toilet."

"Fair enough," Shani said with a laugh. "But I should at least stay until you're back and settled."

Vincent shook his head. "At the rate this process usually goes it will be at least another hour. Plus, as we established, if one of us falls down there's not much the other can do. We'd just end up having to call someone to help lift us both off the floor of Christian's hallway."

They both gave a laugh at that thought--two of them flopped side-by-side against the floorboards until they managed to ring up someone to help them up.

"Alright," Shani said at last, her full cheeks pink with laughter. "But you'd better not fall. Christian will never let me hear the end of it if he comes home to find you laying there and me nowhere in sight."

"I'll take all the blame, I promise," Vincent said.

He turned slowly, dropping his good leg off the sofa and onto the floor, then leaning forward to lift the other--still encased in an immobilising cast. Shani grabbed his crutches from where they were propped against the door and held them out towards Vincent so he could use them to push himself up off the sofa.

The whole process was awkward, and Vincent had to give up and crash back down to the cushions once before he managed to get the angle right, but he eventually ended up in a standing position, cool plastic of the crutches wrapped around his forearm, his bad leg bent behind him so his foot could rest on the sofa.

"Thank you again for coming by. I appreciate you taking the time, especially when you should be at home yourself."

"I had to come by. It's the only way I will get to see you since you never come along with Christian when he visits."

"It's..." Vincent started.

"When you're feeling well enough, please come by. I hope by then that I can introduce you to my daughter."

Vincent couldn't help but give her a smile at this.

He shifted his weight so he could press air-kisses to her cheeks--right, then left, then right again. "How could I say no when you ask me that way?"

"So I'll see you soon?"

"Of course. I hope everything goes well. With the birth, I mean. I look forward to meeting her."

Shani flashed him a wide smile, then turned to make her way slowly out the door and down the steps. Vincent followed after her, crutches creaking and thudding as he moved. He hovered at the top of the stairs, waiting until she was out of sight and he heard the click of the door and the soft clunk of the key turning in the latch before he turned to make the long trek down the hallway.

[lucywithlupus]

Top 10 Myths vs. Facts about Arthritis

Top 10 Myths vs. Facts about Arthritis

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Intro

Arthritis is the most common cause of disability in the United States. It affects 23% of the working population, almost 54 million people. And let's don't talk about the elderly population!

Everyone know arthritis exists, its unavoidable. But not many people know what it is or even acknowledge its existence in a regular way.

I was diagnosed with Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis when I was just 13 years old. It was a very traumatic experience for an awkward preteen like me. Not only did I have to deal with the regular dose of cringiness that comes with high school drama, puberty and the discovery of Tumblr, but also this strange condition that I would have not thought of having in a million years was right there, standing at my door like that uninvited neighbour that will sit on your couch, expect to pamper and you just sit there waiting for them to leave.

Only that arthritis never left my side: it was there all day, every day, every single day for the last 6 years.

A short way of putting it, arthritis translates to "joint inflammation", and it is a symptom. You heard me right: arthritis is medically defined as a symptom. It is usually caused by an illness you currently have or had, but it could also present itself independently as a disorder.

In that case, arthritis is any disorder that affects the joints. Joints, being the area where two bones meet, are under constant friction when moved around. The joint capsule (joint sac)and synovium (joint liquid that lubricates the joints) can swell, causing stinging pain, visible swelling and pain, overall stiffness, redness, and limited mobility. It may also result in long term partial or generalized bone loss/ erosion and/ or cartilage loss. The best way I could describe it is having your knees be injected with jelly (ew) and the jelly squeezing your knee into itself everytime you want to get out of bed in the morning, or go up the stairs, or rush to that history class because you are late again.

An article by Social Science & Medicine explains that the characteristics of this disorder and what treatment is most appropriate to use really depends a lot of the time length since diagnosis- aka how long you had the disease-, the socio-economic and social background of the patient and the relationship between the patient and their disorder.

But why does it happen in the first place? As said, it could be another disease entirely isolated from your joints. But no one really knows why this disorder occurs to this day. Some suspect it is caused by genetics, environmental factors, stress, or none of them. No origin, no clear way to get rid of it, simple.

Being a teen with arthritis ain't easy, let's be real. I had to quickly learn how to survive my daily shenanigans as both a maturing, growing woman and handle my joint inflammation all at the same time. It was always confusing for others to realize that I had a medical condition that asked me for extra help every now and then. They also struggled to know what to know, how to react and what to expect. That's perfectly normal, but don't worry I gotcha.

Warning: I am not saying you do any of these nasties, but if you do or know someone who does, make you so send them this for some lovely PEP.

Links below :)

And now, without further ado, here we go Top 10 Myths vs. Facts about Arthritis!

Myth 1: Only old people get arthritis

When people think about arthritis, the first thing that comes to mind is probably your grandparents trying just a little harder to get out of their chairs. It has something to do with their joints, right? And most likely will never get better with time.

Telling people I have arthritis is like dropping an elephant right at their brains, and I can never know what their next move will be. Most of the time, they are shocked, surprised someone so young could carry such an elderly condition.

“Are you kidding?” “That is not funny” “Oh, interesting: you ARE serious”

It's understandable that human curiosity gets in the way of what is coming out of your mouth dear friend. But no, I do not appreciate you looking at me like a circus attraction, look at my knees in an awkward way or just stare into the sky asking the aliens maybe for more things to ask.

Instead, do like when there's fire: stop, drop, roll on the ground back and forth. Maybe not the last two but you get the point. Hold your queries train and be respectful at all costs. We could happily answer your questions without needing to feel attacked and you ignored. We do not owe you an answer, but place yourself in our shoes first beforehand, please!

Fact 1: All walks of life can get arthritis.

There is no scientific evidence that shows a correlation between arthritis incidence and age or sex. The only thing for sure is that osteoarthritis is most common in the elderly (age thee, folks), while other disorders like lupus are more common in young adults and teens (hint: me!).

That's the truth people: there is no such thing as a person that “looks” like they have arthritis. People with arthritis are big and small, tall, medium or short, old or young, fat or thin, thick or slim, work full time, study or not work at all. People with arthritis come from so many places, have different races, colours, hair and body types, religions, lifestyles, families, relationships, places they live in, places to go and places they won't go. People with arthritis can be disabled in other things, visually impaired, mentally challenged or ill, be missing a limb, be blind or deaf or have speech impediments. They have tattoos, some like to dance, paint and sing, others like reading books, watch movies or go outside. Some like pineapple on pizza, some don't (don't set this blog on fire people: make pizza, not war). Some chose conventional medicine, some chose alternatives or none at all. Just like you and me, there are so many types of people in this world, and some of the people you already know and admire are probably going through a rheumatic struggle right now and you never noticed. Arthritis has no shape, no stereotypical mould we follow. Isn't it amazing?

Myth 2: It's a disease.

Words have a lot of meaning, and for this reason, one must choose very carefully about how to talk about someone else's health, especially if you do not know them or what they go through.

Words like “sick”, “troubled”, or “ill” are incorrectly used to refer to arthritis. Sure, I am not going to stand up and run a mile as effectively as the nearest person, but that doesn't you the right to make me feel any less healthy, inferior or weak.

Criticizing my lifestyle and wellbeing choices, how I chose to medicate myself or whether or not I will try these ancient magical fairy dust your family kept buried in their backyard for generations is irrelevant, just like you judging my outfit today. My taste is exquisite, thanks.

So, if you feel inclined to stick your nose into people's property, think about how it would feel if someone had strong opinions about your daily choices. Because living with arthritis is that: daily choices we make to get by, just like anyone else.

Fact 2: It's a medical symptom or disorder.

Yeah, it's true. Not so exciting anymore, right?

The National Institute of Arthritis and Musculoskeletal and Skin Diseases (NIH) defines arthritis as the symptom of joint inflammation, usually a symptom of something else but can also be a diagnosis of its own. It is also defined as a diagnosis of its own that affects the joins. Arthritis can cause joint swelling and pain, overall stiffness and limited mobility, redness and may result in long term partial or generalized bone loss/ erosion and/ or cartilage loss. This is because the joint capsule (joint sac)and synovium (joint liquid that lubricates joints) swell, causing a stinging pain.

So yeah, not a disease. Symptom or disorder it's just fine to thank you.

With that information in mind, maybe you can stop worrying about my business and start focusing on your next time.

Myth 3: There is only one type of arthritis.

Arthritis is an umbrella term to refer to any inflammation of one or more joints. That's it. But that doesn't mean things cannot get a little complicated or confusing.

There are many kinds of arthritis: spondylitis, gout, rheumatoid arthritis, juvenile idiopathic arthritis, reactive arthritis, psoriatic arthritis, osteoarthritis, etc. The list goes on.

The American Rheumatism Association (ARA) determined the criteria for rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis in 1956. The criteria were established by 5 committee members after studying 332 cases in 19 American cities. There are 11 original diagnose criteria to this day (links below!). There are three main possible diagnoses:

       ○ Definite: at least 7 criteria and 6 weeks of joint symptoms

       ○ Probable: at least 3 criteria and 6 weeks of joint symptoms

       ○ Possible: another set of criteria

The main indicator of an arthritic disorder is Rheumatoid factor (RF), which is basically the "good to go" lever that says with utmost medical evidence that you have arthritis. However, other indicators, treatments, and criteria are still sensitive, not specific, impractical and circular. Also, initial studies were mere surveys, misclassification ensued, incorrect tables and comparison squares were used to collect and analyze data, etc.

Over the last 60 years, medicine has developed a more uniform vocab, communication to allow for better comparison, teaching, diagnosis and awareness raising.

There are so many options! That's why we are everywhere, watching you. Have fun knowing that.

Fact 3: Rheumatisms are diverse and unique to all.

Even though arthritis might be looking more like a Wikipedia reference list right about now, it does not have to be ultra difficult to understand that rheumatic conditions like arthritis are incredibly varied and personalized to the patient's body.

Rheumatologists- aka joint doc- have a hard time finding cures and data and pills to give because of this reason. Remaining calm, doing your research on your type of arthritis and letting others know what it is and how they can help you is the best way to pull through!

Myth 4: We need help always.

I remember in high school and a few months in uni, I started calling myself grandma, and consequently, my friends did the same. I thought it was funny, laughing at myself and taking lightly something that I already had to deal with anyways. Plus, it matched my quiet (lie), caring demeanour (also lie lol).

A few weeks ago I realized that that may have been a mistake, as it makes others associate me with an old lady who constantly needs help: whether from doctors, my parents or family, my professors or my friends.

When you have limited mobility 24/7 and you are still a teen that heavily depends on your parents to drag you to your doctor- sometimes literally- give you your meds and scold you everytime you wish to do anything remotely fun, it can begin to build in your developing brain that fears of doing things that have nothing to do with your disease.

You fear to live your safe haven called home, loose that adventurous feeling to party hard and enjoy those sneaky teenage drinks and, deep down, fear for your plans of the future and how some of them might get chucked off your life forever just because you have a rheumatic disorder.

In high school, I used to hate myself for that. I hated myself and my body for not doing what I wanted them to do. To a point where I was delusional: I would tell myself that this was not my body, it could not be, my body couldn't be this weak and fragile. The boy was I wrong!

Also, don't get me started on how people think you are “faking it” because you want the attention and the extra benefits.

Sweetie, next time you (under highly mysterious circumstances) slip in my long list on how wrong you are and you roll down the stairs and break your ankle crying because you won't be able to go to Karen's party next week, call me. We will have some quality time together. Your petty butt, me, panadol and some good pep talk to hopefully make your brain work.

Truth 4: People with arthritis don't need help, always.

No one fakes being sick. No one is that insane, or persistent. Although things like stress and lack of care can worsen inflammation, no one is really faking the reality of the facts.

Sure, I do get help because I am disabled- yes, I am clinically allowed to use that term if I chose you, don't get triggered. That means I am allowed to take shorter queues in supermarkets, take special lifts, use the biggest bathroom stall. Thankfully, we live in a world were now electrical doors, ramps and tons of other aiding infrastructure is available for people like us and more :) Working, studying, medical, recreational, transport, industrial and domestic aid is stepping up its game on that area, and we haven't even talked about non material ways of help! (a new post!).

No friend. I do not need your help right now thank you. I appreciate you trying to bombard me with wonderful ideas on what I should or not do. I understand your concern and I am happy you are trying your hardest to help me. But maybe taking a chill pill and closing all those tabs, having a nice conversation and some tea is the best thing you can do right now.

I have the stuff to do, let's be real. We all do. I am a full-time student, but that doesn't mean I still don't have time to take care of myself and what my body needs. Years of experience have taught me a lot, and so will to you, dear arthritic friend. Things do get better :)

Myth 5: People with arthritis are lazy.

Now we travel to the other side of the spectrum:

“Well, at least you get to chill in bed when you want and get away with it! That sounds like fun to me!”

Yeah, if fun means having to attend blood tests, scans, doctors appointments, pill regimens, and regular checkups weekly, monthly or more in extreme circumstances. And being at home resting is no walk in the park either: you might need to get a higher shelf, you might struggle to fix your pill schedule, you might slip and die and no one will find your lying corpse (ok too much drama, I will calm down).

But yeah, you get the point. People with arthritis have the stuff to get done, sometimes double or triple more stuff that you have to get done on a daily basis. We are not lazy in any sort of way, but sometimes we do get overwhelmed and the need to chill for our own safety. Its normal, healthy and fun.

Fact 5: They are trying as hard as anyone else.

I am not lazy. Everyone that knows me knows I have absolutely zero chills. I enjoy working, shocker! I like learning, getting my stuff together, reading and doing all sorts of things. I also love taking care of my body, researching on how I can help it help me do the things I enjoy so much.

Yeah, I might need a little pushing around sometimes, but that is because of things I cannot control. My joints can have a crisis at any second, and you bet I will not roll on the supermarket floor in agony with my shopping bags when I can calmly proceed to the disabled people line and avoid everyone some trouble- including me.

So please, if you see someone not standing up for the old lady on the bus, do please find her another seat because I can't stand up right now. Work those legs and offer your own seat!

Myth 6: Their problem, my problem.

Living in a time where your private and virtual life constantly overlaps is exciting, but also means that what we perceive as private gets a little blurry.

Again, the whole fairy dust story. This time, a mist of sprinkles and cupcakes or pain and misery blinding you, not letting you perceive reality as it is. Yes, we are getting Neo up in here.

When you tell people you have arthritis, the immediate shock leads them to a very natural place: survival mode.

"You should try this or that!" "Have you considered this? It has Oprah's recommendation, so maybe it will work." "Maybe God is trying to tell you something, better get to work."

"You must be feeling/ perceiving/ doing/ acting/ treating yourself this way. It's the best way!"

There is no such thing as the best way. Scientifically speaking, there are so many ways to treat arthritis, and with all the criteria, surveys and medical information available, it is completely impossible to say to full certainty which of these treatments is actually the best. Maybe Oprah's works for her and some of her fans, but it may not work on my body, and that's ok too. I don't need to feel disappointed that I failed Oprah or anyone, or angry that my body did not react the way it was expected too. I have enough issues to work through already!

So before you aggressively google "how to cure arthritis asap", stop and think about other healthier ways you can vent your worries and actually help us with things we need every day.

Fact 6: Their business is their own.

Ok. This is it. This is the end. In the words of Freddy Mercury, "I don't want to dieeeee, Sometimes wish I'd never been born at all". *epic guitar solo*

You have Arthritis, the Big A. And you have to learn with it and fast, God knows for how long.

Formulating a plan of attack right now may not ease your inner emo right now, but don't sweat it.

Arthritis is no piece of cake, at least it will not be in at least a couple of years. You slowly build habits and coping mechanisms that make those creaky joints just a little better to grip.

So do not come to me with a Shakespearean monologue on how devastated I should be, how my life is over, or worse: how miserable you are for living the unimaginable tragedy of having a disabled buddy. What an incredibly sad event man! How brave of you! I will attend your funeral.

But dress code: facts!

Myth 7: They must be miserable or boring.

Unfortunately, as do other medical issues, arthritis falls under phenomena called invisible illness. These are like those angsty preteens always standing at a 45-degree pose in the school lockers: cold, mysterious, and most of the time unseen. No one bothered to understand them and preferred to go away and check their snapchats streaks as they scoot by.

Arthritis sounds dark and spooky, but I am not sad all the time because of that. Heck, I am sad that my toast gets burnt in the morning, not because I have a life-threatening condition that may or may not stay with me forever! Priorities, people.

I had a hot minute to consider what is important enough to worry about in life. It's part of growing and learning how to cope with this disorder.

So please do not remind me of how sad I must be feeling, or how disappointed my family and friends must be. I am no burden to them, no burden to me and no burden to you, lovely sir. Respect that.

Fact 7: We are fun and approachable.

The angsty teen could have never flowered into a beautiful butterfly goddess without the help of self-worth and friendship. Let's be friends! Let's go out, grab a coffee, talk about the latest gossip or Instagram challenge, watch a movie, a party (with moderation kids), talk in the phone, etc.

Arthritis is hard, and sometimes being open about it with other people your age can be challenging and a struggle. But maybe you can take the lead and show us how fun life can be. Who knows: maybe a lovely friendship will flower.

Myth 8: They must be ultra freaky about everything.

I might not be the most "normal" person in the world, but I am no freaking dinosaur, ok?

Yeah, I take pills, measure my temperature, cancel plans and then remake them because of crisis periods, sit down for a little longer than the average human, etc.

I am not weird or freaky. Sure, I enjoy indie and pokemon soundtracks, but that is aside of the point. We are not here for your entertainment or mean comments about our medical condition.  We do not appreciate being so rudely excluded just because you think you discovered the next cure for cancer or something when looking at us take paracetamol.

Truth 8:  Who wants to be, really?

Relax pal. You will continue your Black Mirror analysis of my life later.

We are just trying to get by. Mean looks or side glances will not help in that process. Get to know us a little better first before putting a magnifying glass at our faces!

Myth 9: They must take huge amounts of commercial medicine.

Warning: I am not your doctor. No degree, no genius, no Jesus. You have been warned.

This is a very touchy subject so bear with me. Whether we take commercial meds is our business. The most common treatments for arthritis are ibuprofen and paracetamol. These divas could be complemented or replaced with a million different treatments, like other medication, natural treatments, nutritional supplements, meditation and diets, surgery or biological agents. The list is literally endless.

How someone chooses to treat themselves is their or their caretaker's concern, not yours. Do not suggest a million treatments at once, you are just confusing us even more!

Commercial medicine is neither good or bad, as long as your doctor or specialist is aware you are taking them. Period. Debate over.

Fact 9: Not necessarily.

Look, guys, it's getting late and I am very lazy right now. I am not about to name and explain every single possible you could take or follow, and I am not going to tell you which is best. Life ain't fair.

Just follow the one you, your caretakers and your specialist see fit. You will have plenty of time to experiment in your own time.

Myth 10: They are all the same.

Short answer: NOOO!!!!

Done.

Fact 10: Shush and listen.

This post is already hella long so I will be short and sweet.

You have ears, use them. Perhaps they are attached to your brain, and your brain has wiggles called neurons, right?

Listen to us arthritis folk. You and we might be amazed by how hardworking, brave, happy, smart, funny, witty and overall badasses we can be if we stick together.

Like Troy Bolton said so gracefully, "this is the last time to get it right, it's now or never". To most of us, that is literally a fact. Enjoy life, what it gives you, what it doesn't and learn to listen.

Listen to your body, to your mind, to others and, most importantly, to yourself.

Aaaand that's all folks! I hope I did not roast you in a permanently bad way or made you feel sad or shocked. Thanks for dropping by and I will see you with future posts!

Links and comments below babies :)

Bye!

References

(1) Yukinori Okada. Genetics of rheumatoid arthritis contributes to biology and drug discovery. Nature. 2013; Available from: https://www.nature.com/articles/nature12873 .

(2) Versus Arthritis. What is arthritis? Available from: https://www.versusarthritis.org/about-arthritis/conditions/arthritis/.

(3) Centers of Disease Control and Prevention, (CDC). Improving the Quality of Life for People With Arthritis

At A Glance. Available from: https://www.cdc.gov/chronicdisease/resources/publications/aag/arthritis.htm.

(4) Frank C. Arnett, Steven M. Edworthy, Daniel A. Bloch, Dennis J. Mcshane, James F. Fries, Norman S. Cooper, et al. The American Rheumatism Association 1987 Revised Criteria for the Classification of Rheumatoid Arthritis. American College of Rheumatology. 1988; Available from: https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1002/art.1780310302 .

(5) Dennis Gray. The treatment strategies for arthritis sufferers. Social Science and Medicine. 1985; 21 (5): 507-515. Available from: https://www.niams.nih.gov/health-topics/arthritis .

(6) National Institute of Arthritis and Muscoskeletal and Skin Disease, (NIH). Arthritis. Available from: https://www.niams.nih.gov/health-topics/arthritis.

[jenroses]

CW: abusive Trump supporters/harassment

So, apparently I'm a grownup.

The people behind me in line at the Walgreens drive-through? Were obviously not.

sexist, fat phobic nastiness behind the cut.

So the drive through is never, ever fast. They're dealing with indoor traffic and outdoor traffic and it just takes time. I was sitting in the shade, moving forward slowly as three cars were helped ahead of me. No big deal.

I get up to the window and it takes a bit for the clerk to get to the mic, and we had two people's prescriptions to pick up, and apparently my doc pushed me to 3x per day on a medication where 1 bottle is 1 week at one dose per day... and I was given two weeks' worth. I didn't know they'd have to mix six bottles ahead of time but it wouldnt' have changed anything, the last time I was in walgreens I ended up gagging with fatigue because they have no electric carts.

So the drive through was pretty much mandatory.

I'm sitting there and I become aware of angry voices behind us, just distant enough that it took me a bit to realize they were yelling about "should have gone inside, fucking Obama supporter fat cunt."

I calmly and quietly flipped them off, and the clerk looked startled. I pointed out what was happening behind me, that the people behind us were hurling invective, and suggested that they take their sweet time filling the prescription.

She looked over just in time to see them flip me off and yell more abuse, and next thing I knew, a manager I've met before was there, looking out, asking if he needed to go beat someone' ass (and I quote). He knows I'm usually in a wheelchair because he's brought things out to me in the parking lot before when I was struggling.

They suggested that we lock our doors and roll up our windows while this was going on, while they were filling the 6 bottles of suspension.

I'm not even sure my heartrate went up much through this, I just felt calm and like... this person is getting super duper angry and excited about something that just IS WHAT IT IS like it's the prescription line, it takes a while, I'm sorry if your prescription for chill pills has run out but there is no possible way of making this go faster. If I'd been inside the same exact people would have been serving me and you'd be waiting just as long.

If they hadn't said a word I would have asked if I could pull up while they mixed it if that would make it faster for people but the minute those people started yelling about liberals I was internally just like, "Nope. You fuckers are ruining the country and I am not going to move a single finger to make your life more convenient or give you the satisfaction of causing me stress and anger."

It felt almost exactly like watching someone else's three year old throw a tantrum.

What do you want to bet they were on some form of public assistance? (Not because that's bad, but because the dichotomy of people supporting Trump while being on entitlement programs never ceases to amaze me.)

Oh, apparently they were also revving their engines, which is like... ??? wtf are you going to do? Drive through my minivan?

So anyway I was called a fat cunt today and just rolled my eyes. I'd say that counts as grownup.

[kokoro4kakashi]

Guh... 

insulin kitty update.

So, it’s been like 6 months or more since we did a glucose curve to see how she’s doing on her current dose of insulin. We tried to do one about three weeks ago but she went thru a picky food week, or something.. of course worrying me... and resulting in half doses more often than I’d like. So, we did lab tests instead to check for anything wrong... nothing was wrong. Should be a yay, but why the food and half dose thing? Ugh... 

So, they say a curve is needed once she’s consistently on full food and full dose for 10-14 days. She was on full food and dose, happily, after that for about 10 days, we called to make the appointment, closest one was a week away... guh, okay... good til a few nights ago - more pickyness, so a few half doses, stressing me out before the curve day...

Curve day was today. (For reasons, we have to shift food and shot time to 7am/7pm on curve days so that means a 5:30am wake up for me, rather than my usual 8:30am wakeup, so imagine my crankiness already.) This morning she didn’t seem to want to eat much of anything. Shit. I keep trying.. she eats like 1/4th of a meal... I’m about to call it as a no shot day and call in to ask what to do about the appointment... try again like 15 mins later, she eats. She eats enough for a full dose, so full dose given and we race off to the appointment. Picky about the time? She wasn’t like that on other curve days :/

Fast forward to 5pm. Doc just called. Readings so far seem fine; she definitely still has diabetes (boo, i was really hoping for remission). Said we’ll prolly stay on this dose but wants to complete the full 12 hour curve so we can pick her up in a few hours. Her pickyness with food? Dunno what that’s about, but so long as we don’t see signs of un-managed diabetes (ravenous for food and water, mostly) she seems to be fine. The store brand food has more calories so she may need less than the two 3 oz. cans, so doc said I shouldn’t lose sleep if she only eats like 75% of the two cans - it’s prolly a full meal for her with those calories. So, sigh of relief there.

She also pees on the litter box mat a lot, which I mentioned, and the doc doesn’t really have an answer for that, suggesting it may be just behavioral, or a reaction to something, rather than connected to the diabetes since her curves are fine. Just keep an eye out for other bad diabetes signs, etc. 

As for me? I prolly sound really stressed out, and I am to a degree, but I think I’m better than I’d usually be in this situation. I had a bad few days a few weeks back, but after getting on some anti-anxiety meds and working on talking myself outta stressful thoughts, I think I’m managing it all better. I still wish she’d be consistent with her food intake and stop peeing on the mat, but I have to keep telling myself the doc thinks her numbers are fine, so I’m managing her care fine, too. 

I also broke out the at home glucose curve test thing today. I abandoned it after our first attempt at home last year cuz she cried at us when I tried to prick her ear like the vet taught me... So, I wanna try sometime after she gets home since she’ll have the little scab where they pricked her. If I have the energy, anyways... I may want to just collapse. Been up since 5:30.

Anyways. Yeah, TL;DR: insulin kitty is doing fine, and I think I am, too.

[journeywithrenee]

Wednesday May 31, 2017

Welcome back to another update from yours truly! 

Physical Updates/Treatment Updates

My fever never came back! I’ve been at a normal temperature all week after the fever fiasco that happened on Friday. On Saturday, I told a nurse that I was sneezing a little more than normal and I found out that my nurses are VERY thorough when it comes to monitoring my health as I got a nose swab and was put into isolation right after I divulged the information haha. Because I told them on a weekend, things tend to run a little slower on weekends in a hospital. I was in isolation (which actually just means that whoever comes into my room has to wear extra gear and will get super hot in said gear) until Monday afternoon. (it turns out I just had some environmental allergies on Saturday that caused some excessive sneezing).

In terms of my vitals, blood counts, liver enzymes etc. it’s been very good! My white blood cell count spiked for a bit (which I said before is not too good at this point in treatment). I’ve been taking pills to bring the number down and I’m pleased to announce that I’ve been taken off those pills today. The numbers are back to normal so I do not need those pills anymore. Because my liver enzymes have been rising and lowering slightly (when I say slightly I mean it’s still in the normal numbers) I’ve been on a full dose of my IV treatment when the number is lower and when the enzymes rise a little, I’m put again on a half dose. It’s been like that for the past few days now where I’m put on a full dose one day and then a half dose the next day. The doctors are trying to figure out the right dosage for me right now. However, I’ve been experiencing minimal side effects from both my pill chemo and my IV chemo which is a blessing from God. 

When I am on treatment, I am unfortunately ver susceptible to fluid retention. That just means that fluid tends to stay in my body and make my joints etc. puffy and swollen (i.e. my legs, ankles, knees). Today was probably most noticeable difference in swelling as it is pretty visible (and I can feel it). I’m trying to move around more (take more walks, stand more, do some exercises etc.) in hopes to lessen the swelling. Because I was put back on treatment recently, they tend to take a certain protocol where they put me on steroids which is also a safety precaution to minimize side effects (I have also been taken off steroids today). However, side effects for steroids means an increased appetite and, you guessed it, more swelling. I got puffy cheeks today haha, need to work on those face exercises. I end this blurb with a big sigh because along with fluid retention and puffiness/swollen-ness comes...yes...you guessed again, weight gain. I’ve been packing on the weight at an...unpleasant rate. The nurses try to make me feel better by saying that it doesn’t look like I’ve been gaining weight haha but I KNOW BETTER. I see the real stats. I just need to suck it up and push all my vain worries to God.  

Spiritually

I’ve really taken a step back and re-examined my outlook on prayer the past three weeks. I think I’m still at the stage where I’m still like “I’m not sure what I’m praying for but I’ll roll with it!” I’ve received two very helpful books on how to pray and different prayers that I can pray every day. It’s still a learning curve for me but prayer has become something of a huge comfort to me as I continue my journey in the hospital. Someone told me that prayer is a lifestyle. I’ve been really trying to embrace this mindset as I’ve never really though about prayer like this before. Obviously I still don’t really know what I’m doing haha but I’m enjoying it so far! I find the prayer I pray the most to myself whether I’m scared of more needle poking, I cannot sleep at night or my neighbour is being too loud (LOL) is “Lord have mercy on me, a sinner.” God’s just like “yup, I’ve bestowed upon you losta mercy because you are most definitely a sinner but don’t worry, I still love you.” Praise the Lord.

Emotionally

I feel like a package hoping to be shipped off at any time. I’ve been guilty at snapping at my parents for predicting the time that I will leave the hospital. I don’t want any false hope nor to I want to mindlessly keep on predicting a day that no one knows when it will come. The doctors don’t know the nurses don’t know, my parents don’t know and I certainly don’t know. God is the only one that knows and I’ve snappily reminded my parents that it’s all in God’s hands. “Can’t we just leave this in God’s hands and stop worrying about it?!” haha, they’ve gotten better with keeping the guesses at a minimum. 

Prayer Requests

Please pray for my body as I continue with treatment, side effects and all the works. I’m living for today because I don’t know what tomorrow will bring me. I’m counting my blessings one by one. 

Please pray specifically for the water retention. Although it is a common side effect, if it continues, it can cause a larger problem for me in the future.

Again, please continue praying for my parents as I am not the only difficult thing they have to deal with in life right now. There are many stresses and unknowns due to my situation. Please pray for courage, strength and renewal. 

Please pray that I will continually grow closer to God and continue to rely on Him.

That is all for now. Thanks for reading! Because of my increased appetite, cravings have increased again and I ALWAYS WANT TO EAT FOOD. I think I’ll go scavenge for a late night snack before I go to sleep. Ciao!

p.s. here is the visitors doc again! https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1l1lTbYhNvtrcDKF8yZiVMurRpW-qINSQSwDkTXNjXW0/edit#gid=0

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Ask D'Mine: Hepatitis and Diabetes, Going Low with the Flu

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/ask-dmine-hepatitis-and-diabetes-going-low-with-the-flu/

Ask D'Mine: Hepatitis and Diabetes, Going Low with the Flu

Welcome back to our diabetes advice column, Ask D'Mine, hosted by veteran type 1, diabetes author and community educator Wil Dubois.

We never know where your queries might take us! Today, Wil's delving into blood diseases and chicken soup...

Need help navigating life with diabetes? Email us at AskDMine@diabetesmine.com

George from Wyoming, type 2, writes: I recently visited my doctor and she told me that I have get an immunization for hepatitis because I have diabetes. I don't practice any high-risk sexual activities, or do drugs, or anything like that. What's up with this? Is my doctor out of line? I never heard of people needing hepatitis shots just because they have diabetes!

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Wow. Those Wyoming docs are really keeping on the cutting edge of diabetes care. Nope, she's not out of line. This is brand-new stuff.

This year, the annual Christmas present from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (the CDC) to the diabetes community was yet another "ya gotta do it 'cause you got the big-D" recommendation.

On December 23, as Santa's elves were starting to load up the sleigh, the CDC issued a recommendation that advised docs that all persons with diabetes who have not already received a Hepatitis B vaccine should get one. Today. Actually, the real wording states that "all previously unvaccinated adults aged 19 through 59 years with diabetes mellitus (type 1 and type 2) be vaccinated against hepatitis B as soon as possible after a diagnosis of diabetes is made."

The CDC has placed their recommendation in "Category A," which is more like a summons to appear before the United States Senate than a casual suggestion. It's medical Defcon 1. Time to go to war.

Why? Because a small task force in the basement of the CDC called the Hepatitis Vaccines Work Group of the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (I couldn't have made that up if I tried) crunched the infection data from a whopping 17% of the U.S. population, and after some statistical magic to level the playing field for risk factors, found that PWDs have 2.1 times the risk of non-PWDs of getting Hep B.

Other than being a PWD, apparently, what're the other risk factors for Hep B? According to CDC: IV drug use (the non-prescription kind); male-on-male sex; and people who participate in old-fashioned Roman orgies, or what the CDC boringly calls "multiple partner sex."

Why do PWDs get Hep B at twice the rate of non-PWDs? Well, no one knows for sure, but it probably has something to do with our crappy immune systems. People with more... I don't want to say "healthier" here... give me a sec... Ah! People with more robust immune systems are more likely to clear the virus on their own, while we PWDs apparently don't, and can develop acute Hep B, which is bad news. Not only can Hep B actually kill you, but it's also a bit more likely to kill you if you have diabetes.

Lovely.

Oh, and if Hep B doesn't kill you (and it doesn't kill most people who get it) it can absolutely damage your liver, which then limits what drugs you can take for all that ails you, and has a very negative impact on your ability to enjoy Miller Time.

But seriously, chronic Hep B infections lead to cirrhosis or liver cancer in about 15% of its victims. Treating Hep B is dicey, difficult, expensive, and loooooooooooong. But it can be prevented in most people with a simple vaccine. As we're twice as likely to get it, the CDC has decided that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Oh, and you PWDs over age 60? Well, that data ain't so strong, so the CDC has issued a "Category B" recommendation for you older D-folks, giving your doc a little more leeway. And what about the young set? Those under 19? They probably already got the Hep B vaccine already as part of their "childhood" immunizations, usually getting the first shot before leaving the hospital after being born.

I work in health care, so I've already had my Hep B shot. Well, actually, it's three shots, but who's counting? But based on the stats I just gave you, if I hadn't already gotten it, I'd be calling my doc now. I don't want to miss out on Miller Time. Or the opportunity to participate in a good, old-fashioned Roman orgy, should the chance ever arise.

Kim from New Jersey, mother of type 1 kids, writes: When my type 1 children get the stomach flu "bug" their sugars go low or even are in good range. Why is this? Does this "flu bug" do something to keep the immune system from fighting itself? It just seems extremely odd that only this "bug" makes my kids go low in range.

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Nope, it's not the bug. It's the chicken soup. Or the Jell-O. Or whatever it is that their poor little stomachs can keep down.

Actually, for what it's worth, most type 1s (well, and type 2s, for that matter) see their blood sugars go UP when they are sick. This is because our bodies release a boatload of stress hormones to fight illness. Ummm... think of it like flipping a switch to turn on a turbo-charger. The body ramps up for the fight. That extra sugar is nature's way of giving the body more energy to fight the good fight. Of course, for those of us with sweet blood, more sugar is the last thing we need.

Having high blood sugar when you're sick can make you sicker, and of course, put you at risk for a high-blood sugar emergency like DKA. So generally, you need to have a sick-day plan that spells out how to safely increase your medications to counteract the stress hormones as you get sick, and how to decrease them again as you get well. Your medical team can help you design a personalized sick-day plan.

But stomach bugs are the exception to the rule. Your body still pumps in all the sugar-raising sick-day hormones, but there's a new element at play that affects the balance of insulin and sugar. When you're throwing up everything you eat, you aren't absorbing as many carbs as usual. In this case, if you leave your insulin levels alone, you can go low.

So there's nothing special about the stomach flu virus. People with the stomach flu just can't and don't eat as much as they usually do.

But wait a sec, you say: I know that they aren't eating hardly anything, so I'm hardly giving them any fast-acting insulin either.

Yeah, I know that, but I'll bet a box of doughnuts and the vial of Novolog needed to cover them, that you didn't change their basal insulin. And that's why they coasted low.

Here's what happens:

For type 1s, we always view our basal insulin as being a foundation of solid concrete, but that's not entirely accurate. Basal insulin should be half of your body's daily needs (50 fast / 50 slow). But what if your body's needs change? If your total daily dose drops, it should drop in proportion. Various things can lead you to need less insulin: weight loss; adding an insulin-sensitizing drug; a significant change in diet; or being sick to your stomach. Most of us can't be bothered, but in theory, when you are eating less—either because you're sick or you're on a hunger strike—you should cut back on your basal insulin as well as your fast-acting insulin.

So flu bug + less food = less need for basal insulin. Or flu bug + less food = lower blood sugar if basal insulin isn't lowered.

Oh, and btw: May I present to you the Persons With Diabetes United Parenting Award? I see you said you have type 1 children. As in plural. As in more than one.

You soooooo deserve an award for all you do on a daily basis. One type 1 kiddo, even when well, is a lot of work. More than one? And sick?

You're a frickin' hero in my book.

DISCLAIMER: This is not a medical advice column. We are PWDs freely and openly sharing the wisdom of our collective experiences -- our been-there-done-that knowledge from the trenches. But we are NOT MDs, PAs, CDEs, or patridges in pear trees. Bottom line: we are only a small part of your total prescription. You will still need professinoal advice, treatment, and care of a licensed medical professional.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

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