#ROW80 POST 6 – DESIGNED BY VERSACE?

Okay, another Wednesday check in missed. I promise to get back into the groove. We've been blabbering a lot over here about personal freedoms and Civil Rights and of course, I jump in with my Constitutional and Bill of Rights hooey, as I understand it. And, pray tell, what on this here blue-eyed world does Versace have to do with all of that. Why, not a damned thing, but this has been on my mind, because I know people who have had their freedoms and rights curtailed because of past mistakes. I don't think it's fair, but there sure is one hell of a lot of judging going on by people who probably need to take a good, stiff look in their own mirrors. Right. Maybe if I get to Be World King or Poobah. I'd make a bunch of shit change. First thing I'd do is fire Rick Scott and send him to Devil's Island. Dreyfus went there, so it's plenty good enough for Rick Scott and the French can keep him.

Neener, neener and ha ha ha, Rick Scott. You couldn't deport me after all, ya jackleg. 

Anyway, I went to my doctor who is wonderful. She has some unpronounceable last name, so she's Dr. K to everyone, even herself I think. Everything looks pretty good. The usual. “You have anemia, low potassium.” She said to me. I hear that every time I have blood drawn. “Okay, I'll keep taking my B-12 injections and double up on the Niacin and Potassium. I weigh 104 pounds. After being 79 lbs and fighting back to this weight, I've been here for a year. Great news. No cholesterol problem or anything like that. Yay! Time for 12 dozen deviled eggs!

What was unexpected was this: the presence of antigens in my blood was off the charts. I have to go to an allergist. Well, shit. Then, Dr. K, being the awesome doctor she is, said, “You do know that Parkinson's Disease is an autoimmune disease.” Nope. I did not. I know it's a neuromuscular and psychological disease, but the autoimmune thing threw me. I've never been allergic to anything. So, oh boy! A new doctor to go to! Someone else to annoy! The next day I went to the Dermatologist and had a bunch of cancers zizzed off. The one on my lower right lip looks splendid. Kinda a Popeye thing. I look like I've been dipping snuff.

I think I broke the camera when I took the lip pic; here's a picture of our stove that I took in the dark. At around 1 am-ish. For no particular reason.

Part of my lip fell off into my lap onto my keyboard the other day and I was all, AAAHHHHH!!! I have leprosy!!!! AHHHHHHH! JC was napping on the couch. He thought we were having an air raid. Geeze. The Dermatologist was funny and cool. The good doctor reminded me of some beachcomber that got lost and ended up in a medical suite. Colorful shirt, Loose dockers and very laid back. He came in and we talked; he noticed my braces on my arms. I had carpal tunnel in both wrists, but my right hand was broken, the little finger and the 3^rd finger knuckles were crushed. I spent 12 weeks in a cast.

So, as I'm peeling off the hardware, he starts looking at my hands and upper arms, then he notices my right hand and knuckles. He said, “How did this happen?” I kind of blushed, and then said “In a fight, doctor.” He looked at m, and grinned. “I'm guessing by the condition of you hand and the fact that you're standing before that the other guy is no longer among the living?” I looked at him and laughed. “Well, in a manner of speaking. That whole payback thing...”

So, he took care of all the little barnacles and the bigger ones that are in fact, basal cell carcinomas, the most benign form of cancer (if you can say that and not sound totally silly.) But, you can't ignore them, either. I had one on my left bicep and I ignored it for years. When I finally had it removed, the damned thing was deep, nearly to the bone. I have a scar that was cleverly sculpted like my bicep. Lesson? Don't ever wait. I was still playing and I put black medical tape around my bare arm, as I wore a velvet spaghetti strap gown until it healed all the way and it took months. Stylish!

I thought of this Versace thing because no one's Parkinson's Disease is like anyone else's Parkinson's Disease. I keep hearing about all sorts of different symptoms and some of them I have and some I don't. Likewise, I have symptoms that no one else seems to have. We all share some sort of generalized stuff, but then we put our own “spin” on things. I suffer mostly in my upper body, which includes my head, especially my brain. I can still walk and do a sort-of run pretty well.

Race-walkers; so competitive. Once you get over how ridiculous it looks, you get drawn in by the race to the finish line. They always take it down to the wire; I guess it's the nature of the sport. Fun!

Of course, we already know we can kiss the eyesight goodbye. It's 20/20 in both of them, but not at the same time; it's like a really crappy kaleidoscope. If I am able to focus, then my brain refuses to see 1 of anything. It sees 2. Go figure. I'm so used to this, if by some miracle it could be fixed, I'd walk into everything in my path. As of now, I have no “path,” I just walk kind of sideways, but at least there is forward motion. It's rather more like a controlled fall. The only time I came close to losing it was when the neurology intern took away my cane and made me walk up and down their hall. I should have gotten whackamole back and beat her about the head and shoulders! What a jerk!

Not "millions," you moron. I said "billions." It's "billions of lives are at stake! No wonder you can't talk!

Now, talking is getting to be a riot. My voice is getting weak and hoarse and I get tongue-tied and stutter at times. JC doesn't hear very well, so I get to make all the phone calls. Last night, we decided on pizza; Dominos. Oh goody! I not only get to call them, there's the added pressure (put on me, by myself) of making sure the order is right. So, I'm excited. When I experiencee any type of extreme emotion (C'mon, it's ONLY pizza, for God's sake. You're not Jack Bauer and millions of lives are not at stake!) I start getting tremors... everywhere, pretty much. So, after I've successfully leapt the hurdle of ordering, I now have to provide the dreaded debit card number. I open my mouth and say, “lBlurk grik orutu lljljll no?” JC hollers from across the room, “Good God, why are you so tongue-tied?” (He's still getting used to this.) I can't help it. I just burst into laughter. Laughter is good for PD, or Parkies. It's like crack. We produce endorphins when we laugh. The guy on the phone is all, huh?

Getting JC to smile for a picture is impossible. You have to sneakphotograph to get this! He's talking to an old friend and all they do, is laugh. Works for me. JC, savior of cats and love of my life!

I explained to him what was up with me and said, “you gotta admit, it's funny.” So, he started to laugh, too. I was able then to give him the card number and we chatted for a few minutes. He's recently lost his job in the construction industry, where he's worked for over 20 years. I said, “Oh, I am so very sorry. I hope you land something soon.” He said, “Lady, you're amazin'. I wish you well. It'll be okay.” I said, “I know; it is already. Take care.”

So, this whole thing is like Florida and Michigan weather; if you don't like your current symptom, wait 5 minutes, it will change. Some of them are just flat-out annoying and ridiculous. My favorite was the 3-day festival of underside-tongue-tip-twitching. And that was all that was going on. It drove me bonkers. I mean, WTF? I've heard of similar stories from other people. Another top 10 in the hit parade is the Pseudo Bulbar Affective Disorder. Just the name is enough to give you tics. What it is, is this: you cry at nothing, and you laugh at everything inappropriate, or in questionable taste. Huh? I would just call that a matter of taste. Guess what? There's a pill for it. Like there is for Asperger, which I've had all my life. I call that “doesn't play well with others.” My teachers called it that, as well. So, doctors, you can keep your pills. The side effects are bad; “sightings of the dead, levitation, horn and cloven hoof sprouting.” I'll pass.

One other thing that happens and has since I had my psychotic break is dementia (and who doesn't love a little dementia? I have friends who say they can't tell the difference) caused by my precipitous drops in sugar. It will go from 150 to 47 in less than 30 minutes. At first, I didn't recognize the signs and it would hit really hard. I couldn't recognize things, I felt like I was seeing God, that I was dying and every neuron in my body would fire at once. As soon as I drank some orange juice, it would stop. I am not diabetic and this is very common. The lack of Levo-dopa (the chemical that helps to regulate our autonomic functions) that my brain no longer produces causes this and a whole host of other really neat-o, keen and fun stuff. Like heart rate, (about 120 beats a minute) and a bunch of other junk I can't remember now.

So, I have all this great stuff: Parkinson's Disease, which in fact caused my Bipolar I disorder, Asperger and somehow this Pseudo Bulbar Affective Disorder latched on, most definitely with the PD, because I didn't cry a lot. My mom wouldn't allow it, and it's a habit I carried into adulthood. I've always laughed, so, I guess I just picked up the other half, but I didn't truly start all of this until after my psychotic break which was caused by my PD to begin with. Round and round. Very chic, designed just for me; and if I don't like it, I wait. Generally, my health is good, even with bits and pieces falling off. I fell last night for the first time in over 2 years. I caught myself and landed on my right knee and it hurts like a BITCH! But, I don't feel that crisis of confidence when I was falling all the time. I'm strong now and just have a sore knee to go with my lip leprosy.

A little note here about Sunday's Check in. I am privileged to know a wonderful gentleman, by the name of Terry Carroll. He has published a truly awesome and charming book called “Among the Fourth Graders.” He has been generous and kind enough to send me my very own, hardback and signed copy (SQUEE!) and 3 paperback copies. I am going to be quoting some excerpts and reviews (it's flat out marvelous) and I'd like to interview him, I would love you all to stay tuned and we'll have a book give-away!

 

ROW 80 4th QUARTER POST 9 – NEURON CENTRAL AND TV

Well, I had a thought, but it got lonely and left. It’s been that sort of morning. Fuzzy, unfocused. Interesting dreams. In one of them, Governor Moldemort, was on the television bellowing about how all the fine citizens of Florida needed to quit running over, killing and eating all the squirrels. JC, in his usual forthrightness, hollered at the TV, “What a dumbass!” I screeched out, “That’s telling him!” and woke up. Every limb is zinging. I look at my toes. My right batch of toes look like crushed up peanuts. My left ones look like the cat’s toes when you tickle them, all spread out. WTF??

I lay back down and RIGHT then my brain decides I need to be treated to a variety images of shoe racks for the next, oh, hour it seems like, every time I close my eyes. Of course, this comes with an interestingly frantic sound track of that horrible 50s music that we were all treated to in some class or other, when the teacher had no lesson plan, an extra projector and a spare reel of “Cavalcade of Road Graders Through The Ages.”

The giant screechy thing is exciting; the film was not. On the plus side, I think the music was written by the last of the great "Amphetamine" school of composers, who sadly died at the age of 13, after staying up for 72 months. He wrote 948 symphonies. They all sucked. His name was Benny Something-or-other. We studied him in Roger Muti's Music Boredom class 102. Next week, I transferred schools and my sanity to somewhere else.

Even as an 8-year old, I found this selection of music hysterical. Some serious voice would intone, “The road grader is a magnificent feat of the highest in mechanical technology… blah, blah, blah,” and the string sections would be playing some frantic, frenetic, pretend-happy Leroy Anderson-style scale thing, complete with xylophone and 64^th notes…beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle-beedle. Ad infinitum, ad nauseam, up and down the fingerboard, for the entire film.

Yes, I've played in this; I've also played in it's more horrible cousin "Cascading Strings," or "Castrating Strings," as I called it; I have my standards. I am an artiste. 

So, this is not making for a restful time. The hours are ticking by. At least I know why I can’t sleep now and don’t feel so crazily out of control as I did, when this all started happening. Still, I am unable to fall into slumber. I notice something kind of cool. With my eyes closed, my brain remembers how to “track.” My eyes don’t do this when they’re open. So, I’ve figured out how to scan from right to left, with my eyes closed. Now, I can “see” a “panorama” of the shoe rack that my brain is treating me to by scanning from right to left! Now, I’m all excited. I wonder why this doesn’t work when my eyes are open; why my eyes don’t work in tandem. It’s not just that; my brain “sees” one image; it sees 2 and it has for years, even before I went blind; sadly, I have “slacker” brain.

Well, still getting the Leroy Anderson track. Brahms would be nice. I keep seeing shoe racks, then a scramble like a bunch of ions on a TV tube. Channel changing? More shoe racks. Shit. No cable here. This would be a nice time to mention that we have no television. We huddle around my computer monitor, like cavemen around a fire at the Dawn of Man. Being Old Crocks is a primeval business. While we char roasted beast or squirrel, in spite of Governor Crowbar’s abjurements, we watch the very best shows that Crackle, HuluPlus, or Amazon Prime have on tap. Lately, it’s been “Lost” Season 2, so we’re going tribal right now. We’ve been to visit Jack Bauer and Angel.

I find now that I’m writing I pay much more attention to the structure of these stories and how the characters themselves react. I find Angel to be fascinating. The idea of grace through redemption is so oddly comforting and beautiful and pure to me, after decades and years of evil. He truly understands that he has a mission to fulfill at huge cost to himself. Even Spike, though his motivations, towards the end of the series seem a bit less pure, deserves his chance at redemption. He wanted a soul. As people, as men, they are fleshed out; they bicker, fret over trivial stuff and when they have to, they step up. They try not to fail. Their characters work. Maybe because the series  itself is only 5 seasons long. Still, I wanted more of “Angel.”

Jack Bauer I also love; however, by Season 8 of “24,” his only redemption, as a character comes in what he does at the very end. I am not spoiling this for anyone, especially those people named, ahem, Andi-Roo, but up until that last, through seasons 5 through 8, though entertaining as all hell, he gets, well, predictable. As all hellz and kickass as he is, alas, it got old for me. I found myself saying, “Ah yes, the old Jack (fill in the blank) move.” As wonderful as the show and as complicated and, unfortunately, dead-on as I think some of the geo-political nightmares depicted truly are in that series are, it went on  too long. What Jack did at the end made all of the same-old, same-old okay. Chloe flat-out rocked.

We are only into the 2^nd season of “Lost,” and frankly, I already have about 47 million questions, but I’m not familiar enough with the landscape right now to ask. I like how the characters are seemingly connected prior to the plane crash. Whether or not, J. J. Abrams and David Fury can really pull it together with subtlety remains to be seen. David Fury is the one constant with the 2 prior shows and I admire his work. If his name is on a show, I want to watch it. The same for Josh Whedon and several others. As I stated earlier, I never really started paying close attention to writers, directors and show runners before my own attempts at writing and I’m learning from this; it’s amazing. I may be an infant when it comes to celluloid, but I do understand enough about thematic structure and literature to know when I am in the company of some people with pretty solid writing chops. These are a few of them, to say the least. And of course, that also includes my dear AR. She writes the hell out of her bloggy-blog.

Well, this was not where I was going with this post, but my brain wanted to go here and so here we are. SDBN, Now With Added Moms tomorrow (link) and Sunday check in here on “Homeless.” No riots or stabbings scheduled here on Nebraska Ave,33605, but you never know. There’s a BBQ later. We may have some unscheduled muggings.

OH SHIT! We're all dead now! Governor Crowbar told Florida to quit eating vermin. We'll be extinct by sunset!