Well, just when you think it can’t get any worse...

Thursday was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. I was mostly headache free, and definitely feeling better spirit-wise that I have in a while. I was still a bit “puny” from this recent bout of yuck, but I was up to going over to Stewart’s for a bit. Chris and I stopped in at Wendy’s and I got my fave, a baked potato, a Caesar salad and a frosty. We hung around with Stewart, KoL’d a bit, played a couple of hands of cards - and then I started getting tired first, and then queasy.
I’m queasy a lot these days, so at first I didn’t worry, but as the tired settled in, the queasy got worse, and by the time we got to the car, I knew that it was worse than usual. I had to have Chris pinch my hand all the way home to quell the nausea, and by the time we got home, I knew I’d have to consign Chris to the front room so that I could have the potty to myself.
That was the beginning of definitely one of the worst nights of my life, health-wise. The last time I can remember feeling that bad was when I last had pneumonia. I was in high school, and I almost died. Even then, I wasn’t as sick - “reverse peristalsis-wise” as I was that night. At first I threw up ever hour and half, then every hour, then half-hour, then 15 minutes. Oh yeah, it was lovely.
At 6 am, after the tenth* bout, I woke Chris up (he was starting his new weekend work-all-night schedule and I didn’t want to screw that up) and asked him to take me to the ER. Aside from all the other yuck, my ribs were screaming, my sternum had filed for divorce, and my abdomen muscles were on strike. This illness did not give one happy horse____ - it had called in SCABs.
I thought briefly that I might have food poisoning, bad lettuce, I dunno, but without giving any (more) disgusting details, there were certain “key elements” of typical food poisoning that were not present. Suffice it to say that nothing I’d eaten the day before had digested at all, and my body had processed no food or liquids for at least 24 hours. I felt like I’d been chemically poisoned.
They got me into a room and when the doc finally came, she asked if I’d been exposed to anyone with stomach bugs. That’s when I remembered that at least two of my kids at the libob had been notoriously sick the previous week, and had been borrowing the libob phone repeatedly**.
They hooked me up to an IV and started pumping fluids and fenergen into me - between visits to the potty - yes the fun went on and on and on... They took blood (white blood cell count WAY up), they took pee (sickos), Xrays to check for blockages or other serious intestinal kinks and finally said that it seemed like a stomach bug, but that I was way sicker than I shoulda’ been. Doc finally explored my recent medical history and determined that my seriously undermined immune system was probably the culprit. She STRONGLY recommended that I get a flu shot and a pneumonia shot, and asked if I was certain I’d had my childhood vaccinations and tetnus, because my body would have a hard time handling anything else right now.
Apparently each successive illness and weakness has chipped away at my strength until I’ve gotten to the point where a little stomach flu can put me into the hospital. Lovely.

My family doc told me almost two weeks ago that I really must take some time away from work (both allergy and stress-wise) or I am never going to heal. Spring is right around the corner, SERIOUS allergy season is on it’s way - I’m actually afraid. Of Spring.
But there’s so much to do, and there’s no one to work for me when I need time off as it is (my few remaining volunteers - god bless their dear hearts - are SERIOUSLY overtaxed, Margaret can only work so many hours...) There have been other worries too - a patron anonymously called the STATE LIBRARY to register a LIST of complaints against me, and a caring co-worker did the same thing, but only on a local level, thank goddess. I admitted to my boss that I was definitely guilty of some of the infractions (even the ones I was simply unaware of), and instead of apologizing, I promised to try to be more on my toes, but some of the accusations were lies, and some were ridiculous personal attacks. That is definitely JUST what I need right now.
I’m grateful that my boss was understanding and professional***, and let my past reputation and the library’s success speak for itself. I assured him that I would be more aware of the things that I was letting slip, and try to be more “my old self” as far as the service of the community was concerned. It’s hard though. I am worn so thin.
‘Thing is, I feel like if I leave now, people will think I am running, and you KNOW how that is, especially if you know me. Plus, no captain worth a !#$% leaves his ship, especially if it’s not even sinking. It’s just got a little WIND damage, that’s all...
Short story: More stress.

So, after a day or so of watered down juice and endless Sopranos, I got the strength to get off the couch. I called folks who were expecting me for various reasons to make my apologies, and when I talked to Buffy, she finally spelled it out for me. I have got to take care of myself, or I’m not going to be taking care of ANYthing.

It’s so hard for me to accept that I am this sick. I keep saying “It will pass”, but the fact of the matter is, it has no chance to pass. I realized that the onset of the constant migraines coincided with the installment of the new carpet in the basement. There’s still a mold problem in the building, there will ALWAYS be a dust and dust-mite (my two most serious non-chemical allergens) problem there - not to mention the constant chemical assault of perfume, hairspray, deodorant, cleaning chemicals, and of course, paint and new carpet. As it is right now, both the stairs and elevator of the building where I work are severely toxic to me. The stairs still smell like the incredibly ugly, relatively recent paint job as well as mildew-fest 2005, and the elevator has brand new carpet, which has a similar effect on me as DDT and gasoline to a new baby caterpillar.

There’s something about seeing that IV needle in my arm that makes it all hit home. I experienced the same thing back when I had to have the MRI. That needle and tube were far scarier than being put into that claustrophobia machine.
Things have been the same for so long that I am afraid of making a big change. I am afraid of letting down everyone who was so proud of me for getting this job, and for finally being a “grown-up”****. I’m afraid of being weak, of being seen as weak, of being a quitter, of letting down the people who have depended on me, of walking away from something safe - for once.
But here’s the deal: IT’S JUST NOT SAFE ANYMORE.
The paycheck is nice. Best, consistent one I’ve ever had. But it may well keep me from being able to ever make another consistent paycheck again. My body has been compromised to the point that I really am heading toward the - heretofore humorous - bubble.
When I realized that pneumonia, the flu, the next asthma attack, another 27 - or 2 - kid-borne illnesses could take me out of the picture permanently, I started to realize that I have GOT to find another way.

I am going to try to talk to my boss this week and see if I can go to part-time to finish out this month. We have some programs coming up that are important and I don’t want to leave anyone else (‘cause all of us are overtaxed) holding that ball. The lab needs to be moved, if it’s safe, there’s a lot of grunt-work needing to be done, we’ll have to find and train someone else... There’s a lot to do. But if I can’t get my health back in some sort of decent shape by Spring/allergy season, none of it’s going to matter, at least not to me.

Buffy pointed out that there was a lot going on. Getting off of anti-depressants, X’s new job, house problems (the flooding and plumbing problems continue...), hugely mounting medical bills, money problems, considerations about my life changes... all of this adds stress, which weakens me further. It shouldn’t BE that way - I used to be energized by change. Friends keep pointing out that I’ve changed, I’m not my old self, I’ve lost my sparkle. !#$% that. Is ANYTHING worth that?
I could give up my health, sell my soul for the possibility of 401k security, but what good is a plan for a future if you don’t live to enjoy it, or worse - you live, but your quality of life is !#$%?
I can do other things. I can support myself, I believe that. I’d enjoy that, and I’d be fulfilling my dream and filling my soul - and staying away from people wearing Eau de Death in the bargain. I have GOT to get to that place, I have no choice.
I realized today when I was driving from bank to bank trying to avert a small financial disaster (and getting my truck out of the hospital - my water pump died last Tuesday *sheesh*...), that I really am not my self. It’s a gorgeous day, warm, sunny, and I thought I was going to have to work on my day off and didn’t, and yet I just felt drained, weak and worried. Normally, I’d feel like a million bucks on a day like that. I’d be bubbling over to paint or clean or go for a walk, but all I could manage was the minimum, and I didn’t feel the least enthusiasm for the golden sun and promise of warmth to come. I heard this***** song on my wonderful WEBB and thought “This is how I feel all the time now. This is not me. I am the optimistic one, I am the hopeful one. I get so frustrated with my friends who refuse to see a good side (*ahem* you KNOW who you are...) and they come to ME for hope. I can’t lose that. I can’t afford to. The past would come upon me like a tsunami and I would be lost. I know. I’ve dealt with tidal waves before.

People have called and written and said they’ve read my rant and are worried - thank you. People say that when they’ve heard I was down other folks said to go read my rant. I am so glad that you all care, and that I can come here and keep you posted. Knowing that y’all care means the world to me. And let me say here that Chris has been keeping my head above water in every way. He has been so good to me. I went into his room while he was day-sleeping after his first graveyard shift, and just his eye and the top of his shaggy head were showing. I looked at that one sleeping eye and felt a surge of love so strong it almost hurt. I am lucky and blessed that he loves me and that he can handle what I can’t. It’s not much, but it’s an important little bit. It’s mostly just me (and cleaning the cat-box when I’m nauseous. Vital, believe me.). For those of you who worry and who have prayed or wished me blessings, I have them, and he’s a big part of that. Thank you.

I will keep you all posted. Thank you. I miss you.
-s

*Buffy said “Huh-uhn! I throw up THREE times, my ass in at the Doctors’!” It’s not like I’m hardheaded or anything! Gosh!
** Grrrrr....
***Go fig.
****Well, ok, somewhat...
*****Wishing Wells by Ron Sexsmith

Wishing wells
Are fine in fairy tales
But they've got no business here
Where evil's very real
And children are known
To just disappear

Magic spells
Still hold no currency
Where people are lining up
To sell their dignity
When reality's a show
They'll crawl through mud

I fear sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well
To wish me well

It comes as no surprise
All that rises to the top
Before our very eyes
With each generation expectation drops

I feel sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've a half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well
To wish me well

Tell me when
When will the truth prevail
To clear away all
The smug and smirking juveniles
And save us from all
The blood thirsty thugs

I fear sometimes
We ain't got a hope in hell
I've half a mind to hang the next fool
To wish me well