Hurty Gertie

And my shiny new full time desk-flying job and gold-plated health insurance … maybe I won’t spend 7.5% of my pre-tax income on meds and bills this year … woohooo!

I honestly dont get WTF is wrong with me. 

Yes, it’s hot. Yes, pollen count is INSANE. Yes, I’m stressed (more about that when I can). 

WTF is with my knees? Elbows? Everything – except my scalp. Everything hurts though I’m not that swollen. Ice and Aleve barely touch it. I’m ditching a family vacation this weekend that involves heat and walking about in it. 

At first I feared I was flaring up again, but when I reread my pieces of flare entries, it didn’t match up, symptom wise. (I am so glad I wrote it all down!!)

But I rested my ass off anyway. I just keep getting worse and worse and I’m baffled. I’m finally doing everything right! And yet …

No wonder I’m all swelly and achy (I HATE THE SWELLING). I missed my shot – two shots in a row that I did at a month apart instead of three weeks apart. Well, I have a checkup soon. Will talk about it then.

Just tired and swelly lately. Spring is quickly turning into Summer weather here. Trying to up what I can do while taking it easy enough. Have a plan for working out this summer in the morning before work – must see if I can get the rest of the family more autonomous in the morning so I can do so ….

Took my shot and bananas did it hurt. I hope it helps for how much it hurts. I’m so glad it’s a pretty Gertie-Proof auto shoot plungy thing. I don’t think I could give myself a real shot.

Then again, I didn’t think I could do this, either. And so far … well … I’m still blogging and trucking along with doing my job as a patient. A lousy job sometimes, but keeping on keeping on.

I really need to start taking seriously that being sick is my job. And keeping it straight is, too.

I’ve got the kids routines down – phone on this day, pick up on that day, schedule the follow up three months in advance so I can work around whatever job I have at the moment or expect to have.

My own, not so much. Mostly it’s deal with the run around on the phone with delivery dates and refrigerated packages. I probably should go to mail order on my allergy and other meds just to stop having to go to the pharmacy every damn week (though it’s a great way to pick up rewards points). I have tried to normalize our meds schedules but with my depression med tweaks and everything else it just hasn’t happened.

I managed to get the allergy meds switched to mail order, but not the depression meds. Okay, fine, cool PA wants me to be monitored more closely. I don’t like the dose he’s got me on right now anyway (too high, IMO).

I go to pick up depression meds before I’m out (I’ve been halving my dose by only taking one pill a day now that I have one that works and I reallly don’t think I NEED that full dose) of pills and go home. I don’t read the bottle, but I take it home. Bad bad idea. Read the rest of this entry »

As in, if I have to put another damn thousand dollar into it, I’ll probably sell it first. Especially today.

I’ve been feeling good. AC runs cold, shift gears well, start up hills well and manouver into parking spots okay. Theres a check light or two on, nothing a little blackntape wont do for. Then I fall to bits.

Randomly can’t shift into reverse. Or use the power locks. Or some Damn thing. And I wonder how the old rustbucket even keeps it together.

If only we were as easy to diagnose and overhaul as ol 1K. Plug in a monitor, read the codes, do a fix. Dig out a service bulletin and replace this or that.

Every time I start to think I’m good and I shouldn’t be in pursuit of a job with decent insurance, something gives.

Today my left hand and knees. Stress? Up too late because I was feeling human? All that beef jerky for lunch because I’ve been lazy? Random madness?

Arrrrrrrrgh.

Seriously don’t understand the people sometimes.

I like to back into parking spots. Yes, I’m that annoying person. It’s easier to back in than out for me. When I can walk it, I drive through at the end of the lot so I don’t have to back in or out. Sometimes, when I find a spot at the front of the lot and attempt to back in, it gets a little confusing for people, but I do my best to outstubborn them on very hurty days.

So there’s a spot. SUV has it, is backing out. I pull past and put my left turn signal on. A car comes in behind me, blocking the SUV exit, and starts honking at me. And inching up fast (slam gas, slam brake) and honking. Finally pulls around and starts pointing to my right.

Ah, I’m blocking his handicap spot, and of course he has priority and no one else in the aisle should move until his parked … unless you’re in his way. WTF?

So I pull up a few inches, he screeches into the spot and I back up to block him in. SUV pulls out, I park (in under 30 seconds). I explain to the kidlet in the back that he was honking to talk to me, not because anyone was being dangerous (though I dunno I guess he was being a dangerous ass) which is the standard for using the car horn around here.

By the time I get me, the shopping bags, and the kidlet limped up to the front of the grocery store I still have not seen hair nor hide of Mr Important Handicap License plate (which by the way is in the BACK so how would I read his mind to figure this shit out when he could have, I dunnno, gone around until we cleared out, or he could have pulled along and USED HIS WORDS like I’ve taught various three year olds in my life to do?) get out of his car.

Remind me if I ever get bad enough to need a placard or plate to NOT BE A FUCKING ASS about it.

So I was in a building yesterday (think happy thoughts think happy thoughts) where the elevator was pretty picky about where it wanted to take you. Or, well, me, since you weren’t there.

I was on the almost top floor, and wanted to go to the top floor, so I hit the up button. It dutifully lit, and I waited. And waited. Got out my phone, checked my email, checked the time, fearing lateness. And waited. And waited.

I gave up and hit the down button. It dutifully lit, the elevator woke up, and slid down to my floor.

Entered, hit the top floor button. Doors slid closed. And I waited. Nothing.

I hit the ground floor button. Gears shifted, I went down.

Got there, took on passengers, went all the way back up.

Note to self: if I’m going to spend any amount of time in that building, bake in stairwell time. I don’t like elevators that don’t do what they are supposed to be doing …

Is unwelcome.

I often have a few good days and don’t even notice.

Until they’re bookended by really shitty ones. Now it’s bug bites, infected and hot and red. I ould have sworn I showered right after yard work. I guess not. Ugh.

Longer pants to yardwork, super shower afterwards. Dammit.

Of course since I don’t have a sane insurance plan or work schedule right now, I ended up at urgent care – especially since this had happened before.

It was quite a talk to talk them into prescribing me a topical antibiotic (like the rheumy did last time) but he did, on the condition that if it didn’t help I’d take the horsey pills of antibiotic. And follow up with my rheumy.

Day two and it’s helping, but not because I’m following directions – I’m putting it on twice a day like my rheumy prescribed me to last time.

I need to change my situation. Get out of these spirals of funk and reclaim my mobility.

There is nothing that inspires my confidence in mechanical equipment like a big orange sticker on elevator doors that read DO NOT USE DO NOT REMOVE THIS NOTICE … okay I take it back. One that has been partially and unsuccessfully removed … that inspires even less.

So I push the up button and the kidlet and I place our bets on which of the two elevators will come first. I bet on the broken one that the kidlet hasn’t noticed. Kidlet’s comes first.

We go up, we get done, we go down. But you really have to push the buttons and they don’t always light up …

I think it’s a good thing our regular appointments are only on the second floor – we might need to start taking the stairs. I seriously dislike the idea of getting stuck in an elevator that doesn’t work very well alone, never mind with a kidlet.

It’s amazing how dependent I am on elevators now … stoopid PsA.