Okay, so I heard some encouraging news on the way to work this morning. And the only reason I REALLY started paying attention (my mind tends to drift over my to-do list in the mornings, rather than concentrating on the radio) was because they mentioned Portland, Maine, and that's where Scott and I spent part of our honeymoon.
So, anyway, the reporter went on to say that there's "overwhelming evidence" that Vitamin D rocks the house in terms of giving your health an overall boost. No surprise there, really, because I've heard many folks talking within the last few years about their doctors encouraging them to take Vitamin D, or D3. So, that part to me wasn't news. Here's the fabulous part. According to the guy quoted in the story, Dr. Michael Holick of Boston University says that
"...if people boost their vitamin D levels, they'll be substantially less likely to evelop not only osteoporosis but also many types of cancer, heart attack, diabetes (both types), autoimmune diseases such as multiple sclerosis and rheumatoid arthritis, Alzheimer's, autism, even tuberculosis and the flu."
Then some other doctor-types go on to pooh-pooh the idea, but I'm not listening to them. (Fingers in the ears:) La la la!!
So, okay, I was super excited to hear this, because, as we are familiar, The Sun for folks with MS is commensurate with a meeting with Beelzebub himself. Eyes go blind, major fatigue sets in, and what was to be a fun boat outing with the family turns into all day Welcome Back Kotter reruns in the A/C. So Vitamin D through sun exposure is kind of not-an-option for the MS'ers. So, what to do? Dose it up!
The main Up-With-Vitamin-D-Doctor in this story takes 3,000 IUs of Vitamin D every day, which is a little over the top, considering the current recommended dosage is 200 IUs for adults 50-70. But, hey, he seems to be alright, save for the minor eye and nose twitching. (Kidding!)
So, if you're interested, here's where I got my intel. Now YOU can learn more about The Amazing Wonder Vitamin, and hop up your family on Sunshine in a Bottle, too!
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=125226703
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Simiansurance
Okay, so I intended today to blog about the constant Thorn In Our Sides, commonly referred to as Health Insurance. But honestly? I could hardly summon the energy to THINK about writing about a topic so yawntastic as insurance, much less ACTUALLY write about it. So, I decided to write about monkeys instead. I hope you don't mind.
So, I was at this girls' retreat at Lutheridge in Arden, NC, a few weekends ago with a few friends from church. On Saturday night, we had a pajama party, complete with requisite karaoke, a craft table (joy of joys!), and a chocolate fountain for dipping your strawberries/head in. During the PJ party, we also had the opportunity to strut our stuff on the catwalk for an official-ish Pajama Fashion Show. Knowing this information ahead of time, I carefully packed my flannel sock monkey pajamas with matching slippers. And a rubber monkey mask from the 70s that is SURELY on a Halloween recall list somewhere. Regarless, it didn't fit my fat melon anyway, so I just strapped the thing jauntily atop my cranium and off the runway I went. Let's be clear the purpose of this entry is NOT merely to give me a platform to gloat that I took first prize. No, no, no. (Although, if you are interested, I'll let you wear my first-prize angel wings and matching fuzzy halo.) My friends, the reason why I give you all this information is so that you'll have background info for what happened next.
There's no reason to lie here: I was mighty proud of my angel wings, and shocked at winning the prize. Those who know me know that my winning a pageant of ANY kind is ludicrous. However, who wouldn't want a new pair of angel wings? But, I digress.
So, I'm sauntering around the snack table, my trophy wings flappin' in the breeze, when a fellow camper came up to me and said, "Have you ever heard of the monkey curse?" I'm tellin' ya, NOTHING can take the wind out of your sails after a big victory like the word "curse."
"Why, no...I haven't", I said, "but I'm intrigued!"
She proceeds to tell me that there are some--including her--who are afflicted with this curse, and she thought I might be a candidate as well. These Monkey Curse People, for whatever reason, come across this word every day. She said once I started to pay attention to it, I would hear "monkey" or see "monkey" every day of my life.
So, here I am, wearing a halo, being told I have the Monkey Curse. I'm thinking this is something I should pay attention to, because this is NOT an everyday occurance.
I heard the word "monkey" a lot the rest of the night, for obvious reasons. I looked like Cornelius from Planet of the Apes, for Pete's sake. So, I wrote that off as coincidental.
But, there we are, in the mess hall the next morning, eating breakfast. I hadn't told any of my friends about what the Camp Oracle had told me about My Future. I heard some "congratulations" from other campers that morning, but not a'one of them mentioned the M word. Just then, a girl from my group asked a fellow camper to take a group shot of us before we went home. We all squooshed together in the usual girl-photo-smoosh pose, and someone handed our photographer the camera. Just as we flashed our pearlies, our new friend chanted, "Okay, on the count of three say 'monkey!' ONE. TWO. THREE. MONKEY!!"
You're kidding me.
Who SAYS "one, two, three MONKEY?"
Seriously!?
So, that friends, was Day Two of Living-With-The-Curse. The lady was right; I'm plagued. The M word is everywhere, and I can't escape it. I hear it all the flippin' time, and if I don't hear it, I see it on a cartoon, or a billboard, or a website...so with the wings have come the cursedness. It's a rough price to pay. But I'll TAKE IT.
So, I was at this girls' retreat at Lutheridge in Arden, NC, a few weekends ago with a few friends from church. On Saturday night, we had a pajama party, complete with requisite karaoke, a craft table (joy of joys!), and a chocolate fountain for dipping your strawberries/head in. During the PJ party, we also had the opportunity to strut our stuff on the catwalk for an official-ish Pajama Fashion Show. Knowing this information ahead of time, I carefully packed my flannel sock monkey pajamas with matching slippers. And a rubber monkey mask from the 70s that is SURELY on a Halloween recall list somewhere. Regarless, it didn't fit my fat melon anyway, so I just strapped the thing jauntily atop my cranium and off the runway I went. Let's be clear the purpose of this entry is NOT merely to give me a platform to gloat that I took first prize. No, no, no. (Although, if you are interested, I'll let you wear my first-prize angel wings and matching fuzzy halo.) My friends, the reason why I give you all this information is so that you'll have background info for what happened next.
There's no reason to lie here: I was mighty proud of my angel wings, and shocked at winning the prize. Those who know me know that my winning a pageant of ANY kind is ludicrous. However, who wouldn't want a new pair of angel wings? But, I digress.
So, I'm sauntering around the snack table, my trophy wings flappin' in the breeze, when a fellow camper came up to me and said, "Have you ever heard of the monkey curse?" I'm tellin' ya, NOTHING can take the wind out of your sails after a big victory like the word "curse."
"Why, no...I haven't", I said, "but I'm intrigued!"
She proceeds to tell me that there are some--including her--who are afflicted with this curse, and she thought I might be a candidate as well. These Monkey Curse People, for whatever reason, come across this word every day. She said once I started to pay attention to it, I would hear "monkey" or see "monkey" every day of my life.
So, here I am, wearing a halo, being told I have the Monkey Curse. I'm thinking this is something I should pay attention to, because this is NOT an everyday occurance.
I heard the word "monkey" a lot the rest of the night, for obvious reasons. I looked like Cornelius from Planet of the Apes, for Pete's sake. So, I wrote that off as coincidental.
But, there we are, in the mess hall the next morning, eating breakfast. I hadn't told any of my friends about what the Camp Oracle had told me about My Future. I heard some "congratulations" from other campers that morning, but not a'one of them mentioned the M word. Just then, a girl from my group asked a fellow camper to take a group shot of us before we went home. We all squooshed together in the usual girl-photo-smoosh pose, and someone handed our photographer the camera. Just as we flashed our pearlies, our new friend chanted, "Okay, on the count of three say 'monkey!' ONE. TWO. THREE. MONKEY!!"
You're kidding me.
Who SAYS "one, two, three MONKEY?"
Seriously!?
So, that friends, was Day Two of Living-With-The-Curse. The lady was right; I'm plagued. The M word is everywhere, and I can't escape it. I hear it all the flippin' time, and if I don't hear it, I see it on a cartoon, or a billboard, or a website...so with the wings have come the cursedness. It's a rough price to pay. But I'll TAKE IT.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Fatigue with a Capital F
First of all, thanks a bunch to all of you who've commented, either publicly or privately, about the new blog. It's great to get feedback of any kind, and I appreciate your going out of your way to let me know what you think. Keep those notes a-comin'!
Secondly, I'd like to set the record straight on something: most of the time, I'd rather be sleeping. Contrary to what many of my closest friends may think, I'm generally a low-energy person. It's true, I do squawk an awful lot, and have been known to bouts of tom-foolery which may lead to madcap laughter on all sides, but, seriously? Having a lie-down would be preferable. I very much admire, and even aspire to be, those persons who call themselves "Weekend Warriors" who can design, sketch, and build an entire boat on a Saturday so they can take it sailing on Sunday. I love those people. I could watch them all day. But my idea of the perfect weekend, especially during the winter months, involves any mixture of the following: a blanket, a book, a cup of coffee, a board game, a movie, good food, and a magazine. Gently stir; repeat.
However, real life involves much more energy than my perfect weekend scenario requires. And boy, howdy, is it exhausting.
But here's my point, for those of you patient enough to wait for it: So, if I'm THIS tired, and I'm NOT the one with MS, then what the holy mackarel is Scott dealing with?
There are a lot of symptoms that come packed into the suitcase of Multiple Sclerosis. Everyone's suitcase comes packed a bit differently, but the one symptom that seems comes folded up nice and neat in every MS patient's luggage is Fatigue. With a capital F.
Scott says he's constantly tired, even shortly after he gets out of bed in the morning, and even after he's had a full 8 hours of those precious Z's. Whenever I say, "I KNOW! I'm beat,too! I'm about to fall asleep just standing here!", that's when he gives me "the look", and I know his "tired" beats mine, and I need to shut the heck up.
Through a friend who also has MS, Scott learned of a site called www.multiplesclerosissucks.com, It's not for everybody, but it appeals to Scott's and my sarcastic, cynical sides. On that site, the author details what he refers to as "Beer Theory", which is a callback to the "Spoon Theory", which you can read about here (www.butyoudontlooksick.com/the_spoon_theory). Here's the upshot of either version of the story:
Every day, you wake up with a limited number of spoons/beers that represent all the energy you will expend during an entire day. Each spoon/beer in your account will buy you, for instance: a trip out of bed, a 10-minute shower, a quick teeth brushing, a comb through your hair, etc....so, by the time you get to the kitchen, you've spent half your beers/spoons, and haven't even eaten breakfast. When Scott and I first read this theory, it made sense to us both immediately. "That's it! That's EXACTLY how I feel!" he said. Simple concept for a difficult thing to describe. YAYYY for simple!
As some one living with living with someone who has MS, especially since that someone still has full mobility, a full-time job, and is otherwise "healthy", it's sometimes easy to forget there's anything "wrong" with Scott at all. He's the same goofball I fell in love with more than a decade ago. So, whenever he says he's "tired", it's easy for me to try to join the club and bemoan how exhausted I am, because I worked all day, then picked up the kids, then grocery shopped, then cooked supper...the usual things that make us ALL exhausted during the day. But the thing I need to be mindful of is this: my tired does not equal his tired. When I say I've had a rough day, his has been rough before he gets down the stairs in the morning.
So the next time any of you run into me and I happen to yawn or mention how worn out I am, here's your golden opportunity to give me the "look" and tell me to shut the heck up. Scott? You're Welcome.
Secondly, I'd like to set the record straight on something: most of the time, I'd rather be sleeping. Contrary to what many of my closest friends may think, I'm generally a low-energy person. It's true, I do squawk an awful lot, and have been known to bouts of tom-foolery which may lead to madcap laughter on all sides, but, seriously? Having a lie-down would be preferable. I very much admire, and even aspire to be, those persons who call themselves "Weekend Warriors" who can design, sketch, and build an entire boat on a Saturday so they can take it sailing on Sunday. I love those people. I could watch them all day. But my idea of the perfect weekend, especially during the winter months, involves any mixture of the following: a blanket, a book, a cup of coffee, a board game, a movie, good food, and a magazine. Gently stir; repeat.
However, real life involves much more energy than my perfect weekend scenario requires. And boy, howdy, is it exhausting.
But here's my point, for those of you patient enough to wait for it: So, if I'm THIS tired, and I'm NOT the one with MS, then what the holy mackarel is Scott dealing with?
There are a lot of symptoms that come packed into the suitcase of Multiple Sclerosis. Everyone's suitcase comes packed a bit differently, but the one symptom that seems comes folded up nice and neat in every MS patient's luggage is Fatigue. With a capital F.
Scott says he's constantly tired, even shortly after he gets out of bed in the morning, and even after he's had a full 8 hours of those precious Z's. Whenever I say, "I KNOW! I'm beat,too! I'm about to fall asleep just standing here!", that's when he gives me "the look", and I know his "tired" beats mine, and I need to shut the heck up.
Through a friend who also has MS, Scott learned of a site called www.multiplesclerosissucks.com, It's not for everybody, but it appeals to Scott's and my sarcastic, cynical sides. On that site, the author details what he refers to as "Beer Theory", which is a callback to the "Spoon Theory", which you can read about here (www.butyoudontlooksick.com/the_spoon_theory). Here's the upshot of either version of the story:
Every day, you wake up with a limited number of spoons/beers that represent all the energy you will expend during an entire day. Each spoon/beer in your account will buy you, for instance: a trip out of bed, a 10-minute shower, a quick teeth brushing, a comb through your hair, etc....so, by the time you get to the kitchen, you've spent half your beers/spoons, and haven't even eaten breakfast. When Scott and I first read this theory, it made sense to us both immediately. "That's it! That's EXACTLY how I feel!" he said. Simple concept for a difficult thing to describe. YAYYY for simple!
As some one living with living with someone who has MS, especially since that someone still has full mobility, a full-time job, and is otherwise "healthy", it's sometimes easy to forget there's anything "wrong" with Scott at all. He's the same goofball I fell in love with more than a decade ago. So, whenever he says he's "tired", it's easy for me to try to join the club and bemoan how exhausted I am, because I worked all day, then picked up the kids, then grocery shopped, then cooked supper...the usual things that make us ALL exhausted during the day. But the thing I need to be mindful of is this: my tired does not equal his tired. When I say I've had a rough day, his has been rough before he gets down the stairs in the morning.
So the next time any of you run into me and I happen to yawn or mention how worn out I am, here's your golden opportunity to give me the "look" and tell me to shut the heck up. Scott? You're Welcome.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I Now Pronounce You Man, Wife...and Uninvited Guest
Scott and I were married on May Day of 1999 in a small, happy, rainy ceremony at our church. Nearly six weeks to the day following our "I Do's", we got our chance to test out the "in sickness and health" portion. We were hanging out with some friends at a weekend barbeque when Scott realized something was funky with his left eye. He had noticed it the day before, on his way into work, but thought it would go away. Standing in the sun, he said he could see folks standing beside him, but not the ones standing right in front of him. They were all fuzzed out and grey. So, we figured a visit to the opthamologist was in order, so we could get him a new pair of glasses first thing Monday morning. Now I can't even remember why I chose to tag along with him to the eye doctor; maybe it was one of those do-everything-together-newleywed-things, but, for whatever reason, there I was, saddled up beside him, ready to help him pick out his new specs. The good doctor ran a bunch of tests, some we'd never heard of before, and, when he'd finished, he looked Scott squarely in the eyes and said, "I'm going to call down to the hospital and schedule you an MRI...I think you have MS." There couldn't have been much of a delay between the doctor's last sentence and the "What?!" we screamed in unison. What's MS? What about the glasses prescription?
Thus we became a marriage of three: Scott, me, and that nasty, nasty game-changer called multiple sclerosis.
It's been a really weird eleven years since, with things being thrown our way we never could have expected. I'm starting this blog through the advice and encouragement of my wonderful group of friends, who thought that if I could put my own story out there of living with someone who lives with MS, a few missions could possibly be accomplished: a) I could get what I'm feeling out of my own head and let it live somewhere else, thus freeing up my brain for other worthwhile projects like, say, coupon clipping, and 2) so that I could use this experience for good, to find others out there experiencing the same thing as me, and we can help each other along.
Let me close this entry by making a disclaimer: I KNOW I DON'T HAVE MS. I also know Scott has it WAY worse than I can ever imagine. I'm not pretending that my life is in any way as difficult to manage as his. My only goal here is to display--with my husband's full blessing--what it's like for someone like me to live with someone suffering from MS. I can't be the only one out there who is a bystander to this awful disease. And if you and I share the same shoes, I'm here for the chattin'. Take care. Jen
Thus we became a marriage of three: Scott, me, and that nasty, nasty game-changer called multiple sclerosis.
It's been a really weird eleven years since, with things being thrown our way we never could have expected. I'm starting this blog through the advice and encouragement of my wonderful group of friends, who thought that if I could put my own story out there of living with someone who lives with MS, a few missions could possibly be accomplished: a) I could get what I'm feeling out of my own head and let it live somewhere else, thus freeing up my brain for other worthwhile projects like, say, coupon clipping, and 2) so that I could use this experience for good, to find others out there experiencing the same thing as me, and we can help each other along.
Let me close this entry by making a disclaimer: I KNOW I DON'T HAVE MS. I also know Scott has it WAY worse than I can ever imagine. I'm not pretending that my life is in any way as difficult to manage as his. My only goal here is to display--with my husband's full blessing--what it's like for someone like me to live with someone suffering from MS. I can't be the only one out there who is a bystander to this awful disease. And if you and I share the same shoes, I'm here for the chattin'. Take care. Jen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)