Strange experience of late with Ambien. See, I have this deal going on where my body wants to twitch and jump around in bed all night. No partner, mind you--just me and my body. It is rather like restless leg syndrome, but of course it's not, it's multiple sclerosis, and therefore the drug commonly prescribed for RLS, Requip, does not work. For this reason my PCP prescribed Ambien.
Now here's the weird part: One or two Ambien tablets will knock me out within perhaps ten minutes; however it proves to be a sure thing that I will then wake up at about 3 o'clock in the morning and find myself completely unable to go back to sleep. Absolutely wide awake, only tired and exhausted. Can you imagine it?
So it is that I've been knocking about since 3 a.m. I find that there is not a whole lot to do at 3 a.m. Ones friend are of course asleep, as is ones wife, even ones dogs--although I will give credit to Smokey for staggering out to the dining room briefly just to see what the hell was going on.
No one I know is online at 3 a.m. (although someone named Sexy Mandy wants to chat on Yahoo).
Finally 6 o'clock rolls around and I head for Starbucks to have the first of what will likely be two dozen cappuccinos. Now everything about Starbucks is wonderful as far as I'm concerned, except for the music. Why must they have loud music playing, generally music with a jittery, Latino sort of beat. Do I need this? What is the purpose? Am I to be happy because of this upbeat music? Is this any way to wake up? For God's sake, I'm already on edge here folks!
Sooo . . . I think a doughnut would do nicely just now. Along with another coffee.
Life is a funny sort of business. It's also the only business out there. Every cloud has a silver lining. And every silver lining has a cloud.
Visits
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Hot Foot
Tonight I have the hot potato foot. You know what I mean? Suddenly your foot feels like it's about twice as big as it was in the morning, no longer fits comfortably into your shoe, and instead just sits there thrumming and throbbing, buzzing and bulging, and burning so that you feel like plunging it into a cold tub of water (as if that would help).
At the same time a large portion of my brain seems to have turned to cotton, and because of this my balance is off. Specifically, I cannot walk down the hallway without running into the walls along the way.
I'm not sure which of these is my favorite symptom at the moment. It's close.
Today I retired from my job after 20 years or so. So far I don't miss it. Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 56. Still a young buck. With a burning foot. On February 8th I will fly from the United States and turn up by and by in Bali, Indonesia, most probably never to return.
Jim Dandy, however, will endure--so no worries, folks. If ever the writing fades and disappears, you will know that the light has flickered and died.
At the same time a large portion of my brain seems to have turned to cotton, and because of this my balance is off. Specifically, I cannot walk down the hallway without running into the walls along the way.
I'm not sure which of these is my favorite symptom at the moment. It's close.
Today I retired from my job after 20 years or so. So far I don't miss it. Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 56. Still a young buck. With a burning foot. On February 8th I will fly from the United States and turn up by and by in Bali, Indonesia, most probably never to return.
Jim Dandy, however, will endure--so no worries, folks. If ever the writing fades and disappears, you will know that the light has flickered and died.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Where in the world
can I run
where the end
will not be final--
run and forget,
forget, forget
the dream that never was--
that came in flowered silken prints
and perfumed feet and hair
and danced seduction
sudden death
and owned the very air--
this tongue that snaked
and wrapped the waist
and promised sweet the lie
then pulled me to the vacant depth
and killed me
never saying why
can I run
where the end
will not be final--
run and forget,
forget, forget
the dream that never was--
that came in flowered silken prints
and perfumed feet and hair
and danced seduction
sudden death
and owned the very air--
this tongue that snaked
and wrapped the waist
and promised sweet the lie
then pulled me to the vacant depth
and killed me
never saying why
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
A Hard Matter
Scientific research done with the use of a brain already detrimentally affected by what one is trying to research proves to be a method less than ideal.
Hours, or at least minutes of exhaustive research have I devoted (since yesterday--see previous entry) to the question of how the insides of sluggish arteries might be scraped or otherwise scoured clean, thus (theoretically) eradicating MS--beating my head against the proverbial wall, putting the horse before the carriage, picking at bits of invisible matter in the air--how to get at the damn things (the arteries, I mean)?
But I had a dream, a vision in the night, of angels descending and ascending on a ladder, and upon waking I suddenly knew that I had been completely obtuse--for I suddenly realized that what is on the outside is best approached from the outside, and what is on the inside, from the inside.
You see? To work from within we must start from within.
What, I asked myself, works within the blood, within the vein, within the artery--from within the system?
Viagra! What else? Suddenly the answer seems just as simple as can be.
Now, of course I have no Viagra on hand (what kind of man do you think I am?), but I figure that procuring the same cannot be too difficult. I could, for instance, ask around at retirement homes, or check the black market, or, if worse comes to worse, tell my doctor that I need it for a friend.
That's the easy part. The next thing will be to determine how much, and how often. What is the optimum dose for artery scouring, and what risk, at the same time, would I run of exploding elsewhere? Would I need volunteers to lend a hand or something, or am I up to conducting this experiment single-handedly?
More questions, to be sure--but in hard research such as this, there are always questions to be satisfied.
And so I begin again. Wish me luck!
Hours, or at least minutes of exhaustive research have I devoted (since yesterday--see previous entry) to the question of how the insides of sluggish arteries might be scraped or otherwise scoured clean, thus (theoretically) eradicating MS--beating my head against the proverbial wall, putting the horse before the carriage, picking at bits of invisible matter in the air--how to get at the damn things (the arteries, I mean)?
But I had a dream, a vision in the night, of angels descending and ascending on a ladder, and upon waking I suddenly knew that I had been completely obtuse--for I suddenly realized that what is on the outside is best approached from the outside, and what is on the inside, from the inside.
You see? To work from within we must start from within.
What, I asked myself, works within the blood, within the vein, within the artery--from within the system?
Viagra! What else? Suddenly the answer seems just as simple as can be.
Now, of course I have no Viagra on hand (what kind of man do you think I am?), but I figure that procuring the same cannot be too difficult. I could, for instance, ask around at retirement homes, or check the black market, or, if worse comes to worse, tell my doctor that I need it for a friend.
That's the easy part. The next thing will be to determine how much, and how often. What is the optimum dose for artery scouring, and what risk, at the same time, would I run of exploding elsewhere? Would I need volunteers to lend a hand or something, or am I up to conducting this experiment single-handedly?
More questions, to be sure--but in hard research such as this, there are always questions to be satisfied.
And so I begin again. Wish me luck!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Clean It Up
As most of us are now aware, the new idea vis-a-vis MS is that it may actually be a vascular malfunction rather than an autoimmune disease, and that cleaning out blocked arteries may be curative.
That's all well and good--but what I'm wondering, along purely practical lines, is how one might do this at home, rather than face the prohibitive expense of hospitalization and surgery.
I'm wondering if a toothbrush will work, and whether one should apply just the bare bristles, or maybe add a mild soap, such as Dove or Ivory. The fact that Ivory soap floats may also be pertinent (although I don't know how).
Would this be a cleaning or a scouring. Another question without an answer thus far. If the the preferred method is the latter, would this call for a pressure washer, or something less intense, like a water pick?
How to get at the arteries in the first place? This is a major difficulty, and could quite possibly be a deadly one.
One thing I know, however, is that anything that can be done in a hospital or in an auto repair shop--at Les Schwab or at Computer Geeks--can be done in one's own garage or den. My father taught me that. It may take more time, it may be messy, it may cause more problems along the way than you began with--but in the end you've accomplished the thing without the help of the so-called experts, you've done it at a fraction of the cost, and you can walk away with the sense of personal self-sufficiency that you can't get anywhere else.
After all, a handful or arteries can't be any more complex than a carburetor, now can it?
That's all well and good--but what I'm wondering, along purely practical lines, is how one might do this at home, rather than face the prohibitive expense of hospitalization and surgery.
I'm wondering if a toothbrush will work, and whether one should apply just the bare bristles, or maybe add a mild soap, such as Dove or Ivory. The fact that Ivory soap floats may also be pertinent (although I don't know how).
Would this be a cleaning or a scouring. Another question without an answer thus far. If the the preferred method is the latter, would this call for a pressure washer, or something less intense, like a water pick?
How to get at the arteries in the first place? This is a major difficulty, and could quite possibly be a deadly one.
One thing I know, however, is that anything that can be done in a hospital or in an auto repair shop--at Les Schwab or at Computer Geeks--can be done in one's own garage or den. My father taught me that. It may take more time, it may be messy, it may cause more problems along the way than you began with--but in the end you've accomplished the thing without the help of the so-called experts, you've done it at a fraction of the cost, and you can walk away with the sense of personal self-sufficiency that you can't get anywhere else.
After all, a handful or arteries can't be any more complex than a carburetor, now can it?
Friday, January 15, 2010
Exciting New Research
Cutting edge research (my own) in the field of medical science has shown that multiple sclerosis, a disease long thought to be caused by a malfunction in the autoimmune system, actually has more in common with sinusitis. In short, it drains.
I know this because my case of MS, having formerly been most evident in my brain, has now drained into my left leg, such that my familiar cognitive difficulties (one might say congestion) have wholly cleared, while at the same time my left leg has become stuffy, sluggish, and painful.
My research will now enter the hands-on phase of experimentation, which, as always, will be less than thorough or logical. I think of the nose, the classic target of sinus problems. I think of Neo-Synephrine. I think of the nature and course of the common sinus infection, and then expand the general mechanics to the body as a whole. I think of injected Neo-Synephrine. I wonder if the ingredients of Copaxone are actually the same as those in Neo-Synephrine.
As is readily evident, the matter is a complex one and will require much time and energy on the part of the research team. Since I am so far the only one on the team, and since much of my time and energy is devoted to being generally exhausted, any forecast of applicable conclusions, along with potential treatment modalities, is bound to be years away. That's the bad news. The good news is that we finally have this tiger by the proverbial tail.
And so I shall proceed--patiently, tirelessly whenever I'm fully awake--and in the meantime spraying and blowing, spraying and blowing--all for the good of mankind, and women too, and children, and especially for those of us who suffer from this sinus-like syndrome.
(anyone desiring to join my team may do so simply with a reply and the purchase of any sort of decongestant)
I know this because my case of MS, having formerly been most evident in my brain, has now drained into my left leg, such that my familiar cognitive difficulties (one might say congestion) have wholly cleared, while at the same time my left leg has become stuffy, sluggish, and painful.
My research will now enter the hands-on phase of experimentation, which, as always, will be less than thorough or logical. I think of the nose, the classic target of sinus problems. I think of Neo-Synephrine. I think of the nature and course of the common sinus infection, and then expand the general mechanics to the body as a whole. I think of injected Neo-Synephrine. I wonder if the ingredients of Copaxone are actually the same as those in Neo-Synephrine.
As is readily evident, the matter is a complex one and will require much time and energy on the part of the research team. Since I am so far the only one on the team, and since much of my time and energy is devoted to being generally exhausted, any forecast of applicable conclusions, along with potential treatment modalities, is bound to be years away. That's the bad news. The good news is that we finally have this tiger by the proverbial tail.
And so I shall proceed--patiently, tirelessly whenever I'm fully awake--and in the meantime spraying and blowing, spraying and blowing--all for the good of mankind, and women too, and children, and especially for those of us who suffer from this sinus-like syndrome.
(anyone desiring to join my team may do so simply with a reply and the purchase of any sort of decongestant)
Thursday, January 14, 2010
The Death Of Those Who Have Died
The death of those who have died is strength to those who are living. It is not first off moral strength or physical strength, nor the sort of stoicism which may masquerade as strength, but only itself, born without desire or personal will, a result, not an intention. We do not choose, but are chosen. This is the way of every crucial event in life.
The strength of the eternal victim is hatred, while the strength of the mere sojourner is in assimilation.
We are all quite completely at the mercy of whatever happens to happen--not the captains of our own destinies but lowly sailors in a storm. When the winds are harsh and the waves are high we hold fiercely to the rails and to the trunk of the mast, for this is the only earth we have. When the sea surface calms, when the wind only whispers, when the sun seems fixed in the heaven for eternity, we lie upon the deck, spread legs and arms to the soothing sky, and dream that rest may be permanent.
The wise man is he who knows that neither peace nor adversity is permanent any more than his own flesh is so. It is memory that lives and instructs in our time, and faith alone that endures forever.
The strength of the eternal victim is hatred, while the strength of the mere sojourner is in assimilation.
We are all quite completely at the mercy of whatever happens to happen--not the captains of our own destinies but lowly sailors in a storm. When the winds are harsh and the waves are high we hold fiercely to the rails and to the trunk of the mast, for this is the only earth we have. When the sea surface calms, when the wind only whispers, when the sun seems fixed in the heaven for eternity, we lie upon the deck, spread legs and arms to the soothing sky, and dream that rest may be permanent.
The wise man is he who knows that neither peace nor adversity is permanent any more than his own flesh is so. It is memory that lives and instructs in our time, and faith alone that endures forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)