Baby wanna walk.

I can walk in a normal fashion.

I have western medicine to thank, but, it's something in the best direction!

Every morning I still wake up expecting to be in pain....expecting that something has changed and I'm back to the beginning.

But, I sit up. I put my feet on the floor. Stand. And, glide to the bathroom with ease.

I was able to walk around cities without thinking about anything else but anticipate the excitement of what was around the next corner.

I walked through airports with no concern except making sure I'm at my gate at boarding time.

I don't mean this to make other feels guilty but, seriously, take note each and every morning you put your feet on the floor without a grimace knowing that at least you have that going for you, despite other shit in your life (not discounting your shit, just trying to point out an easy blessing.) I'm speaking from experience as someone who overlooked it until my body said, "Yea, bitch...try and overlook THIS!" Never take all the simple things our bodies do for granted. Healthy livers that filter blood...lungs that breathe...shit, even a bladder that holds your pee without any real struggle. Truly. Our bodies do so much and we don't stop to recognize the effort of tissue and bone and how a simple upset could change our entire lives...until it does change our lives.

Whilst climbing the stairs at work today, I caught myself smiling as I could feel the muscles in my legs starting to slowly wake up and form again.

Maybe this was something I needed to make me wake up and realize that all the other shit I spent my days worrying about is just that... shit...

Regardless of how little or how much effort you put into these worries, at the end of the day, your physical being will eventually breakdown on you with little care about all that you find important at this moment.

Hug yourself.

Love your body regardless of size, color, shape, moles, hobbles...because it only goes downhill from here.

xoxo

A Godmother with a Horn

Okay, so, it's not really a horn though I do see the irony that what I'm about to discuss appeared the week I was to witness the baptism of my nephew.

A large, mysterious lump formed on right side of my upper forehead. Thankfully I had the thought to get bangs cut into my hair during my last visit to my stylist so I had something to cover the monstrosity for the last week. After keeping an eye on it whilst additional swelling moved into portions of my face, I finally went to the doctor today. Skin infection. Not believed to be contagious, just a random event.

I've decided this is my body this year. One big, random event. Or, as a dear friend referred to my latest "events": A study in the truly bizarre. I had to giggle at that because, well, I'm tired.

Whenever a new addition to my collection of medical events show up, my brain becomes preoccupied all over again with a myriad of unanswerable questions...

What the fuck?

Why?

What next?

When will I feel "normal"?

Is this simply my new sense of "normal"?

It distracts me from living in the moments because I'm so consumed. There is a mild fear that I will simply become full-blown narcissistic hypochondriac when this is all said and done...I won't be able to stop talking about myself and the worry that everything is wrong with me. This fear stems from the fact that I haven't posted here in a while combined with my habit of honesty to the "maybe they didn't need to know all that" level when casually asked, "How's it goin'?"

And, then there is my weight. It's hard for me to not draw attention to it by making my own comments. Sort of like, "Hey, look, I know I've put on a few these days..." (I don't know why really...it's like when we have company sometimes we go out of our way to point out every speck of dirt in our house. Why do we do this!?) But, if I were to be awkwardly honest...Every time I step on the scale I feel like it's reading more pounds towards hopelessness.

That sounds dramatic. I know it does and is. My brain is a bit of a drama queen these days. Deep down I know she will get over it. And, I will too. For now, I will hug myself and work on loving the extra cushion in between my arms until I'm off shitty Prednisone and more equipped to do something about it. (For someone who has never taken prednisone let me just say...imagine the first time you ate your favorite food in the world... and then imagine having that experience every time you eat anything. Yep...)

Alright, dearies, I don't have much to wrap this up with but this song. Love!

The Head and the Heart - "Lost in my Mind"

My HLA-B27 be posi, y'all!

I had my follow up appointment with my rheumatologist to discuss my blood work.

First, let me tell you how I ran into her as I got on the elevator and sprang into my "I know I may have seemed like a bitch with my nasty email but really I was just pissed that you weren't calling me back" approach (that probably should have been hyphened instead of in quotes but, really, who has the time for that!?) I spoke to her. I think it threw her off as I'm sure most people in hospitals don't make friendly, elevator commentary with the doctors.

"Hey! I'm coming to see you in a few minutes!" She smiled and said some sort of pleasantry back. It was an awkward but necessary exchange.

Fast forward to the appointment. "Hello....... again..." she said.

That doctor. She's so witty. I purposely laughed too hard at that one. All the while I kept making jokes like "Prednisone makes me eat everything! I'm pretty sure I never tasted chocolate the way I tasted it while on that med *giggle giggle*..." and other Megan like bibble-babble to sort of go along with above strategy.

Anyways, enough of my INFJ-working-the-room discussion...

Parvo front: My immune system has kicked it's ass. I thought so for a long while now but it's good to see it on paper in a official manner... with the help of a doctor explaining it to me what all the coded crap on paper meant, of course.

Arthritis front (remember, rearing it's inflamed, ouchy, face thanks to Parvo): My HLA-B27 shit be posi, y'all! What does this mean? Well, the doctor was asking me if I was having an spinal/lower back issues. Other than the normal effects of sitting on my ass all day with a core currently at the level of non-existent, not really. To that, she said this same type of arthritis (I *think* she said ankylosing spondylitis but, seriously, I was just following along on the page knowing I'd google this shit later and it is later and that's what I think she said after googling) could also cause inflammation and pain in the hands and feet. Which I was all "mmm, yea? okay, that makes sense *nodding head, totally googling when I get home*..." Well, after googling (sorry...you're probably thinking "If she says any form of the word google one more time before getting to her effing point...!!!!") I found this same HLA-B27 bastard to be linked to.....*drum roll* psoriatic arthritis! Again, I'm not doctor...just found it curious...

Regardless, my shit is still inflamed and hurty.

My plan of attack is this... try out meds in hopes to feel better... get back to yoga and all things I love that are active and actually be nice to my body again... all the while looking for other things to help that are not in the form of a pill...with the ultimate goal being to be off meds again.

In the meantime, y'all need to help me get the word out to HLA-B27 that I'm good peoples. Silly, HLA-B27! Let's be friends and stop being an asshole to me!

War - "Why Can't We Be Friends"

L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.

**Blogger's Note: If you are reading this and can't get through the long-windedness that is this post, please skip to the end because it's there just for you.**

Have I been working my ass off lately? Yes.

Have I been hobbling my ass off lately? Yes.

But, for the first time ever I can honestly say I would not trade my life for anything and I find this to be the most freeing feeling in the world. I never fully realized how much shit I was clinging on to and just how toxic it was for my soul until I felt it lift away.

Don't get me wrong. This wasn't an overnight thing. Those who know me well can vouch for it in all the times I've vented, cried on their shoulders, and apologized for my just-let-me-be-a-hermit-and-bury-my-head-until-further-notice phases. It's been years, a handful of therapists, this painful shit moving in on me, and finally, an amazing mindfulness retreat that seemed to click the cog into place ...flicking the switch on the light some of you out there were so desperate to help me turn on. After so many years of tiptoeing shyly up to the edge, peaking over, and readying myself to chuck over the bullshit, I feel, at least for now, that I've done it. I've let go. Do I realize that it might cling to the side, climb up, and lunge back onto my shoulders when I'm not looking? Of course. It's possible. It's some feisty bullshit and we've been friends for quite some time. But, I think I'm okay with that. And, I think being okay with it might help it stay down in the abyss and hang out with the other bullshits people have tossed away.

Why am I okay with it? Acceptance. It's one of the first things I started working on with the therapist I started seeing in the beginning of the year. Accept that some mornings I wake up with fury and rage causing me to whip cosmetics around the bathroom, or stomp my feet shouting, "I HATE my CLOTHES!" Accept that life isn't fair. Accept that people will be mean. Accept that I can, in regards to myself, be one of the very meanest of people. That act alone...when I really got the hang of it? I had already begun feeling the sense of freedom. It meant I didn't have to make excuses. "Hey, you are just bitchy today. Whatevs." It meant I didn't have to obsess with why someone was unkind, or why I'm stuck in the pattern we all hate that makes us have to stop at every. Damn. Traffic light. These situations simply were and I could accept them, or not. Accepting them at first made me feel like I was giving in. Then I realized, not accepting them, was really just a form of self-torture...the opposite of what I wanted in life. I accept the fact that depression may show itself again. But with each bout, I get stronger and shake my fist all the more at its scowl-y, ugly face.

This painful shit. The very reason this blog exists. I've expressed how much it sucks in a myriad of ways. I'm currently on the upswing of accepting it though (again, knowing it could go down hill just the same.) I think I've touched on it before that it's made me finally appreciate my body. Y'all...in case you haven't noticed? My hips and booty be banging! Is my belly bigger than I want it to be? Meh. My arms aren't as toned as I'd like. But you know what? They are mine. There are many just like them but these german babies are mine, gnarly heart tattoo and all. And my body does what it can, when it can. At least I have that. And, so do you. Be nice to you. Don't wait for some shitty illness that sounds like dog worms to remember just how beautiful your body really is and everything it does for you, despite how badly you pick on it or soak it with bourbon.

The mindfulness retreat. An introverts dream! An entire weekend of meditation (some guided, some not), nature, complete silence, zero eye contact, but complete sense of compassion and community. I learned pretty quickly that I didn't have to know a person's name to allow them space as we passed in the hallways, or, to eat at a table where we all practice chewing very, very slowly (look up "mindful eating.") I didn't have to know what they "did for a living" to be present in the same room with them breathing deeply and opening my heart to life while they too worked through their own inner bullshit. I could go on and on about this weekend because, really, I had a very, very powerful spiritual experience and believe that to be the final straw for me to ball up my bullshit and throw it with all my might into oblivion.

With all the above said, if it weren't for my friends and family, I'd still be in the dark somewhere letting my life flitter away. I hope I convey to each of you the profound love and appreciation I have for your patience, kindness, and, most importantly, steadfast, unconditional love. Truly. You are my rock. You are on the sidelines rooting even during the times I'm pushing you away shouting, "Fuck this game!" and stomping off the field. You are downing shots with me on my bad days, telling me terrible jokes to give me a cheap smile, making me amazing mixes full of beautiful music, letting me whine on the really painful days ...I don't know what I did in a past life to be surrounded by some of the best souls to walk this earth, but dammit I'm glad I did it.

I love you. Hug yourself.

"On my last night on earth,
I won't look to the sky,
Just breathe in the air,
And blink in the light.

On my last night on earth,
I'll pay a high price,
To have no regrets, and be done with my life..."

Noah And The Whale - "L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N."

"Give the Good News by Way of Fists"

I've been putting off posting again because what I'm about to say is very disappointing.

After waiting the standard week, dealing with the back and forth with my doctor's office (that required yours truly writing an eloquent "call me back or fuck off" message) for someone to give me the time of day, the following is all I have to report:

My vitamin D is low. Mmmmkay.

Oh, and, my blood shows signs of inflammation similar to that of, and probably is, arthritis.

...

..

.

..

...


.....are you fucking kidding?

"So, did you also find out that I have a belly button that is an "inny" and birthmark that looks like a third nipple?"

(Don't get distracted. That last statement is for another post at another time.)

This is a perfect depiction of why I was hesitant to get into this rheumatologist mess. I think nothing new will be learned. More drugs shoved in my face. Have a nice day.

Don't get me wrong. I tried to be optimistic, but I wasn't expecting a miracle worker. It is just pointing out a problem:

Doctors feel that their patients aren't satisfied unless they leave the office with a new prescription or referral to someone bigger/badder/more expensive-er. The blood tests ran by this "specialist" could have been run, and possibly had been already ran, by my regular doctor. Why the fuck was I sent to a specialist to tell me something I already knew?

No peace of mind was gained.

More distrust with western medicine was incurred.

The best part?

I just received my explanation of benefits from my insurance. Because I'm blessed with a job in a company with rather amazing benefits, my out-of-pocket expenses were minimal. However, if you added up all the "costs" before my negotiated "savings" this lovely little bullshit visit supposedly cha-chinged to a sum near $2,000.

Yes. Three zeros after that 2. Don't get me wrong, doctor with a shoddy medical staff that never calls anyone back, I'm sure you are very intelligent and highly trained in your field, but, seriously? That's how much it costs to tell me nothing? And, we wonder why people get significantly sick once and end up bankrupt in this country...

In other news, I've diagnosed myself. No, not in the hypochondriac, I'm-sick-with-everything way. I just have common sense and access to Google to go along with knowledge about my family history. I'm pretty sure all signs point to psoriatic arthritis showing it's ugly, painfully-inflamed presence because of the parvo. (Remember my post of why no one knows of the shitty that is human parvovirus? Because after six months, it leaves the "Oh, that's just a virus that will go away" phase and enters the "You now have a chronic condition (spawned by that measly little virus)known as XYZPainfulJointsHateYou condition.")

Good news: I've been pretty in love with my life despite all this mess these days. I'm hoping it's not all this prednisone I've been feeding myself. Ask me again this time next week when I take my last dose ;)

Until next time, loves....

The Streets - "Going Through Hell"

Pissed

Let the record show that before all this process began, I was not a fan of dealing with doctors.

I think this is a fact for most people and a large percentage of the commonly known pie chart: "Why Dealing with my Health is Fucking Daunting!"

As per my last post, I had gone to the rheumatologist who conducted further blood work and prescribed steroids to help me, in the very literal sense, get back on my feet whilst we figure out the best course of action. The meds seem to be helping, by the way. A couple of days ago I was able to do a short, very easy hike and yesterday took the dog for a walk! For anyone who has actually seen my mobility firsthand, these two events are huge!

Cut scene back to why I'm pissed.

After waiting a week to hear back about my results, last Thursday (in efforts to save you from the math, that was 5 days ago from this post) I find myself sitting in a conference room minutes into the beginning of a seminar for work when I hear my phone vibrate in my bag. I knew in the pit of my stomach it was the call I had been waiting for yet figured I'd just call them back and find out what's going on.

Let me reiterate to the jury...That was last Thursday.

It is now Tuesday.

5.

Days.

Two return messages left from me (despite their plea for no duplicate messages to which I thought, "Um, fuck you. Call me back." Squeaky wheels and all that jazz, right?)

It's interesting to me really when the biggest critique regarding national healthcare is the fear of increasing waiting lists for care. Well, shit. I have fine damn insurance provided by a company that I work my ass off for yet I still receive no attention.

Oh, and apparently a prescription for vitamin D has been submitted and filled by Walgreens. How do I even know it's Vit. D? Because I had to actually call the pharmacy to find out what the fuck they had filled for which I was receiving phone calls that it was ready for pick-up.

Seriously, bro.... (Or, should it be "ho" given that my Dr is a female even though it's not common vernacular?)

What the fuck.

My doctor should know better than to piss me off right now given that she was the one prescribing the 'roids from which I'm raging.

Okay.

This is ranty.

And, very sweary.

It felt damn good, though. So, if you made it this far into the bitchfest, I thank you. Now, go scream some 4 Non Blondes from the top of your lungs...

4 Non Blondes - "What's Up"

A positive.

I've been telling myself that despite how much frustration, anger, pain...whatever...I've been going through, I can't help but feel that all of this will have a positive spin. It's a weird feeling for me because normally I'm not so "Rain brings sunflowers and daisies, lah-dee-daaah! *skip away through my field of daffodils*"

Well, here is one positive.

I'm writing.

And, I can't stop.

I started mulling over an idea in my head a while back and suddenly I came home tonight and HAD to get going on it. I think it's due to my starting this blog and being reminded of how good it feels to have words flowing out of me crafted precisely how I'd like them to be. Never perfect but always me.

It's a bit of a high, really. It's the one thing in life I ALWAYS enjoy.

It's about damn time I had moments of output! The story may be a bit of cliche, but, so is life.

I'm off to pour a bit more wine and keep going.



The song I'm plugging for this is The National since they have been my soundtrack tonight in preparation for their concert on Sunday with a favorite lady, Amanda!

The National - "Apartment Story"

Sick Body Sick Mind

More blood tests.

More meds to get me by.

Dammit, I hate being right.


"Healthy body sick mind
You're working overtime
Healthy body sick mind
Too hectic, too hectic
Healthy body sick mind
It's just a matter of time
Sick body sick mind"


Skank it out, rudies.


Operation Ivy - "Healthy Body"

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the day.

I see the rheumatology specialist bright and early.

My mindset is a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and indifference.

Excitement because it's a step towards something. Positive movement forward.

Anxiety is over the unknown. Despite all of my research and reading, I have no idea, specifically, what will be said to me about what is going on in the silly body of mine.

Indifference because my pessimist, or as like to refer to it as, "realist", side of my brain is talking. More than likely, it will be months, or, heaven forbid, longer, before I could be back on track to feeling even the slightest bit normal.

I forgot one other emotion. Anger. It's an angry day. Blame it on it being Tuesday morning after a long weekend, blame it on all the work piled on my desk, or blame it on my turtle pace. I'm super angry about this shit this morning. I have all the normal life motions I have to go through today, but it's a rather painful one today, so I get to grit my teeth even more as I do them. Fuck you, joints. Fuck you right in the face. End rant.

Alas, Social D will pull me through and I'll recognize that a beautiful beaming sun is out my window soon enough.

Crank it loud, lovelies.

Social Distortion - "Ball and Chain"

One More Week

One more week and I will finally see the rheumatogolist.

One more week and perhaps maybe a little more light will be shed on whatever the heck is going on in this crazy 5 ft. 3.5 in. body of mine.

I've been counting down the days for nearly two months.

(I would insert a rant regarding big business in the health care industry and it's contribution to this extended time of circling around in a holding pattern, but I won't. Not today, anyway.)

Today. I went to see my doctor for a stupid UTI, of all things. Conclusion: Megan doesn't drink enough water. I, for the life of me, can't figure out why I have a significant, reoccurring issue with consuming H2O. But, there you have it. So, this afternoon I've resorted to tricking my brain to drink it by imagining the little water molecules and their journey through my body. I imagine each of the molecules having little watering cans full of smaller versions of themselves approaching every cell and sprinkling them with a bit of their love. Yea. Let's see how long that trickery works.

However, the reason I'm bringing up this, dear I say, yucky topic is because the doctor said something interesting in that she believed this dreaded UTI may have something to do with the significant increase in pain I've had the last couple weeks. I guess my body only has so many little army dudes running around so whenever the infection started some resources had to be reallocated thus taking away from the troops battling my pain/inflammation.

(BTW, I see many comparisons between the immune system of human bodies and the U.S. Government, but, let us not digress.)

She also seemed optimistic and took my rogue tears in stride whilst spouting words of encouragement that the rheumatologist will help us get things figured out with an appropriate plan of action.

I have to trust this.

I have to believe that some course of action will get me up and moving normally again.

Until then, I will just keep rereading Joe Rizzo's words of encouragement and follow it with my rally cry.

I am Megan effin' Nashvegas, dammit! RAWR!!!!

The Kinks - "Tired of Waiting for You"

You have what?

People ask questions because I'm hobbling around.

Some I shrug off with what has become my favorite response, "Oh, you know...I turn 30 and suddenly it all just starts breaking down on me, am I right!?! *awkward giggle*"

I feign humor and shrug it off because it's much easier then saying, "I have the human parvovirus (B19)..."

"You have WHAT!? I thought only dogs got that!?"

Or, they sort of back away with this fearful look in their eye as if the virus will lunge out of me and swan dive into their bodies.

These responses are my reasoning behind this blog and sharing some of my very personal details with all of you. No one really understands what it is because no one has ever heard of it. Why is this?

Parvo (as I will now start referring to it as from here on out since you know I'm now discussing the human version, however, feel free to still picture me as a scared pitbull you found behind the dumpster) is actually far more common than you think. How can that be? Because those of us lucky enough to not get over the virus in a few weeks, develop symptoms that become diagnosed by doctors as something else.

Lupus.

Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA).

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

Fybromyalgia.

We all know someone with the above, or have at least heard the names. Interestingly enough, some of the studies I've read show that many people with RA test positive for parvo.

And, yes. This scares the hell out of me. The unknown of where this is going makes me want to hide away in a cave with a barrel of bourbon (I'd also grow a gnarly beard just for the effect, if it were at all possible.) This blog is my way of working through it. My current bodily shortcomings are constantly on my mind distracting me from everything amazing in life. I'm hoping that dumping it all here for whoever gives a damn to read will help.

Trust me. I know there are worse things that I could have and I deal with that guilt of letting this thing bring me down so much as well. I know so many other things can be wrong in my life. But this IS what is wrong in my life. This is my lot. Here is me owning it.

Enjoy this tune. Ralph McTell - "Streets of London"

Where's My Punk Spirit?

I'm starting this with selfish intentions. I need an outlet to bitch. I need an outlet to moan and whinge and *insert other verbs for spouting words of the "woe is me" nature*

I have been diagnosed with the human parvovirus (B19). No, it's not like the parvo of stray dogs although if that will help you remember, then, please, by all means, go to town on the imagery. It's the same virus referred to as "Fifth Disease" or "Slap-Cheek Syndrome" in children. How do you get it? The same way you get most germs... kids' boogers on door handles, someone sneezing in your face, etc.

It started with fatigue and a random fever lasting a few days. A day after, I broke out in a rash all over my body that I quickly explained away with stress, despite the fact that I had never experienced a stress-induced rash before. Ultimately, the virus has transitioned into pain. Lots of it. It started with my feet feeling the bottoms were bruised when I walked because they were so inflamed. Since then, the symptoms have moved to my hands, knees, part of my spine, shoulders... Three months after my doctor conducted blood work and diagnosed me with an offhand comment, "Oh, this will pass in a few weeks..." Four months after the initial onset, I'm feeling worse than ever.

I cry.

A lot.

My days have been altered significantly beginning with the very simple act of putting my feet on the floor and standing up out of bed followed with the dreaded task of convincing myself to take a step forward. Simple acts we take for granted every single day have completely different meanings to me now.

I now understand the need for shoehorns and have added it to my list: Swollen feet plus slip on shoes plus fingers the bloody hurt too much to help pull the damn things on. Yea. Shoehorn. I need one.

Belt loops! How did I ever pull the jeans over my lovely booty before without hooking my finger into the belt loop!?

Asking a friend to open my twist-top beverages...

Requesting for my husband to offer his assistance so I can get up off the ground...

Forget about all the words I say in the shower as I attempt to squeeze shampoo into my hand, or get face wash out of a bottle that was made with, what seems to my hands, titanium...

..and the commentary. I know people mean well. I know they voice things out of concern. Yes, I AM walking slow and stiff today. No, I do not feel good. Now, please excuse me so I may shed these few tears somewhere private that have sprouted out of nowhere.

I will find a way to carry on without so much of this feeling sorry for myself. I know this.

I think I'm still in a grieving period for the healthy body that I was terribly critical of before (Sorry, body! You really are beautiful!)

I'm closing this first entry with a link to the song inspiring the title of the blog. I sing the chorus when I'm feeling especially candy-assy...

"Where's my punk spirit?"

Cheers, lovelies.