If you've been keeping track of these things (and I'm sure you have, because WHAT could possibly be more important?) then you know about my long love affair with Christian Lacroix's beautiful Glove Seller costume, made for ABT a good 25 (or so) years ago. Well, since my original post and desperate search there has been a re-staging of the production, complete with an exhibition of the lovely costumes. And now, of course, there are ALL sorts of pictures of it!
And? I am going to share them all, because I can't stop looking at it!
So, I had a bunch of crunky oral surgery last week, right? I mean... it was okay. I had nice "hypnotic" (I didn't even know that was a thing) drugs to make the time go faster, and they let me have a blanket and all... apparently my finger isn't a great place to continually check my pulse and I am oddly sensitive to penicillin, but hey. You learn something new every day.
Anyway. Things went pretty normally. After the first twelve hours or so I didn't need painkillers anymore. Which shocked me, honestly. But, yeah... so things have been pretty good. Except...
You know what the awesome part of auto-immune disorders is? The insanely out-of-proportion inflammatory response to EVERYTHING EVER. I imagine the inside of my mouth will eventually go back to normal... I hope I live to see that glorious future day... right now I am just happy that I only look a little bit like a chipmunk with seeds in his mouth (which was not the case yesterday). Can't worry too much about the fact that my gums look and feel a bit like the inside of a bike tire, right? I'm sure the feeling will come back eventually.
My surgeon is like "take 800 milligrams of motrin!" and I'm like "I can't take motrin, ibuprofen, naproxen, aspirin, relafen, or any other NSAID because I take a fairly high dose of Meloxicam every day and I would rather not have my kidneys fail, mmmkay?" You chop people's faces open every day, how is it you've never met someone with rheumatoid arthritis, before? This sounds all bitchy but it's not, really! She did a lovely job chopping my face apart, I swear! And, I am not just saying that because she is going to chop it open again in four months and I am afraid for my life!
I am going under the knife tomorrow morning, the first of possibly several rounds of oral surgery that I will be dealing with this year. I'm pretty freaked out about it. I was really looking forward to dancing tonight, I need to burn off some nervous energy and I missed last week so I want to get back to the studio...
but apparently penicillin makes me violently ill? Ah, well. That's, uh...good to know? I guess?
This week is my three year balletversary! And my one year pointeversary (even though I have spent so much time out with injuries that it's more like month 9 or 10)! In celebration I executed my first real, full, honest-to-god pirouette en pointe last night! In truth, I am pretty sure I did it backwards. But, we were ALL doing them backwards (it's easier because the momentum of pushing off your working leg automatically pulls you around toward your center) so I am not going to complain too much.
I am now going to be out of class for a couple of weeks while I take a well-earned vacation with my hubby and then have (not earned at all!) oral surgery about which I have been having panic attacks (two hours awake with people in my mouth! ARGH!) so they prescribed me an anti-anxiety drug called (I am not kidding) "Halcion". Ah ha ha. I see what you did there.
How is your week going? Today I found out that my rheumy cat, who has been terribly sick over the past week, has pancreatitis on top of everything. Then I spent a futile couple of hours trying to find white wool at a local fabric store for this big ol' scary wedding thing I am designing. After that I got myself scheduled for a bunch of really awful oral surgery the week after I come home from vacation. Provided, of course, that the cat recovers quickly enough that we can GO on vacation...
As I was going through the preliminary crapola with the surgeon she glanced at my questionnaire and exclaimed "arthritis? You are too young to have arthritis!"
Which I get ALL the time.
Rheumatoid arthritis isn't even AT ALL the same thing as osteoarthritis. It doesn't care how old you are or how many grands jetes you have executed. It shouldn't even be called arthritis, really, the name is sort of a relic of a simpler (AKA: crappier) age when medical imaging wasn't common and accessible (not that it's all that accessible NOW. Says the woman who just had to pay out of pocket for a CT scan of one stupid tooth) and symptoms had to work as complete descriptions for diseases. These days we know that it's more like your immune system freaking the hell out and attacking itself because it is stupid and you can't explain anything to an immune system. They just won't listen.
Anyway, consider this your public service message for the day: Rheumatoid Arthritis doesn't give a damn how old you are. 6 year olds get diagnosed with it, for reals.